#THAT IT USED TO LOOK LIKE THE REGULAR BLACK COFFEE

[pralinesims]

The green tea is finally GREEN 🗣️

#i remember even posting last year about this!! complaining #THAT IT USED TO LOOK LIKE THE REGULAR BLACK COFFEE #CAN YOU BELIEVE IT #???????????????? #it looks normal now! #ts4 #for rent #my gameplay

[joeloverture]

morning cardio | dbf!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | updates blog pairing: dbf!neighbor!joel miller x f!reader summary: [no outbreak] your neighbor and dad's longtime buddy catches you sneaking back home after an underwhelming hook-up. you want more — he provides. warnings: (18+ mdni) dbf!neighbor!joel, age gap (23/50), reader has a bad relationship with her father, reader's father is overly strict, reader hooks up with an oc, dirty talk, soft!dom joel, degradation, praise, thigh riding, 1 spank, titty slapping, daddy kink, exhibitionism but nobody sees, almost caught, heavy petting, misogyny for sexiness that joel doesn't actually believe in since he's a sweetheart [no use of y/n] word count: 3.7k a/n: watch me almost exclusively post dbf joel. watch me. also, mind the tags, they've changed slightly since i posted the teaser. this was supposed to be a series. this is no longer the case bc i'm indecisive. sorry.

Mistake number one: your eyes are crusted shut with the mascara you’d forgotten to wipe off.

Mistake number two: the bed you wake up in is not your own.

Mistake number three: sleeping with your neighbor.

Rubbing your mascara-sealed eyes, you blink yourself into consciousness and instantly regret it. There’s a moment of stillness, time stretching as you take in the room underneath the swelling orange sunlight. The window is cracked just enough to give you a glimpse at the world outside — birds chirping, sprinklers spritzing, cars crunching gravel as they pull out of the driveway. Surrounding the narrow, rumpled bed is a graveyard of orphaned socks. A box fan whirrs in the corner. The room had felt much cleaner past midnight when it was only the yellowed street lamp outside shining through the window. Then you spot the digital clock on the cluttered bedside table reads 6:10, ten minutes later than you’d wanted to be awake for, and time returns to its regular pace.

Your heart kicks awake in your chest, veins going cold. You kick the sheets off of your sweaty body, roll out of bed, and stumble two steps before planting your feet on the carpet below. Even that isn’t enough to stir your hookup. Dylan Andrews.

It’d seemed like a good enough idea at the time. Both of you were home for spring break. Both of you had flirted at the block party with each other. He was only decent-looking and mediocre with his hands, but you needed a break from spending another night in your childhood bedroom. What better way to do it than with a dick appointment?

Again. It’d seemed like a good enough idea at the time. Sneaking out underneath the nose of your strict, tough-as-nails dad was the easy part. Sneaking back in? Less easy. And to make matters worse, you were already ten minutes behind.

Shit.

You tiptoe across the room, naked as the day you were born, and stuff your underappreciated lingerie into your backpack. Without even putting your panties or bra on, you hop into your shorts and wrestle with your hoodie. By the time you’re out of Dylan’s room, it’s 6:12.

The difference between your dad and Dylan’s mom? She doesn’t give a shit what side of town Dylan wakes up on or how much alcohol is sloshing around in his system as long as he’s safe. You’re not the first girl to do the walk of shame out of Ms. Andrews' generic McMansion house, and you’re far from the last.

She’s downstairs in front of the coffee maker, still wearing her pajamas and doing a Dollar General crossword when you slip past her kitchen unnoticed. The door clangs shut behind you, and you figure she must see you walking down the cul-de-sac.

Your dad always leaves for work at 6:45 after a freezing cold shower and a steaming cup of black coffee for balance. You can only hope his shower ran a little late and that he isn’t at the dining room table already. Cramming two steps into one, you continue with your beeline down the awakening street.

You’re followed home by the mailboxes and flower beds, the pebbles you kick with every step. You’re almost to the property line, prepared to make a mad dash to your front door when you hear the faint call of your name. You skid to a stop, and turn to face the source: the craftsman-style house next door.

And there he is – Joel Miller, sitting on one of the cushioned chairs of his front porch in nothing but his sleep shorts and a t-shirt, legs spread as wide as the chair can accommodate. There’s a smug, knowing look on his face, one that says I’ve caught you. See how you can get out of this.

It’s been a long time since you’ve been face to face with Joel — Mr. Miller. You’d think you’d see him more often, with him being your dad’s buddy and your neighbor, but it’s been since summer. You’re sure he must be having the time of his life by joining your just got laid parade.

“You’re up awful early,” he calls, beckoning you up the driveway with a come-hither movement of his fingers. Leaving your dignity at the curb, you pad up the yard to his porch, climbing one of the stairs to lean against the gutter that feeds into his shrubbery. Pollen and moss is scattered across the wooden deck, surrounding a package that he hasn’t bothered to pick up yet. His guitar is off to the side, propped up against the doorway of the house. You wonder if he’d been playing when he’d seen you walking by.

Joel’s covered for you before, briefly and sparingly. Taken the fall for the half-empty bottle of fireball in your dresser even though he’d never go within ten feet of that shit, blamed it on himself for accidentally leaving it behind after fixing a wheel that had jumped off track for you. Even though your dad had chewed him out for drinking on the job, he’d still managed to sneak it back to you with the wise words of hiding it in a sock next time. You’d been two months past your twenty-first when that had happened, and maybe Joel had pitied you after realizing how authoritarian his friend was.

You aren’t as sure if he’ll pity you now.

“Needed some fresh air,” you defend lamely, hands hanging limp by your sides.

“Needed some cock?” he corrects, and his bluntness makes you choke. He seems relaxed for the words that just came out of his mouth, fingers drumming on his impossibly large thighs, a playful smirk resting on his lips.

You sputter, “No! Jesus, what the hell–”

“I got eyes, hun. Saw you leave that Andrews kid’s place. Clearly he didn’t stick it to ya that good if you’re still walkin’ steady,” he comments. His head tilts.

“Joel,” you hiss, eyes flitting to your dad’s house next door. He seems to read your mind, his smirk widening.

“Wonder what your pops would think. Bet I have a pretty good idea. His little angel, sneakin’ around and whorin’ herself out.” He clicks his tongue at you. “A damn shame.”

Heat spools low in your stomach and down to your unsatisfied center. You wish you’d worn darker colored shorts instead of the flimsy gray things you have on. There’s no barrier of your panties to stop yourself from leaking all over them, and with the way Joel’s looking at you, eyes dark and sly, you’re wishing there was.

“Can’t even imagine what you’re gettin’ up to at that college ‘a yours. Bet you had five guys inside of ya all at once, and I sure ain’t talkin’ about burgers, hun.” He lounges back in his chair, watching you.

You feel yourself gush. Heat burns in your thighs, and they rub together on instinct, seeking to extinguish that brimming ache between your legs. You bunch your hands in the fabric of your sweatshirt and can’t stop yourself from squirming underneath his gaze. It’s not like you’ve never thought about this, this with him of all people when you’re underneath your covers and your hand finds the warm junction between your thighs. Always unattainable. Always just out of reach.

You whisper again, “Joel,” but this time, it comes out as more of a moan. Humiliation warms your cheeks and chest, forming a different kind of pit in your stomach.

“Hmmmm?” Joel hums at you with a raised brow. He’s casual, indifferent, almost. But then his eyes flicker up and down, stopping at the wet patch smeared across the front of your shorts, the way your thighs press tight, tensing before letting go. “Ah. A little slut shamin’ gets you all riled up, hun?” That tears a whimper from you. He does that stupid come hither motion again, and like a lost dog, you listen. Standing in front of him, you feel completely, utterly exposed.

He adjusts himself in his chair, and you swallow the building lump in your throat when you see his bulge hardening. It sends another zap of heat to your core, and then another, more surprised one when his hand goes up to grab at your tit. Your breath catches as he thumbs one of your hardened nipples. A triumphant noise echoes out of him. “Braless, too?” His other hand goes down to your shorts, playing with the waistband. “Prancin’ around in these short, skimpy things, too. Practically giving the whole neighborhood a free peep show.”

His hand slides lower. Lower. Pans over to the crease of your thigh and then his thumb is planting over your clit, rubbing only once before he pulls away. “Messy pussy. Bet you stained the guys sheets.”

You’re quiet, staring at him, his wicked fucking expression, those hands that look like sin itself. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Ah. Poor baby. All this effort and you didn’t even get to come.” He just looks at you. Unmoving. Not doing a single damn thing to get you there.

“Please, Joel,” you whisper, embarrassed by the gritty need already embedded into your voice when he’s hardly even touched you.

And he’s still wearing that wolfish look, that tainted-with-intention gleam in his eyes that tells you he knows exactly what you do want when he asks, “What? What do you want?” He licks his lips, a fleeting moment.

You look over your shoulder, at the rising street. Anyone could have their windows cracked. Anyone could hear you confess on this porch. Still, you murmur, “I… I want you to make me come, Joel.” Your voice shivers a little bit along with the stroke of wind that wisps against the backs of your thighs.

His brows raise together, now. His head tips forward. “What was that? A little louder. You know, my ears really ain’t the sharpest these days…”

Fucking bastard.

“I want,” you say again, fighting to stop your voice from wavering, to keep it not too loud but not too quiet. “you to make me come.”

Joel sucks on his teeth for a second. “Ohhh. Now I don’t think that’s really fair, hun.” He gives you a mockingly sad look.

“Why?” you ask, and you know you sound as whiny as a petulant child. But he’d been correct earlier. You put in all of this effort, sneaking out for a thrilling night that had turned into something more like two sweaty bodies moving together and only one of them feeling good from it. You want to feel good. You’re tired of looking at the right and the wrong. Joel’s sitting in front of you, his thumb still smelling like your arousal; that’s what’s right.

“You’re out here breakin’ all the rules. Shouldn’t be rewarding you for that, sweetheart. Besides, it’s a little fucked up, dontcha think? Makin’ you come all over me while your pops, my buddy, is none the wiser gettin’ ready for work next door?” His vulgarity only weakens you even more, pussy clenching and begging to be filled. You’re about to protest again when he cuts in, “But that doesn’t mean I can’t help ya out.”

Your heart pedals in your chest, eager and wanting. But Joel, instead of getting up and elbowing you inside like you expect, stays right where he is. He pats one of his splayed thighs, the grin on his face only widening. Your face contorts. Joel hears your question before you ask.

“What? Never humped someone’s leg before? With how much of a bitch in heat you’re actin’ right now, I’m surprised.” You can feel the shock on your face plain as day. Joel jerks his head down to his thigh, egging you on. “Better hurry up if you want my help, sweetheart. Pretty sure your dad’s about to get goin’, and I sure don’t have all day, either.”

The rapidly shrinking part of yourself that isn’t consumed with desire tells you to take a step back. That anyone, God forbid, even the Adlers across the street could witness this. Talk about a free peep show.

You think of the alternative: sneaking back into your house with a hope and a prayer that your dad won’t find you, backpack over your shoulder and shoes on, as you climb the stairs back to your bedroom. Open up your Joel-advised dresser drawer of things your dad says you shouldn’t have and pull out your vibrator. Do the same old hassle of a routine, desperately trying to make yourself come. Reach an unfulfilling peak.

Or… take what Joel’s offering you. Risks and all.

You take a tentative step forward, glaring at Joel when he chuckles because of your hesitance, and plop yourself down on his thigh. The pressure against your clit immediately pulls a whimper from you. His big hands fix themselves on your hips, holding tight, but not too tight as to hold you captive against him. There’s still the faint existence of the Joel you’ve always known, considerate and sweet and all southern gentleman, that exists behind the guise of his dominance. 

You nestle your head into the crook of his neck, breathing heavy against him as you get a slow start to grinding your hips on his thigh. Although your movements are tentative, uncertain in nature, your head is already going fuzzy.

“Bet you’re only this wet cause that boy already put a new load in your dishwasher.” You scoff at him in disbelief — both at how much more wet it gets you, and how foul his words are. He chooses then to jerk you forward by the hips. You cry out as your pussy drags along the thick expanse of his thigh, clit catching on the bunched up fabric of your rumpled shorts.

“Zip it, you fuckin’ hussy. Ain’t a damn soul in this neighborhood that wants to wake up to you sobbin’ while gettin’ off on this thigh.” One of his hands drifts back to squeeze at the flesh of your ass. You hear the spank before you feel it, a sting that echoes and sticks right between your legs. He’s effortlessly strung a barbed wire of humiliation around your body. The lack of power makes your thighs clamp down around his, and you can’t tell if you crave more of it or despise it.

Unable to decide which, you loudly, exaggeratedly moan into his ear, still rocking down on his lap. It resounds through the neighborhood, the springboard roofs ricocheting you coquettish noises down the street and through the flowerbeds. A spooked crow lifts off of the power lines behind you, and you hear it squawk as its wings beat and carry it away.

Joel cocks his head at you, brow raised. “So it’s not just your legs that have a problem stayin’ shut. It’s your nasty mouth, too.” His hands migrate up your sides to your tits, which jostle with every flighty movement across his thigh. Before you know what he’s doing, he tweezes at your nipples in a way that makes you melt into him, forehead falling flat against his neck. And then he lands a hard smack across your chest, pleasure with a bite. Your hips jolt. “Behave for daddy before I make you walk next door draggin’ a snail trail behind ya.”

You know he doesn’t mean your real dad. A new rush of heat settles in your stomach, tightening your cunt from an ache to an insatiable thrumming that only Joel can solve. “Fuck,” you almost shout, but end up muffling into his skin with an open-mouthed kiss. He sighs, adjusting under you. The change in angle on your clit makes you whimper, especially when you feel his hardened length smushed against the outside of your thigh.

Your hand goes down to grip it, to participate in the push and pull, the cat and mouse, but he shakes his head, pulling it out of the way. He holds you by the small of your back, urging you to keep rubbing on him. “You’re lucky I’m even givin’ you my thigh,” he spits. “Ain’t gonna let you play chutes and ladders tryna make me come when I know damn well where that hand was last night.”

“Daddy,” you pout at him, lower lip jutting out.

He only shakes his head. “Don’t start.”

Whining in agitation, you manage to school yourself into behaving like he’d told you to. Every grind of your hips welcomes pleasure, beckons it, activates the porch light inside of you that invites it inside. You go limp against Joel as he guides you back and forth, and even limper when he tightens the muscle underneath your soaking core. Your hands anchor themselves on his broad shoulders, nails carving into his skin through the flimsy material of his shirt. He hisses underneath you, a break in his seemingly titanium resolve. You feel yourself getting closer, heat wreathing around your stomach, cunt clenching.

In your house, the foyer light flickers on.

Your hips stall over Joel’s as you see your dad’s backlit silhouette moving around in the foyer. Likely sliding on his shoes, patting his pockets for his wallet and his work phone…. You have two minutes at best.

Joel’s eyes follow your distracted line of vision. His amused chuckle warms the back of your neck. “Oughta hurry up if you don’t wanna get caught. Your old man would be in for a rude awakening, headin’ to work and finding his precious little girl fuckin’ my leg like a whore,” he murmurs.

He bounces his leg underneath you, and you bite back the needy cry that threatens to slip out. It feels so good, too good for you to think about anything other than the haze of arousal and pleasure that hovers over your head like a perpetual fog. You return to grinding down on him, hips pumping with a greater, renewed speed. “Attagirl,” Joel croons at you, and the hand at the small of your back presses harder, pushing you up and down his thigh.

Short, strained breaths of yours meet the morning air, eyes pinned on the rectangular window. It’s a golden-washed reminder of how wrong this is. Your dad would blow a gasket, see red, breathe fire at you if he knew exactly what was happening just a few feet away from his front yard.

But you forget all about that when Joel’s calloused fingers cup your chin, nudging you to look at him. His eyes are all pupil, darkened with something like starvation, something like want. “Don’t look at him. Look at me,” he coaxes, and he bounces his thigh again.

You’re close, you can feel it. He can feel it, too, in the way that your thighs fasten around his, your cunt rocking on him as your fervor makes the whole front porch shake and shudder. Tossing your hips back and forth, you wanted it, but now? Now you need it. Your stomach tightens, your legs shivering below you as your cunt gushes all over both of your shorts. “That’s it, baby, come on me like you were beggin’ to. ‘S alright, nice and easy for daddy, mhm?” He tenses his thigh one final time, and you lurch over that edge. “Gooood girl,” he hums as your cunt flutters against his leg. “You’re a daredevil, aren’t you?” he asks, jerking his head toward your house.

You figure you must be, after what you just did.

You’d planned on staying there, riding it out and trembling against his warm chest. But the garage cranks open. You jolt off of Joel’s lap, damn near teleporting across the porch with how fast you move. Joel smirks at you, crossing his unfucked leg over his freshly fucked one, where you’d rubbed your cum all over his skin until it’d glistened. The sight warms your stomach all over again, but it doesn’t last – nerves spasm in your ribcage as your dad ducks out into the driveway.

You fumble with your shorts, pulling them down and crossing your hands in front of the obvious stain on the gray fabric. Your dad squints across the yard, cupping a hand over his eyes. “Miller?” He calls your name shortly after, and you straighten. “You’re up early, kiddo.”

You open your mouth, on the precipice of a lie that you know won’t be good. It’ll come out unsteady, dishonest, and uneven. 

Joel points at the package at the foot of his doorstep. “My toolbox got sent to yours,” he explains. “Damn postal. ‘Bout as good as the Boston Post Road these days. But your kid’s got me covered. Raised her right.”

For the second time, Joel Miller covers for you. You have no idea where this leaves you, standing under your dad’s scrutinizing gaze. With your cum cooling and sticking to your folds the same way it’s cooling and sticking to his leg, Joel knows your secret. And he’s keeping it.

Your dad only gives a shallow nod, looking between the two of you. “Well,” he hooks a hand back at his truck. “I gotta head off to work.” He shifts on his feet, this time pointing to you. “And you head back inside, kiddo. Too early for you to be up and movin’.” Of course it is.

You stare at the ground, the pollen and stray leaves below your feet. Finally, you settle on a nod. Shallow and halfhearted, much like his. Your dad, satisfied, retreats back into the garage. You hear the truck engine come to life.

“You heard the man,” Joel says. You tighten your fists, moving to step away, but the way Joel’s eyes glimmer has you loitering. He lowers his voice. “See you soon, daredevil.”

That damned nickname. “How do you know I’ll be back?” you retort under your breath.

He shrugs. “I’m sure there’ll be more… ‘packages’.”

You blame the heat in your body on the rising sun, sweat clinging to the back of your neck as you plod off through the front yard. There’s only one thought in your head as your dad pulls out and you close the garage. Mr. Miller can’t happen again.

Mistake number four: thinking you’re telling the truth.

#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic

[chrollohearttags]

sneaky link!levi headcanons

⚠️: black fem!reader, age gap (levi is early 30’s/reader is mid 20’s, I’ll leave the specifics to you!), infidelity, fingering, squirting, oral, he’s a little toxic, calls reader slut, spit play, sir used, power play/dynamic + modern au

📝: this was from an ask I got a long time ago but I lost it in my inbox! and I thought it’d be a lot of fun, epsoclally with a serious character like levi! 🫶🏾

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══ ✿✧˖°╞══✿══

sneaky link!levi, who you first met when you began working at a local coffee + tea shop in your area as a barista. He was the owner and your boss. Although he wanted to be more than that from the jump…

sneaky link!levi who took a special liking to you after only two weeks of being employed, was extra attentive and always watching over you like a hawk. “Good job, (y/n)..” “..you’re pretty damn good at this..”

sneaky link!levi eventually began to schedule you to close almost every night. Not just because you were new but because he wanted to any excuse for you guys to be alone.

“How are ya’ liking the job so far? You enjoying yourself, sweetheart?” “Of course, sir. I love it here. I appreciate the opportunity.”

sneaky link!levi, who notices how flustered you become at the mention of pet names and thinks it’s adorable, begins to slip the endearing terms in regular convo, just to get your reaction. Saying things like ‘good girl’ or ‘love’. Each time, garnering a stutter and your thighs being squeezed together.

sneaky link!levi decides to make a move one night after asking you to bend over and clean the espresso machine when he grips your waist and tugs your ass towards him..only a month after you began working there.

sneaky link!levi promised himself that he’d never mix business and pleasure, nor would he ever sleep with one of his employees but he can’t help it when he sees how those uniform pants hug your thick frame and how soft those plump lips looked, stained in gloss. Knowing that he’d be able to handle you if given the chance.

“I hope you don’t mind…I just can’t help myself. You’re so beautiful.” “I won’t tell if you won’t, sir.”

sneaky link!levi is very much aware that you have a boyfriend but simply doesn’t give a fuck because he knows you’re not even happy. Apparent by the angry phone calls on your lunch break.

sneaky link!levi, who lets out the hottest grunts when he orders you to your knees in his office and uses your pretty little mouth to his leisure. Slowly fucking your throat as he leans back on his desk. “Fuck, you’re such a good little slut..swallowed the whole damn thing..”

sneaky link!levi eats your pussy like an absolute fiend..placing you on his desk with your panties dangling on your ankle as he devours it; leaving long strings of saliva all over it and gracing your mouth a few as well. Finger fucking you until that orgasm comes barreling out and you wind up squirting up to his forearm.

“Let it out, pretty girl..give me what I want..”

sneaky link!levi who fucks you into near delirium after almost an hour or every position he could get you in. Handling you in ways that your current man could only dream of.. “..he ever make you feel this good, sweetheart? Don’t worry, you can come all over this dick..as much as you want. I won’t hold it against you.” Smirking as he strokes your clit and watches you writhe.

sneaky link!levi takes every opportunity to flirt and make you antsy whilst you’re working, teasing you just so he can get you aroused for later..

sneaky link!levi, who has you running at his beck and call..even after you’ve long clocked out and at home with your man. Texting you to come see him at all hours of the night, knowing you’d never be able to get enough of him.

#cherry’s works ✦⭒ #cherry’s asks 🍒 #aot x black reader #levi ackerman #levi x black reader #levi ackerman x black reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi smut #levi ackerman smut #levi x reader #levi aot #aot headcanons #levi headcanons #levi attack on titan #snk levi #snk smut #aot smut #smut drabble #aot modern au #aot drabbles #levi drabble #black fem reader #aot au #black reader smut #levi ackerman x female reader #cw spit #cw smut #attack on titan smut #attack on titan #attack on titan au

[sytoran]

𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐒 | 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐧𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐭.𝟏

you, a regular law-abiding citizen, saved the gods by accident. now, the goddess of lust, natasha, is going to grant you a wish. you could've had just about anything, but looking at the ethereal being before you, there's only one thing on your mind.

pairing: goddess!natasha x dom!fem!reader (G!P)

note: hello, folks! this is the long-awaited goddess!nat fic for the milestone event! i am quite proud of this fic, ngl... got a bit too carried away with some parts ;)

word count: 2.5k

the milestone event | main m.list | join the taglist | AO3

When you jumped in front of a speeding car to save a cat on the road, you had absolutely no clue that the cat was not, in fact, a cat.

This not-cat was a species of flerken, and it’s name was Goose. Flerkens were extremely dangerous alien creatures. At least, that’s what the Goddess of Galaxies, Carol Danvers, told you.

Trust me, meeting an intergalactic space goddess with a pet killing-machine (that looked awfully like a cat) was about as chaotic and unbelievable as you would imagine it to be.

—

“H-holy fuck!” you yelled, jumping in your seat, as a glowing woman materialised before your very eyes, in your shithole of an office. 

“I do not believe I am holy, even though I am a Goddess.” The woman stated, watching with curious eyes as you tittered over your split coffee. Lifting your laptop and muttering curses, then sifting through the messed up paperwork.

“You’re a what?” You asked distractedly, still panicking over the mess that is your desk. “My boss is actually going to murder me. Or maybe I’ll murder myself first. I am literally- Yeah, okay, how the fuck did you appear like that? And aren’t gods supposed to be like, really huge? You look kinda…… human.”

“I am a goddess.” Carol reiterated with slight annoyance. A literal extraterrestrial being was in front of your eyes, and the only thing you cared about was your damn coffee? 

“We are beings you could only ever fathom from the depths of your imagination, powerful beyond measure. Which is also why we can shapeshift to look like regular human beings, so we won’t scare the shit outta you. Which seems to have still happened.”

You let out a dry bark of laughter. Carol wasn’t sure if you thought she was funny or you were about to burst into tears.

“So, why did you decide to visit me, ever-powerful, omnipresent, all-mighty being?” You asked, half-sarcastically, half simply given up on life itself. The report you had been working on for nearly an hour had been ruined by the fiasco earlier. 

You dropped into your chair, kicking your feet up onto your desk. Loosening your black tie with a weary sigh, you looked at the Goddess’ eyes and continued. “I’m a nobody. I’m an overworked and underpaid attorney. I run on caffeine. I don’t know why or how you’re here, but I really–”

“You saved us. The Gods and Goddesses.” Carol interrupts, firm and unyielding. “We owe you, alright? You get one wish.”

“One wish, to get whatever it is you desire. Anything. Anything at all.”

—

Your story was absolutely one of zero to hero. From an ‘underpaid and overworked attorney’, to having the fucking gods of the multiverse indebted to you, it seemed like a rather unorthodox situation.

“So… what do you want?” Carol had asked you. 

“Uhm, I don’t need anything,” you mumbled, fiddling with your loosened tie. “Like, it’s totally chill between us even if I saved your cat.”

Great. Real cool, Y/N. The middle school boys could never compare to your level of failed attempts at being cool.

“Goose is not a cat, alright?” Carol commented, offended. You mutter an apology. 

“So, what do you want?” she continued impatiently. “Humans thrive off greed. You mortals always want something. What is it, money? A fancy car? A boyfr– okay, not to be stereotypical, but you’re definitely not straight. So, women on your mind?”

You splutter at her outright but nevertheless true allegation. Carol gives you this blank stare that makes you feel stupid. 

“Well, I guess, as a woman, there’s something I do want,” you speak up after a while. Carol raises her eyebrows in interest. “Something I have wanted to try, you know.”

Leaning closer to whisper your deepest desire in the goddess’ ear, Carol’s eyebrows disappear into her hairline. Her impressed, intrigued, embarrassed, and taken aback emotions all morphed into one expression, almost steals a laugh from your lips.

—

“You want me to grant you a cock.”

The Goddess of Lust sits in her throne, a picturesque image of perfection, the statement falling from her lips with such ease. There’s a lilt to her voice you can’t decipher. You just nod, looking unfalteringly at the goddess, as if it was the most normal request in the world. 

The Goddess was slightly perturbed by your lack of, well, awe. There you were, standing in her grand palace, unfazed by the multi-million dollar chandeliers and gold-framed pictures, unfazed by her.

Natasha was just about the most exquisite sight people would kill to lay their eyes upon. Soft curls framed her delicately sculpted face like curtains to a stage, magnificent deep eyes and a more than well-endowed body to complement her pretty face. Her rose-gold dress of satins and sequins dripped with money. There was the thrall she exuded, of seduction so strong that had men and women falling to their knees.

Natasha was the Goddess of Lust for sakes, and the only thing you cared about was redeeming your wish?

She would’ve been annoyed, if not for how unfairly charming you were, standing with your hands in your pockets, a charming gentlemanly smile on your face.

“What kind of cock do you want?” Natasha resorts to ask, a playful smirk on her features. “I’ve seen some interesting ones over the years, intergalactic sex is far crazier than you would imagine. Ooh, do you want tentacles to-”

“Uh, no thanks.” You say hurriedly, a hand going out of your pocket to rub at your nose. It’s the first sign of discomfort or embarrassment Natasha’s seen from you. She grins. 

“Just a regular human one?” She clarifies, pouting at you slightly. 

“That’d be great, yeah.” You respond, back to smiling brightly. Natasha frowns. She knows that there’s something under that stupid gentlemanly facade you’re putting on. She’s craving to get a taste of it.

“What size?” The Goddess asks bluntly, like a Starbucks barista asking for your order on a Monday morning.

“A regular size would be fine, I suppose.” You respond in kind, nodding to yourself assuredly. Natasha winks at you. “Ah, a regular size, I see.”

Before you can decipher that cryptic response, the Goddess stands up, a pillar of superiority and authority. She snaps her fingers, and you’re being pushed back into a fancy chair. Where did the chair come from, anyway?

You forgo the answer to that question as the Goddess begins what you would assume to be the procedure. “Sit tight.”

A surge of pain presses against your crotch area, and you almost keel forward in shock, but the pain goes as quickly as it comes. 

“Wait….. that’s it?” You ask, almost disbelievingly. Natasha nods proudly.

You look down, hands resting on your belt buckle. 

You look up at the Goddess, and she only smirks. 

You pull down your pants in swift fashion, letting out a quiet ‘whoa’ at the bulge in your boxers. It definitely feels bigger than would be regular, but then again you don’t have much knowledge of a man’s cock per se.

“Thank you,” You say, pleased with the results. Trying something new in the bedroom would definitely bring more life to your desolate days.

All too quick for the Goddess’ liking, you’re putting your clothes back on and getting ready to leave. “Thanks for your help,” You say calmly, turning to walk down the long passageway.

God, you just wanted to watch her fall apart.

As you walk, you feel Natasha’ eyes burning holes through your back. Oh, the tension was palpable, building with each step you took. It was getting harder to walk, with Natasha’s thrall like a heavyweight on your shoulders, willing you not to leave.

As you stand before the tall doors, you come to a standstill. Natasha waits in her throne with bated breath, so many words fighting to fall from the tip of her stubborn lips.

Your hand pushes down on the door handle, and that’s the last thing you can do before Natasha snaps her fingers again, and the tension is broken like a snapped coil. Suddenly, you’re pressed against her, looking into her dilated pupils.

“You’re so annoying, you know? I’ve been so fucking horny, looking at you this whole time, and you were about to get up leave?” Natasha asks, her tongue coming out to dart at her pink lips. Her hands have grasped your forearms, but your hands are cinched around her waist, disabling movement.

“No,” you breathe, head moving down to trail open-mouthed kisses along the column of her poised neck. “I was waiting for you.” The Goddess throws her head back under your fleeting touch. 

“Fuckin’ tease,” she mumbles, and you smirk against her skin. You’re rough with her, too, knowing that she isn’t made of glass, sucking purple marks into the pale skin of her neck, shoving your knee between her legs to spread them wider.

“Too much clothes,” Natasha breathes, and then with a burst of magic you’re stripped bare of any article of clothing. Her hands fly to your cock instantaneously, wrapping her delicate fingers around your semi-hard member.

You grunt against her skin, struggling to find a better position to properly have her. Since she’s sitting in the throne and you’re bent over above her, you can barely have her the way you want. Due to your lack of magical power, you resort to doing things the hard way.

Your hands slide under Goddess’ dress, going under her thighs, and then manhandling her up. Natasha’s whines of disapproval turn on deaf ears as you sit yourself in the grand chair, plopping her onto your lap. You don’t miss the way her thighs are already slightly damp.

“Need you inside now, fuck,” Natasha growls into your skin, climbing onto your cock as your hands squeeze at her thighs. You proceed to rip the fabric off her skin, deciding that there’s too much clothing restricting you from getting your hands on her.

And boy, was that a sight you’d never forget. 

“Oh!” The Goddess cries, when you lean forward to wrap your lips around her hardened bud. Your hands don’t rest for a moment, squeezing everywhere – hips, thighs, breasts, ass — whatever you can get your hands on. She’s fucking exquisite.

The stimulation seems to work wonders for Natasha’s pleasure, as she engulfs your cock in her warmth with fervour.

You gasp lowly, a throaty sound escaping your lips. Her hips and ass go up and down, working her cunt around the girth of your cock, wet and warm and slick. You can barely keep up with how desperate she is, and the fact that you have this wonder of a woman falling apart at your hands makes your heart soar.

Matching the rhythm of short upward thrusts with Natasha’s riding makes her moan out loud, a pretty melodious sound that imprints itself into your brain all at once. You wanna hear it a hundreds of times more.

Natasha gets more messy with her riding, as you suck hickeys, light ones and fierce ones, into her collarbone and her neck and breasts. You can’t resist the urge to slap her on the ass as she rides you like it’s the last day she’d be on this universe.

“Ah!” The Goddess moans, and you grip her thighs and push her down hilt deep, and her eyes roll into the back of her head. You feel her cum around your cock, so needy and desperate and mindless, and that triggers your own climax. 

Natasha hadn’t even begun to open her eyes again before she ends up on the floor and you hovering above her, your hands fervently spreading her cunt open. You duck your head down, licking a long stripe up her puffy clit. 

The Goddess writhes, unintelligible moans falling from her lips as you proceed to give her the best fucking cunnilingus of her life.

