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saekkas · 9 months

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𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑

summary: your beloved son is a tiny, warmer version of your husband, itoshi rin, clingy and talkative without a care in the world. rin thinks you gave birth to a devil, one that won't let him spend time with you alone.

notes: happy birthday to rin itoshi q(≧▽≦q) also shout out to @okkalo because apparently great minds think alike

"black or red?" you mumble, eyes raking down your own reflection in the mirror. "what would he like better?"

at 5 pm on the third friday of every month, you always run into the same problem: date night. itoshi rin, your wonderful and adoring husband of five years, has kept the tradition of taking you out for a romantic dinner and drive throughout the city.

it started on your first anniversary when he surprised you by planning a date at a five-star restaurant that's always fully booked. back then, you were both still fresh out of college with no money to your names and you always wondered how he paid for the cheque.

fast forward years later, with your job as a top marine biologist and his as a renowned soccer player, your college romance seems so far away and yet, it's only bloomed into something far beautiful.

"dad says he likes both!"

you turn around at the words, a grin spreading across your face as you watch your bundle of joy run into the room. his legs are wobbly, and his hair is a dark mess on top of his head but the sight of him barreling straight towards you never fails to warm your heart.

"hello, my prince" you mumble, letting him bury his head into your neck. his hair tickles your skin, and you chuckle when he leaves a kiss on your collarbone. "did you have fun with your dad?"

"yeah! he bought ice cream then we went to the park to play soccer!"

he pulls away from you, bright teal eyes roaming over your face, staring as if he hasn't seen you for years when, in reality, it's only been a few hours. your beloved son is a tiny, warmer version of your husband, clingy and talkative without a care in the world.

"and then we-"

"alright, squirt. time for you to leave."

speak of the devil and he shall appear.

your head snaps towards the bedroom door, your grin melting into a soft smile as your husband steps into the room. rin wears a white fitted undershirt, obviously having changed whilst you were busy with your son.

rin moves, pressing a kiss to your cheek, one your son playfully blanches at, before trying to tug the small carbon copy of himself to where his brother stands at the door.

keyword: trying.

"but i haven't finished talking to mom!" your son whines, tugging his hand out of rin's. he trudges back to you, happily wrapping his arms around your leg, poking his tongue out at your husband. "go away!"

rin grunts, walking over towards you with a growing scowl on his face. "your mom and i have a date. sae's waiting to take you outside."

"well, uncle sae can wait!" the miniature devil in disguise tightens his grip on your leg, shooting a glare at rin before showing you his best puppy eyes. "i wanna be with mom."

"uncle sae can wait, i can't."

sometimes you wonder why the two halves of your heart can never get along.

they bicker, much like how rin used to with sae. whether it's in the morning, afternoon, or night, they'd find a reason to keep on getting on each other's nerves.

you'd be lying if you said it didn't amuse you, especially when you know that their hardheadedness stem from their love of you.

"well you should learn how to be more patient, papa!"

"she's my wife, you little squirt."

you laugh when rin finally reaches you, wrapping his arms around your waist, almost too territorial as he grabs his son's head, moving him away from you like pulling a toy from a claw machine.

"well, she's my mama too!" his small carbon copy huffs, slapping rin's hand away, all the while shooting him a glare. "you're so annoying!"

"okay, okay, that's enough," you sigh out, pressing a kiss to rin's cheek before pushing him away gently, crouching until you're eye level with your son.

you can see rin's disgruntled face in the corner of your eye. "your dad and i have a date tonight, sweetie. will you let us go, hm? i'll cook your favorite meal when you get back from uncle sae's. how about that?"

you watch him hesitate, twitching in his spot, occasionally throwing glances at his dad before he finally says, "i want that and kisses! cuddles too!"

you wonder where he learned to be such a good negotiator.

"okay," you mumble, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead before rin takes his hand, practically dragging your son to the front door where his brother stands, waiting with an amused smile. "be a good boy, okay?"

"wait, one more thing!" your little boy lurches out of rin's grip and you have to silence your laugh with a hand on your mouth, eyes crinkling in amusement at the fiery glare rin shoots him.

your son moves in, placing a kiss on your cheek before whispering cheekily, "you should make dad sleep on the couch tonight."

rin calls his name, muttering what you're sure to be curses under his breath, and you watch as your son moves towards him. only to completely disregard the hand rin has outstretched in favor of sae's.

sae nods his head towards you, one you copy before waving when he takes your son into his car for a weekend away.

"finally alone," your husband mutters, his tone deep and gruff. you can see the tension melt away from his shoulders when you wrap your arms around his shoulders, clinging to his frame. "i can't believe you gave birth to a little devil."

rin has always been touchy. it's a fact he's proven time and time again, ranging from your first date until this very moment of when he glides his hand through your hair, playfully tugging at your strands.

"you look beautiful," he mumbles, moving to nuzzle his face into your neck. he trails kisses down the column of your neck, and you sigh, having already experienced the sensation, albeit, a more innocent version, only minutes ago. "ready to leave?"