You’re more than determined to make this an unforgettable experience for the Goddess who probably had sex every other day. 

Natasha doesn’t know what the fuck you’re doing with your tongue, but you’re ravenous and your carnal desire makes her even wetter than before.

She’s slept with plenty of people, human or not, but none of them had ever been this uncouth about her pussy. Oh, it nearly drove her mad, but she was already seeing stars.

Before the Goddess registers what’s happening, your hardened cock slides into her cunt with a flippant ease once again. Natasha lets out a filthy moan as she feels it throb inside her, clenching around you hard.

You slap her thigh in retaliation, but feeling the sudden strike of pain only turns her on further. “Gonna fill you up so good,” you pant. “You won’t be able to walk tomorrow.” 

Natasha takes it as a promise, when you spread her thighs and line your cock up with her pussy. The Goddess of Lust doesn’t think she’s ever wanted anyone this bad.

You enter her roughly, your previously calm exterior completely faded away. You fuck her deeper with each thrust, opening the Goddess up. Pounding into the woman’s cunt like a woman starved, you hear her beg and cry with each thrust.

“Oh, please! More! More!” The Goddes cries, nearly screaming your name every time your blunt head pushes against her cervix. You only get spurred on further, going at a pace so painfully fast you don’t know if you’ll be able to walk tomorrow.

You swallow at the sight of this Goddess, completely breathtaking in her state of unravelling. 

“My divine Goddess,” You say, leaning down to press a kiss against the bulge of your cock at her lower stomach. 

Those words in itself have Natasha uncoiling before you, your name falling from her lips like a sacred mantra. Her walls are wrapped around your cock so tight, her nails digging into your back so hard it nearly draws blood.

“My divine Goddess,” you repeat, eyes glazed over, reaching your own climax inside her. Natasha lets out a filthy moan, feeling each throb of your cock in her as walls of cum pulse inside her, again and again. 

God, it feels so good, everything everywhere all at once, your world becoming Natasha, Natasha, Natasha. 

You think you could stay like this forever.

—

A long bath and a trip to the Goddess’ bedroom later, you’re laying on her expensive silk sheets, hair smelling like rosemilk or whatever that shampoo had been called.

You honestly don’t know how this gorgeous woman’s been charmed by your awkward humour and the coffee stain on your work shirt, but you’re definitely not complaining as she nuzzles into your neck, humming in satisfaction.

“You sure that’s the first time you’ve ever had a cock?”

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#natasha romanoff x reader smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #bottom natasha romanoff #sub natasha romanoff #x reader #marvel #marvel smut #marvel women #top reader #dom reader #gxg smut #wlw smut #goddess natasha #sytoran's 2k celebration

[emchant3d]

little blurb based off my son of the mafia Steve au - posted this on twt this morning and I want it over here too 🥰 I literally only have this and one other little bit written idk what this will turn out to be but have it anyway!!

Steve’s a morning person. Eddie is decidedly not. And yeah, Steve loves staying in bed with him, but the curtains in Eddie’s room are thin and the sun is cutting right across his eyes in a way that he can’t ignore, so he carefully extracts himself from the bed. It’s a delicate process, gently taking Eddie by the wrist to move his arm from around Steve’s waist, moving slowly to not jostle the mattress and startle his love awake.

Steve's making breakfast when he hears a shuffle of feet behind him. He turns, giving Wayne a little smile. "Morning, Mr. Munson," he says, nodding towards the coffee pot and looking back to the stove. "Coffee's made."

Wayne gives a thankful little hum, and moves in silence, the only sound the soft splash of black coffee hitting a ceramic mug and a slow sip.

He can feel Wayne's eyes on his back. He flips the bacon, poking it gently with the spatula, and he waits.

"I like you, Steve," Wayne eventually says. His voice is gruff and slow, and Steve smiles at him over his shoulder, knowing what's coming next. "But," and there it is. 

Steve straightens, turning to face him and rolling his shoulders back. "I don't know how good you are for Eddie. He's been through a lot, son. And you...well. We're not gonna stand here and act like you and your family don't come with a whole world of baggage." Steve hums his agreement.

"You're right," he says, nodding. "But which side of my family is the problem?" Wayne's jaw twitches.

"Ed's got enough experience with breakin' the law for a lifetime," he bites out, and that's an answer in and of itself. Steve smiles again, formal, small.

"I'm not involved in my grandfather's family business," he says, rote and regular, the same line he's been taught to use since he was a child.

"Don't give me that shit, boy." He points at him, mouth set in an angry frown. "You think I don't know your mama? You think I didn't see you runnin' round with your cousins when they'd visit?"

The eggs need to be flipped. He turns back to the stove, grabbing the spatula and keeping his eyes on the food as he takes a moment to think.

"I understand your concern," he says evenly, and Wayne scoffs behind him. "But I promise you, Mr. Munson," he picks up a plate, sliding two fried eggs onto it and adding a healthy serving of fried potatoes, "I won't let anything happen to him." He turns, meeting Wayne's gaze and handing him the plate.  

Wayne stares him down, silent. His eyes pinch, and he swallows hard. "How can you promise that?" he asks, and Steve's smile goes sharp.

"In my experience, it's best to not ask questions you don't want an answer to."

His eyes flick up when he catches a bit of movement, and he smiles as Eddie shuffles into the kitchen. "Morning, baby," he says, and Eddie grumbles at him, side-steps Wayne to worm his way into Steve's arms. Steve laughs and gives him a gentle squeeze, kissing his bedhead.

"Sit at the table," he murmurs into his hair, "I'll make you a plate." 

"Coffee," Eddie demands, and Steve's smile widens.

"Coming right up."

"Kiss," he demands next, and Steve beams at him, gently lifting Eddie's chin to press a soft kiss to his mouth. He lingers for just a moment, giving a gentle bite to Eddie's lower lip and feeling Eddie smile into it. 

He pulls away then, sleep-rumpled and gorgeous, and Steve flicks his eyes to Wayne, gauging his expression.

He doesn't look happy. Eddie's too tired to notice, though, and soon the two of them are talking quietly at the table while Steve fixes Eddie's coffee the way he likes and fries two sunny side up eggs.

Wayne doesn't like Steve, and that's fine. He doesn't blame him, not a bit. He understands.

He sets the plate in front of Eddie, brings the coffee pot to top off Wayne's mug, and knows regardless of how Wayne feels, he isn't going anywhere. Not unless Eddie asks.

And he's going to make damn sure that Eddie never asks.

#steddie #mafia son steve #steve & wayne #based on the idea that wayne does NOT want eddie involved with steve #wayne likes him well enough but that doesn't mean he wants eddie tangled up in whatever the harrington boy and his mom have going on

[gamermattsgf]

Sour diesel // dealer Chris

Warnings: Chris smut / blowjob / male stimulation / throat fuck / usage of drugs / smoking / shotgun kiss / drug dealer!Chris x fem reader / hair pulling / switch Chris / exhibitionism / slapping / slight degradation + begging kink? / Chris + lip pierced

Summary: Chris is the reader’s drug dealer. And a very close drug dealer at that. Close enough for him to want to get high and horny with her when she unexpectedly shows up at his doorstep.

Author’s notes: don’t do drugs kids!! For some strange reason, Chris suspiciously fits this role perfectly irl. I don’t know what it is about him… Maybe it’s just the fact that he constantly looks high, or maybe it’s his hair and clothes… idk. Anyways, yes, proceed to enjoy some good ol’ weed smoking lovin’ ;)

“Legs in the air, all dirty again… smoking some more, I’m in her space… she touches me there, and then I do it again” - Sour diesel, Zayn

Police sirens wail from outside of the busy apartment complex. You knock on the brown door with a brass metal ‘4’ screwed onto the top of it before stepping back and cautiously peering your head down either side of the corridor to check if anyone else is around.

It’s a dreary but bright day, the sun pale with grey clouds flooding the sky. All throughout the city impatient cars honk their horns and the bustle of the crowds is never ending.

The twist of a lock on the other side of the door snaps your eyes back to the peeling front paint. The door creaks open a crack, and the familiar face of the man on the other side peeks out of it sneakily to examine who it is that is at his door, before realising that it’s you and gasping quietly.

He shuts the door quietly once again and you can hear the scratching of the metal chain being slid off of the door hook so that he can open it fully.

Once he does you see him with a white shirt resting on the hooks of his elbows, as if he was half way ready to put it on when you had knocked on the door. His messy dark brown tresses of curls are dishevelled and dust about his forehead in a fluffy nest, like he had just woken up. Equally, his naked, pale chest is on full display before he shoves his head through the t-shirt hole and uses his hands to pull it right down to his hips, where a pair of black sweatpants rest lowly below his hipbones. This only furthers your guess about him napping before seeing you.

‘Ayy! Doll face, come on in pretty!’ He quips in a friendly manner, a toothy grin lighting up his face whilst he steps aside to let you into his apartment. The labret lip ring nestled into the centre of his bottom lip glints with every move his mouth makes in the fluorescent hallway lighting.

You cheerily muse back a quick ‘long time no see Chris… started to miss you’ as you walk past the threshold, unconsciously looking up to one of his hands that grips the door right above his head whilst he leans on the wood.

Chris laughs fondly at your statement, slamming and locking the door shut behind you which encloses the both of you into his dingy apartment with dirty laundry scattered about the floor and the dishes still undone in his kitchen area.

‘Was it me you were missing? Or the drugs?’

Scanning around the apartment more thoroughly this time, you start to notice the little things… like a marijuana crusher, as well as messily stashed small plastic baggies with white powder or pills in them and joint rolling paper scattered across his already busy coffee table.

Chris is your drug dealer.

But… he is also somewhat of a friend as well. To be honest though, this is about as friendly as one can get with their supplier. Chris normally does his deals outside, in sketchy alleyways or at 3am with an all black attire and his hood up all the way.

You are the only customer who knows where he lives, because he’s fond of you, and you’re also a regular, so you often pop by if you’re feeling like it to have a nose into his endeavours and recent transactions.

‘Joint?’

You turn around at the sound of Chris’ question and watch the way he walks over to his old worn out green couch. ‘Yeah of course’ you respond whilst Chris groans as he bends his knees to sit down, quickly getting to work by bending his torso over the coffee table.

‘Got a weed preference? Gelato? Blue dream?’ He asks politely once again over his shoulder at you, because you’re still standing in his open apartment, breathing in the scent of strong narcotics and relaxant drugs. Taking that as a cue to sit down, you round the couch and plop down next to him whilst he slides out a little foot stool from underneath the couch.

You watch his hands flip up the top of the stool to reaveal a secret boxed compartment inside of it. Humming, you purse your lips in thought whilst he opens the compartment’s lid to reveal a bunch of different weed bags, looking at you with raised eyebrows as he waits for you to make a decision.

‘Umm… surprise me’ you land on finally, shrugging and grinning whilst Chris gives you a playful look and a cool nod. ‘Ooo dangerous girl today are we?’ he sniggers, before humming himself and biting his lip whilst his hand rummages around in between the different baggies to pick one out for you two himself.

‘Hmm, this one!’ He finally says, selecting out a small bag with a really dark green hybrid in it. ‘Yeah? How much do I owe you?’ You mention, before stuffing your hand down the front left pocket of your jeans to fish out a couple of bills.

Chris only smacks his lips and bats your hand that is extending money out to him away. ‘Yo- don’t be stupid, this is my treat’ he scolds as he fishes out the drug and weighs it, before putting it into the grinder and working against the plant root.

His arms flex as he twists the grinder to break up the drug into a fine consistency, all the while frowning at you to put your money away. ‘Ugh Chris, you can’t just keep giving me your supplies for free, that’s not how it works… drugs are fucking pricey bud’ you roll your eyes, before stuffing at least a couple of bills into his sweatpant pocket before he could stop you.

He sighs.

‘Ugh fine… but it’s not like you’re my only customer y’know… trust me I have plenty to pay the bills’ he finishes with a cocky tone, before opening up the grinder and swiftly pouring out the mixture into a line on some rolling paper. You silently watch him in awe as he expertly rolls the joint, before licking the side of it with his tongue and twisting it into place like a professional, all in under a minute. You can tell he’s rolled quite a decent bit judging by how easy it is for him.

‘Balcony?’ He questions, raising his eyebrows and pointing to the screen door that leads out onto his small balcony, two deck chairs sitting side by side. You nod happily, and then follow him outside onto the balcony.

*

‘So, how’s business?’ You ask whilst comfortably seated in one of the deck chairs, watching Chris tentatively as he perches the joint within his lips and wraps his hand around a lighter. Quickly he flicks it into a spark and lights up the joint before relaxing into his own chair and taking it from his mouth.

‘It’s actually been pretty good lately! Got a lot of new shit I can’t wait to try out…’

As he speaks, the smell of potent weed fills the air and a white plume of smoke trickles out from in between his lips. Holy shit this is strong stuff. But of course it is. This is Chris we’re talking about, and he always saves the best stuff for you.

‘Yeah?’

You respond whilst Chris leans over to pass you the sparked joint from in between his fingers, which you take and inhale yourself. He hums in agreement. The smoke coats your throat all the way down and instantly relaxes you whilst the drug stimulates your brain and melts your limbs further into the chair.

‘Oh… by the way- I hope you don’t mind but I wanted to smoke some sour diesel. This specific strain that I have is supposed to make you feel really horny… so just a little heads up in advance’.

Chris guiltily rambles on with a laughed smirk, his thighs manspread out widely and his fingers clasped together on his stomach whilst he waits to receive the joint back. You clench… did he pick that hybrid to smoke with you on purpose? Or were you just kidding yourself. Because the way he was gazing at you currently made you naturally assume that he had unholy intentions.

‘Oh um… yeah that’s fine. I suppose if we both end up high and horny then that’s just how it’s gotta be’.

You shrug and nod jokingly whilst passing back the joint. ‘Shit, awesome, thanks, I can always count on you’ Chris muses excitedly before slipping the joint back into his mouth. Depending on how he moves, the silver lip ring pierced into his lip glints in the dull sunlight as he opens his mouth yet again to do a French inhale with the smoke blowing up towards his nose. I watch as it then calmly dissipates into the air.

‘Wanna shotgun?’ Chris then pipes up, sweetly offering to second hand smoke with you so that you could use more of the joint and not waste any of the valuable drug. Okay this can’t have been a coincidence, first the sour diesel and now offering to shotgun kiss with you? There’s no fucking way.

Nodding nonchalantly, you try to hide your heart flipping dramatically as best as you can whilst both you and him lean forward. Chris passes you the joint so that you get more of the hit than him, and you feed it into your mouth slowly, concealing your jittering hands by harshly pinching the rolling paper.

Leaning forward more, it all happens so fast as you drop your mouth and start to expel the smoke. It’s not needed, but Chris’ hand sneakily snakes around the back of your neck to keep the both of you close and steady as he recieves the second hand smoke. Both of your lips almost brush one another as Chris holds the smoke in his mouth for a moment before giving a quiet moan mixed with a sigh as he blows it back out into your face.

He then giggles cutely after you scrunch up your nose since you’re not expecting the white cloud to make your eyes water. ‘This is good shit’ you sputter, to keep yourself as distracted as possible from your sweating palms and throbbing nerves. You hate to say it, but you have the biggest crush on your drug dealer.

You know, it’s fucking stupid, but he’s just so hot, who fucking wouldn’t have a crush on him? He’s around your age, is attractive, and has impeccable charisma. It’s harder to not have a crush on him. Sometimes you trick yourself into believing that he only lets you come to his apartment to chat and see all of his stash first because the feelings are mutual.

If only you knew how right you actually were.

‘I know right?’ Chris chuckles back, before his deck chair squeaks underneath his lean, muscular body after he puts the joint back into his mouth and this time knocks his head back. You can’t help but get distracted from your surroundings in favour of looking at his sharp jawline and hollowing cheekbones whilst his neck bends and he expertly blows out a set of three smoke rings into the air above him.

‘How do you do that? It’s so cool!’ You laugh shyly, snuggling down into your sweater because of the chilly breeze that blows by suddenly whilst you cover your mouth with one of your sweater pawed sleeves. Chris gazes over at you with his already sunken eyes, a little half smile curling up one side of his face in proud achievement.

He loves trying to impress you then succeeding.

‘Lots and lots of practice baby cakes, I’ll teach you next time you come around…’

He replies back with one of his plethora of nicknames for you. You could tell straight off of the bat from when you had first met each other that giving people nicknames was sort of his thing, and you thought it was really very sweet.

‘But today…’ he starts, before groaning quietly as he leans back over to you to pass you the joint from his slouched sitting position.

‘We have some good weed to finish off…’

*

‘I am so fucking high right now’ Chris giggles before snorting, trying to hush his own laughter by slapping his hand against his mouth as his shoulders shake in place.

From the opposite side of his ratty green couch, you lie there simply looking up at the ceiling whilst opening and closing your mouth in stupefied awe.

In the background, the gentle scratch of SZA’s ctrl album hums quietly through the vinyl that he had put on his record player earlier after coming in from smoking on his balcony.

‘How much of that weed did we smoke?’ You slur back to him, tilting your head upwards so that you can look over at his tipped up chin and spread thighs. His back lies cosily tucked up on his side of the pillows as he screws up his eyes and sleepily blinks a couple of times.

‘Is it even fuh-fuckin’ working?’ He mumbles to me whilst shifting his heavy feeling arms to rub his hands all the way down his black sweats tantalisingly. ‘Cause all I feel is slightly sweaty… and a little tingly’.

All of a sudden you’re sweating yourself. But it’s not because his apartment is hot, it’s because you’re looking at him and the way he toys with the drawstrings of his sweats absentmindedly. ‘Which isss, which is pretty fuhckin’ normal conssssidering we’ve just smoked-’ Chris hiccups ‘-a fuck bunch of diesel’. Then he giggles again to himself, as if finding it absolutely hilarious that both of you are probably high out of your minds.

‘Uh- umm… dunno if it’s working for me…’ you lie, before desperately trying to retract your eyes from the way he gently tugs on the drawstrings and rolls them in between his fingers and thumbs.

You just hope that Chris can’t hear the way you shuffle your legs closer so that you can squeeze your thighs together secretly. The last thing you want to attract is attention, clearly in denial of the fact that you certainly feel the drug seeping through your nervous system now.

It’s bad enough that you have a crush on him already, now you think some higher being just wants to punish you for it. Something within you is definitely working, because you feel extra horny…

Chris shifts a little, bucking his lower body up with a meek groan coming from his mouth before you hear his hip bone crack. Then he goes still with a content sigh, clearly enjoying the certain blissfulness the drug provides him with.

He seems a lot less bothered than you about this. But you suppose taking drugs is practically what he does for a living, so he’s used to it.

You continue to stare at the roof, lazily trailing your eyes all the way up the various cracks in the ceiling plaster that have resulted because of damp infrastructure, just trying to keep yourself calm for the moment.

But then he starts up his squirming again a little later, and it’s as if he just can’t get comfortable this time because occasionally his socked feet will subtly nudge your’s or you’ll hear him moaning in relaxation every time he moves.

The drug seems to have this god awful effect on your body that simply makes you ache all over. It feels like your inner thighs have a million pins and needles in them.

You know he’s just trying to get comfortable… but within your lack of vision and your current state of heated wetness you can’t help but transform those softly uttered sounds into something a lot dirtier. How unfair of him to sound so much like a porn star.

Meanwhile, Chris is currently going through every stage of horniness that he thinks he could possibly imagine one would experience.

First the small tingling within his gut starts that signals to his brain that his body wants sex. Next comes the unbearably uncomfortable and itchy state his burning skin goes through, whilst disastrously filthy images travel through his mind and hang there like suspended thoughts.

Thoughts like what you, one of his clients… would look like naked. What your tits would look like, whether or not they are a nice shape or not. If you have smaller and sweeter nipples or if you have ones that he can really wrap his tongue around. Whether you prefer to sit commandingly on top and listen to the guy underneath you or flip it and have it the other way around. Are you into threesomes? Because Chris sure is, and he has a friend he can call on speed dial if you ever were to wish it.

Any thought currently floating within his mind always redirects itself back to you lying opposite him with your closed thighs that he so badly wants to pry open himself. He feels as though he has to check himself now. It’s not much of a surprise when he registers the heavy feeling in his lower gut because he knows it all too well. He’s already sensitive and aching.

He’s hard.

But who wouldn’t be if they were thinking about having sex with one of the prettiest girls Chris had ever known, that also just so happens to be someone he dealt drugs to on the side…

*

The more you listen in to Chris’ annoyingly erotic sounds, the more the darkly temping thought of just saying fuck it and jumping on top of him edges your already infected mind.

Not looking over at him to check what he is actually doing kills you, and soon you just can’t help yourself but take a quick sneak peek at your drug dealer. You have to stifle a gasp though, because when you look you do not quite expect to see what you do.

Lying down right opposite you is Chris in his original position, with his black sweat-pant clad legs spread outwards and his feet planted to the couch cushions whilst his knees are bent upwards lazily. The grey zip up hoodie that he had slipped on earlier slouches open to put his white t-shirt on show whilst his rosy cheeks appear flushed and his face screws itself up in pleasure.

You practically gawk at the way he has his whole entire hand shoved down the expanse of his front waistband.

His pierced lip ring catches in between the bite of his teeth whilst his eyes lie squeezed shut and his legs spread unconsciously further the more his hips buck whilst he fucks his hand.

The hand tucked beneath his sweats, you notice, bulges slowly as he pants through his bitten lip and releases a gut-wrenchingly horny moan with his back arching and his chin tipping unbearably further up into the couch armrest.

The drug clearly seems to be in full swing now, because with every corner your mind turns, the dead end spells out ‘sex’. It seems to be all your body wants in this very moment. You don’t even think you can get up from the couch no matter how hard you try, because Chris is simply right here, wet and ready just for you.

There seems to be no sense of urgency around Chris to get rid of his seemingly prominent boner, in fact, you’ll bet he’s just leisurely strolling his way through the feelings of ecstasy.

‘Chris what are you doing?’ You decide to stupidly bumble in a small voice to catch his attention, but Chris doesn’t seem to care all that much that he’s openly thrusting up into his hand in front of you.

‘Sorry I- I couldn’t help how sensitive I was…’ he finally whines into the air apologetically before his breath hitches and he almost cries out a gulp of air after you see a finger - seemingly his thumb - move up from behind the fabric to rub his tip in slow, circular motions.

He almost begins to shiver whilst his head hopelessly twists from side to side, just to give him some form of distraction from the stimulation he feels.

Never before in your life have you seen a man so sensitive because of his cock before.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you decide to crunch up to a sitting position, your eyes trained on a babyish looking Chris that lies almost in a crumpled heap with his forehead sweating and his pupils blown drastically in size.

He pants and looks directly at you whilst jerking off, making your stomach flip again as he gazes at your body with hungry eyes.

Dripping. You’re actually dripping for him.

Never before in your life have you felt more like a piece of meat that a lion is simply salivating to get his teeth on.

His eyes keep a hold of you for the whole entire time it takes your body to crawl up to his. As you reach him, your own brain begins to fuzz, and you sort of forget where the fuck you are. You loose touch with reality.

Must have been the drug.

All you know is that Chris is here, clearly as horny as you, and in need of your help.

‘Shhhh… shhh… don’t cry baby’ you gently whisper yet another slur to him through your state of heavy intoxication coated with the rings of compulsory sexual desire. God, you had no idea that the diesel increased people’s libidos either, because regularly you’d never have the guts to utter something like that to someone you liked, especially Chris.

Chris slowly stops and he gulps after you drag one of your fingers down his lips, only to tug on his pierced one so that you can watch it recoil back up into its original resting place. Quickly he feeds about half of the lip back into the bite of his teeth whilst gazing up at you with glassy doe-eyed pupils.

‘What’s gotten you so worked up baby boy?’ You coo to him yet again, before smoothing your hands down his waist and his hipbones, which causes him to gently shiver and whine into the back of his throat. He swallows and tries to speak. But he can’t, because instead he has to squeeze his eyes shut and careen his body forward in pleasure after he tightens his hand just that little bit more around his hot, stiffened skin.

The feeling is unmatched and spit almost comes freely tumbling out from his open mouth due to gravity. His shoulders heave, and you pet his hair gently whilst sitting on your haunches and pressing one of your heels up into your heat to suppress your unbearable wetness. You pout before clearing the floppy hair from out of his eyes and asking him if you can get rid of his pants because ‘it must be awfully tough to move around in them hey?’.

So you gently slide them down his haired thighs after he struggles a ‘please… fucking please- I can barely take it anymore’, before also deciding to hook your fingers into his boxers to take them off too.

He is thicker than he is longer, but still has decent size. He’s also obviously damp and sticky from where his hand has been holding him because his pretty-looking cock glimmered slightly in the white light protruding from his ceiling fan. Pre-come readily drips out from the top of his aching prick, and leaks its way down the rest of his shaft.

Chris only looks up at you with a sloppy smirk, before reaching out one of his hands to squish them against your cheeks and guide your eyes to look up at his own.

‘Stop your drooling doll face and eyes up here… just you wait ma, as soon as you get your mouth on me I am going to be moaning your name for weeks after this one…’

You feel like almost fainting on the spot as your head aches and your core throbs with damp heat. You feel like you can’t even speak anymore, because all of your words have been sucked from your mouth. Sitting in between his spread thighs, his back props itself up against the arm of the couch whilst you can’t help but look down at his once again.

‘You wouldn’t believe how sensitive I get… and I fucking love it, I could be squealing the whole entire apartment block down and I still wouldn’t give a shit because of how fucking good it feels’. Chris rasps from his position below you, still hot and still sweaty from the affect of the drug but 100% ready to get his hands all over you.

Both of your hands are layered on each of his thighs and without warning, you squeeze them. This makes him hiss slightly in stimulated pain, but it also gives him pleasure because he smirks through it all. ‘Go on… put your tongue on me… I know you want to…’ he taunts in a low whisper, like Adam tempting Eve with an apple and playing with her biggest weaknesses.

Your heart beats down at your clit easily through the influence of the drug, and you don’t hesitate, not after Chris mumbles ‘I know you like it… and I know you wanna know what it feels like when I hit the back of your throat’.

Your mouth waters at the huskiness of his whisper and you swallow, looking up at Chris with devilishly hooded eyes that Aphrodite gifts you, especially for a task like this.

‘I dare you…’

You don’t give him much time to say anything else, because you’re eagerly spitting a thick string of saliva right onto his cock instead. You watch as it slips all the way down the base of his thickness slowly whilst you hear Chris pant deeply, his Adam’s apple bobbing and his eyelashes feathering dreamily at the sensation of your spit mingling with his pre-come.

His large hands grab onto any part of the couch they can find and hold onto it for dear life after he stutters a whiny little ‘Oh- oh god…’ with his breath hitching and his stomach convulsing under the sensation of your tongue. You sit on your knees properly, your hands caressing his thighs as you drop your head right down so that you can nuzzle against his throbbing nerve.

As you get closer you spy a thick blue vein on the underside of his dick and try to remember where it is for later stimulation. But for now you simply look up at him with your own little smirk decorating your face whilst he gazes down at you, looking helpless and needy. Puckering your lips, you decide to tease him a little by placing pathetic, minuscule kisses up on his wet tip, before nudging it with your nose. Chris whines a little in annoyance at this with his back arching babyishly as though he’s about to throw a temper tantrum.

‘What a pretty little boy’ you muse generously, before whispering ‘you’d hit my g-spot easily baby…’ up to him, which has his hips bucking uncontrollably into the air. Although, one of your hands comes down to slap his thigh at this.

‘Hey! Don’t be naughty now… you’ll get my tongue in a minute… let me have a look at you first’ you scold him harshly, now holding down both of his hips before you peek out your tongue to give him a short kitten lick. You can tell he wants to thrust up into your mouth so badly based off of the resistance your hands face, however, you don’t let him just yet.

‘You let me have my fun, and then you can have your fun, Chris’ you bark at him which seems to put his filthy mouth in place.

Leaning back up again on your haunches, you now decide to spit into your hand and wrap it around his pulsating cock. You can tell Chris isn’t expecting this due to the way he cries out into the air slightly before you start to slowly stroke him. You feel some form of heart beat throbbing underneath his thickness whilst your hand works against him. You make your hand tight and slow to allow him enough sensual pleasure whilst not going too fast so that you can also savour the moment.

Whilst keeping your hand going, you manage to get onto your hands and knees so that you can lean up closer to his face and really look at how he squirms about helplessly below you.

��Gotta get you ready for my mouth, don’t I?’ You innocently speak down to him, but Chris only tips his head back in return to hit it against the armrest and squeeze his eyes shut. His panting breaths are raggedy and laboured whilst he tries to focus on his breathing above all else, but he can’t help but feel slightly tortured under the influence of your palm.

‘Fuck- fucking lick me… please gorgeous… I- I need you so bad’ his voice reduces to pathetic begs as he finds the time to now viciously twist your shirt in between his knuckles and yank at it like a pouty child. You roll your eyes and tighten your hand, mumbling a quick ‘needy boy aren’t you?’ Before finally giving in to his agonising cries.

You lower yourself back down with Chris putting a somewhat happy smile onto his face through the pained pleasure after getting you to crack and give him what he wants.

This time, you don’t beat around the bush. If Chris wants it he can fucking have it for all you care. Letting go of his cock, you substitute your hand for your tongue and lick a bold stripe all the way from the base to the tip.

‘Jesus Christ…’ he whines in overstimulation, only the torture doesn’t stop there, because he has to repeat himself louder when you quickly slide his tip into you mouth, briefly lollipopping it and coating it with more of your saliva before you slide it back out with a wet ‘pop’.

‘Ugh… more… please- please give me more!’ Chris moans impatiently, whining like a fucking spoilt brat as he finally makes a decision to tangle his hands within your hair and keep them there so that he can pull on your strands whenever he feels like it. His cheeks are a furious red, and even his brow is sweating whilst he looks down towards your kneeling figure.

You roll your eyes with a glare, and he shies away at this, averting his eyes so that you won’t shout at him or slap his thigh again.

Going back to your work, your tongue playfully slips out once so that you can roll it over his tip. This seems to give Chris a wild rush of euphoria because of the way he’s cursing and groaning.

Jesus… he wasn’t kidding when he said he liked to squeal his whole apartment block down.

You smirk.

But your eyes also water because of how harshly Chris is clawing at your hair.

So you decide to give him a fright and deep throat him.

It works, because as soon as you slide him down your throat he moans into the air once again, his back arching and his hips instinctively bucking up, which makes saliva drip from out of your mouth and down the rest of his glistening cock after you gag slightly.

As Chris’ thickness stretches out your mouth you do indeed feel the tip of his cock rub against the back of your throat when you start to bob your head.

Chris - clearly - has no problem with helping at all and decides to use his grip on your hair to greedily push your head at his own pace, which - you’re not going to lie - is extremely hot, but also pisses you off.

‘Fuck you’re so good at this’ he mumbles within a daze of erotic edging, his orgasm easily bubbling along the lining of his gut from how well you’re sucking him, but you don’t quite let him cum just yet because you want to try something…

Slipping him back out of your mouth, you grab a hold of his utterly soaked cock before jerking him slowly once again, this time pressing your thumb right into the bulge of his vein, which makes his eyes flutter and roll into the back of his head.

‘I want you to fuck my mouth baby…’

You breathe lustfully, staring at him with sparkling eyes as your core squeezes in excitement.

‘I want you to absolutely choke me…’

You beg to him once again, which catches Chris’ attention.

He’s greedy for his orgasm, and so complies immediately with a panting smirk.

‘…Get back down there then’ he muses cheekily, his straightened teeth on show before he forces your head down there himself. Your nose nudges against his pulsing cock for one last time before you slide him back into your mouth and this time, let him do the work.

His chest and stomach rise and fall rapidly whilst he manoeuvres one of his hands to now grip the centre of your hair whilst his other one finds its way to the couch cushion so that he can prop himself up.

Slowly, he barely gives you any time to adjust before he is fucking his hips upwards, pushing himself further down your throat every time he pulls away and comes back again. You gag once more, but don’t put up much of a fight because you instead love to hear his groans of sheer effort that turn into something carnally primal the more he does it.

Suddenly he gets louder, and you actually feel him twitch within your mouth, hinting to you that his orgasm is coming thick and fast.

‘I’m- I’m gonna c-cum’ he incoherently whines with his neck thrown back once again as it struggles to bring his voice up into the air.

Tears roll down your cheeks, but you ignore them in favour of allowing Chris to finish into your mouth. Sliding his cock up towards the opening of your lips slightly, it gives you enough room to wrap your hand around the base of his prick so that you can help him cum. Whilst he does, you continuously stroke him as he cries and white knuckles the couch cushion seat. His cum spurts out in hot, thick ropes and drips all down your throat.