"hm? who are you and what have you done to my husband?" you chuckle, giggling when he retaliates to your words by nipping on your skin. you move your hand, playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. "i'm kidding. you know i love it when you're all clingy and kissy."

he places one final kiss on your neck before pulling away, his eyes taking you in. "stunning," the words leave his lips as a breathy whisper, and you smile at the hazed look in his eyes.

he looks breathtakingly handsome with his hair gelled back and his undershirt wrapped tightly around his frame. you help him pull on his tuxedo, neatly pressed by your own hands only a few hours earlier, as he recounts his day out with your son.

and finally, you watch, amused when he takes off your ring and his, setting them both on your vanity drawer.

"shall we?" the words are muffled against your ring finger, the limb feeling oddly bare. rin kisses every single one of your knuckles before pressing one final kiss to your palm, his lips warm and soft.

"we shall."

he intertwines your fingers, tugging you out of your home and into his car, ready to take sweep you off your feet, just like he once did all those years ago when he made you his.

#blue lock x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock fluff #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin imagines #rin x reader #rin imagines #itoshi rin fluff #itoshi rin x y/n #itoshi rin x you #bllk x female reader #bllk x y/n #bllk x reader #bllk x you #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x female reader #blue lock x you #rin fluff

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roronoaswifey · 8 months

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BABY DADDY ZORO BABY DADDY ZORO BABY DADDY ZORO.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘!𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎

ೃ⁀➷cw. sexual content, mentions of substance consumption, foul language, slight infidelity, both reader and zoro got their names tatted on them, y’all got a baby girl, this isn’t a smutty as i has planned for it to be ngl

ೃ⁀➷zuha’s note. forever pushing lora’s zoro and his bruk ass pickup truck agenda .

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘!𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎 who, despite knowing you called things off with him weeks prior to finding out about your pregnancy, still knows absolutely no boundaries when it comes to you and his four year old daughter. shows up to your place on unexpected days, talking bout “wanted to see my babygirl, ‘s there an issue?”, crashes overnight on the couch because “the truck’s engine’s busted” or “‘s too dark outside and i left my glasses back home”. it’s terrible habits but he seems to always convince you to let him stay by the grin on your daughter’s chubby cheeks whenever she smells the scent of pancakes, eggs and bacon in the air with her favorite side of fresh fruit.

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘!𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎 who always shows up to your daughter’s school events no matter the circumstance. he got work? somebody’ll take cover for his shift. truck broke down? nothin’ an uber won’t fix. he may arrive slightly late due to directional challenges, but he will still always show up. dressed in loose grey sweatpants with a white fitted tee and gold chain, he spots you dressed as classily as ever (bougie, he loved to call you) and notices your birkin bag saving a seat for him. he squeezes through the row and ignores the thirsty looks he receives, all in favour of sitting at your side, arm wrapped behind the seat of your chair and kisses your temple when you lean into his embrace.

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘!𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎 who swings by every weekend to pick up his daughter for his turn of the rotation. if you ask him, he’d rather just stay over for the weekend and spend it with y’all three but he’s aware of your personal life outside of both him and your daughter, and complications (like whoever the fuck dropped you home that one friday night and gave you a cheek kiss when you’d asked him to stay a few hours with his baby) that can interfere in y’all’s relationship.

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘!𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎 who, on the occasions you let him spend the night over, always makes it up to you. it’s always the same routine—you tell him to crash on the couch and leave as soon as the rise of dawn awakens and yet he always ends up in the warmth of your bed, one leg propped up with two hands on your hips and fucks into you with precision. the sinful arch of your back and your whines as you beg him for more drive him insane, makes him miss you so much more than he’s willing to admit. though for now, he’s content in showing you how much he longs for you through plunging his dick deep in your guts and silencing your moans with his tongue down your throat (to his dismay, you make him pull out and finish on your back).

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘!𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎 who loves to spoil you and his baby. doesn’t have the highest paying income but no matter his salary, he’d be more than willing to spend 50% of it on the both of you. anything his daughter wants, she gets. he knows you can good and well afford for the both of you but he feels it’s his job to make sure you both live a soft life. no matter the reason—job promotion, birthdays, anniversaries, just for the fun of it— he’ll always want to gift you. he isn’t the best with words but he genuinely thanks the heavens that such a wonderful woman was able to bless him the greatest of gifts.

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘!𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎 who freezes in shock the very first time his daughter asks him if he’s still in love with you. he forgets she was blessed with your intelligence, but such a pretty and chubby face smothered in chocolate syrup from her ice cream sundae on their weekly hangouts asking him if he still loves mommy the same way her classmate’s parents love each other makes him realize that these habits between you and him may badly affect y’all’s kid’s future. still, he sighs melancholy and lightly flicks her nose that scrunches up adorably, and while she huffs childishly a “papa!”, he tells himself he’s in long due of a conversation with you. “i do, princess, more than you could imagine.” he answers, though he isn’t sure if she heard him as she quickly stuffs her mouth full of the sugary dessert once more.

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘!𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎 who, for the first time in years, decides to actively start dating again. he quickly regrets his decision when he’s on a dinner date, faintly listening to some broad babble about whatever it is she’s talking about but realizing he genuinely cannot see this girl— or any other girl—in his distant future. he’s too busy thinking about the slight twitch in your eye when he’d let you know he would be on a date and may arrive later to pick up his baby. you asked him where he met said girl, and he honestly told you his work friend had set him up on a date. you wished him good luck and to not spare any details when he comes back, but he felt the strain in your fake smile. you’re too easy to read, he decided a while ago, or maybe he’s mastered the art of your deception. regardless, he regrets going on this date and regrets even further when he lets her blow him off in his truck, especially since he never got to finish his load before dropping her off home.

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘!𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎 who still invites you and his baby over to his parents’ place whenever there’s any family cookout. terra loves you and her granddaughter, always bombarding zoro with questions whenever he goes to visit. she showers you and her granddaughter with so much love, calls you her daughter despite you and zoro having broken up years ago. she checks on you occasionally, lets you know you’re always welcomed in her home despite everything. she spoils her only granddaughter with gifts and treats and love, takes her on walks and offers to even let her sleepover at her place for the weekends. zoro takes note of that offer, especially since y’all’s anniversary is approaching round the corner.

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘!𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎 who brings you to the very first restaurant y’all had y’all first date at, years ago. on the roof patio of the five star restaurant, at the same table, he sees how your eyes sparkle in admiration at his efforts to recreate one of y’all’s most memorable moments in your past relationship. he’s dressed in the fanciest button up and slacks with dress shoes he owns, brings you bouquets of your favorite flowers and as always, pays for your meal. the date goes smoothly, as does most things you guys do, and he walks you back to his truck, hand in hand with the moonlight bouncing off the irises of your eyes. you catch him staring and he’s swears he’s fallen so deeply in love with you— or maybe he never truly stopped. it’s a scary but thrilling feeling, and from the heat rising on your cheeks and your shy gaze, he knows you feel the same. he can’t help but cup your face with one big hand and capture your lips in a sensual kiss, smiling when he feels you melt in his hold. you pull away shyly, nuzzling your nose into his and zoro swears on his mom he would run across the globe back and forth on a leg, go to hell and back, just to have you back in his graces.

needed to get this out of my drafts 🗿.

#roronoaswifey.exe #kazuha’s works 📂#‘thinking bout’ series #one piece #one piece smut #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro smut #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #x reader

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superhaught · 2 months

Text

Gym Class Heroes

Pairing: Regina George x Reader

Warnings: head injury, blood, homophobia

Word Count: 1600, Part 1/?

Part Two

Anonymous asked: Hey hun, sup? can i make a lil' request? i'd like to ask for a Regina George x Reader (reader is afab but kinda androgynous) where a fight breaks out at gym class and Regina steps in breaking out the fight because she gets really protective of reader (even though they never spoke before that day but both have like this unspoken attraction to one another) and takes care of reader's injuries? might lead to kissing. it's fluff with a bit of angst mixed in pls? Thanks a lot!!!!

It was your least favorite part of the day: gym class.

You hated it. Hated it.

Not that you didn’t like being active or didn’t enjoy learning about exercise and the human body and nutrition, that was all fine.

You hated the locker room. You hated the jocks. You hated getting sweaty and smelly halfway through your school day. You hated the stench of the gym and the feel of the rubber floors. You hated fitness tests. And you didn’t particularly enjoy Coach Carr.

But… It wasn't all bad.

There was always Regina.

At first, you were terrified to have gym with her. You were certain that she would find ways to make you feel self-conscious the entire semester, not necessarily intentionally, that was just her way. But, that didn’t end up being the case.

You still never spoke to her, but every once in a while, you caught her glancing at you. In the locker room as you changed into your cutoff shirts, when you were running laps or doing sit ups, even when you were just taking notes, you could feel her eyes on you.

You would look, and she would look away, and you’d get all flustered by her cropped tank tops and high-waisted leggings, then you’d look away again, trying to hide your reddened cheeks.

You had to be delusional, though. There was no way that Regina George was actually crushing on you. You had to be making it up.

Thank goodness for small miracles. It was Friday and when you entered the gym, Coach Carr yelled out that it would just be a free gym day. No particular lesson or game to worry about, everyone could just pick an activity and do what they wanted as long as they were being active. You breathed a sigh of relief and went to go grab a basketball.

You posted up at one of the hoops with a few others who were just going to practice taking shots quietly. You put your earbuds in and started playing music on your phone and began to just blissfully zone out. You took turns with your peers practicing layups and free throws while sneaking glances across the gym at Regina who was lobbing a volleyball back and forth with Gretchen. You couldn't help but notice how good she looked.

You didn’t notice Coach Carr leaving the gym to take his daily smoke break.

You didn’t notice Shane Ohman and his buddies approaching you.

You didn’t notice them hollering insults at you, not until it was too late.

“Hey! I’m talking to you, you fucking dyke!”

Shane chucked his basketball through the air at full force and it smacked into your temple. You saw stars and went straight to the ground, feeling the sting of the skin of your eyebrow splitting and the warm wetness of fresh blood pouring down the side of your face from the wound.

One of Shane’s friends said, “ohhh shiiit.”