After you let Chris go, you make him watch you swallow all of what he gave you.

He slouches onto the sofa with exhaustion, breathing heavily with his shoulders rising and falling dramatically.

Both of you are silent for a second, panting and looking at one another as if your brains are deciding to voice aloud what they’re both thinking.

Chris makes the first move.

‘Umm… are you- are you still as horny as me? Even after… that?’. His voice is timid, as if testing the waters between a make or break point. However, you still feel an absolute wave of arousal batter against your clit, and so nod in confusion.

Chris only laughs in disbelief whilst rubbing his forehead.

‘Shit that is strong stuff…’

Author’s notes p.2: wow. Well umm… that was long. I always get WAY too carried away with my writing lmaoo. Can someone please tell me why I literally made a fucking Spotify playlist dedicated to exactly this piece of writing?? (Who wants on it? 😏). Also, I took the liberty of giving Chris a labret lip piercing in this one because HOT, and idk, I just think it suited his vibe- but yes, obvi he doesn’t have one irl so everyone can just pretend 🙄. This piece of writing is dedicated to @ellie-luvsfics bc she’s ‘a slut for drug dealer Chris’. And @strniohoeee bc she’s my bbg <3 hope people enjoyed, and as always send any requests and whatnot!!!

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #the sturniolos

[moonstruckme]

Sincerely Sappy

summary: Sirius is a big fan of pet names. You're not so keen on them, so he needs to convince you.

Sirius Black x fem! reader ♡ 736 words

You let the steam from the two mugs waft warmly over your face, inhaling the sweet, earthy aroma of the tea. Earl grey for Sirius, jasmine for you. You’re careful not to spill as you carry them to the couch, so careful that when you look up and catch Sirius’s gaze, it sends a tiny frision of surprise through you. 

This thing between you is still new, and the effect he has on you hasn’t ebbed; every time he walks into a room, or looks at you a certain way, or gifts you one of his sweet, slow smiles, it feels like your heart stops and starts again.

Sirius deploys one of those smiles now, reaching up to take his mug, but you move past him to set them both on the coffee table.

“Careful,” you say, turning his handle to face him. “Don’t burn yourself.” 

“Thanks, baby.” Sirius lets his hand brush yours appreciatively as he picks it up.

Baby. You laugh, and it comes out nervous and pitchy. “Ew, don’t call me that.” 

He blinks. “Why not? You don’t like it?”

“It—” It’s not that you don’t like it, necessarily. The endearment sends a buzzing from your core all the way to your fingertips that’s not strictly unpleasant, but… “I’m not a baby.” 

Sirius quirks a brow, blowing pensively on his tea. “You’re my baby, though.” 

You moan, letting your knees come up to your chest and hiding your face in your hands. Sirius’s laughter only worsens the warmth spreading across your face like a blight. 

“Okay, okay,” he relents. “You don’t like it. That’s alright, do you prefer angel?”

You lower one of your hands enough to let him view your disbelieving look. 

“No? How about sweetheart? Princess?” Sirius creeps closer, setting down his mug so he can devote his full attention to your torment. “Honey? Dearest?” He drops his voice when his mouth is nearly touching your ear, so it’s low and soft when he says, “Darling?”

“Sirius!” If you don’t stop him, you worry your pants will turn to ash right there on the couch. 

“C’mon,” he takes your wrists, removing them from your face. “Everyone else gets to call you Y/N. I’ve got an ego to feed, so I need something extra-special, just for me. You gotta give me at least one.”

You must look fairly distraught, because Sirius brings your wrists to his chest, tracing patterns on the backs of your hands soothingly. Even when he’s hellbent on teasing you, he’s unbearably sweet. You sigh. “They all just sound so sappy.” 

Sirius squints at you, the bridge of his nose wrinkling, like you’re silly. “Yeah?” he asks. “What do you call this?” He brings your hands, willing captives, to his face, kissing your knuckles. You can only watch, half wariness and half awe at his affection. You’re unsure if it’s theatrics, or if Sirius is being genuine. He certainly seems genuine, but...but. You can’t handle it. It feels like a farce, a trap, to think that someone could treat you so tenderly. “What do you call that?” He points his chin at the two steaming mugs of tea on the coffee table, and you think of how ridiculously pleased he’d been when you started stocking his favorite earl grey for when he came over. 

Preparing for me to become a regular visitor, are we? He’d teased, but there was sincerity in his smile. That’s really thoughtful of you, love.

He smiles at you now, pulling you gently from your reverie. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m feeling rather sappy about you these days. And those feelings require an outlet, so you’re just going to have to get used to it.” 

You roll your eyes, but he’s succeeded in melting you; you’ve got no fight left. “Fine, call me whatever. But love is my favorite.” 

Sirius grins. “I can do that, love.” Your heart lurches almost painfully, but before you can take it back, he adds, “And you can call me whatever you like too, of course.” 

You perk up, biting back a smile at the idea of the mocking he’ll endure from James and Sirius if you call him “babygirl” the next time you’re all together. Sirius must see the mischief in your face, his brows furrowing in concern, but before he can take it back, you beam at him sweetly. 

“Deal.”

#sirius black #sirius x reader #sirius black x reader #sirius x fem!reader #sirius black x fem!reader #marauders era #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fic #sirius x y/n #sirius x you #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black imagine #sirius black fluff #sirius black oneshot #sirius black scenario

[lazyjellyfish300]

In Between the Bookshelves📚

AU Librarian!Miguel O'Hara x Fem grad student reader

(image isn't mine, found it on Instagram under the account @/ brokenohara and asked for their permission to post it)

Synopsis: a normal trip to the library results in a little bit more than you were expecting when you meet the new librarian on duty. Word count 4.6k

A/N: reposting this new and hopefully improved version of one of my very first Miguel fics I deleted a while back. I tried to make him more awkward and cute🖤🤓. Still not totally confident in the smut but oh well. Writing smut is so hard sometimes? Or maybe my skills have gone down, idk 😫 Hope you enjoy...

TW: MINORS DNI, SMUT TOWARDS THE END: FINGERING, ORAL SEX F receiving, Gag(he uses his shirt to muffle your moans) Public sexual activity, talk of anxiety, mention of family troubles and anti-deity/religion language

It's 7:00 pm on a rainy Tuesday night in the middle of October. You just got out of your evening Database Systems class. You can't help but feel poetic as you stroll down the grey, soaked, Manhattan streets twirling your umbrella, hot coffee in a cardboard cup in hand. Your shoulders begin to ache from the thin faux leather straps of your backpack. You're wearing your favorite brown sweater over a short sleeved black dress that hits you mid-thigh, with some holey black tights and your favorite knock-off Doc Martens. Damn, I still need to write that 2 page paper that's due tomorrow..

You decide at the last minute to spend your night at the library. You know you won't get anything done if you go back to your apartment. You spin on your heel and pick up the pace as you head hastily towards the NYIT library in Manhattan.

The library is pretty dead except for a group of three people sitting together in the middle table talking in hushed voices, one woman sitting on the floor scrolling with a laptop, and one jock looking fellow sitting at the computers, cracking his knuckles and bouncing his knee anxiously as he scans his assignment he's typing.

You sit down at the empty table right next to the librarian's desk. Since you're a regular here you recognize Polly, the librarian on duty who is a plump woman who looks to be in her 30s with short curly brown hair, wearing a mustard yellow cardigan and brown corduroy pants tonight. She's stapling papers together and gives you a small nod in acknowledgement as you sit down at the table in front of her desk.

She whispers to you, "I'm actually heading out for the evening, but the new person on duty should be here any minute now if you need any assistance."

You nod, and, speak of the devil, here he comes. You suddenly feel your chest get hot when you lay your eyes on the new librarian.

Tall, dark, and handsome would be the simplest way to define this man's appearance, but that would be a very feeble attempt at doing him justice. Sculpted bicep muscles push against the sleeves of his flannel with the cuffs rolled up halfway on his thick forearms. The flannel is unbuttoned and flaps gently away from his body as he walks, a white t-shirt underneath. He has broad, wide, shoulders and a narrow waist. He's also wearing dark wash athletic jeans and a pair of canvas slip ons. His hair has one stubborn strand in front from his small widow's peak that falls endearingly in the middle of his forehead. His most disarming quality is his eyes. A shade of brown that's earthy and natural like the sediment that decorates stream beds. He wears a stoic expression under large framed glasses.

He nods and mutters a "thank you" to the woman librarian as she shimmies into her coat and leaves. His eyes notice you and latch onto you momentarily. You feel your cheeks grow warm and you turn back to your laptop, unable to resume where you left off, wanting to start a conversation with him but not sure how. After a few painful moments of silence, and a quiet rumble outside from the ongoing rainstorm, you decide to break the ice by telling him your name. He blinks as you tell it to him, and you continue trying to make small talk to try and prod more out of him.

"Have I seen you here before? I come here a lot and I don't think I've met you yet."

"Miguel O'Hara," he answers shortly, but politely. "I'm a grad student. I started working for the university in exchange for assistance with my tuition."

You nod, feeling the heat leave your cheeks a little bit as you realize you could have a normal conversation with this man, and not just be an awkward mess around him the entire time. When he mentions he's a student, you realize you have something in common with him and try to go from there.

"These mid-terms are going to be the death of me. I have just one more paper to turn in then I can finally breathe, thank God..."

Miguel blows a short puff of air out of his nose seemingly in agreement, but doesn't say anything else.

He's quiet. Truth is you are too, and you're stepping way more out of your comfort zone than you normally would. Amazing what a pair of charming brown eyes could do to you.

"Honestly, if I had to work anywhere on campus I'd pick the library too. Seems peaceful with minimal people around, and everyone's required to be quiet by default. The ultimate dream workplace."

Miguel can't figure out why this stranger keeps talking to him, but you brought up a point he feels he needs to clarify.

"Oh, you'd be surprised. Most people that come in here are loud and inconsiderate as hell. And there's always that one person who hasn't heard of shocking headphones. Always."

The corner of your mouth raises. "God, that would drive me insane. Being a librarian isn't all it's cracked up to be, huh?"

Miguel shakes his head. "No. More like a glorified adult babysitter who knows where the historical fiction section and restrooms are located, and that's about it. That's literally the only two questions I get asked all day." He turns to look at you more fully, this conversation a slight breath of fresh air, the first chance he's gotten in a while to air out his grievances as the night librarian.

He continues, complaining about the horny couples he's had the misfortune of overhearing get busy on the beanbags in the far corner, and the people who leave random drinks and empty chips bags on the shelves and seem to have forgotten what alphabetical order means when they put books back.

You listen to all of it, nodding your head, and let out a cackle at his expressions he's making with those defined, bushy brows of his. He talks with his hands and it's a little endearing to watch him be so animated. This expressive side you've managed to crack through beneath his solemn exterior.

Miguel feels warmth rise in his body at the sound of your laugh for the first time. It's genuine and hearty, and honestly it's funnier than whatever bad quip he just made and he can't help but feel a little more attracted to you after hearing it. You were a good listener, and he appreciated that a lot about you.

You glance at the windows across the room, nodding in its direction with a remark about the weather, how rainstorms are your favorite. He tells you he loves them as well.

Soon, the others have shifted out of the library and he's now sitting in the chair across from you leaning his chin in his hand, listening to you speak as the rain gently pelts the windows outside.

He finds out you're originally from a smaller town, and you came to New York City for college and to escape your overbearing parents. You're 26 years old and trying to finish this Master's degree after taking one too many semesters off. You tell him about your mom who's a bit of a pushover, and your dad who's kind of an asshole.

He tells you he's 29 and has a younger brother who lives on the other side of the city, and his mom is similar to yours. She's kind but tends to set herself on fire to keep her kids warm. Like you, his dad is also a bit of an ass.

You're both introverted, but you can fake it when you need to, which he appreciates, otherwise he never would have been brave enough to say something to you this evening.

You two share a love of education and coffee. You discuss religion.

"I just don't get it, I'm supposed to love this guy and accept Him into my heart because He died for my sins even though I didn't ask Him to do that? But yet if I break any of His rules I get sent to the Inferno for all of eternity?"

"Sounds like a toxic relationship." Miguel quips as he spins your nearly empty coffee cup across the table absentmindedly.

"Exactly!"

You two talk about love as he shuffled some stray books back to their rightful place.

"C'mon, I know you've had to have dated at least once."

Miguel shakes his head. "Well, I did date a girl in high school. Knew her since the 7th grade. But she pretty much ripped my heart out when I saw her making out with one of my buddies on graduation night. I've had a couple dates here and there since then but that's it."

You click your pen. "Damn, so we both have exes from hell that we dated in high school?"

Miguel nods his head. "It would appear we do. I'm sorry you know the pain and annoyance of adolescent heartbreak too."

You shrug your shoulders. "It happens, y'know? It's like one of those things in life you're just meant to experience. It's like, unavoidable you know? And there's nothing you can do about it. What would you call that? Like not a trope per se, but almost like.... destiny?"

Miguel shrugs in return, "Like a canon event?"

You raise your eyebrows. "Yeah... exactly. How'd you come up with that?"

The ghost of a smirk appears on his face, "Just made sense to me, I guess."

You two sit at the table again and he asks about your childhood and you explain that you suffered from anxiety as long as you can remember and he looks at you with sympathetic eyes.

You do your best to try and ignore what feels like his knee pressing against your calf under the table. The thought of touching him sends heat waves through your body, but you remain frozen in place to send the message you're not opposed to more contact. Miguel feels it too, and deep down his leg is falling asleep with the way it's positioned but he's too nervous to move, either.

You both love the nighttime over mornings, and you show him one of your favorite playlists. He smiles at you tenderly as he holds one of the earphones to his ear.

Soon, it's 10:30 pm and he needs to do his closing duties. Luckily, there weren't any patrons who needed his assistance during his whole shift, proving his point earlier. Before he excuses himself, you two sit in silence for the longest time, both trying to gauge if now's the time to say goodbye to one another, but neither of you wanting to actually be the one who does.

Not sure if it was the absence of any light outside, the late hour, the good conversation you two shared, or a combination of all three, but the ripple of attraction you harbored for him has now washed over you completely and morphed into a formidable wave, threatening to take over your whole body, the darkness of this library and persistence of the ongoing storm outside pushing you closer to him.

He's staring at the corner of your laptop, similar feelings ebbing through him, not sure what's got into him. The art of flirting turned itself into uncharted territory for him a longggg time ago.

He finally decided to look at you but you're already looking at him and he snaps his gaze back down onto the bare table below him, silently cursing in his head as a shade of red fluster rises in his cheeks.

You realize you're going to have to be the one to be brave this time again. "Well, this has been fun...."

Miguel scoffs, starting to bounce his leg under the table. "You say that in the most sarcastic tone known to man."

You return with a scoff of your own, adding a smile, "Well I mean, technically you were working this whole time, isn't that boring?"

Miguel shrugs, the heat in his face returning. "You made it more fun..." The volume in his voice decreasing to a murmur.

You look down as well, your heart fluttering in your chest. You really wanted to kiss him. Or just be closer to him, you don't know why. Of course he was cute as hell but after talking to him for hours, there was no denying a spark had formed. You just didn't know whether one or both of you would make the first move to actually do something about it.

Miguel can't believe that he's actually going to try and attempt to ask you to stay longer with him, but he's going to. Just to hang out some more, maybe keep up that amazing conversation you two were sharing just before this. Completely innocent.

Well, if the way the glow from the desk lamp keeps on making your face look so warm and alluring, he's not sure he'll have the strength to shut down any escapades that ensue later, as long as you're completely up for it, of course.

He inhales "Um...so not sure if you have things to do later or..."

You look at him, pupils widening with anticipation at his pending question.

He goes to say, "I was wondering if you wanted to keep hanging out," but it gets combined with the phrase, "Do you want to stay here a little longer," and the word jumbo that exits his mouth is a little incoherent.

"Was wondering if you were wondering to stay and keep hanging longer out?"

You blink rapidly at his blunder, and he groans, placing his face in his hands.

You immediately feel bad for him, shaking your head and sliding a hesitant hand towards his arm. You stumble over your words too sometimes and it's always fucking humiliating when it happens, so you feel no judgement towards him whatsoever. If anything now he's even more attractive. Every little cute thing about him is just pushing you towards him closer than ever before.

Your fingertips skim across the top of the table and press gently into his forearm. He slowly rolls his head to look at you, his cheek resting in his arms as his eyes look at you from behind his glasses which are slightly askew from the way his face is positioned.

His face is still red, but his heart flutters at your sweet smile. "Sorry, my brain just...takes a dump on me when I try to be smooth sometimes..." Miguel mumbles with a weak chuckle, running his hands through his hair.

You shake your head. "I do the same thing...but to answer your question....yes please..." Your voice becomes quieter at the word "please", an trickle of lust you added on purpose, hoping he's picking up on the vibe you're putting down with the way you're gazing into his eyes, your fingers pressed against his arm, the subtle scoot closer you just made with your chair.

Miguel releases a shaky breath, oh, he's paying attention alright. Damn it all if he doesn't take the leap right now. He decides to ask one more time to be sure, slowing down so he gets it right this time.

"Will....you stay longer, with me?" his voice is low, almost a whisper even though it's only the two of you in his dark library, but it's dripping with seduction. A low rumble from the rain clouds interrupts the pause between his question and your answer.

"Yeah..." you say softly back with double affirmation, a sneaky smile forming on your lips. He flashes a dazzling smile back at you, a woozy feeling in his stomach for what's about to happen in the next few minutes.

He excuses himself and goes back to his desk, typing on his computer, the excitement of having you alone making him just type nonsense for the first few moments, wheeling away some carts to the back and stowing a stray book back where it belongs. 

It's now 11 pm. Closing time. Miguel turns off all the lights except for his small desk lamp. The clouds are still rolling and rumbling outside with the wind whistling against the windows. Raindrops are still decorating the street. It's a beautifully dark, sensual scene just for the two of you. 

He laces his fingers in between yours and leads you to a dark space in between two large bookshelves. His hand is clammy, and he's a little embarrassed about it on the inside but you squeeze it reassuringly. There was literally nothing he could do at this point to make your crush on him go away. The shelves tower over both of you, even Miguel, who's 6 foot 9. 

He leans a hand against the shelf just above and to the right of your head. He accidentally pins a piece of your hair under his hand, making you wince a tiny bit. 

"Augh.." 

Miguel's eyes dart in alarm to search for what he did that caused you pain and he realizes your hair is trapped under his hand. He pulls it away, shaking his hand and flicking his fingers in an effort to free any of your strands from it. "Goddamit...." 

He rolls his head backwards in exasperation at his epic failure of having zero game tonight. You hold onto the flaps of his flannel, making him look at you. "Hey, hey come on...it's okay...." 

He finally looks down at you and his lips fall open at your beauty, his heart rate speeding up much more quickly now, and he brings a shaky hand to your face. In his mind, he can't help but realize he's being a huge hypocrite, committing the same sins as his horny patrons of getting busy in the library. But seriously though, at least he had the decency to make sure it was after closing when he was off the clock. 

You feel your knees go weak as he brings his other hand to your face, pulling down your bottom lip with his thumb. He wets his lips and he leans in pressing his tongue gently in the space he opened in your bottom lip, begging to be let in. You oblige immediately, diving forward into his soft lips, goosebumps appearing on your arms. 

Oh fuck....this kiss felt good. He forgot how nice it felt to share intimacy with someone, those feelings that laid dormant for so long rising and nearly bubbling past the surface. It's all coming back to him as he just wills himself to get lost in the warmth of your mouth, the sheer layer of your Chapstick leaving a tasty feeling on his tongue. 

You considered yourself decently experienced, but the way his lips move on their own show you he's a force to be reckoned with and you'd be more than happy to sit back and let him handle things...this handsome, geeky, sweet librarian...

The noises you two make as you desperately kiss each other are little shuffles as you bump into the shelf behind you, with an occasional "oh fuck...," from Miguel. Hearing how turned on he's getting causes you to let your first moan escape your lips.

Once he hears it, he needs more. His hands make their way to your ass and hoist you up onto an empty bookshelf ladder and he sets you down on one of the rungs. You grab his shirt in your fists, not tearing your lips away from his. 

"Do you care about these?" Miguel says softly, out of breath, his mind running a million miles a minute before his actions can catch up to him, gently pinching the thin material of your tights between his thumb and pointer finger as his palms grip the soft flesh of your outer thighs. You shake your head no, wanting to fuck already. 

Then, his hand is in your crotch, ripping a whole right in the middle, tearing away at the fabric concealing your ripe pussy away from him as though it's the cover of a brand new novel. His cold pointer finger hooks behind your panties and pulls it to the side. You gasp loudly as you feel his finger and the cold air hit your soaked heat. 

He chuckles, his breaths still coming out in rapid, succession, the baritone hum of his voice only adding to the wetness between your legs. 

"Sorry, my hands are cold..." Then you can't believe what's happening when he drops to his knees, spreading you open like a book. His elbows pin your knees against the sides of the ladder, the wood pressing painfully into your kneecaps, but the sensation he gives you next makes you forget about the whole thing. 

His tongue glosses over your wet pussy like a finger stroking the edge of a page. His nose tickles the tiny hairs sprouting from it as he takes a deep breath in, the smell of you going straight to his cock. He teases the lips of your pussy for a moment, an agonizing back and forth along the slit...

....back....and..... forth

"God....you're so wet..." 

Back.....

"Miguel..." you whimper..

and forth...

"Fuck...." your fingers shake as you ball them into a fist...

before his tongue dips into your wet hole. Your back arches on instinct, making your body lurch forward, accidentally pushing his tongue further into you which he welcomes eagerly by gripping low on your ass to hold you in place. 

You shudder and twitch violently, throwing your head back at the insanely divine attention he's injecting between your thighs. Miguel pauses for a moment, tenderly licking the inside of your thigh before sealing it with a kiss as his eyes flicker up to you. 

"You okay?...." he whispers. 

You release a shaky breath you didn't know you were holding, a slightly empty feeling as the mind numbing pleasure was abruptly switched off. 

"Yeah, yeah...I'm okay." 

Miguel reassumes his position, tongue fucking you. The soft pad of his tongue fondling the plush walls inside you. He lets out a low groan and he feels you turn to putty in his grasp, his head gently bobbing as his tongue completes lap after lap eating you, enjoying you, savoring you....every drop from that pretty pussy soon seeping out of his mouth and dribbling down his chin.

Your moans grow louder than they ever have, plucking him from his pussy-drunk state. He stands up in a panic and rips off his flannel, bunching it up as his eyes do a quick scan to make sure you're both still all alone. 

"Shhhh.....baby, we need to be quiet.....bite this for me." 

His angelic face comes up to look at you, his forehead pressing tenderly against yours and your eyes go half lidded at the sight of your arousal glistening down his chin, shiny on his thick neck from the thin flickers of moonlight that have managed to leak through the darkened windows of the library. 

You do as you're told, biting his flannel and he stuffed it hastily in your mouth, making a makeshift gag as your eyes water. His elbows assume their position pinning your thighs back and he's back between them again. 

You understand why he made you a gag as he goes directly for your clit this time. You yelp, your sound muffled by the fabric. Your nails dig into his shoulders, two perfect handles while you ride his face. The material of his shirt is thin and you feel every muscle ripple under your palms as he moves to keep fucking you with his mouth. 

Your clit throbs to near overstimulation but Miguel doesn't relent. He swirls his tongue with low sighs of appreciation, unable to tear himself away from the wet heaven in front of his face. 

His saliva and your slick mix together until it's all the same. The love you're dripping onto him and the love he's licking into you becoming a lewd stream of passion. He groans into your pussy as his bulging cock begs to relieve itself of all the cum built up with tormenting ache. 

He decides he wants to watch you cum. He gets up, replacing his tongue with his thumb and his first two fingers, pumping into you with a circular rhythm and easing your clit at a torturous pace. 

"On me, baby...." he whispers. 

Your eyes struggle to stay open as you look at him, a little unsure of what he said. "Mmmm?...." You ask with a high pitched sigh. 

"Keep those pretty eyes on me..." he repeats, his own eyes going half-lidded from the lure of your mouth hanging open. "Fuck...." 

He abandons his plan momentarily as he rips his flannel from your mouth to kiss you again. You invade his mouth with your tongue and he mumbles your name again in response. You start to taste yourself and then whimper when you realize the pleasure is beginning to become too much. 

"Miguel," you pant. "Baby, it's so much...." your breaths begin to hyperventilate. 

Miguel gives a low sigh when you say his name, his cock straining once more when he realized he drew you to say it. He tilts his head at you, his jaw open and curls into a smile when he sees how crazy he's driving you. 

"Cum f'me, baby. Wanna watch you while you do..." 

You try to look at a spot on the ceiling but Miguel interrupts your concentration when he moves his head to keep himself in your vision. The spiciness of this sexy encounter banishing all fears he had before. No, he won't let you look at anything else when you cum.

He gives a loud grunt and clasps a hand over your mouth, fingers turning white, muffling your cry of sweet release as you squirt all over his flannel, your passion causing a few books to collapse from the shelf. 

You shake and start to shiver all over as the sweat you produced during all the action starts to cool. Your hands are tingly and numb. Miguel gives a soft chuckle and presses a soft kiss into your temple with his wet lips and another one on your mouth before he returns his tongue to your thighs, collecting any remaining arousal left behind. 

You rest your head back on the ladder rung behind your head, reeling in your come down. He smiles and plants a kiss into your thigh before bidding it farewell, then comes up and hugs you, nestling you in his tantalizing embrace, as he rests his cheek in your hair. 

"Thank you..." you murmur, only barely sobering up from your high, his musk and cologne delivering you to a whole new state of intoxication. 

He smiles down at you in response and holds your face in both hands, running his thumbs along your cheeks. 

"See me tomorrow?" 

You practically melt at those big brown eyes of his, glasses still slightly askew and the neck of his wrinkled shirt dampened with his sweat, silently hoping you will. 

You beam up at him and nod enthusiastically and he chuckles and plants a line of kisses on your neck as you giggle underneath him. After a few soft hugs and another round of delicate kisses, he walks you to the door. Making you promise you'll call him as soon as you get home as a reluctant compromise at his uneasiness of you walking alone in the dark.

He watches you walk away into the night and doesn't stop until he sees you safely board the bus. He turns around and goes back inside the library, shutting off his desk light with a small click. 

#miguel o'hara #miguel atsv #spotify #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara smut #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara imagine #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel ohara x fem!reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #Spotify

[cherryredstars]

OKAY OKAY but IMAGINE

A reader who owns a cafe and this grumpy ahh Miguel always orders one specific item which usually no one buys. Reader notices the small details about this regular guy cuz well it’s MIGUEL reader has a tint crush.

One day spiderman saves the reader from thieves or something. Basically he ends up in her cafe and as a thank you the reader offers food and he just sighs instinctively picking the same dessert and muscle memory doing a trick.

Basically WHAT IM SAYING IS imagine the reader next time Miguel orders at their cafe puts a lil spider themed candy

They somehow signal him that: HAHA I KNOW WHO YOU ARE GRUMPY >:3

(Using >:3 to tell you the reader has chaotic energy.)

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: Mentions of Attempted Mugging

Summary: It simply can’t be a coincidence.

Word Count: 1.2K (Not Edited)

There’s something mysterious about that man. 

Yes, it may have to do something with his gigantic size and almost too wide shoulders. Or the fact he always looks like he’s a second away from shoving the next person out of the way. Oh and how can you forget the part where he has only said the same seven words to you since he’s been here. Medium coffee, black. Add one of those. Then he proceeds to point at the display at the one pastry you can never sell out. No thank you’s, please’s, how are you’s. He quite literally only says those seven words and then grunts at any of your questions. He’s only ever said one extra word to you, which was his name the first time he visited because he paid in cash.

Honestly, you find him very intimidating. He’s the only reason that non-selling pastry is still available. Usually, you’d have it removed and replaced with another item. But you absolutely dread the idea of him being pissed at you for removing the only other item he gets daily. Plus, you don’t want your existence to be reduced to three words. So, it’s here to stay. You just make it in the smallest batch possible and then give the extras, along with other leftover pastries, to the local soup kitchen to give out the next day. Even then, you’re pretty sure they end up throwing away the pastry at the end of the day since no one wanted it. 

Nonetheless, it’s only right to give back to the community around you. No matter what gets eaten or not. At least they get the choice to decide if they want to try it. It’s better than throwing out all the food when you know there are people who could need it. Mondays are always the busiest days, so you make sure to make a little extra pastries and food to be able to give a pleasing amount to the kitchen. As you stuff the last of the remaining pastries into the box, you close it up and stack it on top of the first box. You pull on the handles of the bag under everything, having them securely supported for easy carry. You grab your canvas bag from the backroom, checking your prep in the fridges and freezers one last time before getting ready to leave. You grab the bag of pastries as you make your way to the back door, once again thankful that you don’t have to lock it since it’s not accessible from the outside. 

As you begin to walk down the small stone steps and out of the small indent on the street, something behind you rattles. You jump slightly, hand tightening on the bag as you turn around quickly. The hairs on the back of your neck stand as you squint into the darkness, trying to spot something. You slightly relax as nothing seems out of the ordinary. Perhaps it was a stray cat or even a mouse. The thought makes you scrunch up your nose and you begin to turn around again so you can make it to the shelter before it closes its doors for the night. 

You instantly scream as you come faced to face with a man in a ski mask. He instantly covers your mouth, pushing you against the back door. You almost trip as you’re forced to walk up the steps and your body tenses as it hits the door. You feel something cold and metallic against your side, eyes widening as you attempt to look down. It’s hard with his hand covering part of your face and it takes him shaking you and slightly banging your head against the door to realize he’s speaking to you about money and jewelry. You can feel your hands trembling, tears welling up. You almost want to sob and yell when you notice another figure approaching behind the man. 

Oh how perfect, there’s two.

But you’re surprised when the figure grabs the man’s shoulder, revealing the almost shiny blue and red of a familiar costume. The man is quickly yanked off of you, and you take a sharp inhale now that your mouth is uncovered. You watch the commotion with wide eyes as the figure- as Spiderman- quickly disarms the mugger and pulls out makeshift handcuffs. The man struggles in them as he sits at the hero’s feet. Spiderman makes no notice to him, instead focusing on a floating screen as he reports the incident via an anonymous tip for the police station. 

You’re still struggling to wrap your mind around what just happened when the Spider turns to you, “You okay?”

You blink rapidly, nodding almost numbly, “Uh, yeah… I think. Thank you.”

He gives you a grunt and if you had a clearer mind, you might have recognized it. As the hero turns to leave you call out. He lets out another grunt of displeasure, but you pay little attention to it as you set the pastry bag down and pull out the box from the top. 

“Take one. They’re leftovers from today, but they’re still good. Consider it my thank you.”

You open the box and peer inside of it as you present it to him. It’s full of small sandwiches, a few different flavors of bread slices, and in the corner there are few of Miguel’s usual pastries. You expect the spider to go for one of the sandwiches, but your eyes widen as he takes three of Miguel’s pastry. You stare at the spot they had been in the box before staring at the hero. There is simply no way.

Your eyes study the hero, taking in his build for the first time. Enormous height and wide shoulders. Same posture and same pastry. Surely, it couldn’t be a simple coincidence. You slowly close the box, holding the sides of it tightly as the hero starts to deport. You stare after him in astonishment, even as the sound of police cars start sounding and two officers rush into the alley to find the tied up mugger and you. 

There is simply no way.

You show up early the next day to the bakery. You take care making everything, letting them cool slightly before putting them in the display cases. Once the doors open, the usual morning rush spews in, and you spend the next two to three hours serving customers. As per usual, he comes right as the morning rush ends, and you feel a giddiness as he walks up to the counter. 

“Medium coffee, black. Add one of th-” You smile widely when he pauses.

His eyes are trained to his pastry. Today it looks different. In the center of the flakey dough there is a cut out of a spider, revealing the filling inside. He squints at it, leaning his face closer to the glass to view it. When he looks up to you, he can see the knowing glint in your eyes and the teasing smirk on your face. He sighs, something between displeased and amused before he stands up straight again. 

“Add one of those.” He finishes his previous sentence, pulling out his card to pay. 

“Sure thing,” You smile, approving the transaction before turning around and getting started on his coffee. “...Spiderman.”

From the grunt behind you, you know he heard.