“That’s what you get for fucking checking out my girls’ ass, you lesbo!” Shane shouted.

The group of guys were only egging him on, and as far as you knew, everyone else was stunned into silence. You vaguely saw the shape of Shane hovering over you before a flash of blonde ponytail entered your vision.

“Your girl!? Now I know you better not be talking about me you fucking piece of shit. I dumped your smarmy ass so what fucking business do you have coming to my defense against someone who’s half your size? Get the fuck out of here before I get your dad and Principal Duvall in the same room and tell them you committed a hate crime and get your athletic scholarship flushed down the toilet or worse!”

You heard the sounds of feet quickly sprinting away on the gym floor and then saw the blonde crouch down beside you through your good eye.

“That looks bad,” she winced, lightly touching your shoulder. She turned her head to speak to someone else, “Gretchen, go get Coach Carr and tell him what happened, yeah? We’re going straight to the nurses’ office.”

Before you could process, Regina was helping you stand up and was acting as a crutch for you. She helped you make your way out of the gym through the locker room. She stopped for a moment to grab a clean towel and pressed it against the wound on your head and the pressure made you feel faint.

“Fuck I need to sit…” you gasped.

“Okay, okay,” she quickly guided you down to a bench and sat beside you, still holding the towel to your head, “There you go, take it easy.”

You peered at her as she slowly came into focus.

“Regina, why are you helping me?”

“Why not?”

“Well… because you’re you?”

The corner of her mouth raised into a little smirk, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I don’t take you for the helping kind.”

“How about you worry less about talking and more about staying conscious. Do you think you can walk with me to the nurse?”

You made a solid effort to stand back up but you immediately felt lightheaded and plopped back down, shaking your head lightly.

“Alright, we’ll stay here then.” Regina looked around the locker room and located a first aid kit on the wall, “okay, I need you to lie down slowly on the bench, slowly, and hold the towel, I’m gonna get the first aid kit just hang in there.”

You replaced her hand on the towel with yours and held it against your head as you lied down and she got up. She came back a second later holding the first aid kit.

Regina carefully peeled the towel away and winced along with you, “okay, I’m not a doctor obviously but I don’t think you need stitches? You probably have a concussion, though, so I think you should go to a doctor or something but I don’t want to move you for now.”

She started fussing with things in the first aid kit and explained, “I’m just going to clean the cut and bandage it up for the time being, okay? It looks like it’s not bleeding anymore so that’s good.”

You nodded and watched her, “you’re surprisingly caring…”

“What did I say about talking?”

You snapped your mouth closed.

“Little sting,” Regina covered your eyelid with her hand and sprayed antiseptic solution onto the wound then gently wiped it with gauze.

“How do you even bandage an eyebrow?” She muttered.

“The butterfly ones, or the strip-type bandages to pull the edges together, and then gauze over it.” You offer.

“Huh, okay.”

Regina took her time finding the right things and carefully tending to you.

“Do you think I’m going to have a scar?”

“Maybe. Probably,” Regina answered, “it’ll look cool if you do. Very rugged.”

“Stupid story behind it…”

“I’m going to have Shane roasted on a spit for doing this to you, I promise you that.”

“Oh jeez, Regina. You don’t have to do that.”

“Did it sound like I was asking?”

You swallowed and tested sitting up slowly after she finished bandaging you up.

“Slow, slow…” she commanded, holding onto your upper arms.

You nodded and came to an upright position without feeling faint, “I already feel a lot better. Thanks, Regina.”

“I still think you need to leave school and go to the doctor to get checked for a concussion. You don’t need an ambulance or anything like that, probably. We can call your parents or honestly I can drive you if your parents are working…”

“Oh… that’s really nice of you. I’ll call my mom and see what she thinks.”

She nodded and checked your bandages again. She was fussing over you in a weirdly concerned, maternal way.

“Regina?”

“Hmm?”

“How come no one sees this side of you?”

She raised an eyebrow, “most people don’t earn this side of me.”

“But I do?”

“Sure.”

You didn’t really have a good response to that so you just stayed quiet while Regina got up and got you some water and then texted Gretchen updates.

“Gretchen will bring Coach Carr in here in a sec to check in, is that okay?”

You nodded.

Regina examined you again, “can I ask you a question?”

“What’s up?”

“Were you actually checking out my ass earlier?”

Your face flushed like crazy, “wh-what?”

“Shane said you were checking out my ass. Were you?”

You just stared at her.

“You can be honest, I won’t be upset either way.”

“I…” you took a deep breath, “yes. I was. You look incredible in those leggings.”

Regina smiled, “good. I mean, not good that you took a basketball to the face for it, but good that you were checking me out.”

“You’re not upset?”

“No. Why would I be upset?“

“Because… I dunno, I guess because I’m no better than a gross guy?”

Regina rolled her eyes, “no. Trust me, it’s a compliment from you.”

Coach Carr came into the girls locker room while unnecessarily covering his eyes and quickly checked in with you, saying, “alright chief, we already called your mom and she’s on her way to pick you up, okay? We’ll get you to the front office to wait. After that, Regina, Gretchen wants you to come with her to Principal Duvall’s office to tell him what you saw happen, k?”

Regina nodded.

“Go team,” he added before ducking back out.

Regina looked at you, “Did he just call you chief?”

You shrugged, “I guess so.”

You both laughed and Regina walked you to the front of the school to wait for your mom. She waved at you as you got into your mom’s van and you watched as the blonde turned and angrily stormed in the direction of the principal’s office, now on a new mission.

Next Chapter

#regina george #regina george x reader #regina george fanfic #regina george fanfiction #mean girls 2024 #renee rapp regina george #my fanfiction #my writing #original writing #writing request #anonymous request #regina george fluff

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bratphilia · 7 months

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Heyyyy so I was the person that requested more fics like the flip side (it’s 6 am and I can’t remember if that’s what it’s actually called atm) but I was thinking about possibly a situation where reader has a history with William possibly when they worked at Freddy’s before they shut down and were younger (still of age though; I’m thinking probably when they like reopened for a little bit in the early 90s). Now in the I guess present day they aren’t exactly going out with mike but maybe they are a babysitter and mike and reader are pining over each other?? But him working there brings up bad past memories of your time there but you don’t really want to tell mike.

Honestly looking for lots of tension, slow burn, pining, and angst but not too much angst yk and ofc nsfw

Sorry if this is like too specific or whatever but this has been on my mind for sure

note: i did some age calculating to fit with the timeline so reader is 18 in 1993 and 25 (the same age as mike) in 2000. creds to michy for convincing me this was actually post-worthy.

pairing: steve raglan / william afton x reader x mike schmidt

tags: threesome, rough sex, dub/con, age difference

taglist: @dilfity

triangle (w. afton x reader x m. schmidt)

(in november, 1993, you're a fresh hire at freddy's and the youngest adult on the staff at eighteen years old. it's not an ideal workplace by any means, but it's decent compared to other jobs that you most definitely didn't qualify for. and the people at freddy's are nice! maybe a little too nice, but the motto for the employees was "remember to smile, you're the face of the company" after all.

you work mainly as a waitress. you would say you're pretty good at your job. you're nice to the customers and work surprisingly well with the kids. the uniform is admittedly cute, too. red vest and a black pencil skirt. your skirt, for some reason, came in a bit too small prompting a few lingering glances from employees and patrons, but besides that you don't really mind.

it's a cold, rainy day in autumn. you wish you were wearing pants, but for once you're thankful for the lack of air conditioning in the restaurant. it's closing time and you're heading back to the employees room to grab your jacket and umbrella. you sit on the red, metal bench waiting for your sister expectantly. you never bothered to get your own license because she's always been a reliable source for rides everywhere. tonight was not one of those days. it's been at least an hour. your leg bounces up and down.

you hear the doors shut and a jingle of keys, and the distant scent of cigarette smoke lingers. you turn to see your boss, mr. afton, locking up the restaurant. he turns to you too, clearly confused why you're still here. "shouldn't you be home by now?"

you swing your legs and sigh. "my ride never showed."

he clicks his tongue and looks out to the parking lot, then looks back at you. "why don't i take you home?" you realize in this moment you and mr. afton have never quite really spoke. he's one of the thirty-something-year old owners of freddy's. he wears the springbonnie suit sometimes and performs with the co-owner, mr. emily, for the kids on fridays and saturdays. he's very charismatic and sociable, but mainly with the older crowd of the employees at freddy's. you hear some of your colleagues whispering about him, how he's such a kind and handsome man, which, as you're getting a good look at him right now, the latter is definitely true.

"are you sure?" you ask. mr. afton smiles down at you.

"sure thing. follow me." it's a huge upgrade to what you were previously considering before his offer: walking home in the pouring rain and chancing ruining your uniform.

you follow close behind him. so close that your umbrellas slightly bump into each other. a deep purple-paint-detailed mercedes-benz comes into view. judging by mr. afton's clear affinity for the color purple, as he includes it in at least one part of his daily attire, you assume it's his. he opens the car door on the passenger's side for you.

"thanks," you say politely.

in december, 1993, mr afton — who you've come to know as william — has become a frequent presence in your life. it started when he actually asked you if you wanted another ride home. you had phoned your sister, letting her know there was a change of plans. this became an everyday thing until you no longer needed to call home.

you would be lying if you said you hadn't started to develop feelings for him somewhere along the way. how could you not? he was just such a nice man! so charismatic, not just with you, but with the customers. always asking everyone how their day is going and dropping whatever he's doing to help out. there's was something special about your connection with him. he made you feel special.

it was one rainy day, just like the day back in november, when he stopped you and leaned in and kissed you. it was the most unexpected thing that happened to you in awhile. you don't know what possessed him to do it, but you found yourself eagerly kissing him back. so much that he chuckled and commented on it before sending you off. you spent the rest of the night lying awake in bed, touching yourself to every possibility you could think of.

the next day he avoided you, much to your dismay. you couldn't stop thinking about it. it slowed down your performance, making you distracted. the time just dragged on.

it wasn't until he called you in his office after your shift that you felt any kind of relief. he asked you to lock the door behind you, just like how one of those fantasies you daydreamed of started. with a fast-beating heart, you did what he said and turned to face him. and then his mouth was on yours again. it was much more sensual and yet there was an anxious component to it that made your stomach tingle with excitement.