Join Cherry’s Discord Server

#cherry's requests🍒 #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #across the spiderverse #miguel ohara x you #atsv miguel #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #miguel x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara #miguel x you #miguel ohara x y/n #astv miguel #miguel o hara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o hara x reader

[highttowers]

Hello i am requesting for Carmen from the Bear!! Something sweet and heart warming about Carmen being worried about the reader and just the whole kitchen seeing how in love he is ❤️ thank you

yes to heaven.

pairing(s); carmen “carmy” berzatto x gn!reader

fandom; the bear (fx on hulu)

w/c; 758 words

trigger/content warnings; brief sexual implications, brief mention of past injuries, language, richie (he’s a warning all by himself), tina n richie being mean to carmy lol, tina and reader chisme together, is this another fic with an ldr song title????, brief touches on carmy’s trauma (not in-depth cuz this is a fluff fic), not-proof read, lmk if i missed anything.

stella speaks! i need him biblically. at first, i was like “mmm, jeremy allen white” as a joke. but bro. i don’t think it’s a joke anymore…

Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto who’s always watching you. Who has his eye on you, if you will ;)

Carmy, whose eyes are trailing your figure when you first meet. Not in a sexual way, just taking in every detail. The way you stand, the way you move your hands when you talk. Any time you wear a shirt more than once, the nervous tics you have while he tries your food, if you have any visible tattoos, freckles, or birthmark. His eyes snag on every little thing you do for a split second.

Carmy, whose gaze is locked in your hands while you demonstrate your abilities. He’s taking in every scar, every cut, every tear, every burn that was once fresh in the skin of your hands and committing it to memory. He doesn’t know why, he just is.

Carmy, whose eyes will flicker to your face every so often as you cook, lingering in the scrunch of your brow, the purse of your lip, the muttering under you breath, every curve and divet on your cheeks.

Carmy, whose brain short-circuits the first time he sees you in anything other than your lose white tee, black pants and blue apron. Logically, he knows your body has always been shaped that way, so why is heat crawling up his neck in the biting Chicago air?

Carmy, whose new favorite thing is watching you cook. Especially the recipes you know by heart, when every lovely movement your body makes is muscle memory. Seamless and smooth.

Carmy who appreciates the habit you have of cleaning your station as you cook. Those pale blue eyes locked in you as he exits his office, watching you dumping veggies in a crock pot before scooping up the cutting board, knife, and any food waste and making short work of it.

Carmy who is personally offended by Richie watching you cook. Richie and his Richie-esque comments making him roll his eyes, or warning a scoff. “Makes you wanna know what other moves they can do, eh?” “Shut the fuck up, cousin.”

Carmy, whose habit of paying microscopically close attention to you has whispers from Marcus to Tina to Sydney to you. He appreciates the way you wave them off, using the new kid excuse.

Carmy, who’s been reduced to a stuttering mess when you confront him privately about it. He’s spilling out excuses, until you quietly ask him if he wants to grab coffee with you sometime.

Carmy who, the more and more he arrives to work either with you or with a dumb smile on his face, is getting endless teasing from Richie and Tina. Sydney quietly smiles at him, but mainly sticks to talking about the nature of y’all’s relationship with you.

Carmy, who admittedly fears anytime you let sitting with Tina, exchanging words that have her yelling curses or exclamations in Spanish.

Carmy, who has a retort ready for Richie when he asks you if that means he has a chance now, only to clamp his mouth shut when you wordlessly flip Richie off, bringing another soft look into Carmy’s eyes and a dumb grin on his lips.

Carmy who has to kiss every scar, every mark, every little thing in your body when given the chance. It’s a love language, remembering and worshipping every little thing about you.

Carmy who has his eyes on you so much, regulars at The Beef are silently questioning if there’s anything going on. (there is, but Carmy would sooner be Richie’s personal chef than admit it to customers.)

Carmy whose new greates comfort is you. Any fleeting fragment of you. Maybe you washed his clothes once and now they smell like you. Maybe you hugged him so much your scent lingers in his nose. Maybe he’s got a small piece of jewelry from you or reminiscent of you. Anything that has to do with you can bring him out of the deepest panic.

Carmy who swears up and down and to the ends of the Earth that he’s never gonna lose you. It’s not even an option anymore. He would actually just fall to pieces on the floor.

Carmy who shows the uglier parts of him slowly. You actually have to peel back the first layer and stare it directly in the face without fear before he shows you more. He’s just so scared.

Carmy who’s so so grateful you don’t try to fix him. You just leave him as he is, just giving extra love to those broken bits.

Carmy who used to hate love songs before you arrived.

Carmy who was losing faith in the very idea of love until you arrived.

#how many ts/lana del rey references can spot??? #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto headcanons #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #headcanon #the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #the bear on hulu #sydney adamu #🖋️ — my writing #🪁 — requests #🔪 — the bear

[kiwisbell]

Las Mañanas || Chapter 1 [javier peña]

She’s a waitress in a little café. He’s a DEA agent who likes the coffee. Just the coffee. That’s all. Or, slices of life (and sometimes pie) shared between Javi and his wife, including his tireless journey to making her his wife.

series masterlist | my masterlist

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags/warnings: coffee shop AU if you squint really hard, reader has a shitty husband, domestic violence, mentions of sex work, soft and sweet!javi, protective!javi, grumpy!javi, simp!javi tbh, alcohol, smoking, javier pines like a mf, FLIRTING, referenced PIV (protection implied), food as sexual tension, angst, so much fluff, some light touching, steve being a little shit, nobody fucks with javi's girl, overuse of spanish pet names, poorly-translated spanish, "she" pronoun used throughout

word count: ~ 8.8k

a/n: HOORAY! it begins! since this is my oldest fic, it lacks some polish, but neverthless!! i'll be posting new chapters every couple days so your dashboards don't get clogged up, but i sincerely hope you enjoy this series!! to my lovely friends who have already read this series and given it so much love, words cannot express how much i appreciate you. to my newcomers, i am kissing you through my screen rn for giving this fic a chance. i hope you like!! xoxo

chapter one: for all the coffee beans in colombia

The café, Las Mañanas, makes stellar coffee. Javier Peña knows this; everyone in Bogotá knows this. That’s why he comes in at seven o’clock every morning and pays 30 pesos for a cup. Black. Then he sits at a table and sips it while he watches her move. He leaves at seven-thirty and clocks in at the Embassy ten minutes later. He does it again the next morning.

Two months ago, he would come in twice a week. Two weeks later, three times. Now, it’s daily. He thinks he might have an addiction, but so does every other bastard in the city. It’s not his fault the coffee wakes him up just right, striking his tired bones like hammers and making him sit upright all day, alert as a rearing cobra.

She’s got eyes like that: bright, sharp. They cut incisions into early-morning brain fog and part the haziness like curtains. Then she sutures the edges with that smile and turns every man in the café complacent, cheery, harmless. Javier goes for the coffee, but it’s nice to look at her. It’s not his fault she’s so nice to look at.

She doesn’t own the place. Her boss is a family friend and doesn’t share her last name; he knew her father, who died. The records don’t say how, and Javier had to sneak out before he could find out more. Technically, he wasn’t allowed to be snooping around in records that didn’t have explicit relevance to his job, but he was just being safe.

He knows this because he likes to know things. He’s proactive. It reassures him to know that his thorough background checks on each employee and regular produced nothing of concern, that she’s around safe, innocent people all day. When she brings his coffee to him, she smiles at him, and her eyes shine. He knows that when he leaves for work, she’s safe. It’s real fucking hard to be safe in Bogotá these days.

Javier drinks. The coffee goes down hot, always the same temperature, always strong. He lifts a cigarette to his lips, watches her, lights it. He keeps it in his mouth when she raises her eyes from her notepad at the counter and smiles. From this corner of the café, he has a perfect view of her. She’s relaxing to watch. She walks with a sway to her hips; she bags pastries so delicately it’s like they’re strapped with C4; she writes little notes on her customers’ receipts and her handwriting is impeccable. He keeps his receipts.

She puts her lip between her teeth and worries it, like she’s debating something in her head, pen pausing over paper. Javier narrows his eyes playfully at her, and then she moves. She ties her apron tighter around her waist, tucks her hair behind her ear with the pen, and grabs something from behind the counter before she’s moving. Toward him.

Javier panics for a moment, but he feels stupid when he does. He forces himself to adjust minimally, sitting up straighter and tucking his cigarette to the corner of his mouth. She’s carrying a pastry bag. “Here,” she says, “for when you leave.”

Her honeyed voice seeps bone-deep. They speak in English, but he’s heard her use the local colour with her patrons. “What’s the occasion?” he asks her.

“I want to see how long the poison takes to activate inside a human body.” She thrusts the bag out farther. “It’s a thank-you. Empanadas. New recipe.”

Javier takes it, looks inside. “You poison all your customers, or am I special?” he says, inhaling the fresh burst of warmth. “These smell incredible.”

“I hope you’re not a vegetarian.”

“God, no.”

“More coffee?”

He glances at his watch. 7:23. “I can’t,” he says, and it gives him pause when his voice carries a faint whine. “Work.”

She bites her lip again. Instinct tugs his eyes down to it. “You’re certainly the most mysterious customer I’ve ever had.”

He stands up so he can look down at her, puffing at his cigarette. She puckers her lips and blows the smoke away from her face with a teasing glare. “And the only one special enough to try the new recipe for free,” he says lowly. “Isn’t that right?”

She shoves the bag into his chest and rolls her eyes, beckoning him back toward the counter. “Who said it was free?” she says, looking back at him over her shoulder. It stops him, stunned, in his tracks.

He comes back the next day. He makes sure to learn her name this time.

~

At some point in the seven months since he first entered the café, Javier makes a friend.

He does not remember how it happened. His life is not conducive to friendship. But this half-hour routine inside the café doesn’t give a shit about his life. She’s begun to call his name when he steps through the door.

“Javier!” She shimmied around her coworker as she hurriedly untied her apron. He barely had time to open his mouth before she continued, “I took my break early. Now come on, I made churros.”

“Fuck, cariño, I think I’ve gained ten pounds since I met you.”

She just grinned at him and shooed him toward his usual table while she grabbed a plate with two sweet-smelling churros on it. “My father would say that’s a good thing. Go, go!”

He obeyed her without further complaint and put out his cigarette so he could sip at the coffee that was already steaming on his table. She slid into the chair across from him. He knew churros for breakfast were a terrible decision for his digestive system, but he physically could not refuse her. Her leg bounced excitedly when he picked one up and took a bite. He closed his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re fucking magic. Where did you learn to bake like this?”

She grinned and took a bite of her own churro. He noticed she liked to hold her free hand underneath her chin to catch any residue that would make a mess of her apron; preventative measures. She was careful, meticulous. “My father lived in Spain most of his life; he taught my sister and I to cook from the second we were able to walk.” Her head tilted as she watched him eat, her smart eyes travelling in latitudes across his face like she was memorising a script, line by line. “I’m lucky to see other people fall in love with my food the same way I loved his.” She smiled suddenly, warm. “You’ve got churro dust in your moustache, viejo.”

He raised a brow. “You learn enough Spanish for that, huh, smartass?”

The bell above the door chimes when he walks through. She’s tending to a customer at the back of the room, but she looks over her shoulder. Smiles and waves. Gestures with her eyes to his usual table.

His table, which now has a very new, very handmade sign on top of it: RESERVED.

Javier sits down and touches the black ink. It smudges on his finger.

“I almost had to rugby-tackle Jorge for sitting there during his break,” she says when she arrives.

“All this for me?” He clicks his tongue. “Bad for business.”

“You’re a paying customer, viejo,” she says teasingly. “You are business.”

Javier slides his sunglasses off his nose and stares her down, dropping his voice all low and mean. “You better knock that nickname habit quick, baby. Could get you in trouble.”

“More trouble than the man who comes in every morning with a gun in his pants?” She bites her lip when she grins. “I think I’ll be okay. Oh, and here’s your coffee.”

She places a mug in front of him, snatches the RESERVED sign from his hand, and carries it with her to the counter.

~

“What is it you do at your big, scary, gun-totin’ job, anyway?” she asks as his coffee pours. He’s at the counter, waiting this time, knowing no one’s going to take his table. Not if they know what’s good for them, what with the leopard behind the counter.

Javier lights his cigarette. “Don’t wanna have to kill you.”

She cocks her head. “Can’t kill me, viejo. Who’d make your coffee?” She leans in real close and whispers, “Jorge can’t treat you like I can.”

He does not focus on the way her breath knocks against each knob of his spine.

“Janitorial services,” he blurts out, not so much suavely, “at the Embassy.”

“Hmm. Didn’t know they let janitors carry guns nowadays, but I guess there’s always something new to learn.”

“Tell me something about you,” he says.

“My doctor says I’ll never be able to get the smell of coffee out of my nose.”

Javier laughs, plucking the dish rag from her hands so she stops cleaning the counter and looks him in the eye instead. “Gonna need more than that. Tell me something I don’t know, cielito.”

She flushes. “You have to pay extra for that.”

“Then pour one on me,” he says, sliding the coffee pot toward her.

A wicked smile overcomes her face, one she tries to tame by chewing on the inside of her cheek. She spots a customer waving her down, so she turns quickly to Javier and says, “Give me two minutes. Pour it for me.”

He fills the cup she’s just cleaned until it’s almost overflowing.

~

The first day something goes wrong, Javier is unprepared.

She’s all smiles and flowy skirts when he walks in the door, but he feels out of sorts when he spots the men she’s pouring coffee for—mostly because he recognises them, and they’ve never been in here before.

His heart swoops down into his gut when he remembers where he’s seen their three faces before.

It stings to watch her smile falter when he ignores her familiar greeting for him, pretending like he doesn’t know her. He heads straight for the counter, sits down, waits twenty seconds, and then accidentally knocks a mug to the floor.

A few people idly turn, but it’s her excusing herself to clean up the mess that matters. He lowers himself to the ground with her when she grabs the broom and dustpan. “Keep smiling at me,” he says under his breath. “Don’t let your face change.”

“Javier…” His name is an exhale from her mouth. “What’s going on?”

“Those men are involved in some bad shit, and I don’t want you in it.”

To her credit, she does not look at the three men at the table, nor do her eyes widen, her mouth drop. He knows her mind is chewing on this, working it through, judging whether or not she can trust him. At last, still cleaning up the ceramic shards, she asks, “What do I do, Javi?”

That’s his girl. “I need you to take your break until they’re gone. Can you do that for me?”

She breaths out a yes and looks up at him for one brief moment. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she whispers. “Paying customer, remember?”

“Always and forever, baby. Now go on. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She stands up with the dustpan and thanks him loudly, that bright smile still on her face. She takes the broken mug into the back room, and she does not reappear.

Javier has backup waiting when the three narcos leave, filled with his waitress’s coffee and pastries. Javier stays inside, sipping his own coffee. They won’t know he called for backup. They’ve never seen his face. But they’ll be ambushed once they’re a safe distance from the café, and they’ll go away in handcuffs for the couple kilos of cocaine inside the trunks of their taxis.

Javier comes in the next day and expects her to cuss him out. She’s had every opportunity to call the police, to report him for being somehow involved with bad men, to ban him from her little safe haven. Instead, she just sets down the coffee at his table and shakes her head.

“Janitor, my ass.”

~

He wishes he could shut his mouth every now and then, but he finds himself telling her the truth about his job before he can think to stop.

He rationalises.

He owes her this much. The strange men may not have harmed her, but in a line of work like Javier’s, people have to learn to be cautious. In his case, he may have been uber-cautious, but his senses become a whirlpool when it comes to her.

She takes it all in stride, same as yesterday. She’s a rapt listener, tuning out the world as he stumbles through the truth, and when he’s done, when he thinks he’s laid out all she needs to know for now, she nods. She understands.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says, unusually sombre, brushing a knuckle under his chin the way he does her.

“Can’t stand the thought of you mad at me, cielito.” It’s the truth—he thinks he would forsake all his manliness and beg on his knees for forgiveness.

But he doesn’t need to do that with her. “It was scary, Javi,” she says earnestly, “but it would’ve been a lot scarier if you weren’t there, talking me through it.”

He grins up at her where she stands on the other side of the counter. “Any chance that means free churros for life?”

She hums like she’s pondering the thought. “For you, viejo? That’s only two more years at your tender age.”

Javier leans in close to her and glares. “Keep it up, honey.”

She drums her fingers on the side of his mug and smirks. “Plan to. More coffee, Agent Peña?”

~

She’s talking to another man when Javier walks into the café. He’s average height and muscled, around her age or a bit older, wearing a black leather jacket that matches the beard and hair on his head (the stuff that’s not greying), and he’s speaking rapidly, tautly. She keeps shaking her head, her lips pressed tightly together, furiously wiping down the counter and nudging his elbows away when he tries to set them down. Javier tries to eavesdrop, but they’re speaking too quietly, interrupting one another, so he settles into his chair at the back with his sunglasses still on his nose. And he watches carefully.

He's never seen this man before. He isn’t a customer, and his scowling face was not one Javier had combed through during his dubiously ethical background checks. It unsettles him enough to lean forward in his seat when the man abruptly tears the rag from her hand. Javier instinctively reaches for the gun in his waistband, but he will not fire here. He bites down on his cigarette when she aggressively wipes under her eyes and storms into the back room. Moments later, she emerges with her purse, fishes out a wad of cash, and throws it square at the man’s chest. He leaves once the money is tucked inside his pockets.

Javier approaches the counter with his coffee. She is visibly shaking, but she smiles at him like he’s a relief to see. “Javi,” she says in one long exhale. “Good morning.”

“Thought you might like some company,” he says, setting down his mug.

He doesn’t press her to tell him about what he’s seen, even though he knows she saw him walk in. Her shoulders loosen. “I… I didn’t have time to make you something, Javi.”

Her eyes are watering, and her irises undulate like they’re caught in a swell. Not for the first time in seven months, Javier reaches out and touches her. Lays a hand atop hers and squeezes her fingers. “You’re gonna make me fat, cielito,” he says softly.

She doesn’t let the tears fall. She just laughs and rolls her eyes, her cheeks warm.

~

It’s another month before Javier sees the man again.

Javier has been very good at keeping his life behind a wall, and while it’s obvious she notices, she doesn’t press him. He is profoundly stupid to give her the information he does; he’s told her about his father (she smiles like she’s remembering an old friend), bitched about Murphy (constantly), and told her about his hobbies. He told her that he reads in his spare time, even though nobody expects him to and fucking backwoods-hillbilly Murphy gives him constant shit for it. She knows he likes Tolkien, that he’s a fan of Lewis and Fleming. She gives him shit for reading so many “manly” books, but she laughs while she does it, and the corners of her eyes crinkle.

He knows he is older than her. She’s never read Tolkien. He finds himself promising things. He’s going to lend her his copies. He wants to share his interests with her, to watch her face light up with excitement when she tells him how much she loves Marilyn Monroe and Gloria Estefan and Selena.

She moved to Colombia two years ago, but he doesn’t know why. There is the switch. He’s found it: the moment of closure, when her spine stiffens and her smile trembles in an effort to hold on. Everyone has their switches. Javier understands.

But for the first time since he came to Bogotá, he wants to know someone. He wants to get attached. He wants a friend. Why the fuck shouldn’t he have that?

“Javi.”

He looks at her over the rim of his mug. “Hmm.”

She bites down on her smile. “It’s seven-thirty.”

Shit. He says as much, downs the rest of his coffee (she watches him with a raised brow), and begins to haul his jacket over his arm. He’ll have to put it on on the move; he’ll be late if he doesn’t leave now.

The bell above the door chimes.

He’s dressed the same as last time, but Javier knows his clothes are expensive. When he doesn’t see her at the counter, he peers through the employees’ door, then scans the café until he spots her, sitting across from Javier.

He stalks over and goes off immediately. “Whoring around, guapa? Haven’t you learned your lesson?”

He doesn’t even spare a glance toward Javier.

She looks more angry than embarrassed. “Nicolás, you need to leave.”

Javier settles back into his seat. No way in fucking hell he’s leaving her alone with him.

His dark eyes blaze at the woman, and he crowds her space, frowning. “I’m not signing.”

“We’ve talked about this,” she says calmly, though her skin is stretched over her knuckles as her hands clasp each other.

“You don’t just get to leave me.” The man’s scowl deepens, and when he grabs her by the wrist, she yelps, slapping a free hand over her mouth so nobody notices.

Well, Javier sure as fuck notices.

Last time, he stayed back, let the situation diffuse. He didn’t want to make a scene, didn’t want her to be uncomfortable. This time, he doesn’t give a shit.

This time, Javier sees red.

“Get your fucking hands off her.”

He stands up and clasps his own hand around the man’s wrist.

“I don’t see you letting her go,” he says gruffly. “Let’s try again.”

“You fucking son of a bitch, trying to tell me what to do with my wife,” grunts the man, letting go of her wrist with a jolt. She stands up and pushes him squarely in the chest.

“I am not. Your. Wife,” she says, spitting a large glob of saliva in his face. “Sign the papers, Nicolás. I don’t love you. I don’t even give a shit about you.”

Nicolás moves like he plans to smack her across the face, but Javier is quick—and itching to knock him unconscious.

The punch cracks his jaw. He howls while the owner emerges from the back room and another customer helps drag Nicolás out the door. They throw him on the street and cuss him out. Javier shrugs on his jacket and sniffs, feeling accomplished.

“Cielito,” he mutters, offering his hand. Trembling (more with rage than fear, he suspects), she holds out her wrist and he gently prods around the area, feeling for disturbances. She winces, but it will only bruise. Still—

“I should have been faster.”

“Javier,” she whispers. “Don’t start.”

He lets out one frustrated sigh through his nose and nods. “Is it a judgment against your character if I say you married a complete fucking asshole?”

She laughs softly, like sad little bells. “Wasn’t my choice in the first place.”

He frowns down at her. “Cielito—”

“You’re already late for work, Javi. They’re gonna chew you out.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he says, brushing a knuckle over her chin. “I’ll lay on my charm.”

She hums. “Maybe you’re the asshole, Javier Peña.”

~

It’s been a year since he met his waitress. Tonight, for the first time, he pictures her face to make himself come.

He’s in the shower when it happens. Standing under the stream of hot water, he's unable to quell the image that bubbles up in his hindbrain. He imagines her lips around him as he hardens, and when he takes himself in his hand and juts out his hips roughly, he grunts, pretending he’s pushing past the seal of her pretty lips. Her face—so beautiful, so smiling and kind—sweaty and ruined, more radiant than ever. Her body: its curves and its delectable softness, its taste like coffee beans and flowers, if he can imagine it. The tempting, unknowable skin under that waitress’s uniform. He wants to make her feel good. He wants to lick every inch of her, savour every drop of her wetness when he gets her ready to take him. Tangy sweetness, twilight and the calm of the water at dusk. Flashes of teeth, lips, skin. 

That's it, baby. You can take me. I’ll make you feel good. 

Javier… A rush of breath, the distant cry of a swan over the water. Please. 

He doesn’t think until he’s spilling over his hand and the wall, harder than he’s come in a long time, of how wrong this is. How wrong of him to imagine a claim on her body, her life. Underneath the steaming hot water, his mind sharpens. He wants her, and he feels so filthy for it.

He turns up the heat some more and lets himself scald. 

Seeing her in the little café after fucking himself to the thought of her naked is a surreal experience. He’s never even seen the more intimate areas of her; she wears an apron and a dress, and he can only ever see her knees, her arms, her collarbones. But now he wants to trace them with his fingers, watch them hollow out when she inhales, watch the curve in her throat as she swallows and sighs. He wants to get on his knees and lift up her dress so he can make her fall apart on his tongue. He’s fucked everything up.

Him and his stupid goddamn dick.

“I’ve figured it out,” she says triumphantly, sitting down at his table across from him. There’s a cup of coffee for both of them; he figures she’s taken her break. Which means she likes to spend this half-hour with him. Which means she likes him.

“What have you figured out?” he asks, pushing his sunglasses further down his nose to peer at her.

“That DEA disguise might work for you, but I see all.” She reaches for his glasses and puts them on her own face, pantomime-lighting a cigarette. “You’re a spy, Agent Peña,” she says mischievously. 

He really, truly, desperately wants to kiss her.

The sunglasses slip down her face, so he pushes them onto the top of her head. Stares her in the eyes. “You got me, honey. What are you gonna do, huh? Lock me up?”

“How much money can I get for a spy?” she muses. “Guess it depends how good you are.” Her eyes narrow when a grin slithers up the corner of his mouth. “Javier, do not—”

“Oh, I’m very good,” he says, toasting his cup of coffee.

With a roll of her eyes, she lifts her own cup in toast, and takes a sip. The sight of her lips on the rim while she meet his eyes is enough to make Javier wish he owned looser jeans.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

Her eyes ask the same question, but she phrases it sweetly, the way she always does. She’s a fucking tonic to his bones and the reason he’s so goddamn tense. “Blinking is very important, you know.”

He does just that, clearing his vision and letting her come back into sharp focus. The morning sunlight adorns her skin like jewellery. She’s a vision. Even someone with a single sense out of the five could tell how beautiful she is, but it doesn’t make his life any easier. It doesn’t lower his heart rate, doesn’t cool him down, and it definitely doesn’t help the tightness in his pants.

He fucks his hand in a bathroom at the Embassy, and then he brings an informant home and fucks her, too. He makes sure she enjoys it when she’s on her hands and knees, because all he’s doing is picturing his waitress. He hates himself for the way it makes him grasp her a bit tighter, pump her a bit harder: imagining her syrupy whines, her flushed chest, her smooth skin all for him. He tunes out the noises she makes and pretends it's her. When he makes her come, he pictures her brows scrunching up, her eyes squeezing shut when she can't take the pleasure he gives her. He’d make his girl real happy, make her satisfied and dazed and fucking drooling.

Javier completes the transaction and cleans up in the bathroom. He stares at himself in the mirror for a long while, at his dishevelled hair and his tired eyes. Sex didn’t help.

She’s still in his blood. She’s in his system for good.

He doesn’t want a quick fuck. He wants her: his friend, his secret. His girl, whether she knows it or not.

The next day, she’s working on the books when he comes up to the counter, a pair of glasses perched on her nose, so engrossed she doesn’t even notice he’s arrived until he sits down.

She’s so fucking cute, he thinks, with her glasses and her thinking face, brows pinched together. But she smiles up at him like always. “Good morning, Javier.”

His mind is really a bastard, feeding him flashbacks of last night's wet dream. On her knees, taking him so well, so perfect, on her back while he left marks that would let everyone know she'd been fucked and who’d done it, on top of him, writhing and gasping and collapsing next to him. In his dream, he kissed the top of her head, laced their fingers together, and mumbled how well she’d done until they both fell asleep.

“Morning,” he says. “Don’t you have people for that?”

She huffs. “We’re short-staffed. Which means there’s me, one other cook, and Jorge. So I’m stuck making sure we won’t get audited.”

Javier whistles lowly. “Jorge’s got a real soldier working for him.”

She tucks her hair behind her ear. He likes making her nervous. “Maybe if you say that to his face, he’ll give me a raise.”

“You need money?”

Fucking moron, he thinks. Way to scare her off. Her eyes widen, but then she’s saying, “Oh, Javi, no. I’m doing all right. I promise. Just some… marital strain.”

His jaw may snap off if he clenches it any tighter. He can’t meet her eyes when he asks, “He been bothering you?”

It doesn’t piss him off that she’s married. She hates the guy, never wants to see him again. She’s been trying to get him to sign the divorce papers for over a year. What pisses him off is that any mention of her husband sucks her cheer away like blood from a wound. Javier has a real problem with someone making her frown.

She rests her cheek in her palm. “Every time I try to pay him off, he comes back saying it wasn’t enough, that he can’t afford a lawyer. Which is bullshit, by the way. He makes a hell of a lot more than me.”

“What does he do?”

She shutters off again, looks back down at her books. “It’s not a moral sort of work.”

Javier would know all about that.

“Oh!” she says suddenly, whirling around, the glimmer in her eye back again. “I forgot—I made you something.”

His chest feels tight. “ Bonita—”

She slides the books aside and places down a piece of blueberry pie. “You can’t say no,” she says, producing two forks, “because I’m helping you eat it.”

He’ll prod about her shitty husband later. For now, Javier enjoys the half-hour he has with her. They finish the pie in minutes.

~

Steve Murphy is a dick.

Javier knows it was a mistake to bring her up to him, because now Murphy has forgotten all his paperwork for the night, and he’s got his eyes set on making his partner’s life hell.

“Does she know you got those narcos arrested a few weeks ago?”

“She’s not stupid, Steve.”

“Do you know her last name?”

“Yes.”

“Is that because you told her, or because you stole her personal file?”

“Murphy, if you don’t shut up—”

“You’re not fucking her, are you?”

For some reason, that pisses him off the most. Javier grits his teeth. “Knock it off.”

He raises his hands in surrender. “All right, all right. Jesus, Javi.” When he leans back in his chair, he’s still watching Javier with a smile spreading slowly across his face. “You really aren't.”

Javier puffs his cigarette and tries not to fly across his desk at his partner. “And how do you know that?”

“’Cause if you didn’t respect her so damn much, you wouldn’t get all defensive.” Murphy whistles lowly. “You’re so fucked, Peña.”

Javier doesn’t look up from his typewriter. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, man. You don’t wanna fuck any random girl.” Murphy hides his mocking laugh with his hand. “You want to fuck your friend.”

Javier flicks his cigarette and it smacks Murphy in the cheek. “Pendejo.”

Murphy’s still laughing when Javier grumbles about going somewhere. He doesn’t even know where he’s planning to go, but it’s his lunch break and he needs fresh air. He definitely doesn’t want to linger on the reality that Murphy is right.

There’s a market across the street and down a block from the Embassy, which itself is a block away from the café. It’s not strange that she’s there, tediously browsing apples like choosing the wrong one will poison her customers, but Javier’s heart still kicks up, watching her as he waits for the traffic to clear.

She’s real fucking pretty in the daylight. Her hair is down, no longer in its clean ponytail, and the breeze picks it up like it’s watching her, too. She smiles at the vendors she passes; some call out to her, trying to sell or flirt. Javier crosses the street and gets giddy at the thought of seeing her outside.

He strolls up behind her and watches her inspect an apple. “If you stare any harder, it’ll wither.”

A little gasp leaves her mouth. “Javi!” she says brightly, eyeing him without a modicum of shame, her hand over her brows to shield herself from the sunlight. “So this is how you look in the light.”

She’s dressed in a flowy skirt that forms around her thighs when a breeze rolls by, and her shirt shows more of her cleavage than he’s ever seen before. He knows she notices his gaze lingering, but he doesn’t particularly care to look away. Watching her roll her eyes above his sunglasses delights Javier to no end. “You’ll get arrested walking around like this, cariño,” he says, leaning in real close and feeling her shiver when his breath reaches her ear.

She steps backward and holds onto the lapel of his jacket. “If you’re going to flirt with me, Javier, do it while you help me shop. I don’t have all the time in the world like you and your fellow superheroes.”

It only spurs him on. He lifts the canvas tote off her shoulder. “Fine by me,” he says. “What are the apples for?”

“Pie,” she says, picking two more apples from the cart. “You ever bake?”

“I cherish my place too much; don’t wanna see it burn down.” He steps in front of her when she reaches into her pocket to pay the vendor, slapping his own pesos into the man’s hand. She slowly lowers her hand and smiles at him in thanks. He lets her put the apples in the bag. “You want to teach me?”

Her face glows at the thought. “You’d really want to learn?”

It feels so good to make her happy that Javier doesn’t give a shit if Murphy finds out he offered to bake with this girl. “Will you put your hands over mine to show me how to knead the dough?”

Her hand trails across his stomach when she passes him. “Anything you want, honey,” she says.

Javier feels like he’s in high school again. He shuts his eyes for a moment to reset his brain, since the imprint of her hand on him shut it off. When his eyes are open again, she’s three vendors away. Javier scrambles to catch up with her. “So,” he says, “come here often?”

“Don’t you have a job to get back to?” she says. “You and your big, scary bloodhounds.”

“They only allow one bloodhound for a partner, and he’s pissing me off. Besides, how could I just let you walk around by yourself out here? It’s dangerous.”

She pokes him in the stomach. “You’re the dangerous one, Peña.”

She stops between two vendors’ carts and stares up at him with her hands on her hips. For a moment, Javier worries he’s in trouble, and he’s about to open his mouth to apologise, when she asks, “Are you free tonight?”

It is frankly humiliating how fast he blurts out a yes.

“Good,” she says plainly. “I’ll teach you how to bake.”

~

Javier is practically salivating when he arrives at her door for dinner. There are two reasons for it.

One: whatever she’s cooking smells incredible. It’s a lot fucking nicer than the shit he eats at home—on the rare nights he remembers to eat after all the long nights at work.