"why don't you sit on my lap?" he suggested once he pulled away from you.

you froze. you've never actually done this sort of thing before. something delicious curls inside of you. gingerly, you sit on the thigh he patted on and he bounces his leg slightly, the fabric of his pants hitting just the right spot. he laughs at the yelp you give.

"just relax, baby. 's just you and me."

in january, 1994, is when kids go missing. everyone is on edge and patrons are frequenting freddy's less and less. on top of that, the animatronics are malfunctioning more and more, so there are even less customers due to the amount of maintenance that needs to be done.

you and william continue your routine: you fuck and he drives you home afterwards. but lately, something's been weird with william. he's been more... erratic? is that the right word? or just elated. he seems so gleeful, but more violent during sex. he's never showed any masochism until now. he even put a knife to your throat as he pounded into you, threatening to "fucking kill you" if you scream. you took it as just one of those things he says during sex, like when he calls you "slut" and "whore" but it's starting to scare you as it becomes a frequent thing.

it gets worse. you're taking the trash out to the alley when you see the security puppet laying limp. you go and investigate only to find charlie emily, the other owner's daughter, dead and badly hurt. like she's been stabbed repeatedly. you scream in shock and run in to find william, but he's long gone. instead you went to your co-worker, who called the police.

you were asked to stay at the restaurant until you after you were questioned and you told them everything you saw. you looked but william was still nowhere in sight. you walked home that night.

catching the killer was never something you were interested in. in fact, you hoped to do the opposite of some of your vigilant co-workers, who openly investigated the restaurant. some of them ended up missing too. the police had been called at freddy's on multiple occasions.

on one particular occasion, the last one before freddy's closed, actually, you went to the backrooms to catch a breather. what you found? william pouring bleach to bloodied clothes, bloody knife laying on a nearby table. you drop your keys in shock, alerting him. Turning on your heel to break for it, he grabbed the knife and your arm.

"tell anyone and i'll fucking gut you right here, right now," he threatened in a low voice.

you jostle your arm, desperate to break free. "please!" you whisper-shout. "i won't tell anyone, please let me go!"

and for some reason, he trusted you.

freddy's closed after that, and you swore to yourself you would take what happened to the grave. maybe you were a coward, but you had no solid evidence it was him behind the murders. it would all just be hearsay. no one would believe you anyways. william had such a high reputation, not just at fredy's, but within the community.)

mike hangs up the phone with a sigh. "so...?" you say, leaning towards his direction in anticipation.

"i took the job," he grumbles. his head is in his hands, running through his hair anxiously.

you throw your hands up in the air in excitement. "yay! we get to keep abby!" mike immediately snaps out of his sulking to bust out laughing. as he shakes his hand, he mentally adds your twisted sense of humor to the endless list of things he loves about you. and your distantly maternal role in abby's life. we get to keep abby.

you snap him out of his thoughts with a question. "who's the lucky employer?"

he laughs again in disbelief. "freddy fazbear's pizza. working in security. they need someone to watch the place and make sure no one breaks in and stuff."

you frown and furrow your brow. freddy's. william. "something wrong?" he muses, noticing your change in demeanor. you shake your head.

"no, nothing. i'm happy for you. sounds.. just peachy." mike shoots you a half-smile.

it's nighttime when it's almost time for mike's shift. your head is in your hands as you sit on the couch. it's one of those times when abby's off in her room, scribbling away with a crayon. you feel sick to your stomach. why did it have to be freddy's? who even gave him this job? why is it still there?

you hear a slew of curses coming from mike's room and decide to investigate. he's struggling with the loop of his belt and you can't help but smile. "need some help?"

he looks at you, face turning red. "you don't have to—"

"oh, come on," you sigh, moving to help him. "it's okay to need help sometimes." mike doesn't say anything, but from the way he's looking at you, he wants to.

"what?" you ask, but mike just shakes his head. you wouldn't understand. you decide to just leave it alone — mike's always been a distant guy.

"you need to be careful," you tell him with a much more serious tone than intended.

"why?" he asks, confused.

you try to relax your face and give him a lighthearted smile. "you should always be careful, mike! you never know what kinds of people you can encounter."

he has no idea.

two days go by. mike comes back home, surprisingly well-rested, until before his third shift when he casually mentions to you that he mainly just sleeps on the job. you freeze at that, worry forming inside of you in the pit of your stomach. "wh-what do you mean you just sleep there?! are you fucking crazy?!"

mike looks bewildered at your outburst. "i told you about this. i'm doing that dream stuff still..."

"okay, but do you have to do it on the job? do you have any idea how dangerous that is, when you're supposed to be looking out for any suspicious behavior." you're poking a finger into his chest, scolding him like he's a child.