Two: she’s dressed in loungewear. It’s a pair of shorts and a too-large sweatshirt. It should not make him half-hard. But she’s adjusting the bun on top of her head when she opens the door and beams at him and Christ, he’s going to be lucky if he lasts the night without excusing himself to his car to relieve his situation like a horny teenage boy.

A grin splits her face, and she leans on the door. “You brought flowers.”

He did. He thrusts them out in front of him and grimaces, his face warm. “You like lilies.”

“Yeah,” she says softly, squeezing the hand that holds the bouquet of white flowers, “I do. Come in, Javi.”

He thinks of himself as a gentleman where it counts, so he bites his tongue when he takes in the state of her apartment. She isn’t messy—she’s clearly done her best to keep up appearances, despite the fact there are leaks bleeding down the walls and peeling wallpaper and her bed is mere feet from the puny bathroom. Javier feels suddenly embarrassed by his own swanky place, set up for him by the DEA. He’s hit with a burst of cold air when he enters the room, and she crosses the room, flowers in hand, to fiddle with the thermostat.

“I’m sorry it’s so chilly,” she says sheepishly. “This thing needs fixing. Unless the problem is behind the wheel.” She tries to dial the heat up by two degrees, but the dial falls off and lands next to her feet. She just sighs. “You ever go undercover as a handyman, by any chance?”

He chuckles, closing the door behind him. The broken chain lock worries him; there’s nothing but the lock on the door to stop someone from breaking in, and picking this sort of lock is too simple. “I don’t go undercover,” he tells her, “but I can smack your landlord around.”

She hums. “They’ll trace it back to me. Gotta be careful about those things, Peña. There should be a vase in that cupboard behind you.”

He finds it, fills it with water (which sputters for a while before it runs), and places it on the dining table (barely big enough for two). She places the flowers inside and smiles fondly. “You have an eye for décor.”

“Wrong,” says Javier, “I have an ear, and it listens to what the woman likes.”

She swats him gently in the chest. “Flattery doesn’t excuse you from helping the woman in the kitchen. Get an apron on those hips.”

~

Javier decides he hates baking. But she makes it tolerable.

His job is full of tedium. He likes to leave that behind in his personal life. She’s so easy to be around, to talk to. He likes leaving the Embassy, leaving behind the narcos, and knowing she’ll be the first person he talks to the next morning. There’s no politics, no bureaucracy, no bullshit with her. He trusts her.

Baking is tedious as shit. It’s precise, all about waiting, timing, and the end result is only good if you’ve worked like hell for it. It’s too much like work.

She has flour on her nose, and he lifts his thumb to wipe it away. The look she gives him makes him forget why he hates baking. 

Javier tried to knead the dough for the pie crust but ended up treating it like an interrogation suspect, so she did as promised and placed her hands over his. He remembers her cheek resting against his arm as she leaned around him, felt her breasts on his back, her impossibly soft hands, her warmth. 

“Be nice to it,” she whispered. “We don’t want our food to bite back.”

“It’s delicious, Javi,” she says, finishing her last bite of the apple pie. They made it, together. Javier is proud of that no matter how much sweat he wasted slaving over that oven. “Worth all the pain and swearing?”

“Fucking malparido,” he hissed. She whipped around, eyes wide. He rubbed his elbow. “Burned myself.”

“Oh, honey,” she said, wetting a cloth with cool water and wrapping it around his arm. She was always quick to react, quick to soothe. “¿Mejor? (Better?)”

He liked the way Spanish rolled off her tongue. It was sweet and smooth, not quite fluent but proficient enough to fake it. He grinned down at her. “Eres demasiado buena para mi, bebita (You’re too good to me, baby).”

She looked away and he pretended not to notice her smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “Worth it.”

It is a damn good pie.

~

He’s still in her apartment four hours later, and she hasn’t given him a hint she wants him gone. It’s the longest he’s spent at a woman’s home without getting into bed with her. Sure, he wants to, but Javier’s content here, on her small sofa, sharing a bottle of wine.

“So. Want to tell me how you ended up working in a café in Bogotá, married as far down as someone can possibly go?”

She shoves him lightly. “Don’t rub it in, Javier.”

“Just can’t get my head around a guy like that marrying a woman so far out of his league. You’re you, cariño. He’s—”

“A moron?”

“You said it, honey.”

She traces her finger around the rim of her wine glass. “Javi, I trust you. I honest-to-God trust you more than I’ve let myself trust anyone in a long time.”

He lifts a brow and ducks his head to meet her eyes. “That’s a good start.”

She lets out a shaky sigh. “I came to Colombia to help take care of my sister. She was sick. Nicolás approached me one night while I was out for her medication. He offered me work, told me it would pay more than anywhere could. I was desperate and stupid enough to buy it.”

Javier doesn’t like where this is going. Still, he places a hand atop her knee and lets her continue. “He turned me into a whore, Javi. I don’t care about that, not really. It paid, it gave me work. But the things he would make me do…” She breathes in harshly, like the memory pains her. “He made me believe he loved me. I married him, and my sister died anyway.

“My brother-in-law is a lawyer. When I served the papers, Nicolás took all the money and ran off. He only started coming back a few months ago, trying to make me believe he’s broke.”

Javier brushes a knuckle across her chin. His rage, horror, and sadness are a cocktail in his aching head. Her husband was her pimp. He forced her into sex with men and then put her money in his pocket. Javier wants to act—he needs to help her, to pull strings with folks outside the DEA and get the asshole to sign the papers. If not, a restraining order could work. But there are tears falling down her cheeks, and Javier’s plan of action retreats to the back of his mind. He smooths back her hair and places a kiss on her forehead. “Thank you for telling me,” he whispers, nearly chokes out, voice strained. “Thank you.”

She sniffles. “I can see your wheels turning, Javi. What are you thinking?”

“I know how it feels to be trapped in a marriage,” he tells her. She frowns.

“You were married?”

“Nearly,” he amends. “The kid wasn’t mine.”

“Ah.” She nods in understanding, like that’s all the explanation she needs. “We’ve both been truly fucked over, huh?”

He lifts his glass in toast. “That we have.”

She clinks their glasses together. “To making bad decisions.”

He chuckles. “I can toast to that.”

~

“Like… none?” Steve peers at him from across their desks. It’s times like these Javier hates being forced to sit right in the bullpen with Murphy. “None at all? How long?”

“You wanna play this game, Murphy? Really?” Javier glares. “When’s the last time you got fucked by your wife, huh?”

Murphy throws a pen at him, but Javier catches it. “Don’t talk about my wife, Peña. And since you’re curious, last night.”

Well, fucking good for Steve Murphy. Javier hasn’t cared to get in bed with a woman for weeks; even in the weeks before that, the sex was nothing inspiring, nothing good enough to make him forget about how badly he wants his waitress’s sweet body beneath him.

“Fuck your hand later, man,” says Murphy, “we got doors to knock on.”

Javier rubs his hand over his jaw. “I’m sitting this one out. Got another lead to look at.”

Murphy grunts. “Sure. Make sure you pay her well.”

“Fuck you.”

Javier waits outside the unassuming house, drumming his fingers beneath the driver’s side window with his sunglasses pushed down to the tip of his nose. He has triple-checked the address, memorised the routine of the man he’s watching, but it still unnerves him when he finds himself waiting for a long damn time for him to emerge.

When he does, Javier steps out of his car and walks right up to him. “Nicolás.”

The man curses when he sees Javier, surging forward. “You want to assault a DEA agent?” Javier challenges, choosing Spanish. “I just want to talk.”

“You assaulted me, you son of a bitch,” says Nicolás. “She send you?”

“No. But you’re going to sign the papers.”

Nicolás scoffs. “Just because you’re fucking my wife—”

Javier itches to pull his gun and press it to the asshole’s forehead until he shits himself in fear. “I’m not fucking your wife,” he says, “but it doesn’t seem like you are, either.”

Nicolás snarls. “I’m not signing the papers.”

Javier feels dirty when he reaches inside his vehicle and pulls out the divorce papers he stole from her bedside table. Nicolás’s brows come down in a furious line. “This is coercion,” he says.

“It’s a warning.” Javier’s patience is waning. “She’s not going to be nice forever, and neither am I. I won’t lose sleep if you go to jail.”

“Let me tell you something,” says Nicolás. “I own her. I have owned her from the moment she signed her contract and I will own her even if she’s not my wife. I have shit on her that will destroy any chance she has at a life, a career. You’ll have to do a lot better than fucking divorce papers.”

Javier’s jaw ticks, but he’s already tucked away the information he needs. He’s going to get her out.

~

That night, she shows up at his home.

Javier opens the door when a soft knock sounds. He’s not expecting anyone, which is why his gun is tucked into his waistband.

Her face is puffy with tears, and Javier is on red alert. His hairs stand on end and he steps into the hallway, crowding her gently so he can place his hands on her shoulders. Her lower lip trembles when he touches her. “Oh, cielito,” he murmurs. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

She shivers. It’s raining outside, and she’s soaked to the bone, her pretty skirt clinging to her thighs and her knit cardigan a blanket of sopping fabric. He knows she doesn’t have a car, that she walks everywhere, but he feels like an asshole for not tracking her down and picking her up anyway. “Went to the Embassy,” she says, teeth chattering. “I found your friend Steve; he gave me your address.”

“Oh, shit, honey.” He grimaces. “I’m sorry. He’s an asshole.”

She tries to laugh, but tears are still rolling down her cheeks. “I—I’m sorry, Javier. I didn’t know where else to go.”

Javier ushers her inside and she stands timidly on the mat while he closes the door behind them. “C’mon, take your shoes off. Can I…?” She nods, and he helps her shrug off the heavy wet cardigan while she slips off her tennis shoes, still hesitant about stepping onto his hardwood floors. “A little water never hurt me, honey. I don’t pay for this place. C’mere, I’ll get you some clothes.”

She holds herself reserved and taut as she follows him, but does not step beyond the threshold into his bedroom. He roots through his closet and refuses to look at the bed. Javier does not let himself imagine her lying there, both of them rolling around in hazy desire, morning laziness, and close talks while squinting against the morning sunlight. He finds a pair of sweatpants and an old, shitty sweatshirt emblazoned with Texas A&M spirit. She smiles down at it and says in a wrecked voice, “It’s gathering cobwebs, viejo.”

He wants to fire something back about her smart mouth, but he doesn’t have the heart. Not when she’s crying. “You can change in here,” he says. “I’ll make you some coffee. That okay?”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’ll make some for myself, too. How about that?”

Finally, she nods. “Okay.”

He leaves her just as she’s beginning to pull off her shirt, and he warns his heartbeat to settle before working on the coffee pot. Javier doesn’t let himself think much when he’s working. He tries to get the job done, accomplish what’s necessary. If he thinks… Well, if he thinks, he’ll think about why she’s crying. He’ll wonder what happened to her that was so bad she didn’t have anywhere else to go. He’ll want to track whoever did this to her down and the things he’ll do to them will be horrific enough to land him in jail, let alone fired. No. He’ll make coffee. He will assure that she’s comfortable. He will not—

Fuck.

Javier’s brain goes blank, like he’s wiped all the chalk off the board, when she emerges wearing his clothes. Her feet are bare, the sweatshirt too big, her arms hugging herself as she pads over to him. It’s almost domestic; it’s his fucking dream, seeing her in his home like this, and he can’t enjoy it because she’s in trouble.

He hands her a mug and waits for his brain to restart. They sit together on his sofa and she watches him for a while, scanning his face.

He doesn’t realise until a minute passes that he’s fucked up. Royally.

Her gaze is soft. “I don’t blame you, Javi. Please don’t blame yourself.”

Javier pinches the bridge of his nose and curses at himself in Spanish. “I… Fuck, I just wanted to help. I promise you.”

She reaches out and grasps his hand. “I know,” she says. “He didn’t hurt me.”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice raspy, “he did.”

She shuffles closer, and he can feel her fresh warmth, smell her dewy hair, watch her irises shimmer in the dim light. He clenches her hand tighter. “I’m okay,” she says, reassuring him even though he’s the one who brought the wrath of her husband down upon her. “Just had to see you.”

“Tell me what he did to you.”

“Knocked on my door and told me off for getting involved with a hijo de puta like you.” She smiles wryly, looking down at their joined hands. “His words. Then he told me you showed up at his house, threatened him.”

He tries a joke and feels even more rotten inside for it. “Couldn’t help it. He’s easily threatened.”

Now, as the initial panic subsides, Javier begins to think.

There isn’t a noise inside his home besides the sound of their breathing. He’s wearing jeans, a button-up, and he still feels like he’s on fire. She’s on his fucking couch. Her legs are tucked underneath her and she’s sipping his coffee, and she’s so close to him her arm brushes against him whenever she shifts. Her face is a foot away from his; there are little specks in her eyes, tear tracks on her face; she parts her lips to say something, and his ears begin to ring. He needs her. He needs her close.

Javier cups her face in his hand and brushes his thumb along her chin. She leans into his touch like it’s the most natural thing he could do, like they aren’t crossing a hundred lines. Both of the mugs are set down on the coffee table. She turns her body to face him, looking up at him with doe’s eyes, and his entire body hums for her.

“He knows, Javier.” Her voice is a whisper. “He knows what you mean to me. He said if I don’t start working for him again, he’ll kill you.” She licks her lips, curling her fingers around his forearm. Her eyes are welling up again. “I can’t…”

“Shh, cielito.” He wants her out of her head, wants his girl back. He drops his voice, too, and tucks her hair behind her ear. “Gonna get you out of this.”

She’s butter beneath him, soft and sighing. “Javi, I—”

“I know.” His other hand slips around her hip, fingers teasing the skin beneath the hem of his sweatshirt. She’s so soft.

He drinks in her little gasp. “We can’t—”

“I know.” He brings his hand forward, pressing gently into the small of her back and enjoying the way her warm body curves to him. He slides his hand back around the curve of her waist, memorising, relishing, making a map of the places he wants to explore.

She whimpers when his hand leaves her skin, only to rest between her hip and thigh. “He’ll use it against me.”

“I know, baby.” She’s close enough now that he can brush his lips to her temple in the mere suggestion of a kiss. “We’re gonna do this right,” he says, trailing his hand back up her side so he can grab her other hand and squeeze. “Hey? You and me.”

She nods fervently. “You and me.”

“That’s my girl,” he says into her ear.

“What do I do?”

“It’s already done. I just need you to do the final step for me.”

She traces her fingers along his jawline and he feels the tremor through his spine. He’s at home, here, melting under her touch. He nudges the pads of her fingers with his nose, and she smiles at him like he saved her life. “Anything,” she whispers.

~

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#kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #javier peña smut #javier peña fic #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña #javier peña x reader #narcos #narcos fic #narcos fanfiction

[ghostlychief]

Pockets of Peace

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader (goes by code name ‘Swan’)

Summary: More often than not, you find yourself in the presence of Simon Riley, aka “Ghost.” You find that your blooming friendship with the aloof Lieutenant provides you with a blanket of comfort, offering you a place of solace within his company. It’s no different when you’re injured during your next mission.

Warnings: mentions of bullet wound, blood, nothing too graphic; fluff; hurt/comfort

Wc: 3.3k+

A/n: This is purely an indulgent fic, as I’ve become obsessed with the mw2 character ghost lmao. If you stumble across it, i hope you enjoy!! I really had a fun time writing this, so i hope you have as much enjoyment while reading. <3 (sorry for any typos or grammar mistakes, i’ve read this over and over and bound to miss a few)

ALSO: I’ve deemed Peace by Taylor swift this couples’ song so have a listen when you’re reading 🫶🏻

Part 2 found here: Weighted Blanket

--

When you first joined task force 141, it took you some time to feel fully a part of the team and comfortable. You were more on the quiet side, and chose your friends carefully; comes with the line of work, you figure. What you didn’t expect was to become closest to the man that goes by the name of “Ghost.” He was tall, quiet, and the only thing you could see of his face were his eyes, but for some odd reason, you two clicked. You frequently got paired up during missions, working well along side one another. You guys got the job done swiftly and with little difficulty and your skill sets complimented each other as well. While Ghost used brute force and took the enemy straight on, you used your size to hide and take down the enemy by surprise, from a far distance. You were the best sniper on the team.

You and Ghost completed mission after mission with flying colors, only the occasional scratch or two indicated you were ever in combat. Did he still intimidate the hell out of you? Well, of course. His intimidation and brooding atmosphere only made you want to be friends with him more.

Your acquaintanceship with Ghost started to bloom 6 months after you joined the team. After one particularly long and exhausting mission, you and Ghost ended up drinking a 12 pack in his room. It became a regular occurrence after that, with you quickly realizing that winding down with Ghost was the best way to recover from a mission. The conversation always started off with work talk but after a couple of beers, the conversation would steer towards other topics. During these nights, Ghost became more talkative, slowly opening up to you, and you the same. One evening, after Ghost had a couple beers in him, he gave you a nickname, “Little Swan.” That was the first time he ever made your heart race.

During these late-night chats, you learned that he likes his coffee sweet with flavored creamer, but he likes his tea black. You also learned that he only wears black socks and has a whole drawer filled with skull balaclavas. One night, you may or may not have stolen one after he passed out. It was all worth it though when you showed up to the team meeting the next morning sporting it.

As you entered the meeting room the next morning for the debrief, you came up to stand beside Ghost, who had his back turned toward you. The other members in the room raised their eyebrows but tried to hide their shock, as to not to give away Ghost’s surprise.

Smiling, you bumped shoulders with Ghost and said, “Damn, I really pull off your look, huh?” You grinned up at him, eyes bright, then turned back to the table to see all the other team members with their mouths slightly agape. Ghost glanced over at you, and his eyes widened slightly before going back to normal. He shook his head, “Fucking hell,” but not without you noticing the amusing glint in his eyes.

One morning you were eating breakfast in the dining hall, looking down at your book, when someone sat across from you. Usually, you ate alone, so it was a surprise to see Ghost sitting opposite of you with a steaming mug of coffee and a banana. You just smiled at him and went back to reading, and he ate his breakfast. No words were said, but every morning after that, you and the Lieutenant ate breakfast together. There was the occasional banter, but most times, you both enjoyed the quiet morning in each other’s company.

When you weren’t on a mission, you spent your time training and hanging out with the other team members on the base.

You typically trained with Soap, whether it be shooting or hand-to-hand combat. One day while you were on the mats sparing with Soap, he suddenly stopped, smirked at you and said, “I think you’ve got yourself an admirer, Swan.” With your brows furrowed, you looked up to see none other than Ghost leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching you and Soap train.

You grinned and waved at him, and much to Soap’s surprise, Ghost waved back. Turning back to Soap, you shrugged and said, “He’s been helping me with my form.” Needless to say, you won the next round, and you didn’t need Ghost to remove his balaclava to know that he was smiling.

--

You and Ghost were experts at your jobs, that’s how you’re on task force 141 in the first place. That doesn’t mean every mission goes smoothly- as you soon found out on your next one.

You and Ghost finally reached the safe house. The only downside was that it was in the middle of nowhere and at the base of a snowy mountain, which did not help your worrying thoughts of making it through the night. Ghost unlocked the door and you both did a quick scan of the place to make sure it was all clear. Once you guys cleared the space, you groaned and plopped down onto the couch, finally finding respite for your injured leg. Although the mission was a success, you guys got banged up pretty bad, nothing fatal, but just worse enough for you to immediately collapse on the couch. Ghost seemed to be faring much better than you, he didn’t get shot after all.

You don’t want to glance down at your thigh, because you know you will be met with a mess of a wound and blood. So much blood. It’s a wonder how you managed to escape and make the trek to the safe house.

You have Ghost to thank for that; he covered your ass and helped you along the way. You guys had spent the last few hours switching between a walk and jog to get to the safe house, and away from enemy lines.

The first time you guys slowed to a walk, Ghost wrapped your arm around his neck to support most of your weight. However, this turned out to make it harder to walk because of the height difference between the two of you. He was a mountain of a man, and as much as you appreciated his attempt to help, it would have been quicker if you just limped along. “I’m going to need you to make it to the safe house, Swan. I can’t have you dying on my watch.”

“Copy that, Lt.” You grimaced, now feeling the full effects of being shot in the thigh. Just your fucking luck, you think.

“Riley, call me Riley.”

That was new. You never referred to him as anything other than Ghost or Lieutenant. Despite the immense amount of pain you’re in, you can’t miss the feeling of small sparks igniting in your tummy.    

Now seated on the couch and breathing heavily, you watch as Ghost removes most of his tactical gear, the skull mask included. Although, you conclude that he probably has at least two concealed weapons somewhere on his body. You try not to think to much about where they could be placed.

You finally bite the bullet and look down at your leg. “Fuck me.”

“How’s it looking?” You glance up to see Ghost towering over you. His hands are on his hips as he assesses your leg, but the fabric of your pants is making it hard to properly see the damage, even though your cargo pants are torn and bloodied where the bullet made contact with your body.

“Well, seeing that a bullet teared through the side of my thigh, my leg has seen better days.”

Ghost lets out a low chuckle, which you think you must have imagined. You must have lost too much blood; did he just laugh? That was also new. You’ve been on this task force for a little over two years, and despite what everyone would call you and Ghost’s acquaintanceship, borderline friendship, you’ve never heard the man chuckle, at least not at something you said. This mission is breaching all new kinds of territories for you both.

“Right. We need to get it cleaned, stitched and bandaged before it gets infected.” Ghost had already set down his pack by the fire place, so he goes back over there to retrieve the first aid kit.

“You’re not expecting me to take my pants off, are you?” Your question comes out breathy, the pain in your leg getting worse and you let out a low groan when you shift.

You think you hear a scoff fall from Ghost’s lips. “I can either cut your pants, so you’re left with only one pant leg, or, you can remove them and salvage what’s left.” When you hesitate to answer, he adds, “Don’t worry Swan, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Now it’s your turn to scoff. Typical man answer.

You cross your arms and think about your choices, well, lack of choices. Ghost is still turned from you, which allows the warmness that bloomed on your cheeks to reside. Now all that’s left is a scowl on your pretty face. Whether you’re scowling because of the effect Ghost’s words had on you, or the sucky situation you’re in, you don’t know.

Quite frankly, you don’t want to know. You can’t let yourself spiral into the abyss that harbors feelings for a certain 6’4 man; feelings that live at the bottom, just waiting to be unleashed. What you have going between the two of you is good, fine. Your quiet routine is the perfect balance between colleagues and friends, you can’t fuck it up now.

He turns around and makes his way over to you, his heavy boots rattle the floor and his tall stature intimidates you. You find that the small sparks start to ignite again and you hate yourself for it.

Damn you, Riley.

“So, what’s the verdict?” He’s back to looming over you, and you can’t tell if he’s doing it on purpose or not. His hands are back on his hips, as he awaits your answer.

Arms still crossed over your chest, you huff out, “Looks like I’m taking my pants off, Riley. Don’t enjoy it too much.”

He slightly shakes his head, but you can’t tell if he’s smiling or not because of the skull balaclava covering half his face. A part of you, buried deep down in that abyss, hopes that he is. But you’re only privy to his eyes. Which you’ve come to find hold all the weight of his emotions. You sometimes can’t help but get lost in them, trying to figure out all of the mysteries Ghost holds within him.

He turns around to give you some privacy, and takes off his jacket. You’re quick to remove your pants, wincing when the fabric brushes over your wound.

“You can turn around now.” Your quiet voice fills the room, and Ghost turns around slowly, and his jacket is clasped in his left hand. His eyes roam from your feet to your face, and you can’t help the warmth that spreads through you. He’s probably just assessing you to figure out how badly you’re actually hurt, but your heart can’t tell the difference, and it beats erratically in your chest.

You’ve haphazardly put your pants over your lower half, trying to cover yourself up, but it barely covers you. Ghost can still make out the top of your legs and the beginning of your underwear.

How embarrassing. The first time he see’s me in my underwear is in a grungy safehouse and I’m covered in dirt and blood.

He doesn’t say anything, and stretches his left hand out, his jacket swings towards you. You look up at him, brows furrowed and your mouth forms a slight pout. You don’t even have to ask before he’s muttering, “To cover up, your pants aren’t doing a great job and I’m sure you’re already cold.”

He locks eyes with you and you take the jacket from him, and your fingers briefly graze his, sparks getting brighter and brighter.

“Thank you, Riley.” He’s crouched down in front of you now, and you smile at him. You situate the jacket so it’s covering you up more, but leave the bullet wound uncovered so he can take care of it.

He looks massive even though he’s crouched on the floor in front of you. You’re still not taller than him even though you’re perched up on the couch. Your hands slightly twitch as you fight the urge to run them along his massive shoulders that are at the perfect height and distance for you to do so.

He takes his gloves off, and gets to work. When his hands first make contact with your skin, you slightly flinch. He glances up at you, and you smile sheepishly at him. “Cold hands.”

He lets out a grunt of understanding and gets back to cleaning the wound. Luckily the bullet wasn’t lodged in your skin so he didn’t have to go fishing for it, which would have hurt like a bitch.

You let out a hiss when the antiseptic touches your flesh, it stings so fucking bad and you’re trying not to cry. The last thing you want to do is cry in front of him, with no pants on.

Even though your leg is sizzling from the antiseptic, Ghost’s hands are gentle. One is holding your thigh, lightly grasping the inner part, as the other softly wipes the wound and blood surrounding it. You watch him as he continues and in no time, the wound is clean.

“You’re doing great little Swan, but here comes the hard part.”

You sigh and brace yourself for the stitching. You find yourself not caring if you cry anymore, you just want this to be over with. You’re cold, hungry and in pain and figure, there are worse things than to cry in front of him.

You don’t understand how someone with such big hands is so nimble and gentle, but Ghost sews you up quickly. There are tears in your waterline, on the precipice of trailing down your cheeks. One or two tears may have fallen, but you can’t recall because of the searing pain that courses through your outer thigh. The only evidence is the wetness that now coats your cheeks. If Ghost noticed, he didn’t say anything, which you’re grateful for.

He gives your leg a small pat, signaling that he’s done, then grabs the bandage. He wraps you up, and voices that you’re all set.

“Fuck, that was painful.” You sigh and rest your head back against the couch, forgetting that you’re pant-less, Ghost’s jacket doing wonders to keep your legs warm and cover your lower region.

Ghost stands, but before he walks away, you reach out a hand and lightly touch is wrist. Your small voice fills the room again, “Thank you, Riley.” The sincerity from you evident in your tired eyes.

Once again, his eyes lock on yours and he gives you a small nod, before heading to the bathroom to wash up. You take this as his way of giving you privacy to put your pants back on, which you do carefully, trying not to upset your wound.

Once you’re dressed you lay back on the couch. You close your eyes, his jacket draped over you. You remind yourself to return it to him, he must feel cold in his short sleeve shirt. I’m just going to close my eyes for a minute.

*~*~*~*

The next thing you feel are your shoulders shaking. Then screaming. Who’s screaming? The shaking and screaming don’t stop and you feel yourself start to cry, worried about what’s going on.

“Y/n? Y/n, wake up!”

Huh?

You jolt awake, and only then do you realize it was you screaming bloody murder, and Ghost was shaking your shoulders to wake you from your night terror.

When you sat up, the blanket that was on top of you fell halfway off the couch. Wait, blanket? Since when did I have a blanket over me?

You’re breathing heavy and place your head in your hands, trying to hide the tears streaming down your face. Ghost is beside you, crouched on the floor and his hand rubs your back. Up down, up down. The feeling relaxes you momentarily, but you still feel on edge, your nightmare still prevalent in your mind.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” Your voice croaks, and you wearily glance at Ghost, who’s eyes are already on you. One might say they hold concern in them.

“You did, but don’t worry about it, seriously. I just want to make sure you’re ok.” His hand continues to stroke your back, and he reaches his other to softly push back the hairs that cover your face, tucking the strands behind your ear.

You groan, and wipe your eyes, feeling embarrassed yet again. You’re still trembling from your dream, not able to shake the feeling. The nightmares only started a few months ago but they don’t come every night. They’re sporadic, which makes them feel scarier because you never know when you’re going to be hit with one.

Ghost lets you calm down, your breathing is back to normal now, but you’re still sniffling and avoiding his eye.

He stands up, and before you can voice out another apology, he softly says, “Come here.” And before you can fully process what he said, you feel his warm hands grasp you under your armpits and he lifts you up, pulling you against him. He shifts his hand so its resting under your thigh and signals with his other to wrap your legs around his waist. You lay your arms around his neck and rest your head on his shoulder. Much to your chagrin, you’re still sniffling like a fool, and you let out a sigh. His embrace pulls you down like an anchor and you no longer feel like you’re treading through a flood of murky water. It calms and clears, and feels alleviating.

“You’re breaking my heart, little Swan.” Your only reply is tightening your arms around his neck.

He carries you to the bedroom, where he must have been before you woke him and lays you down in the spot where he was previously. You only know because it’s still warm and smells like him.

He climbs in after you and lays on his side to face you. You still look distressed, but much better than before.

It’s only when you drift your eyes up to his that you notice his mask is off. You notice a small cut near his eye. Reaching your hand out, you cup his face and your thumb glides back and forth over the cut. “You should have told me you got this.”

You feel the bed shift when he shrugs, “Didn’t want you to worry.” His deep voice pierces through you, poking the embers that rest at the bottom of your stomach.

Typical. “I always worry about you.” Your eyes flit to his as you confess this.

“Not as much as I worry about you.”

You bring your hand down to glide over his shoulder, then his down his bicep, then forearm. When you reach his hand, he intertwines your hand with his. His large hand almost completely swallows yours.

He pulls you closer to him, now there’s little to no space between you.

“It’s not a competition, Riley.”

“Simon, call me Simon.” He cups your face, then closes the distance between you and captures your lips with his.

--

#simon riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost fanfic #ghost fic #simon riley fanfic #simon riley fic #hurt/comfort #ghost fluff #mw2 ghost #hurt/comfort au #ghost cod #cod fanfic #ghost cod x reader #ghost cod fanfic

[roosterforme]

The Younger Kind Part 11 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When you realize Bradley still has the dating app on his phone, you start to think he's never going to take you seriously. But then he surprises you in the best way, and it turns out he's a pretty great study partner, too. Meanwhile, Bradley is starting to think the longer he puts off talking to Meredith, the worse things will become.

Warnings: Smut, angst, swearing, fluff, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4600 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more!

You and Bradley had been texting nonstop. Occasionally he would just check in with you and ask how your day was going. Sometimes he would send you a funny story or a picture of Noah. And then once, when you asked him sweetly, he sent you a dick pic to which you replied with a photo of yourself in the shower.

When he texted you on Tuesday evening asking if you could come over on Wednesday, you immediately agreed. You didn't want to invite yourself over to his house, but you'd been itching to go back and see them. Your boys. 

I'll be there, Daddy. Do you want me to make dinner?

Bradley Bradshaw: I didn't want to ask. I should be a capable adult by now. But HELL YES, Noah and I both want you to make dinner. I'll order some groceries on my phone.

You laughed at his old man tendencies and the fact that they both liked it when you cooked for them. Then you started thinking about what might happen after Noah went to bed for the night. You groaned; you had an exam early on Thursday morning, so you'd need to get a good night's sleep. 

You didn't even know exactly where you and Bradley were at the moment, but you hoped you were headed down the road to a relationship with him. Something exclusive. Something where you could spend time with him and Noah on a regular basis. 

You stopped back at your place after class on Wednesday and quickly changed into a sundress and touched up your makeup. You put some lip gloss on and grabbed a bag of Skittles with a smile. You considered stopping for coffee, but you were anxious to get to Bradley's house, so you skipped it. 

When you let yourself in the front door, you could hear them playing with blocks; you were so used to the sound of Noah destroying the towers after he built them. "Hello?" you called out, and Noah was racing into the living room. 

You scooped him up into your arms and held him tight. "Watch any good princess movies without me?" you asked as Bradley came strolling in as well. He looked so good in his snug jeans and black undershirt, your mind went blank for a beat.

"Hey, Princess," he said softly, stopping just a few inches away from you. He was looking at you with a soft smirk on his lips, and you couldn't help but think about Saturday night on the floor.

"Hi, Daddy," you said with a smirk of your own, and his eyes went a little wider. "How's your week been going?"

You knew exactly how his week was going, because he'd told you this morning that he masturbated to the photo you sent him while he was in his own shower. But you held Noah in your arms and both of you looked up at him with questioning gazes. 

Bradley shook his head slightly. "My week has been excellent so far, Princess. Thanks for asking."

"I love to hear that," you replied, and then you kissed Noah's cheek. "I have a coloring book for you. Wanna see?"

"Yes!" Noah cheered, and you took him to the kitchen table. When you procured from your bag a beach themed coloring book, he got right to work. 

"And I have something for you," Bradley rasped. "Wanna see?"

You pressed your lips together and hummed. "Right now? In the kitchen?"

Bradley chuckled and pulled you closer to the counter. "It's nothing dirty," he whispered in the filthiest voice, and then he handed you a vanilla latte from the coffee shop. As always, Princess was scrawled across the cup. You took a sip while he drank from one that said peasant. 

"I thought you were the knight," you remarked, blowing on your hot drink. 

"I'm waiting for you to upgrade me permanently," he said with a wink, pulling his phone out of his pocket and messing with it while you drank your delicious coffee.

Bradley set his phone on the counter, and you glanced back to see that Noah was coloring nicely by himself. You grabbed the fabric of Bradley's shirt and pulled him closer, pressing your lips to his in a soft lingering kiss. 

"Missed you," he whispered, and when you smoothed his shirt out for him, your eyes caught on his phone screen. 

The dating app was still there. And so were the app notifications. Your coffee soured in your stomach as you saw someone named Julie send him a message before the screen went black. 

"I don't even know how to cook half of the stuff I got, but I figured you'd be able to figure something out," he told you, opening the refrigerator and shrugging. "We'll eat whatever you want to make."

Well now you didn't feel like cooking shit for him! You could leave. There was nothing keeping you here. Not Bradley who would never take you seriously. 

But there was something keeping you here. Noah turned and looked at you. "Can you make food? For later? And ants on the logs?"

You sighed and nodded at him. "Of course, Noah. I'll make you some ants."

You brushed past Bradley to look inside the refrigerator for yourself. At first glance, you knew you could make them some spaghetti, tacos or hamburgers. In an effort to make sure Noah was well fed, you wanted to stay long enough to make all three and pack the food in plastic containers, but you couldn't even look at Bradley now as he was back on his phone. 

You pulled out ingredients to make tacos, adding the carrots and peanut butter for Noah's snack to the counter as well. When you started browning the meat and cutting up the carrots, Bradley came to stand behind you, rubbing his mustache along your neck. You tried to shrug out of his grasp, but his fingers on your arm felt so nice. 

"Hey, baby?" he asked, his damn phone still in his hand. You finally pulled away from him and turned to look up at him. 

"What?" you asked a little harshly. 

His eyes narrowed at his phone screen. "I can't figure out how to get this damn app off my phone, and the notifications keep popping up when I'm trying to watch the Nationals highlights. Can you help me?"

Bradley held his phone out to you, and you carefully took it. There were countless notifications for the dating app at the top of the screen, and messages kept popping up. You looked up at his completely relaxed face. 

"To be clear, you want me to help you delete the dating app?" you asked cautiously. 

"Yeah," he confirmed, with a casual nod. "It's annoying."

You caught sight of a message from Charlotte who was trying to introduce herself to him. "Bradley, you've got tons of women contacting you."

He leaned closer to you and said, "Yeah, I know." Then he pointed at the screen. "See?! The damn notifications keep covering the MLB scores!"

It took all of your willpower not to kiss his mustache off. "Want to watch me delete it so you know how to remove an app for next time? I won't always be around to help you with your phone, Grandpa."

His eyes drifted from his phone in your hand to your face. "Grandpa? I thought I was Daddy."

You looked up at him innocently. "Now watch closely. Oh wait, do you need to put your hearing aids in?" you asked, annunciating every word slowly. 

"You're obnoxious," he whispered, kissing your cheek. 

"Can you eat tacos with dentures?" you asked, still speaking loudly. 

He glared at you, trying not to smile. "Can you just delete the app?"

"I would love to," you told him, kissing his lips before showing him how to remove it. And then the app was gone, along with all the messages and women trying to chat him up. It felt like the air in the room was easier to breathe. Like a pressure had been lifted off your chest. 

"The Padres beat the Blue Jays," Bradley told you, pointing at the screen. 

"You amaze me," you told him, cutting up a tomato as you smiled. "You can operate a sixty million dollar aircraft, but you can't cook or use a smartphone."

Bradley tossed his phone onto the counter and carefully took the knife out of your hand and set it down on the cutting board. Then he grabbed you by the hips and pulled you back against him. "I'm good with my hands," he murmured, letting said hands drift down to the hem of your dress. "Precise. Quick, but not too fast. Decisive." 

You were practically panting as he rubbed your thigh with his big hand. Bradley's fingers brushed along your bare pussy, and he groaned in your ear. 

"I'm hungry," Noah whined, and Bradley pulled himself away from you. 

"Dinner is almost ready," you promised, and Bradley sat down next to Noah to help him color a pelican.

------------------------------

Bradley knew for a fact that you weren't wearing anything under that little dress. You were just flouncing around his kitchen, sipping a latte and fixing his phone, and you weren't even wearing any underwear. 

Fuck. You were perfect.

"Here's a taco for you, Noah," you said, placing a plate in front of him which was lined with ants on the logs as well. "And two tacos for Daddy," you said with a smirk. 

"Thanks, Princess," Bradley said, letting his hand stroke your knee before you turned to make yourself a plate of food. When you sat, he asked, "Are you free on Friday? I have a late flight simulation, but we could have pizza night again."

You smiled as you picked up a taco. "Yeah, I'm free. How late is your simulation? Want me to pick Noah up from daycare?"

He paused with his food halfway to his mouth. He could avoid the daycare late surcharge. He would know that Noah was safe with you, waiting for him to get home. "You wouldn't mind doing that?" 

"Mind?" you asked, leaning toward Noah as he smiled at you while he ate a carrot. "I've been saving a special coloring book for just such an occasion!"

Bradley nodded. "I'll add you as an authorized pickup person."

The three of you finished eating in silence, the kind of silence that was pleasant. And then Bradley sent you and Noah in to watch a cartoon while he cleaned up. He listened to you and his son singing that ridiculous dinosaur song while you carried him to the couch, and it made him clean the kitchen faster so he could join you.

He turned on his coffee maker and checked his phone only to find three missed calls from Meredith. Her relentlessness was concerning to him. He was probably going to have to call her back soon and let her get this out of her system. He could call her this weekend. There was no way he would actually let her see Noah, but Bradley could handle one, short phone call. Five minutes of him telling her how much of a handful Noah was, and she'd disappear for another twelve months. 

When Bradley carried two mugs of coffee into the living room, he found you with Noah sitting on your lap, watching a Mickey Mouse cartoon. You had your arms wrapped around Noah, and he was laughing. Your eyes met Bradley's, and you smiled at him when he handed you a mug that said Wanna see my cockpit?

You read it before you took a sip. "Yeah, actually, I do. Can I come to the naval base?"

He settled down on the couch next to you with his own drink. "You want to visit me at work?"

"Yeah," you replied with some hesitation in your voice. "Unless you only gave me this mug as an innuendo?"

Bradley grinned in spite of himself. He needed to make sure he wasn't setting himself up for failure here. One glance at Noah and anyone could tell he was attached to you. But honestly, so was Bradley. "You can see both cockpits, Princess."

Your soft laughter as your glossy lips met his mug had him leaning in to kiss your bare shoulder. He inhaled your scent as your eyes fluttered closed. The way you were drinking your coffee as casually as you could while Bradley ran his fingers underneath the strap of your dress was turning him on. He let his fingers trail down your arm, taking your hand in his, as he drank his own coffee and watched Mickey Mouse. 

"It's almost bedtime, Noah," Bradley told him, taking your empty mug along with his and standing. When you didn't let go of his hand right away, it made him smile. 

"One more?" Noah asked. 

"Yeah, Daddy, just one more show?" you pleaded, pouting your lips up at him. 

He shook his head at the two of you and said, "Fine. But just one more."

Noah picked another Mickey Mouse show, and then he asked, "Will you get our crowns?"

"Yeah, I'll go get them." Bradley leaned down and kissed Noah's forehead before taking the mugs to the kitchen sink. Then he stopped in his bedroom and collected his crown and Noah's from his dresser. Then he gently pulled yours down from his bedpost and took all three back to the living room. 

Bradley set the yellow crown on Noah's head before putting the green one on himself. Your purple crown was starting to get bent, and there was a small rip in it, so Bradley was sure to be delicate as he sat down next to you again and placed it on your head. 

"Princess," he whispered, stroking your cheek with his knuckles. You turned your head and kissed his hand, and Bradley sat with one arm around you until the cartoon ended. 

Bradley knelt in front of Noah. "Let's get your teeth brushed and get you in bed, bub," he whispered, and Noah scurried into his arms before he stood. Bradley looked down at you on his couch, your dress bunched up around your thighs and your eyes alert. "Please tell me you're staying a little longer?"

"I have an anatomy exam tomorrow morning, but I can stay for a little while."

Bradley nodded before he left to get Noah's teeth brushed and changed him into pajamas. "I love you," he whispered against Noah's cheek as he tucked him in, but he was already falling asleep. 

Bradley set the yellow and green crowns on Noah's dresser before pulling the door shut behind him. He stood in the hallway for a few seconds and adjusted himself in his jeans. Just thinking about you on his couch had him hard. But he couldn't just go in there and fuck you. No. That's not how things worked with you. There was always something else involved, like the ease with which you teased him or the seductive way you fed him Skittles. 

"Fuck," he grunted, taking off to see if you were still on the couch. But you were standing and picking up your tote bag. At least you hadn't put your shoes on. Or taken your crown off.

You turned and met his eyes and held up a bag of Skittles. "Wanna help me study?"

He let out a deep breath. "Anatomy?" he asked with a smirk. "I think you and I might be good at that."

"I think you're right," you agreed, opening your notebook and handing it to him. "It's on the musculoskeletal system." 

Bradley skimmed the page and looked at you. "I have an idea," he whispered, reaching for the Skittles. "May I?"

You held the bag out for him, saying, "You're still at a fifty percent cut, but only for a probationary period. Don't you dare try to take more than that." Your grin was irresistible as Bradley took the candy from you. That purple crown on your head made him feel like he had claimed you for his own.

But when Bradley set your notes and the Skittles on the couch and took off his shirt and jeans, the grin disappeared from your face. 

--------------------------------

Bradley was undressing down to his briefs, and you were aching with need. 

"I thought we were studying," you asked, ready to pull your dress off as well if that's what he wanted. 

He took your hand and guided you to the couch. "We are, Princess." He sat down, legs splayed wide, and pulled you down onto his lap so you were seated on his thigh. Your hand came to rest on his shoulder as he opened the bag of Skittles and glanced at your notebook on the cushion next to him. 

You kissed his cheek and said, "I think I like studying with you."

"Focus, baby. Where's my serratus anterior muscle?"

You had to bite back a moan as you looked at his body. He was stroking your thigh gently with his thumb as you ran your fingers along his ribcage. "Right here."

"Good girl." This time you did moan while Bradley very gently placed a yellow Skittle between your lips. You chewed it up as he glanced back down at your notebook. "Pronator teres?"

You ran your fingers along the inside of his elbow, and this time you earned a purple Skittle. 

"Deltoid?" he asked softly, and you let out a little gasp as your fingers drifted along his perfect shoulder. "You're so smart," he praised, hand feeding you a red Skittle as you turned to straddle his hips and pressed yourself against his hard cock through his underwear.  

"Bradley," you whined, his hands on your thighs heavy and warm.

"Trapezius?" 

You bent closer to him until your lips were drifting along the perfect muscle between his neck and his shoulder. You kissed him before pulling away. 

"Right there, Daddy." His cock jumped inside his briefs in anticipation as he fed you a green Skittle.

"Omohyoid?" he rasped, stroking his hands higher on your thighs. 

You kissed his neck just below his chin, gently sucking on him. His groan made you bolder, and you gently bit him there before sucking hard enough to leave a mark. 

"So good," he whispered, and you took an orange Skittle from his hand. "Abductor?" 

You pulled his hand from your thigh, found the correct muscle in his wrist, and kissed him there. When you grinded down on his cock, you nibbled on his wrist while you looked at him. His eyes were filled with lust as he watched you work your lips on his skin, and you desperately wanted to feel him inside you. 

When you released his wrist, he held a red Skittle out on his palm, and you pulled it between your lips. Then you kissed him softly, letting him take the candy between his lips and eat it.

You and he repeated this with an orange one followed by two purples and a green. He put them gently between your lips before you fed them to him with a kiss. Bradley's hand found its way under your dress, and he started stroking his knuckles along your clit. 

"Princess," he groaned, slipping a finger inside you as he kissed your cheek and adjusted your crown. "God, baby. You always gonna get this wet for me?"

Your notebook ended up on the floor along with the empty Skittles wrapper, and you were slipping your hand inside Bradley's underwear and pulling the elastic below his balls. "You make me wet," you whispered, now riding two of his fingers as you stroked him. 

"Will you let me fuck you again, baby?" he asked, pupils blown wide as he finger fucked you just right. But you knew his cock would be even better. You pulled your dress over your head and tossed it, careful not to hurt your crown, which you left on. And then you were completely bare for him, running your hands along his shoulders and biceps. 

"Yes," you told him, "I want you to. So badly." His eyes were raking all over your body, dipping down to watch his own fingers, wet from your pussy as he withdrew them from inside you. He coated his cock in your arousal, and you were moaning as you got yourself in position. 

Bradley pressed himself up against you, licking his fingers clean and smirking. You took him inch by inch, keeping your eyes on his, until you were surrounding his cock with your body. When your eyes shut and your head tipped back, Bradly took your chin in his sticky fingers and forced you to look at him. "Do you have any idea how good you feel?"

You whimpered, shimmying your hips until he was buried so deep. "Tell me, Daddy."

He kissed you, letting his hand slide down your body, pinching your peaked nipples before settling on your hip. His kisses were soft, almost lazy, and he guided your hips in a rolling rhythm. He tasted like Skittles. You rode him nice and slow, gasping into his mouth. 

"You're heavenly, Princess. I could fuck you all day, stay buried deep like this."

You whimpered, louder this time, as his lips skimmed down your neck. He was all lips and teeth, nibbling and tasting you from your collarbones down to your nipples. 

"Bradley."

-------------------------------

You had the tightest pussy and most perfect body Bradley had ever experienced. He was trying to think of ways to keep himself hard as long as possible, because he was pretty sure he'd work up the stamina to fuck you all night if he could. You were that good. 

He watched your head lull to the side, your crooked crown still on your head as you rode him so well. "Oh my god," you moaned, half lidded eyes widening as Bradley grabbed your hips and fucked up into you, hard.

"Keep going, baby," he told you, mesmerized by the bounce of your tits each time he bumped you a few inches higher. "You get what you need."

You shook in his arms and leaned forward to kiss him. "Daddy," you whispered against his lips. "Please. I'm so close."

Each rub of your clit against him had you getting a little louder now. Bradley put his mouth back on your tits, sucking and licking, bruising you as you whined his name. You were so responsive to his touch and his lips. 

"Tell me what you want," he growled, feeling the first flutters of your orgasm.

You were bouncing hard and fast on him now, but you took his hand in yours and guided it to your clit, making him smile. 

"I'll take care of you."

"Please!"

As Bradley stroked you with his fingers, you cried out, squeezing harder, burying your face against his neck. You were keening for him, grinding down as you came with shaking legs.

"Daddy," you whispered, panting softly next to his ear, and Bradley was positively dying to slam his cock into you. "Take what you want from me, Daddy."

He squeezed both of your thighs, keeping himself buried deep inside you, and flipped you onto your back along the couch. You looked up at him above you with wide eyes, your crown askew. "I wanna fuck you hard," he growled. 

"Oh!" you whined, still so tight around him as he pushed harder into you. "Do it."

With one knee on the couch and one planted firmly on the floor, Bradley held your legs together to the side and slammed into you. You were so loud, all wide eyes and surprised smile as he railed you good. 

"Bradley!" you cried out in surprise when he dipped down to taste your bouncing tits, and your fingers tangled in his hair. God, he loved this. He kissed your neck, inhaling your scent, and then he softly kissed your whole face and even your crooked crown as he slammed you into the couch cushions. 

"I'm gonna cum," he groaned, and you wrapped your sweet hands around the back of his neck and kissed him, swallowing all of his grunts and tasting his lips. He filled your pussy, his thrusts slowing as he fucked his cum deeper inside you. 

Bradley pressed his lips to your chin and looked up at you. Your chest was a little sweaty beneath his palm, and you were holding him in place with your leg wrapped around him. 

"You okay, Princess?"

You nodded, working the crown almost completely off your head. "I liked that."

Bradley groaned. He couldn't remember ever being with a woman like you. You liked to tease him, but you still told him exactly what you wanted and what pleased you. 

"You made sure I came first," you added, stroking your fingers along his forehead and up into his messy hair. 

"I always will. Every time, Princess. Try my best to make sure you feel good."

Your expression was dreamy, and Bradley had kissed off all of your lipgloss again. He wanted to invite you to sleep over, but he knew you had your anatomy exam the next morning. With a soft kiss to your lips, he pulled himself out of you with a groan, missing your body immediately. Then he stood and pulled you up to your feet as well. 

"I know you have to get up early for your exam, but you can stay and sleepover with me if you want," he whispered, holding you against him.

You looked up at him with your innocent face. "Another night."  

Bradley kissed your cheek and nodded. He helped you get dressed, and he scooped you up in his arms and carried you out to his car. "Friday, when I get home from my flight simulation, I think we should talk, Princess. We'll have more time then."

"Okay." Your voice sounded breathless and hopeful.

"Good luck tomorrow. I'll be thinking about you."

"See you on Friday," you said with a smile as you started your car. When Bradley walked back inside, he locked the door and then picked up your crown and took it back to his bedroom.

-----------------------------

On Thursday morning, bright and early, you sat in a lecture hall, taking your anatomy test. You breezed right through the questions on the muscular system, imagining Bradley's gorgeous body splayed out on his couch for your academic needs. 

You bit your lip as you marked down your final answers, recalling the way it felt to brush your lips along the stubble underneath his chin. Your body was a little sore from how rough he got with you, but it felt so good. Because he was also so sweet. He said he would always try to make you cum first. Good God, Meredith was a fucking moron. If you ever ran into her, you might even have to tell her that to her face.

You knew you were falling for Bradley. Hard. Him and Noah both. You loved being at Bradley's house, sipping on coffee and coloring with Noah. You loved cooking meals there. It was much better than your tiny rental. So much better than being alone. 

When you finished your exam, you checked your phone. 

Bradley Bradshaw: You're so smart, you'll do great. I'll stop by in the morning after I drop Noah off at daycare and put the carseat in your car so you can pick him up. 

You wrote back as you made your way across campus.

See you tomorrow, Daddy.

--------------------------

They feel like they are in a good place. Get ready for the angst! Enjoy your babysitter fic which you help me write, @beyondthesefourwalls And thank you @mak-32 !

PART 12

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[dhoranbolt]

Devilish

a/n: Happy (late) Valentine's! I suck at time management this was supposed to be out like a week ago lmao. Brought to you by that one Sukuna art, Fleabag, the songs Church/Devilish by Chase Atlantic, and really just my priest kink in general, yeah.

Disclaimer - I am not super religious forgive me if none of this makes sense lmao idk

Friendly reminder- if your age isn't easily accessible on your profile I will not be tagging you! That said if you'd like a tag in future works let me know and I'll add you to the list!

Bestie beta reader: @yukios-medic ily ma'am as always you keep me sane 🥹💙

Pairing: priest!Sukuna x fem!reader

cw/tw: minors/ageless blogs DNI, priest kink, degradation, reader is called good girl, oral (female receiving) unprotected sex, cream pie, dirty talk

Word count: 5.7k

She’s seen him around the coffee shop she frequents every once in a while. ‘Gorgeous’ might be an understatement – maybe ‘sculpted by the gods’ would be a more accurate description.

He’s tall, muscular, from what she can tell under his loose-fitting tee and jeans. She swears she’s not gawking, but with the tattoos that line his face and arms, so intricate yet simple, his fluffy pink hair, could anyone really blame her for staring a second too long?

He’s so breathtaking, she might just be showing up to the coffee shop more often than she used to just in the hopes of glimpsing him a little longer. Maybe in a different t-shirt, maybe in a suit– okay stop.

She’s decided to take a seat while she waits for her order to be called out, not having paid particular attention to who from the list of regulars she sees strewn about the shop.

“Order for Father Kuna!” She huffs a small laugh out as the barista calls the name with such a straight face, and then pink hair is blocking the view. Her breath catches in her throat the moment he turns around to walk back to his table with a grin, and their eyes meet. Her heart jumps into her throat, but the moment is only that- a moment, and then he’s moving out of her view, back to the table of other men laughing as he rejoins their group.

She chances a look that way to see a man with long black hair, and another with short white hair. She looks away before any of them can feel her eyes on them. It was enough that he was so attractive, but all three of them?

It’s not the first time she’s seen him smile, but it is the first time he’s looked at her, smile widening as they lock eyes.

–

Granted, it’s only Tuesday, this whole week has been one inconvenience after another, and her visit to the coffee shop is not an exception. In her rush to find caffeine, she’d neglected to bring her wallet with her. So, imagine her surprise when she moves to pull it from her purse and pay, only to notice it missing.

She’s huffing as she frantically looks through the bag again. The cashier in front of her looks bored, like this is probably not the first time this exact situation has taken place today, and if the world could just open up and swallow her whole right now, that would be great–

“I can pay, if you can’t find your wallet.” A voice calls from behind her, and if her cheeks weren’t already red from embarrassment at her current situation, they would be now.

Turning to look at the owner of the voice, she’s met with an abdomen, and as she follows it up, black tattoos come into view, and so does pink hair, and are his eyes red–

“Oh, please no, it’s fine I’ll just–” He laughs, and she feels like every inconvenience in her life could just melt away at the sound.

“I insist. Besides, what kind of good Samaritan would I be if I left a damsel without the caffeine she looks like she might break down without?” Her face scrunches up at his comment, but before she can question it, he’s stepping past her to order his own drink and pay.

“I was joking, by the way. About the caffeine comment. I’m sorry if it came across rude, you just looked a little you could have used a laugh. Long week?” She laughs and nods as they wait off to the side for their drinks.

“The longest. And thank you for paying, really you didn’t have to, but I appreciate it, nonetheless.” He grins again and her heart might actually jump out of her chest at just how painfully gorgeous this man is.

“It’s no issue, I like helping people where I can.”

“Well, I’m going to pay you back after this, just so you know.” He chuckles and shakes his head.

“There’s no need, we’ll say I just did it out of the kindness of my heart and leave it at that.”

“I don’t like feeling like I owe people.”

“Then don’t feel that way.” She lets out an exasperated huff as she looks up at him, but he’s grinning down at her again.

“Okay fine, fine. How about this? How about you can pay me back, by meeting me… Here.” He says as he scribbles an address out for her on a napkin. He hands it over, and she takes it with a raised brow, looking at the unfamiliar street name and number.

“You want me to bring your money to an address I’ve never been to before?” And there’s a sparkle in his eyes as he looks down at her.

“I don’t even know you.”

“Sure you do,” he says with a nod, continuing on, “I’m Sukuna, the devilishly handsome coffee shop patron who doubles as your knight in shining armor for today.” She laughs as he grins.

“Okay, well, what makes you think you know me?” And he pretends to think for a minute.

“Well lets see, I’ve seen you around this little shop long enough to know that you’re a woman of your word.”

“How, this is the first time we’ve ever exchanged words.” She scoffs another laugh.

“Oh so you have noticed me around then?” And anything she says next would give away the fact she did notice him around, so her jaw opens and closes silently as she debates on what to say next.

“I-” And she’s saved by the barista interrupting her derailed train of thought.

“Order for Ryomen!” He moves to the pickup bar, taking the two drinks in hand and walking back to her.

“Meet me there tonight, seven fifteen.” And she’s still trying to register what’s even really happening as he hands her the cup.

“What is this like a date?” The words leave her mouth before she can stop them, and she bites her tongue as he chuckles.

“Yeah, something like that. Just come, then consider your drink paid for.” And how could she say no to him?

“Okay sure,” she laughs nervously, “I’ll be there, Sukuna.” And she savors the way his name sounds, rolling off her tongue.

“I’m looking forward to it, enjoy your drink.” He says with a smirk, before leaving her in the coffee shop. Sitting down at a nearby table, she pulls out her phone to look up the address she’d just agreed to meet a semi-total stranger at, and when it loads on her map she’s left even more confused than before – it’s the address to a church.

–

She’s sitting in the parking lot of the church, staring at the doors in contemplation. She’s not very religious, but the curiosity of finding out just what he could possibly be asking her here for, is why she’s making her way to said doors once the first few groups of people pass. She laughs to herself at the mental image of the church setting her ablaze the second she steps in.

Looking around at everyone sitting down, she’s searching for pink hair, but doesn’t see it. For church on a Tuesday night, the place is almost packed. She barely finds a seat with breathing room from the sea of faces around her.

‘It is only eight past seven though, maybe I’m just early.’ She thinks, trying to calm her rising nerves. What is she even doing here? It was so easy for a handsome stranger to coax her into following him to some random church, surely this was not the stellar survival instinct of someone who doesn’t get serial murdered.

The minutes tick by, and she’s about to just get up and leave, mortification starting to settle at the fact she believed he would even show up, when a familiar voice gathers all attention to the front of the room, and she freezes.

What exactly is she supposed to make of the sight before her? Black tattoos, pink hair, muscular body, covered up in black clothing, complete with the white tab collar. If the building wasn’t going to set her on fire before, it surely would now.

“Good evening, everyone. For those of you that are joining us for the first time tonight, I’m Father Ryomen.”

He’s looking out into the crowd as he speaks, eyes scanning the rows of people for her. When his eyes land on her, her breath catches in her throat, shivers running through her entire body.

‘There is no way in hell that I am horny in church right now.’ But there is a way, and his lip is currently curling up at the corner as he looks at her.

So, she sits for the next hour and a half, listening to the sound of his voice as he goes on through his sermon, not retaining anything except for how smooth his voice sounds, booming off the walls. He gives his closing words, and everyone around her begins to get up. Some filter out, most stay back to chat with him, and she decides to wait until there is no longer a line leading up to him.

The last big group of people finish up, and she’s finally had ample time to process the image before her as she makes her way toward him against the leaving crowd.

“You made it.” He says with a warm smile, and her stomach twists.

“I won’t lie, I thought you were joking still when I realized it was a church. So, a priest, huh?” He laughs with a nod.

“Forgive me, father, if I didn’t take you for the type.” Sukuna smirks down at her, and for a second, she swears there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. It’s gone just as soon though, and she chalks it up to the lighting.

“Most people don’t, with the tattoos and all. I don’t mind, though. I use it as a way to show it is not our place to cast judgment upon others. But services are over, please, just call me Sukuna.”

“How very religious of you, Sukuna.” She hums.

“And what about you, then?”

“Honestly? I’ve never been very religious.” She shrugs, ‘but I can see why the people at this church would be’.

“And yet I talked you into coming? Surely that’s got to mean something.” He jokes as he rests a hand on her arm for a second.

“It does, if I’m not mistaken, my drink is now paid for in full.”

“Hah.” He fake laughs, and the sound makes her stomach flutter as she looks around.

“I should probably get going though, I think we’re the last two here.” She notes, seeing the fact everyone else has filtered out of the church, before looking back up at him.

“Why don’t you stay with me and lock up, I want to show you something.” Conscious of the fact she still doesn’t really know him, she raises an eyebrow at him, searching his face for any ill-intent.

“It’s nothing bad, I promise. I don’t bite, if that’s what you’re worried about.” And she doesn’t sense anything bad about him, his words seem genuine. There’s something about him though, she can’t quite place. It doesn’t set off alarm bells, but it piqued her interest, making her stomach knot in anticipation.

So, she follows him. Chatting about nothing in particular as he tidies around, and they lock up the church for the night.

“You know, I would have never in my wildest dreams, guessed priest.” He threw her a smile.

“So what did you dream about me then?” Her cheeks burn, and she busies herself with the now very interesting chip in her nail polish as she flounders for a response. But he hooks his finger under her chin, grabbing her attention.

“Hey, I’m kidding.” He says, leaning down to catch her eye, and her heart stops. She’s not sure what she’s doing as she stares back into scarlet eyes, but the air around them changes. Suddenly, it’s thick with desire, so thick she could almost choke on it. And she can feel the gap between them slowly closing- he licks his lips, eyes glancing down at her own for just a second.

“C’mon, we’re not done yet.” He says softly, before pulling away. Her head is swimming, was she just about to kiss the hot coffee shop priest inside the church, no less? But she doesn’t dwell, he’s already moving to the other end of the hall, and she’s quick to catch up.

“It’s usually one of the other two fathers and myself,” he explains as he moves through the church, checking doors and tidying up as he goes. “unfortunately they’re both out this week.”

“And that leaves poor Father Ryomen to take care of the church all by himself?” She teases, and he scoffs.

“They’re unreliable as it is. Though the current company isn’t an undesirable exchange.” He winks at her, and not for the first time tonight, she wonders why he’s called her here.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“To repay your drink from earlier.” She rolls her eyes with a smile.

“That is so not why you dragged a stranger to your church.”

“Why do you think I dragged you here then, hmm?” He whispers, eyes slipping down to her lips again before searching her face.

“And I already told you, we aren’t strangers.” As he says it, it really does feel true. She doesn’t feel out of place next to him, doesn’t feel like she shouldn’t be here, even if this is the first time she’s stepped into a church in years. She takes his shift in conversation and runs with it, not answering his previous question. The thought he’d brought her here for anything other than to listen to him preach was starting to take hold, and she’d rather not read the room wrong and tell him what she was really thinking.

“It’s been so long since I’ve been to church, I thought maybe I’d be struck down the moment I made it inside.” She laughs, stepping past the door he holds open for her into a new room.

“Have you ever done confession before?” He asks, moving to refill the holy water.

“Can’t say that I have, but I get the gist of it.”

“Enlighten me.” He’s glancing at her with a stern look on his face as he caps the bottle.

“You sit on one side, us sinners sit on the other.” and at that he cracks a smile, chuckling.

“Keep going, you’re on the right track.”

“And, they tell them to you and you forgive them on god's behalf.” He shakes his head, still smiling.

“Want to give it a go?” She looks at him with an arched brow, and this time she laughs.

“You did this on purpose didn’t you, paid for my drink to get me into a booth. I’m almost positive that falls under coercion, y’know.”

“Oh c’mon, just try it. Don’t you trust me?” And there it is again, that mischievous glint in his eyes that makes heat pool in her lower stomach. She bites her lip.

“No I trust you just fine Sukuna, I just-” But he’s placing a hand at the small of her back, leading her to the booth at the front of the room.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to wash you from years of sin.” He whispers as he leans down to her ear, and a shiver runs through her.

“You’re joking-”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” And he’s reaching over her to slide the curtain aside, motioning for her to sit.

“I don’t think-”

“Then don’t. Be a good girl, have a seat.” Her stomach flips at his words, and there’s that smirk again. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to her. What could humoring him hurt? She’s moving, brushing past his reach to sit on the hard wood. He gives her a nod, closing the curtain.

“I’ll be right on the other side, then I’ll talk you through it.” 'I bet you would' and the words are flashing in her mind before she can stop them. Maybe five hours ago, before she knew he’d sworn himself to a life of celibacy and Jesus, his hands all over her had been attainable. But now? This just felt like torture- and yet here she was. Being a good girl for him, and sitting in his booth.

She chews her lip, shifting her thighs together.

“Nervous?” He asks, hearing the noise. She stops moving, shame washing over herself. Not only was she trying to relieve some of the tension between her legs in a church- Sukuna could hear it.

“Y-yeah, something like that.” She laughs, putting her hands to her face.

“You have nothing to worry about. Sinning is innately human, that’s why you come to me.” And did she really come to him? Certainly not for this, but again, here she was. When he realized she wasn’t going to speak up again, he continued.

“Let’s start off with this, just say what you can read off the little plaque there.”

“Sukuna-”

“Aht aht,’ he cuts her off “I’m Father, in the booth, little one.” Heat pools between her legs at his tone. It’s playful but firm, and she can’t help the way she’s biting her lip to not make a sound. She follows his instructions, and- this feels ridiculous, what are they doing exactly? Why is she still doing it?

“What are they?”

“I don’t,” she wracks her brain for an answer. Being here in the first place, premarital sex, lusting for a priest, lusting for said priest while in the church.. The list was long, and she wasn’t sure saying it aloud would make the dull ache she was currently feeling any better.

“Don’t be shy now.” And he says now like he knew something she didn’t, about what was really going on here.

“I’ve watched Twilight.” It’s the first thing to come to her mind that doesn’t elude to the fact she’s going home to stuff a dildo into her aching walls while she thinks about him tonight. The answer catches him off guard, and he chuckles. Turning to the wicker wall dividing them. She can’t physically see him looking at her, but she can feel his eyes on her through the divider.