"jeez, what's the matter with you?" he sighs in frustration. "if it bothers you that much then why don't you come with me and make sure i stay awake? i'm tired all the fucking time, and you know that!"

you know you shouldn't, for your own safety, but you have to think about mike. besides, if there's two people there, one can call the police. you let your paranoia, and your overwhelming care for mike, get the better of you. "fine. i'll come with you. put on your vest, grab abby, and i'll be in the car."

mike looks at you with sad eyes. you really didn't mean to be so harsh but it doesn't matter; he's more important. the drive over is silent, not that mike is really a talker anyways, but there's a thick tension in the air. your jaw and your fists are clenched anxiously, and you try not to look at him. when he parks the car he sighs and says your name.

the three of you set up camp in mike's office. abby sets up her tent and shortly falls asleep. you pace around the room while mike stares at the cameras, head in his hands with his eyes barely open. you walk over and snap your fingers in front of his face with a huff.

then something goes wrong. mike calls you over. "uh, i think i just saw something move? towards the offices." if it's potential danger, you decide it should be you who goes. not in a heroine sort of way, more of a need for closure.

you make your way slowly towards the offices. the dead silent halls make room for the only sound being your quickened breathing. you can practically hear your heartbeat thrumming in your ears. something rustles and, of course, it comes from wiliam's old office. you pray it's a rat.

as you push the door open, you breath a sigh of relief when the room is empty. that is, when someone slaps a hand over your mouth. "how truly lucky i am that you were the one to find me, lovely."

you struggle instantly but he wraps his other arm around your neck and pushes you further into the office. you land on the ground, hitting your head on the chair. looking up at him in horror, you cling onto the chair for dear life and get a good look at him. he admittedly aged well. salt and pepper hair and beard and all, it looks ridiculously good on him. "don't be afraid. i only want to make amends. i saw you were here and—"

"fuck you!" you spit venomously. "i don't want anything to do with you!"

william looks dumbstruck, then he scowls. the look on his face scares you as it contorts horribly. "what is it? is that boy? you realize i'm the one that gave him this job, right?"

"i don't know what the fuck you're talking about, but—"

suddenly, william lunges towards you and grasps you by your cheeks, holding your face tightly. "stop acting like such a fucking brat. remember when you were such an obedient little girl for me? let's go back to that, yeah?"

before you know it, you're being shoved against the desk facing forward. "i'm gonna teach you some fucking manners." you scramble in his grasp but his strength is unmatched. you know what's coming next and it makes you feel something burning in your stomach that you try to convince yourself desperately is sickness.

he pulls down your pants and you begin to sob. "please!"

"look at you, begging for me already," he laughs. he's undoing his belt and you already feel his dick prodding at your entrance. if this was back in the 90s, before all of this bullshit, he would've had the decency to engage in some foreplay, but there's a sense of urgency that makes it all the more—

god, what the hell is wrong with you. you're so fucked.

he undresses your bottom half, leaving you just in your sweatshirt. "gorgeous," he comments. "just as i remember."

you feel his dick prodding at your entrance, and you squeeze your eyes shut as he pushes in. it still feels as good as it did back then. he fucks you nice and slow, emphasizing each thrust with a slap from his hips onto yours. how does he still fuck this well at his age?

instead of picking up his pace gradually, like he used to, he continues to fuck you slowly. you're moaning uncontrollably now, clawing behind you at his chest, hoping he'll get the message and pick up the pace. he doesn't and just laughs darkly. "he doesn't fuck you as good as i do, huh, baby? you needed my dick to satisfy you all those years ago, and still need it now the way you're gushing on my cock."

you want to tell him mike doesn't fuck you at all, and that you're just friends, and that you only belong to him—

someone calls your name from the doorway. you and william both snap your heads towards the direction, only to find a shocked mike with his mouth agape. "mr. raglan? what the fuck is going on?"

"michael schmidt!" william practically exclaims, excited. he stops fucking you, purposefully burying himself to the hilt inside of you so you groan and squirm at the loss of stimulation. "come! come join us! your girl and i were just getting re-acquainted."

"she's not my..." mike trails off, finding himself moving closer without thinking. he takes in your appearance: bottom naked and bent over the desk with a fucked out expression. god, you're so pretty. you're always so pretty, but this is just...

no, this is wrong, he tries to tell himself. it's almost like william reads his mind when he sing-songs, "join us, or i'll kill the both of you."

like there was a devil and angel on mike's shoulder, the devil was winning. he's always wanted to fuck you and he doesn't necessarily have a death wish, either. "what, uh, what do you want me to do?"

your face falls and your mouth goes dry. william speaks with a grin, "why don't we trade places?"

mike scrambles to undo his belt and you practically drool when he pulls his cock out. fuck, you've wanted mike for awhile now. all that pent up tension between you two is finally spilling over the edge. all those lingering glances and long-lasting touches leading up this

especially like this, with your former fling and the guy you babysit for, makes it — and fuck it, you'll say it — all the more hotter. he replaces william's spot behind you and thrusts in quicker than the latter. he's practically humping you, fucking you desperately like he's running after something. his hands grip onto your hips tightly. "yes," william hisses, pumping himself while sitting dowqn in his chair. when you glance at him, he has the audacity to fucking wink at you. "'attaboy, keep goin.'"

that only encourages mike as he moans your name. "fuck, your pussy feels so good — hah!"