“Twilight, really?” Her cheeks turn pink, and she looks right back at him.

“Look I read it was like, devil worship according to the church in some article, okay?” He shakes his head with a smile.

“The woman who I met in the coffee shop just doesn’t strike me as the type to watch vampire movies, is all.” He teases.

“Oh like you’ve never watched a single fantasy movie.” He’s quiet now, and she blinks.

“… Not a single one, ever? Isn’t lying a sin, Father?” She challenges.

“We should stick to the topic at hand, sinner.” Her jaw drops and she scoffs in disbelief.

“Okay, well, the next one is that I have tattoos.” She can just imagine the look on his face right now.

“That’s a common one.”

“I’m still surprised they let you, with the tattoos.” She notes, smoothing out her dress over her thighs.

“I can be very convincing, when I need to be.”

“What is that like code for something?”

“My charm helps, even the little old ladies got over them when I flashed a nice smile.”

“I’m sure you’re very popular with all the grandmas.” She laughed.

“Not as popular as Father Gojo, but he’s always been the type to flirt with most things that have legs, regardless of age.” And he has to keep from rolling his eyes or talking any further down on the white haired man.

“I thought flirting was like, forbidden in your religion.”

“Not necessarily forbidden. frown upon, sure, side-eyed possibly.” She could live with side-eyed, hell she could live with frowned upon too. She wasn’t the one that took an oath of never sticking her dick in someone else. But she was the one that decided she wanted a priest of all people, to stick their dick in her. That wasn’t much better for her in the long run though.

“I think that about covers all my transgressions up to this point. Hey, does it still work if I confess to something I eventually will do? I think that’s a much better way to run this whole thing.” Sukuna chuckles, she’s definitely warmed up to being here with him, he can tell in the way she speaks so freely.

“That covers everything huh? Sure you’re not missing anything?”

“Like what?”

“How about, ’I’ve been eyeing up a priest for the past month now’.”

“I- what?” Her voice catches in her throat, jaw dropping and face burning. This visit had just taken a left turn, there was no way he’d just said that.

“Go on, say it. Unless of course, I’m wrong? Just remember, lying is a sin.” She can hear the smirk in his voice, but he doesn’t stop.

“Maybe, ‘I’m so turned on I can’t even sit still’.” Her breath catches in her throat- how could he have known that.

“Or how about, ‘I’ve even made a priest question where his loyalties lie’.” Her body was hot, a fire growing in the pit of her stomach. She takes a shallow breath, mouth feeling dry. She was going to have to answer him at some point, situational whiplash or not. She might as well try to level the playing field while she was at it,

“I’ll own up to mine, but not yours.” He chuckles, and it’s deep, ringing in her ears.

“Perhaps we should switch sides of the booth then.” Listening to a hot priest tell her just how into him she was, wasn’t exactly how she’d imagined tonight going. But when she really thought about it, what other way could tonight have gone?

She heard him shifting on his side, before the curtain was being drawn back. And her handsome, well put together priest, was no longer looking quite so put together anymore.

His hair looked like he’d been running his fingers through it, shoulders moving in sync with his breathing as he gripped the side of the booth.

“Lust is a sin too- but sometimes I just can’t help myself.” She swallowed hard at his words, frozen in place as she stared up at him, red eyes burning into her.

“I can always get on my knees, ask god's forgiveness afterwards.”

“Sukuna…” And she’s watching him slowly sink to the floor before her. Even as she looks down at him, she doesn’t get the feeling that she’s the one in charge of this situation. He moves forward, caging her against the back of the booth, his face inches away.

He looks so different from what she normally sees at the coffee shop; lips twitching up in a smirk as he reaches over to caress her cheek. He certainly doesn’t look anything like a priest, let alone a respectable one. He looks devilish, like he’s been waiting for an opportunity to get her here. And she can’t say it’s not exactly where she wants to be.

He leans closer to pull her into a kiss. The first one is slow, tentative, even though they’re both so clearly worked up. Pulling back to look her in the eyes he searches them, before they both crash their lips together.

“Mmm- wait- wait!” She can barely get the words out against his mouth, pressing her hands against his chest. He pulls back, looking at her in concern that he’d over stepped.

“What about- what if someone sees us?” The concern on her face that someone would catch them doing this, and not the fact that they’re still going to, is so cute of her.

“We locked the doors, didn’t we?” He grins and lets out a breathless laugh as the realization crosses her face. The son of a bitch planned this whole thing. He dips back in to claim her lips again, hands traveling down her sides to her ass, sliding her to the edge of the seat.

“From the moment I first laid eyes on you, I knew you’d be the reason.” He’s pressing kisses along her jaw, down her neck, anywhere he can reach.

“What?” She breaths, not really hearing him as her eyelids flutter. She’s too wrapped up in the whole situation, in how soft but firm his palm feels against her face as she leans into his touch. How wrong but right it feels for him to touch her, even just like this.

“Knew I’d stumble,” His thumb traces her bottom lip, tugging it down, and she opens her mouth instinctively. He’s using the grip on her jaw to turn her face to the side, planting kisses below her ear as she shutters, whining at the feeling.

“It’s like you knew, walking into a church wearing a dress. Walking into my church, wearing that dress. Did you wear it because you caught me staring a little longer when you would?” He’s rough, pressing his lips along her neck, across her chest, sucking, biting his way further down her body.

Her head is spinning. This was wrong, wasn’t it? But the fact it was wrong only turned her on more. She’d never wanted, needed, someone to fuck her so badly before. His hands are everywhere, kneading her chest, pinching at her hardening nipples.

“I asked you a question.” Sukuna’s still pinching at her bud, and she can barely concentrate enough to whimper a ‘yes’.

“Yes what?”

“Yes… Yes… I wore it just for you.” He sucks his teeth with a grin.

"Be a good girl and keep your eyes on me, I want to see them.” He pulls away from her and slips further down, running his hands from her knees up her thighs, pushing her dress up as he does. She’s instinctively parting her legs, letting him ghost his lips up the inside of her thigh. Sukuna presses his thumb against the wet spot on her panties, looking up to see her squirming closer as he does.

“Patients is a virtue, sweetheart.” He warns as he drags the lacy fabric down, discarding it off to the side. She huffs with a pout,

He presses his thumb to her clit, rubbing slow circles as she twitches below him.

He rubs a finger through her slick folds, slowly pushing into her. It's easy, she's so wet, whining for him so needily, and he's already working a second one in.

"Eyes on me, you're going to look at me while I make you cry." She could finish right here, he was so calm yet demanding. Scissoring his fingers inside of her he moved his thumb, dropping his mouth over her clit as he sucked.

Her thighs are fighting to close against him as he slides his fingers into her, tongue moving in slow circles. It's cramped in the booth, but Sukuna still finds the space to use his arms to hold her legs open. She's biting her lip so hard as she watches him, body tense. Her grip on his hair is tight, and she doesn't know if she's trying to pull him closer or push him away as the pleasure builds in her abdomen.

Sukuna doesn't stop as he feels every part of her clench, her body rigid and she takes everything he's giving her. He's sucking as he moves his tongue just a little faster, fingers sliding in and out of her slick cunt as he curls them inside of her. Her back arches, legs shaking as her walls clamp down on his fingers, pulsing as her orgasm washes over her. She's gripping his pink hair, trying as hard as she can to keep her eyes on him as he works her through it.

He's watching her with determination, listening to her cry his name, as his cock strained in his pants. With a few more shallow pumps of his fingers he pulls out and she whines.

"Greed is a sin too, sweetheart." He says as he lifts his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean. She breathes in softly as she watches, the low grown leaving his mouth making her stomach flip.

"Taste divine, I'd keep you here for hours if I could." He moans, pressing his mouth to her glistening cunt as he lapped her clean. She cried out at the over stimulation, hands flying to his head, trying to push him away. He simply takes both her wrists in his hand, holding them at bay.

"Try to stop me again, and it'll be a long night for you in this booth." He warns, pulling back to look at her. A rush floods her body at the thought, and he's leaning up to kiss her again. She's eager to return it, lacing her fingers through the hair at his nape.

Sukuna pulls her up on shaky legs, turning them so he can sit down instead, pulling her to straddle him. He presses her down over his clothed bulge, grinding up into her as he pulls away.

"You gonna be a good girl and have a seat?" She whines, grinding right back down onto him with a nod as she runs her hands down his chest, fumbling with his belt. He rubs his hands up and down her sides as she works, whimpers of frustration falling from her lips as she works on his pants.

"Patients is still a virtue." He hums, kissing the side of her neck. She can feel how thick he is even over his pants, but she's not ready for just how thick he actually is when she works him out of his clothes. Her jaw drops with a gasp as she runs her thumb over his slit, already dripping with precum. Sukuna hisses, hand flying down to grip her own. 

"I said sit." He says, gripping her hips to lift her over him.

"You're so-"

"I'll fit, don't worry." He soothes as he moves her, rubbing his head between her folds a few times before slowly pulling her down. Her hands fly to his shoulders, gripping tight as he slowly stretches her out, making room for himself as he breaks her open over him.

"Sukuna, Sukuna!" She whimpers.

"You're doing so well, look at you." He praises, brushing his thumb over her cheek. She doesn't think she can take anymore, and yet her walls are practically sucking him further in, begging for more. God no one's ever felt like this before, he filled every space inside of her.

And then the back of her thighs are flush against his own, as he slowly rocks into her.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" He coos, and she shakes her head, mind already hazy from the pleasure.

"No." She whimpers, and rolls her hips with a cry.

"Fuck you're so much." She sobs, body shaking.

"Yeah? But you're going to take it." And he's pulling out, only to slam back up into her. She screams, nails digging into his arms as he holds her. He sets a steady pace, and after the first few thrusts she starts to move too, bouncing herself over him, pushing him further into her tight heat everytime their hips meet.

Sukuna pulls the top of her dress down, sucking a nipple into his mouth. All she can do is moan and grind harder down into him. Looking down between them she watches as he disappears into her, and it should be terrifying, just how much of him there is- yet she's accommodating every thick inch. And then she sees it when he pulls away from her chest- the bulge in her lower abdomen. She takes a shaken breath, and presses down on it.

“Oh my god fuck!” she whines, throwing her head back as her legs shake.

“When I’m this deep in you, the only God you should be crying for is me.” Sukuna growls, fingers digging into her sides to hold her in place as he fucked up into her. She clenched around him at his words and he grinned.

“Oh she liked that, did she?”

“Sukuna-! Fuck I’m gonna cum!” She cried, nails digging into his arms. He drank in the way she looked, jaw dropped in a silent moan, lip quivering. He wasn’t going to last much longer either, with the way her walls fluttered around him, sucking him deeper with every thrust.

“Where should I-”

“Fuck- inside, I don’t care just please-” She was shaking her head, rolling her hips into him as she babbled. Sukuna gripped her chin, forcing her attention on him.

“Say it again, like you mean it. Like you want it.”

“Please Sukuna, finish inside me. Wanna feel you inside me!” Her walls clamped down hard around him as she cried. He lifted a hand to wrap it behind her head, pulling her forehead against his own.

“There it is, take it. Be a good girl and cum for me.” He growled, watching as she came undone before him; jaw dropped in a silent moan as she pulsed around him. Sukuna fucked her through her orgasm, sending him right over the edge into his own. She whined at the feeling of him painting her insides in hot spurts, grinding further into him as they both pant.

It was quiet, aside from their breathing as they came down from the high, lustful haze being left behind. She cleared her throat, realizing they’d have to clean up the mess that was going to drip out of her.

“Well…” She started, beginning to pull back when Sukuna stopped her.

“Where do you think you’re going?” The question takes her aback as she stutters for an answer.

“I just- I thought- the mess…?” He grins lazily up at her, swiping a thumb over her bottom lip.

“Did you really think I brought you here just for one fuck?”

“Technically you brought me here over coffee.” She giggled, leaning into his palm.

“Leave your wallet at home more often then.” He demands, and she swallows hard, gasping as he bucks up into her again.

Tags: @saiki-enthusiast @alice-smutthoughts @idktbhloley @rezitio @matchat3a @mo0nforme @bleach-your-panties @fateisnotafactor @lov3ly-bunny @antishadow2021 @xo-evangeline @ackachii @tiredravenette @carpioassists @yoongislatinagff @unoriginalidea @i-likebread @squishybabei @emyyy007 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @kokushibosgirl @wishandluck @kimchi-zaks @kyriekurokami @not-brionnne @andic137 @tang3r1n @mammon-s @yuujispinkhair

#jjk #sukuna jjk #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna #sukuna smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #priest Sukuna #priest kink #jjk smut #late night sukuna posting #sukuna hcs

[charmercharm3r]

Make Love, Not Porn

Hi, My Name Is

HHJ

Masterlist, Story Masterlist

18+ content – minors, do not interact

wc: 7.7k

Synopsis: You crave a life of normalcy, he craves you. And he'd do anything to keep you, even if you're for the world to see.

warnings: smut, explicit sexual content, subby/service top!barista hyune, softdom!reader, oral (m), piv, protected sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, consensual recording, lmk if I missed anything :p to be so honest i have no idea what i wrote i kinda blacked out lol so if it’s ass..look away

Past Broadcasts : Puppeteer

Live : Hi, My Name Is

Next Scheduled Broadcast : Sunday

☆ﾟ

Rule number five: know when to cut the cord.

But it was so difficult when he was literally showing up at your front door. You avoided him at all costs, acted like he didn’t exist, even found a new grocery store because it was too close to the coffee shop and you were terrified of the possibility of running into him there even if the chances were slim to none. There wasn’t even a reason for you to be scared to see him, he rejected you. He’s the one that should be embarrassed, turning down a ten out of ten.

Then again, he was a ten out of ten. A twelve out of ten, even. But why did he have to shove it in your face?

You were red in the face, light sheen of sweat all over your body when you’d heard the knock. The middle of the day and you were in the middle of a solo session, breaking in a new toy you’d gotten for the next stream. An hour had probably passed when you realized it just wasn’t working. Nothing was. The last time you’d been with Hyunjin was also the last time you’d cum, and it was frustrating the life out of you. As someone in this industry, cumming as many times as you wanted was one of the few motivators you had left. The amount of times you’d had to fake an orgasm on your streams was hurting your ego, as well as starting to get slightly suspicious to your regular viewers.

And now the sole object of your desire was behind a slab of wood that may as well have not been there at all. Your body heated up as soon as you saw him, like a warm hug. A fucking hug on the chilliest day of winter with a hot chocolate slipping down your throat. There’s also something else that would be awfully nice down you throat, and it’s behind the fucking door.

Through the peephole, you could see flowers and a coffee in his hand, biting his lip waiting for you to open. You hoped he didn’t hear you, that he’d assume you weren’t home and leave you alone for good. If you ignored him long enough, you’ll forget you’d ever even met him.

You backed away from the door when there was a second knock, hand still reached out holding the nob out of habit. The desire to open it was almost strong enough to override the nagging at the back of your head that told you “he’s just using you. He got in your pants so easily the first time, what’s to stop him from coming back for more?”

Almost.

It was a ruse, it had to be, this grand gesture. He was love bombing you. There was something he wanted. If not just sex, then fifteen minutes of fame? Using you for your platform? Still, you wanted to see the best in him, creeping up to the door again and silently looking through the peephole again. He was biting the inside of his cheek, switching the coffee between his hands when it got too cold. At some point he’d put everything into one hand so that he could run his hand through his hair– you gasped a little at how effortlessly beautiful he was, not trying knowing no one was looking and still ethereal. He mumbled something to himself, you blinked then he suddenly dipped out of the frame.

He was finally gone. Another deep breath, your head rolled to the side and your back pressed to the wall, sliding down into a crouch probably a lot more dramatic than need be. But this felt dramatic, fucking theatrical like it was some poorly written fanfiction turned into a D-list casted movie. Twiddling your thumbs as if looking at them long enough would suddenly give you the answer, the small burst of adrenaline had finally begun to wear off, and sulking back into your pitiful showroom you went. 

-

Hyujin doesn’t know how long he’d been waiting outside your house. He’d eventually decided to make himself comfy on the floor with his back to the door. Flowers, coffee, and baked good set aside, he scrolled through his phone and kept himself busy until eventually, he’d fallen asleep. Head lolled to the side, mouth agape, and snoring in the hallway.

Then he’s suddenly falling backwards, beyond startled and looking up at… an angel?

“Definitely not an angel.”

Did I say that out loud?

“Yes.”

Dazed, confused, a little gutpunched, Hyunjin sat up with your help. Just a light hand on his back until he realized you were touching him and he jumped to his feet and scrambled to grab the bouquet. Holding it out to you with shaking hands, “a peace offering.”

You looked at the gifts, leaned against the wall, and back up to his face, “what are you doing here, Hyunjin?”

He glanced around the room to take in the sight of your home without the prospect of sex slightly clouding his mind. It was cute, everything was so you, but also somehow entirely different to what he’d imagined your apartment would look like. It wasn’t reflective of your showroom, which was all neon lights and sultry furniture to keep the mood. The rest of the house was cozy with little pieces of decoration that screamed with personality. The dimming glow of the sunset lighting the living room was the perfect accessory.

Wait, sunset?

You peaked at where he was looking, “did you fall asleep?” Hyunjin nodded.

Now you felt bad, guilty even. You shouldn’t seeing as there was little to no established relationship and you didn’t owe him anything, but you did. His cheeks were puffy, pink tinted, and he still looked a little lethargic. Cute. Very cute. How badly you wanted to nibble on his cheeks cus they looked so edible. He looked edible.

No. Stop it.

“I would offer you a snack but the last time I did that you left me high and dry.”

He didn’t know if you were being serious, turning his attention back to you with a dumbfounded expression. “Really? You didn’t feel so dry to me.” Not a single ounce of shame, but also not trying to be smug. And no filter in his brain or mouth. “You didn’t call.”

Straight to the point.

Hyunjin invited himself in and headed for the kitchen he vaguely recalls following you into for said snack. He shuffled around in search of a vase, pushing the coffee into your chest when he finally found one and bumping into you because you were trailing so close behind. The little sip you took as he filled the vase with water to display on your kitchen counter made your body temperature soothe. 

“You didn’t stay,” the softness of your voice made his heart sink.

“Did you really want me to?”

How were you supposed to answer that? Say that, yes, I wanted you to stay so bad that I chose to ignore you instead of confront you because it’s easier to pretend you don’t exist than risk getting hurt again? Actually tell him that you haven’t been able to make yourself orgasm properly since the last time you were together? That he’s ruined how you view pleasure entirely? That sex and pleasure and dating and basic human relationships seems so fucking pointless if it’s not with him? To a man you’ve known for a week? No, that’s not an option. It’s batshit insane.

What’s also insane is how simple talking to him is. It’s psychotic that you feel more comfortable alone with him than you do people you’ve known for years. You’re delusional to think that this is more than physical attraction, even if it is. It’s so much more than that and every bone in you is telling you let the dainty red string pull you closer, let it guide you towards him. And god, you want to. It’s too good to be real, he’s not real. He’s a figment of your imagination that only exists in fairy tales because little red strings of fate don’t determine your life, they don’t tell you who you’ll love, it doesn't mean anything. Not a single fucking thing.

“Yes.” 

Now, why the fuck would you say that?

“You should’ve told me,” Hyunjin let out a sigh of what you think was relief.  His shoulders slouched forward and smiled up at the ceiling.

His nonchalant made you raise an eyebrow, “I offered! You declined!”

“Don’t yell at me. I left my phone number on your desk, you didn’t call. Drink before it gets watered down.” You frowned and took a sip. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“What are you talking about? What phone number?”

“The one on your desk? With the pretty drawing of you and the… y’know?”

“I didn’t see anything.”

“What?!” He slammed the bag with the baked item onto the counter and stormed through the apartment towards your showroom. You watched as he scoured the room, searching the bed, corners, your desk for whatever it is he was looking for.

Hyunjin had gotten on his hands and knees to look below it, finally to roll your chair back and pull the cupsleeve out from under it. The cardboard was smashed, crumpled, a little dirty. He stumbled to his feet to hold it in front of you, accompanying his raised, unamused brow.

“To be fair, I thought my chair was broken.”

“You didn’t even bother to look at why it might’ve been broken?!” You shrugged, sipping the coffee again. Hyunjin huffed and tossed the cup sleeve back onto your desk. “You’re insufferable. Where the fuck is your phone?”

“Don’t swear at me.” Pointing at the bed, Hyunjin rolled his eyes before taking it.

“Passcode?” You tell him the six digits to unlock it. “Is that your birthday?”

“...No.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll remember. I’ll even add it to your contact so that I get the notification.” After a few moments, he smiled triumphantly and tossed your phone next to the abandoned cupsleeve. “Now… Dinner?”

“That’s it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive?”

“I left you outside.”

“Yeah.”

“For hours.”

“Sure.”

“You fell asleep on my doorstep.”

“Where were you going, anyway? The sun was going down.”

“To get my mail.”

“What?! At night alone?! Now, that’s unforgivable.” Hyunjin took a step towards you, slim yet broad figure shielding yours from just about everything in your immediate vision. He leaned over, placing both of his hands on the sides of your head to hold you steady as he placed a simple kiss to your forehead.

The sudden affection made your brain short circuit because what the hell? How was he so okay with everything? It was almost like there was a wind up monkey toy holding cymbals inside his head that started clapping whenever his attention was taken somewhere else. But somehow, you were even more attracted to him, if that was even possible.

“Were you doing something in here? It smells like sweat.” He said and casually strolled out of your showroom. 

For hours, you and Hyunjin were in your kitchen. Half of that was spent trying to figure out what the two of you could cook without burning the house down. The conversation was so entertainingly mundane that neither of you realized how much time had truly passed, sun fully set and night sky helping illuminate the dimly lit living room. He insisted on doing most of the cooking when you both agreed that boxed pasta and premade red sauce would be the safest thing.

All you had to do was sit back and ogle his back muscles as he stirred the pot, maybe hand him a napkin or spoon when asked. The white shirt he wore was as thin as they come, tank top more than visible beneath it and making your mouth water. The room had become incredibly warm as Hyunjin put the wooden spoon to the side. With his back to you, you got to watch as both his hands threaded through his hair, gathering what he could, and tying it into a messy ponytail. God, how did he do that? That thing where he just exists and it makes you swoon? He needs to stop– it’s getting ridiculous how hearts were basically replacing your pupils.

“If it tastes horrible, lie to me and act like it doesn’t.” Hyunjin placed a full plate in front of you, taking the seat across from you.

For the most part, the meal itself was silent. There just weren’t any words that you could think coherently enough to speak. Great food, made especially for you, and by the most handsome boy you’d ever seen, why would you need to say anything? Hyunjin didn’t seem to mind. All it looked like he cared about was not taking his eyes off you.

It was just the littlest bit uneasy, but nothing that put you off. His stare was just intense, part of you thought he was reading your mind. However, if he could, you probably wouldn’t have had to spend a week apart.

“I don’t understand you,” you admit as you suddenly find your plate nearing clean.

“Do you have to?” He responded, putting his fork down and sitting back while adjusting to spread his knees.

“I’d like to.”

Oh, how his heart fluttered when you said that. It felt like a step in the right direction. “That’s the first time you’ve asked me something personal that isn’t related to sex.”

You frowned along with the small guilt that lingered over your shoulder. “This is only the fourth time we’ve met.”

“Most people ask this before taking their clothes off. I think I’ve told you before, you’re not like most people.” He could see you bite the inside of your cheek, making a cute pout that he could tell was coming from a place of an unnecessary amount of self awareness. “I like it, though. Why do you think I came back?”

“I don’t know why. That’s, like, the whole point of me saying, ‘I don’t understand you.’”

Hyunjin reached over the short distance between him and you, thumb smoothing the ruffle between your brows and you instantly relaxed. As awkward as he could be, he really knew how to make you feel so at ease, second nature for him to be comfort embodied. There was no judgment on his face or in his tone that you could see. If you had asked what he was thinking about, he would have answered with how pretty your cheeks glow after a good meal.

“That day, you agreed to come with me and… participate..?” Hyunjin nodded along and listened intently, continuing to lightly push your hair from your forehead and trace the outline of your cheek. “Then we showered and snacked and then you just… you left. And didn’t so much as twitch when you looked at me after we were done.”

His jaw wanted to drop to the floor just how it did in the cartoons. That was the only reaction he could emit as it all clicked into place. Why you didn’t look for him or stop by the coffee shop, why you were reluctant to open the door and accept his gift, the slightly cold shoulder you gave him when you so clearly wanted to be nothing but a blanket of warmth. “Is that what you think?”

Hyunjin’s heart hurt a little when you didn’t answer, but he also wanted to laugh in your face at how stupid all of this was. However, he had clocked it the second you two had a real conversation, and so laughing at you was probably the last thing he should do. Instead, he trailed his touch down your jaw, gently cupping your cheek. “You’re more than all this,” hands slid quickly, gesturing down your sides and back up. “So much more.”

The tears wanted to swell in your eyes at how sincere his voice was. He could’ve been lying, for all you knew, but the small part of you that wanted to believe him was also the biggest part of you that had always wanted someone to tell you those small words. The small part of you that wanted to be wanted was also the biggest part of you that wanted him. It was all so confusing, you understood him perfectly but also not at all. Hyunjin could read you easily by now, you were like an open book to him.

“But I was naked.”

“And so fucking beautiful,” practically gritted through his teeth because just saying the words couldn’t express the painfully good clenching in his chest. Hyunjin pulled back for a second to stand up and shrink to his knees in front of you, reaching up again to take your cheeks in both of his hands. “But how could I look at just your body when there is so much up here to get to know?”

There it was again, all the right words executed perfectly in spite of how great of a wall you put between you and him. Hyunjin smoothly pressed a kiss to your forehead, for emphasis or not, it made you shut your eyes tightly and the tears silently rolled. His thumbs were swiping it away before making it over the hill of your cheekbone, and he was standing to take your empty dishes into the kitchen for cleaning.

You were absolutely stunned. Unsure of where to go, how to act, what to say, you simply watched him quickly wash the plates with an endearing smile all the way across his cheeks before he was taking your hand to lead you towards the couch. He sat you next to him, millimeters apart and reading your body language. Definitely in need of a lighter mood.

Hyunjin stuck his hand out for a handshake.

“What’re you doing?” Your voice cracked.

“Hi, my name is Hyunjin. You’re incredibly gorgeous and I’d love to take you out sometime.”

“If this is some kind of roleplay–”

“It’s not,” he took your hand from your lap to connect with his. “This is me wanting to know you, and you wanting to know me. I don’t know what you do for a living, and you don’t know what my dick looks like. Just people.”

Just people, that sounded nice.

You hesitated, then shook his hand. “Hi, I’m Y/N.”

“So Y/N, can I take you on a date? Maybe have a picnic in the park, grab some cheap painting supplies and go paint near the river, dessert at the best ice cream spot I know. We can make it a nice day.” He tucked his hand back into his lap respectfully, throwing the other over the back of the couch to get just the littlest bit close to you.

“I’d like to, but I’m lactose intolerant.”

“See, I’d say that’s a lie because of your coffee order. But since I don’t know you, I’m going to take your word for it and offer a cake place that I’ve heard great reviews about.”

“I don’t like frosting–”

“Just go on a date with me!” He raised his voice slightly with aggravation, teasing annoyance because he knew you were being difficult on purpose. You couldn’t help but giggle as he pretended to squish your cheeks when in reality, he was forcing down his cute aggression to keep from taking a loving bite out of you.

Your cheeks warmed up at his reaction, endearing and all together cute. He was a weird combination of adorable and sexy, even now with strands of his hair falling in front of his face, glasses hanging on the front of his shirt but a gold chain peeking out from behind the neckline that would look so good dangling in your face. You couldn’t help taking the glasses and opening them, slipping it onto his face. Hyunjin let you toy with his look by lightly brushing his hair away and pulling the necklace out of its hiding place. He raised his eyebrows when you were done. The skin of his neck tingled from where your fingertips had barely grazed.

“If you dress like this, I’m all yours.”

For a second, he didn’t know what to say as that was all he wanted to hear. For all of the smooth moves and suave lines, there were the split moments where he radiated nothing but dorkiness wanting to flood out.

“If you keep saying things like that, I might just kiss you.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“I– I don’t really know.” There it was, eyebrows knit together in genuine confusion.

While he sulked back into the cushion, you placed a gentle hand over his, just gauging the touch barrier. Hyunjin didn’t seem to mind, but rather he intertwined his fingers with yours as he fell deeper into thought. “I wanna go on a date with you,” the admittance had him darting you a quick, hopeful glance. “But, I don’t know how to do this.”

“That’s okay!” He was quick to perk up and make your grimace back a little at his sudden burst in energy. Hyunjin tightened his grip on your hand for reassurance. “I think our expertise just lies in different areas.”

“I’m not following.”

He jutted out his bottom lip with fake sympathy, scratching the underside of your chin. “If you didn’t notice, I’m not the most intuitive when it comes to sex.”

That was a shock. “I dunno about that,” an honest answer that made him shy away with a laugh.

“My experience is incomparable to yours, and not in a bad way! Just, maybe there were some things I was missing.”

You thought back to the moment you had with him, how unsure he seemed when you spoke about sex and masturbation, he seemed truly mind blown and eager to know more. 

“And I can tell, you haven’t had the easiest times with relationships. I think we can learn from each other.”

“This feels like a weird, illegal exchange.” You frowned again. “But I kinda like it.”

His heart raced, yours was beating a million miles an hour. There was a tension in the air that could’ve gone one of two ways. The first being that you pop open a bottle of wine and put on a good movie. There’s chocolate truffles in the cupboard, you could always grab a bowl to have with the wine. Sweet compliments sweet, Hyunjin might enjoy it. Perhaps you could end the night with a kiss, maybe a cuddle if it went that far. You’d see him again, you didn’t have a doubt about it. You’ve got his number now, there’s no more excuses.

The second, was how things actually went.

You mentally thanked your friend for giving you these dim lights for the living room, they made his honey skin look so edible.

Hyunjin doesn’t know when it happened, you don’t know when it happened. Just that there were half finished glasses of wine on the coffee table, the movie long passed the rolling credits, and that you were on your knees between his legs, staring at his cock with the roundest, glitteriest eyes he’d ever seen.

Your bra strap was slipping off your shoulder along with the entire cup threatening to be overflowed by your breast, he wished it would. More than that, he wished you would stop teasing him. All you were doing was tracing the pad of your finger over his slit, collecting the leaking precum and spreading it around the tip. The warmth of your breath splayed over the skin of his pelvis made goosebumps rise across every inch of his skin, giggling as he shivered.

“How did this even– ah, ah– happen?”

Vibrations of your chuckle prolonged his shuddering, “dunno. I’m not upset about it, though. Unless… unless you are?” You backed away from his cock and expression replaced with something dead serious.

“No, no! God, please keep going.” Hyunjin reached out to thread his fingers in your hair, but a quick slap on his wrist made him retreat.

“Nuh, uh. You haven’t earned that yet.”

Hyunjin repressed a groan, “sorry, sorry.”

He felt overly exposed even if you were just as naked as he was, you actually more so than him. The blurred memory of how this even started was brought back when he glanced at your discarded shirt hanging on the armrest of the couch, your house shorts and his white tee in another pile on the ground next to you. His pants and boxers were puddled around his ankles, and that was what made his face burn. Whatever was to happen next, say you wanted him to carry you to the bedroom or pin you against the wall, he’d literally be caught with them around his ankles. It’s a problem he can’t put on to you, but it still made him flustered nonetheless.

You were a few inches from his bare southern region, now, having to sit up taller so that his leaking dick didn’t obstruct from maintaining eye contact with him. “I… really like you,” tone as small as it could go without turning into a whisper.

“I really like you, too.” As antsy and anxious as he was, Hyunjin restrained from bucking into your face.

“There’s something I wanna do, only if you wanna, too. I think you might like it? Y– you can say no! No hard feelings! I just think that I’ll be seeing you a lot a– and you already know what my job is–”

He leaned forward to tip your chin higher, “I trust you.”

Blush covered your cheeks in a millisecond and it made Hyunjin smile smugly. When you turned around to grab your phone on the coffee table and prop it up against the wine bottle, he got the idea. Before you unlocked it, you spun back to face him. “I need you to say that this is okay.” Not that you didn’t trust him, as well, but you have every reason not to. Not just morally, but this was your career on the line if something were to go haywire.

“I am okay with this. Turn on the camera.”

You nodded excitedly, “this is just for us.”

The angle at which you positioned your phone made it so that his face wasn’t showing, only the view of your body between his knees sitting prettily for him. Hyunjin could see the screen and throbbed even harder, he was torn between looking at you and looking at the hottest video you’ve ever made to date. Or, about to make– with him. Even if no one else is ever going to see this, the act of being recorded made him harder than he’s ever been.

Blipping of the recording being started, you settled comfortably again locked between his legs. Hands strolling up the insides of his naked thighs, Hyunjin’s breath grew heavier the closer in you came. He could feel your body heat again as he prayed you would hurry up. The camera couldn’t pick up the way you ogled his cock, the way you licked your lips, or the way you looked up at him through your lashes just as you stuck the tip of your tongue out to gather the bead precum and swallow. Hyunjin let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in and the sound of his sigh made you giggle again.

“Can I?” You asked all too sweetly for what it is you wanted.

“Please.”

“So kind,” praised before he was about to be destroyed.

Absolutely obliterated, total annihilation, earth-splitting and volcanoes erupting the same way he did as soon as your mouth took in the tip of his cock. He blew on the spot, and you sucked him through his orgasm until he was dry and shriveled up with embarrassment. “Fuck– god, oh my– fuck, I‘m sorry! I’m so sorry!” He continued to twitch into your mouth as you licked up whatever remained.

It didn’t even seem to phase you, his premature finish was more than worthy of a few reprimands, possibly making him leave all together and deleting his number. Less than satisfactory. But it made you all the more excited. Where he crumbled is where you saw potential to create skyscrapers of pleasure, all intended to blow his mind.

An easy swallow of his seed down your throat, you kissed the inside of his thighs in reassurance. “‘S okay. I liked it,” honest as honest can be.

“Tell me if I should pull my pants up and leave so I can save whatever dignity I have left.”

“Dignity is overrated. Degradation is a whooole lot more fun. Plus,” showing off his whiteness on your tongue, you licked a stripe up the center of his dick and Hyunjin shuddered again, “you’re really sensitive.”

Hyunjin sat back and let it happen to him, he couldn’t find the strength to so much as tell you when he was about to cum again because it was so painfully good. It didn’t take very long or very much effort on your part, simply having to massage his balls and pinch the skin of his pelvis while your tongue worked minimal magic as you kept him sheathed in your warm, wet mouth. His nails raked across the couch cushion in a way that made you feel a little bad that he couldn’t touch you. Just a little. “Did so good for me. Think you can do one more, baby?”

He was on the verge of saying no, until you stood up. Amidst his plummeting energy and evergrowing sensitivity, Hyunjin didn’t have half the mind to remember that you were just as needy as he was. You were having so much fun playing with him that you almost forgot, as well. The face he makes when he cums is the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, you were this close to rutting against his leg like a fucking dog. You’d do it, too, shamelessly. However, you figured you could save that for another day. This was about him. 

You stood, ass taking up the entire view in the camera. You let him watch you strip, unclipping your bra and tossing it somewhere forgotten. Evening the score, you tugged at the hem of his tank top to discard, although you were teetering back and forth on letting him keep it on. Next off was your panties, left along on the floor before you began to climb into his lap.

Oh god, you were straddling him. Really straddling him. Wet pussy on full display, knees spread and so close to his cock that he could feel the dampness on his own skin. Or was that just cus you were sloppy earlier? He didn’t care, nor did he have to try to get hard again seeing as he never went soft.

You didn’t sit fully, hovering over him with the only skin touching being your thighs on his and your arms draped over his shoulder. Hyunjin found comfort in the heat as you wiped away the sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, leaning deeper into your touch. When you dragged your hands down his arms to guide them to hold onto your waist, he struggled not to buck his hips up into you. He thought about how you might laugh when you rewatch the footage later, but Hyunjin couldn’t bring himself to care no matter how ridiculous it looked. He knows that he was rutting into nothing but the air, but the increase in heat when he got close to your cunt was more than satisfactory if you decided it wasn’t what you wanted.

Except you were ready to go for it and was reaching for the side drawer for condoms, even if it meant overstimulating him even more. He wouldn’t protest, he wanted it just as much. “Are you okay?” You asked concerned when he tucked his face into your shoulder.

“Mhm,” he muttered against you, “want you so bad.”

You reached back and between his legs, dragging a delicate finger up from the bottom of his balls to the base of his cock. Hyunjin trembled and molded deeper into your frame. You chuckled, “I can tell, baby. But can you handle it? You’re so worked up already, I don’t wanna break you when we’re just getting started.”

“I can, I can!” He looked up at you with glistening eyes, full of tears and determination. “Please, please, please.” Hyunjin’s hips bucked up again, hitting the inside of your thigh and you pushing him back down.

“Calm, baby. We’ve got all the time in the world. Deep breaths, now.”

Hyunjin followed your lead when you inhaled through your nose and let out a deep exhale. He continued to do so even though you were pressing your lips to his forehead, even though you were trailing them across his cheeks and skipping over his lips. He puckered them, ready to be suffocated by your kisses. But when you planted just a peck on his, he audibly whimpered, to which you laughed and continued down his neck.

Oh, he was extra sensitive there. And when you sat back on his knees to tweak both his nipples? Ascendance.

Hyunjin threw his head back and moaned just as loud as he did when you put him in your mouth. “No, no, don’t wanna cum again,” he murmured, but didn’t try to resist your touch.

Still, you pulled away and placed your hands on his chest. “No? Too much?”

“Wanna make you cum first,” he suddenly grasped the undersides of your thighs and lifted the two of you off the couch. Neither of you had noticed his shins knocking the coffee table as he laid you on your back lengthwise with the couch, lifting your legs up so he could slot himself between them and over his shoulders.

It was a pleasant surprise, his display in strength and stamina, you were proud that he could keep going. The off-guard giggle you let out only spurred him to continue, cupping both your cheeks and stealing the kiss for himself. You couldn’t stop it, didn’t want to as he fit against you so perfectly. Cut through the tension like a knife did the passionate kiss prove to both of you that it was more than just physical attraction. Still, sometimes words do speak louder than actions.

You reached between your bodies to guide him towards your entrance, needing nothing but a moan against his lips to confirm to go further. The stretch was more than you anticipated, burning so euphorically good with a side of neediness for him to move faster. As if you could take all of him in one go, foolish. It’d been a long while since you’d been with someone worthy of sticking their dick in you, this was much different than a plastic toy.

Though, he was worth the wait, even if it did make you pathetically whimper into his mouth. It was just the ego boost he needed, no longer feeling ashamed of his previous poor performance. You still wanted more, you were clawing at his biceps and he was swallowing every one of your moans until his thighs met your ass cheeks.

He wanted to blow for a third time just being inside you, feeling the pulsing of your walls and slick dripping down his balls. Hyunjin used every muscle in him not to begin fucking into you like an animal, brain somehow stronger than the primal need inside him. But while he watched for any sign that you were uncomfortable, trying to be overly vigilant that he wasn’t truly paying attention to see you locking your ankles behind his neck and beginning to fuck yourself back and forth on his cock. His hands were planted near your head, realizing what it is you were doing when you bit your lip and held onto his wrists.

Hyunjin laughed into the air, the kind of laugh as though he had just won the lottery because holy fuck, he did. He watched as you bounced up and down, swiveled side to side, using him like one of your dildos suction cupped to the wall. Except he was the dildo, being used and abused until you felt satisfied. 

“So tight– so hot ‘nd wet. God, you’re so cute, oh my god. Don’t ever stop fucking me, please, please. So good, too good.”

The drip of his sweat from his forehead onto yours broke your cock-induced fever, “why am I doing all the work, baby? You started this, so finish it.” You stopped dead in your tracks and slumped back into the couch.

Hyunjin was more than happy to fuck you silly, if he hadn’t already cum twice and was running on fumes. Alas, he did his best and it was perfectly enough. You had run him ragged for your first time having sex, you couldn’t blame him for being sloppy. 

His best was still better than average, even if his pants were still stuck around his ankles. As he stood up straight and took the hook of your knees into his hands, Hyunjin let his head fall back to summon whatever energy he had left stored in the tank. Surprisingly, it was a lot. He was dripping in sweat, down his temples, neck, and chest and red blush had flushed his supple skin, but he was still the prettiest thing you’d ever seen.

He could say the same thing about you. Although your state was less messy than his, you still looked absolutely fucked out and desperate. Teeth sunk into your bottom lip so hard he was scared you would draw blood, pinching your nipples and occasionally reaching up to claw at his chest. You and him were both worked up and on the verge of crying like a bunch of babies overstimulated by everything around them. 

Your fingers found their way to your clit once he started to move, fast and unrestrained while trying not to blow before you again. Just perfectly did he fit inside you to the point where you were really questioning how the hell you had sex with other people when he was right there all along. This was nothing like your past experiences, fuck whatever it was Hyunjin thought they were like, this was something else entirely. Like waking up on Sunday morning thinking it’s Monday and being able to blissfully fall back asleep. The day when you have no responsibilities or weight on your shoulders and all you feel is relaxed. When you have nothing to do but wake up at noon to feed yourself then crawl back to bed to loaf. A lover coming home after months apart and being able to inhale their scent like it’s the first time all over again. The first cold day of autumn and the first warm day of spring. He’s Sunday. 

Hips against hips, skin slapping skin, sweat mixing and creating the particular cloud of odor where anyone who walked in would know what the two of you did. Hyunjin would stick his tongue out in concentration to make sure he was repeatedly hitting that spot that makes your eyes roll back and toes curl. He was so good at it that after a while, he didn’t need to hold you up anymore. 

Eventually he let your legs rest around his waist so he could hunch over you again, kissing your lips so sweetly in stark contrast to how hard his cock was prodding into your soft spot. He wasn’t moving roughly, but rather strong strokes that made you really feel his entire length slipping in and out of your aching cunt. Slick sounds of your bodies connecting layered the already adulterous moans leaving the both of you, your neighbors will for sure have a complaint about it tomorrow.

Hyunjin fell onto his elbows, millimeters from your face as his thrusts slowed. The way he looked at you, as though he’d set his eyes on the most sought after piece of art. In a way, he was. Of all the people that have seen you completely bare and beg for your attention, all the people you’ve met, spoken to, kissed, fucked, he couldn’t bring himself to care about any of that because you were under him now.

The almost stagnant nature of his movements wasn’t frustrating or annoying. You enjoyed it, more than any kind of rough or needy sex you’ve had with past partners. He wasn’t touching you like you usually would’ve needed, but still felt the bubble in your stomach wanting to burst. If he kept looking at you like, if he kept kissing you so delicately and fucking you just like this, it will.

His palm brushed the hair from your face, keeping it on the top of your head as if to surround you in purely him. 

“My sweetheart.”

Why was that what had to make the bubble pop? As soon as the words left his mouth and you saw the smitten smile on his face, your legs locked around his waist and nails raked down his back as white heat suffocated your body. You felt his face hide in your neck and latch onto the skin above your pulse, sucking a bruising mark as you came down and it was your turn to be covered in goosebumps. Hyunjin hadn’t realized he’d cum again until you were hugging him tighter to your chest, falling limp on top of you and all the adrenaline finally wearing off.

Nuzzled tight into him until both your breaths were regular and in sync, shutting your eyes while his tongue kitten licked over the sore spots he’d been teething at, neither of you wanted to leave from behind the thin veils of bliss. Though, returning to reality with him didn’t seem so bad.

“Baby, clean up time,” you cooed in his ear, to which you got no response but a soft snore. The giggle that left your lips was hushed to let him rest a little longer. But after a few minutes, the stickiness of the sweat was becoming uncomfortable, scratching his scalp a bit harder to gently wake him. Hyunjin hummed into you as he acknowledged the signal. “C’mon Hyune, shower.”

Wordlessly, he clambered off of you and let you lead him to the bathroom again, stopping in the hallways for towels together so that you wouldn’t have to leave him alone. Similar routine to last time except when it was time for you to clean, he opted to stand out of the shower stream until you were finished because he wanted to stay as close to you as possible. 

And when the both of you were clean, dry, and ready for bed, Hyunjin spoke again as you walked hand in hand into your bedroom. “You called me Hyune.”

“Hm? That’s your name, isn’t it?” You smirked and pulled him deeper into the room. For a second, he took a look around and immediately felt like he’d been here before, comfortably familiar. 

As you guided him towards the bed and lifted the cover for him to slide under, he suddenly woke up from your unintentional trance. “No, Hyune’s a nickname.”

“Is it okay if I call you Hyune?” A soft question as you get into bed beside him, the pair of you shamelessly naked and tangled in one another’s limbs. 

“Yeah, or baby.” You nodded against the pillow, sweeping a hand through his hair again when he rolled on his side to face you.

The two of you stared at one another for what could’ve been minutes or hours, neither of you knew. But you were on the verge of falling asleep as he placed a supple kiss on your forehead. It sparked the small memory of the long forgotten phone that had recorded the entire event. It jolted him awake as well when you suddenly got up from bed to run through the apartment to retrieve it.

Hyunjin was sat up on his elbows when you returned and gratefully took in the sight of you naked once again, feeling light as a feather.

You had ended the recording and pulled up the video to realize it was four hours long. Hyunjin gawked and laughed when he saw the time stamp. He rolled onto his back and opened his arms for you to lay in as you watched the video together.

Everything was just as he’d seen it happening from the beginning until you took off your undergarments. If the both of you weren’t deadbeat tired, it probably would’ve turned you on and sparked a second round. Instead you both could watch it with admiration and fondness.

“Oh, that was so sexy when you did that,” he said in reference to you running a finger across his balls as you straddled him.

“I like when you hold me like this,” you commented about how far and tightly his arms wrapped around your torso.

You both criticized and critiqued the video, only able to find positives to praise one another about until it was time for him to flip the positions. The clip showed Hyunjin lifting you up then standing, and suddenly the table shook and the camera tipped over. The frame showed the opposite end of the couch that you were on, the only thing on screen being the tail end of your lower halves, mostly his ass in the air and your feet dangling in the air. You both burst into a deep gutted laugh and were unable to catch your breaths at how funny the scene looked from that angle.

“Everything was so good!” You joked, pausing the video and zooming in to see his butt in the air.

“I don’t even remember hitting the table,” he admitted while taking the phone and looking closer. “At least my butt looks good.”

“You do have a cute butt.”

“Look at your little feet!” He zoomed into your feet just barely in the upper right corner of the frame.

“Not for free!” Snatching the phone back, you lock it and toss it onto the bedside table.

“I was literally balls deep in you and you’re worried about me seeing your feet?”

“That’s different!”

He rolled his eyes and untucked his arm from beneath your head to lay his own on your chest. “Whatever. I’m not a big foot guy anyways.”

“That thing poking my thigh says otherwise.”

“I can’t even feel my dick right now, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

☆ﾟ

tags: @babebatter @changbinluvr @epiphanynaffit @fawnpeaks @linovely @dumplinbokkieracha @finnydraws @naturules @djeniryuu @skzhomiehopper @yesv01 @hyunjinsamdl @dazzlingligth @alexis-reads-fics @0002linoskitten @chillichillicrabcrab23 @zerefdragn33l @straycrescent @binnies-donuts @soldierstangirl-blog @bakedlilgoonie @levanterlily @shelbyyy44 @yeetmehome @in2heartz @astroodledream @the-sweetest-rose @lilbugs-things @viviennenstan @staurdvst @alex--awesome--22 @imzenning @jeyelleohe @iadorethemskz @skyvastbunny @mamabymychem @katsukis1wife @woozarts @noellllslut @straykids5star @like-a-diamondinthesky

#stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #stray kids hyunjin #skz #skz smut #skz fluff #skz angst #skz hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin smut #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin angst #hwang hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin fluff #hwang hyunjin angst #hyunjin x yn #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x you #hyunjin x y/n #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #hyunjin fanfic #skz hard hours #skz hard thoughts #stray kids hard thoughts #stray kids hard hours #stray kids imagines #skz imagines

[cranberrymoons]

a love to last past saturday night

here's the first 3,500-ish words of the coffee shop au i've been working on!

—

There’s a little cafe at the end of Steve’s block that he’s only ever been in once. 

It’s called Corroded Coffee and it’s dark in there and maybe a little pretentious, but not pretentious as in… people reading classic novels or having discussions about French Cinema. Pretentious in the sense that there’s an intimidating collection of vinyl records taking up half an entire wall and they use single origin arabica beans and the scary baristas look at you sideways if you order regular milk in your latte. 

He knows this last part because the one time he did stop in, shortly after he moved to the neighborhood, he asked for an iced vanilla cold brew with cream, and the redheaded girl behind the counter looked him up and down as she punched his order into an iPad. 

“Okay,” she said slowly, disdainful and bored like she was barely concealing an eye roll. “I guess that’s eleven dollars, if you’re sure that’s all you want.”

Steve was sure. He was also sure that he’d never forgive himself for spending so much on a single cup of coffee that he could probably make at home for about fifty cents, but… support local businesses? Use his company card? Also, he was too embarrassed to tell her to cancel the order. 

So. 

Anyway, it’s about three months later when he goes in there for the second time. This time, it’s because his coffee pot broke (a shitty off-brand Keurig that he bought on Amazon for about twenty bucks, which for the record is less than the cost of two iced coffees from this place), and he really has to get to work, and the coffee at the office is – fine, actually, but – whatever. 

Whatever.

The coffee in the office is fine, but he’s walking toward the train feeling like his hair and his tie are somehow both on sideways, and a customer pushes out of the café and into the street, bringing with them a wave of caffeinated air, and before Steve has the chance to make a conscious decision one way or another, he’s standing inside the shop, eyes adjusting to the sudden shift to dim lighting.

When he comes to his senses, there’s a brief moment where he considers just turning around and walking right back out, but before he has a chance, the guy behind the counter leans an elbow against the shoulder-height glass pastry case and says –

“Hey man, what can I get you?”

Too late. 

Steve blinks and focuses on him. He’s tallish with long hair that’s been pulled back into a puffy knot on top of his head, dish towel slung over his shoulder, indecipherable band tee, nails painted black, a flock of bats and a long line of perfect crescent moon phases running up his forearm, and – yeah. Steve, in his crisp Brooks Brothers button-up and ironed slacks, is definitely not the right kind of cool to be coming in here.

“You do want coffee, right?” the barista prompts. He raises his eyebrows in question. “I just watched you Pepe Le Pew your way in here, so.”

In spite of himself, Steve laughs. Call it the exhaustion. He takes a step closer to the counter. 

“You saw that?”

The man grins. “You’re hardly the first exhausted corporate zombie to stumble his way through my door.” He reaches for a paper cup, pen in hand. “What’ll it be?”

“Just – coffee?” Steve suggests, then he flushes. “That was dumb. Sorry. I uh – I don’t really know much about coffee. Just a normal one with milk?” Then, remembering last time, he says, “Oat milk. I guess.”

“One drip with oat milk, coming up. You want a muffin or anything with it?” He taps the glass case with the end of his pen. “These just came out of the oven. The cranberry orange.”

“Oh, I –” Steve eyes the muffins in the case, crystalline sugar on top, shiny and perfect-looking. He does kind of want one, but he pictures himself juggling it and the coffee and his phone and – “No, that’s fine. Just the coffee, thanks.”

The man shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He punches a few things into the iPad then flips it around for Steve to pay. “Three seventy five.”

Steve narrows his eyes. That… can’t possibly be correct based on his last experience with the place, but he taps his card and punches in a tip, then nods to the barista as he shuffles off to the end of the counter to wait for his drink. He sends another look toward the muffins, and his stomach grumbles; maybe there’ll be leftover bagels in the office from the morning’s sales meeting?

By the time his coffee is ready, he’s lost in a very detailed fantasy about veggie cream cheese, and the barista has to wave to get his attention to pass him the cup. When Steve takes it, the man produces a little brown paper box and wiggles it in his direction. Steve frowns, confused.

“Oh, that’s not mine. I didn’t –”

The man raises his eyebrows and holds it further toward Steve. “On the house," he says. "Take it.”

Steve sets down his coffee on top of the case and accepts the box, flipping it open to reveal a cranberry orange muffin wrapped in crinkly parchment paper. He closes the lid and gives the barista a smile. 

“You didn’t have to.”

“Obviously I didn’t have to,” the guy says. He rolls his eyes, but it’s not – it doesn’t make Steve feel stupid the way the other girl had. “You looked like you wanted one, so you got one. Now be a good boy and say thank you."

Steve feels his face heat. “Thank you.”

The barista nods in approval then gives him the ghost of a wink before turning to help another customer, and Steve reclaims his coffee, retreating to the door and back out into the cold.

—

He doesn’t really mean to go back the next day, but – well. The coffee had been good, okay, and the muffin had been really good. And it’s Friday, and he’s allowed a treat, and he obviously hasn’t had a chance to replace his own broken machine yet, so.

He doesn’t really have a choice. He’s here by necessity. That’s it.

“You’re back,” the barista says, eyeing him up and down when he gets to the front of the line. “Was my muffin that good, that you had to come crawling back for more the very next day?”

Steve, more alert this morning than he’d been yesterday, manages to smile like a normal human being. 

“Your muffin?”

“Our muffin,” the barista says. He spreads out his hands in front of himself. “New York’s muffin. The world’s muffin.”

“No, I meant –” Steve laughs. “You made them? It was good.”

“I know it was.” He shrugs, then taps the stack of cups on the counter next to him. “Coffee?”

Steve glances at the menu on the wall. He has a suburban Starbucks level of knowledge when it comes to this stuff, which basically means he knows the difference between like… a cappuccino and a latte, sort of but – not really?

“Just the same again, plain with oat milk,” he says. “That was fine yesterday.”

The barista narrows his eyes. “Fine?”

“Good,” Steve corrects. “It was good. Like I said, I don’t know a ton about –” He waves a hand through the air vaguely. “Whatever.” He fidgets under the barista’s continued scrutiny, then adds, “Maybe sweetened this time though? I added sugar when I got to my office yesterday.” Then belatedly, “Sorry.”

“Tell you what,” the man says at last, apparently taking pity on him. He picks up a cup. “I’ll make you something that I think you’ll like, and I won’t even charge you for it. That way if you hate it, you can just – dump it down the drain or something. No hard feelings.”

“I can pay,” Steve says, frowning. “I don’t want you to get in trouble for giving me a bunch of free stuff.”

“Oh, I won’t. The owner likes me,” the man says easily, already busy behind the espresso machine. A burst of steam comes shooting out in a cloud, and he offers Steve a smile. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Steve,” he says. He hikes his bag higher on his shoulder where it’s slipping down. “Sorry, you probably needed that for the… the cup, or whatever.”

The barista’s smile widens, and he gives Steve another up-and-down look as he waits for the espresso to finish bubbling into the cup. “Nope. Just wanted to know.”

“Oh,” Steve says, feeling himself flush. He shoves his hands in his coat pockets to keep himself from fidgeting even more than he already is. “Okay, what’s yours then?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Kind of why I asked.”

The man places the cup on the counter and presses a lid into place, sliding it toward Steve along with another little paper box that, when Steve peeks inside, contains a single croissant. He takes a sip of the coffee, and it’s… delicious, unfortunately, vanilla and caramel and maybe chocolate too? And he’s pretty sure that’s real milk, thank god.

“Come back tomorrow and maybe I’ll tell you.”

“We’ll see,” Steve says mildly, taking another sip. “Thanks for the coffee.”

He gets a teasing little wave in return. 

“Have a good day at work, Steve.”

—

Robin is aghast when he tells her at drinks later that night.

“You’re saying he’s been there this whole time, and you’ve just been – what, walking past and not noticing?!” she asks, leaning forward in her seat. She takes a distressed sip of rosé and widens her eyes at him. “This whole time?”

“Maybe not,” he says defensively. “Maybe he’s new. Maybe – I don’t know.”

“You don’t just give out free coffee on your second day, Steve,” she says, exasperated. She picks up a fry and jabs it into the little pat of mayo on the edge of the plate, gesturing wildly with it before stuffing it in her mouth. “Free coffee and free pastries! He’s totally been there this whole time, and you were just too chicken shit to go in there and see him for yourself.”

“I literally met him by going in and seeing him.”

“Still.” She groans in frustration. “Ugh, I can’t believe you’re getting seduced via baked good. Literally if I could find one single solitary woman in this city who would give me free baked goods as a mating ritual, I’d let her step on my throat.” She places a hand on his forearm and gives him a very serious look. “My throat, Steve.”

He laughs and shakes her off. “You don’t know he’s trying to seduce me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You’re right,” she says. She finishes her wine and sets the empty glass on the bar with force. “The hot tattooed barista who keeps winking at you and giving you free shit for no reason is totally just trying to drum up a loyal customer base for his coffee shop.”

“I didn’t say he was hot.”

She gives him a contemptuous look. “Is he hot?”

He pokes at the lime wedge that’s floating in his gin and tonic and doesn’t meet her eye. “Maybe.”

“You’re blushing. He’s obviously hot. I hate you so much.”

“Okay, don’t – we live in the Village. It can’t possibly be that hard for you to find a lesbian who likes to bake.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Don’t stereotype. Just because we’re ladies and we have breasts.”

“I’m not stereotyping. I’m just saying: go to any plant store, pick a girl with a choppy haircut and a canvas tote bag.” He finishes his own drink and signals to the bartender for another round. “Odds are seventy thirty she’s a lesbian with a chocolate chip cookie recipe.”

“Literally every word out of your mouth just now was a stereotype. I’m breaking up with you.”

She turns her barstool away from him abruptly, and the guy seated on the other side of her blinks in alarm, looking at Steve over her shoulder with wide eyes. Steve gives him an apologetic look and places a hand on Robin’s arm, tugging her back around to face him. 

“Alright, come on, you’re scaring the public.”

She huffs, then gives the stranger a tight smile, then turns back to Steve. “You’re going back tomorrow, right? I’ll forgive you right now if you promise me you will.”

He sighs. “Why do you even care?”

“Because he’s hot,” she says, widening her eyes, “and he has tattoos, and he obviously wants to take you back to his place and do filthy, filthy things to you, Steve, and he knows how to make really good muffins.” She shakes him again. “Steve!”

“Yes!” he laughs, wrenching his arm free of her hold. “Fine, okay. Yes, I’ll go back tomorrow. I don’t even know his name yet. He said he’ll tell me if I do, so – I will.”

“Oh my god.” She buries her face in her hands. “I swear to god, if you fuck this up.”

—

Steve has always been a relatively confident guy. It’s not that. He’s not normally awkward or even shy. 

If anything, he’s better than average at blending in, even managing to convince his parents that he’s still the same person he was when he was a sports star back in high school: he finished his MBA without flaming out like half his class, he got a good-paying job in the city, he even goes back home to Indiana once or twice a year for Thanksgiving or Christmas. 

He’s normal. He’s… acceptable.

Just – he also knows when he doesn’t know something, and that’s when he gets flustered.

Like now, Saturday morning. He’s been standing in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom and staring at himself for a long time – probably too long – fiddling with the cuffs of his jeans and the swoop of his hair and the weird little… thing his sweater is doing where it bunches up around his waist. 

Maybe he should change. Or just… not go? Robin would forgive him, right?

Robin absolutely would not forgive you, says a horrible little voice in the back of his mind that sounds suspiciously like the woman herself. She absolutely would not, and then she’d come directly over to your apartment and let herself in and drag you there herself.

Fine. Just go. 

He takes a deep breath and releases it in a sharp huff. He can do this. He can totally, obviously, absolutely do this. It’s literally just leaving his building, walking three hundred feet down the street to the corner, and entering a coffee shop. That’s all he has to do. That’s all.

He does it.

When he walks in, he casts a curious glance around the space since, for the first time in here, he’s not in a hurry. It seems like no one else is either: it’s busy in a different way than it’s been for the past few mornings, fewer people calling out orders and pushing back and forth through doors, more occupied armchairs and tables with laptops. There’s a record playing in the background, something scratchy and smooth, interrupted by the sound of occasional jets of steam issuing from behind the counter.

And behind the counter is – Steve feels disappointment curdle in his stomach. 

Oh. 

The scary redhead. She’s sitting on a barstool with a knee drawn up to her chest, studying her nails and pretending like she hasn’t seen him. He steps closer to the counter, too close to ignore, and she sighs, looking up at him like his very presence is an affront to her. In spite of himself, he feels a little bubble of nervous laughter crawl up the back of his throat, and he swallows it down.

“Yeah?” she asks.

“Just, uh – a coffee?”

“It’s all coffee,” she tells him in a bored voice. “Are you asking for a drip coffee?”

“Yeah, just that, with oat milk,” he says, then adds, “Thanks.”

She jabs at her iPad then flips it around for him. “Eight dollars. Oat milk’s at the end of the bar, you can add it yourself.”

He gives her an awkward smile as he pays, and she just stares back at him impassively. He’s slipping his card back into his wallet and preparing to run away with his tail between his legs when the door behind the counter pushes open, and Steve’s barista – the nice one who gives him real milk and doesn’t glare at him – backs through it, balancing a tray of cinnamon buns in his arms.

He turns, then spots Steve, and his face breaks into a smile. He sets down his tray.

“Knew you’d be back,” he says, tilting his head with a teasing smile on his face. “Max, this is Steve. We like Steve.”

“This is Steve?” She gives him a once-over, then turns to make a face at the other man. “Seriously?”

Now that’s – “Okay,” Steve says. “I’m literally standing right here.”

“Yes. This is Steve, and today Steve would like a white mocha with two pumps of cinnamon.”

“That’s disgusting.” She makes a face. “Anyway, he paid for a plain drip coffee.”

“I didn’t ask what he paid for. I told you what he’s going to get. Can you make it for him, please?”

She glares at Steve’s barista then slips off her stool with a groan and the deepest eye roll Steve has ever seen in his life. 

“Whatever. It’s your shop.”

“Ignore her,” he tells Steve in a voice loud enough for her to hear. “Max likes to think she’s funny, but she’s actually just judgmental.”

She sticks her tongue out at him then sets about ignoring them, disappearing into a cloud of steam. He lifts up onto his toes to lean forward over the top of the pastry case and get a look at Steve.

“You’re very comfy casual today,” he says, dropping back to his own side. He raises an eyebrow. “Cute sweater.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, feeling himself flush. He tugs at the hem of it as he casts another look around the room. “This is your shop? I didn’t realize when you said the owner liked you, you meant…”

“Yep, all mine,” he says. “I can shamelessly flirt with as many customers as I want. No boss to tell me to get back to work.”

Steve widens his eyes. “Flirting with me, and he won’t even tell me his name.”

The man grins at him, resting his face in one hand. “I guess you’ve earned it.” Steve feels his stomach do a flip. “I’m Eddie.”

“Eddie,” he says, trying it out. It suits him, Steve thinks. “Nice to meet you. Officially.”

“Likewise,” Eddie says as Max passes him the coffee and returns to her stool with a huff. Eddie slides it to Steve across the counter. “Your very disgusting sugary coffee, handcrafted with love by our sweetest barista.”

“Thanks,” Steve laughs, accepting the drink. He pries the lid off to peer inside. “Is this the same as yesterday?”

“Nah, I’m still figuring out what you like,” Eddie says. He waits for Steve to take a sip – another winner, maybe even better than yesterday – then says, “Are you busy tonight?”

Steve looks up from his coffee. Eddie is watching him with an amused tilt to his smile. Steve swallows.

“Am I busy tonight?”

“That’s what I asked. Are you?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Steve clears his throat. “No.”

“Okay,” Eddie says as he folds a cinnamon roll into a box and nudges it in Steve’s direction. “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

Steve accepts the box, and before he can second guess himself he says, “Yeah, okay.”

Eddie’s smile is slow and easy. “Good. I wrote my number on the inside of the lid. Text me your address? I’ll pick you up at seven.”

—

When he gets home, he calls Robin, freaking out.

“I didn’t fuck it up,” he says by way of greeting when she answers on the third ring.

“What?”

“Hot tattooed… barista guy,” Steve says, pacing frantic circles around his living room and ripping a hand through his hair. “I didn’t fuck it up. His name’s Eddie, and he gave me a cinnamon roll, and it was really good, and – okay, so it turns out he owns the shop, he doesn’t just work there and –” He stops, staring out the window at the building across the street, unseeing. “And we’re having dinner tonight.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the phone, then a shout, then more silence, and then she says, “Holy shit. What are you going to wear?”

—

After much debate and two facetime calls and eventually Robin just physically marching the three blocks over to help him decide in person, and then him forbidding her from sticking around to interrogate Eddie – when the buzzer goes at seven sharp, 

When the buzzer goes at seven sharp, no games played, he stares at the box on the wall in alarm, half expecting it to come to life and bite his face off. When it doesn’t, he recovers (barely) and jabs at the button to let Eddie inside. 

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #stranger things #my fic #this is me subtly forcing this out into the world so you will all encourage me to keep writing it because i've been stalled on it since jul