"mmm, mike!" you moan back.

"look at you two," william says breathlessly, "what a lovely fuckin' sight." mike begins to plunge in and out, reaching your cervix with each thrust, and you're close already. he senses that, and you can tell he is too by the way his thrusts gradually become more unbalanced. william's grunts are getting louder.

you're the first one to come, then william, and mike is still desperately pushing out of you. for good measure, he lands an uncharacteristic smack on your ass and then buries himself to the hilt becoming coming inside. the feeling of him filling you up is absolutely delicious. when he pulls out he studies the way that his cum drips out of your pussy. he's enamored with you, by the way.

#fnaf #asks #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddy's #fnaf smut #william afton #steve raglan #william afton x reader #william afton smut #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt smut

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here2bbtstrash · 1 year

Text

it's sweet (explicit)

genre: a fluffy lil sickfic

pairing: taehyung x reader

summary: you forgot to call out sick from your dick appointment, but he stays anyway.

word count: 4.3k

contains: no smut just fluff????? new year new me 😎 but as this is fuckbuddies to maybe-lovers and there are certainly a few references in here to sex, because of who i am as a person, it's enough that i'm tagging it explicit anyway lmao. but this is all fluff! reader has the flu, tae is a sweet sweet boi and takes care of her, it's all a bit sappy~ 🤧

A/N: happy new year!!! and a very happy belated birthday to my capricorn prince 💜 this soft little idea got stuck in my brain and wouldn't let go, and i had a lot more fun writing it than expected. plus i feel like i only wrote tae as a menace in 2022 (sorry to tae 👹) so i had to right my wrongs with this one lmao. it was a nice interlude before i jump into LDOMLT ch11 (the final chapter 😭) - i hope you all enjoy and that your 2023s are off to a pleasant start!!!

read on AO3!

~*~

You genuinely enjoy being single.

With your last relationship officially in the trash, you’ve found yourself settled into a comfortable peace. There’s no man in your life to mess up your plans, to force you to have to compromise or share anything, to suck up your energy and domestic labor like some kind of emotional vampire. You can do what you want, whenever you want, and you have a reliable rotation of both sex toys and fuckbuddies to keep you physically satisfied when the need arises.

Being single, you have come to learn, is fucking great.

Except when you get sick.

A knock at your apartment door drags you out of your DayQuil-induced slumber. You move to sit up with a sniffle before letting yourself drop back into your veritable nest of blankets on the couch, struck with the immediate recollection: it’s just the food you ordered. You’d specifically put in a request that they leave it at the door, but maybe the delivery person is just being nice and letting you know it’s there.

Except then they knock again.

And ring the doorbell.

“Jesus,” you groan to yourself, aggressively enough that you’re nearly sent into a fresh coughing fit, but you manage to choke down the spasm in your lungs as you drag yourself to standing. You cross the short distance from your couch to the front door, sure you look like death warmed over, and swing the door open.

At first, you’re certain it’s the DayQuil fucking with you.

“Taehyung?”

The corner of his mouth pulls up as he blinks sweetly at you, expressive almond eyes peeking out beneath untidy dark hair— extra fluffy today, like he’s just washed it and waltzed out of the house without any styling. His clothes tell the same story, a plain gray hoodie and joggers, creased a little like he’d just pulled them off his bedroom floor, though everything looks fresh off the runway on him.

As your eyes trail down his frame, you take in the container of ramen you ordered, held easily in one of his large hands, his long fingers hooking over the side.

His presence is typically a welcome one, particularly on Friday nights like tonight, but those are circumstances where you tend to be a little more… put together. So why is he here tonight?

“When did you start working for D—”

The food delivery service name dies on your tongue as your thoughts finally catch up with your mouth. He’s here tonight because it’s Friday, and this is what you do on Fridays. He’s here because you didn’t cancel. You’d had the thought in a drowsy half-awake state between naps, then had promptly rolled over and pressed your face into the pillow, telling yourself you’d remember to text Taehyung when you woke up.

Which of course, you did not. And so here he is, having clearly intercepted your delivery. And, it now occurs to you, having to witness how absolutely godawful you must look in your stained sweatpants, your hair surely a mess from a day spent napping on the couch.

“Oh fuck,” you mutter, quickly crossing your arms over your baggy t-shirt, suddenly very aware of the fact that you’re not wearing a bra. Why that matters when you’re standing in front of a man who regularly leaves hickeys all over your tits, you’re not sure, but in this moment it somehow feels like it does.

“Tae,” you take a step back, trying to keep him out of your germ radius. “I’m so sorry, I forgot to text you. I’m super sick, I think it’s the flu. You should go.”

He frowns a little, his eyes jumping from you down to the takeout container in his hands. “This is like, barely warm.”

That makes you smile a little despite yourself. A very Taehyung greeting.

“Yeah, well.” You roll your eyes. “I pay twice as much so it can take an hour and be cold by the time it gets here. Makes sense, right?”

His dazzling smile at your sarcastic remark only heightens your own self-consciousness, and you quickly extend a hand for the container.

“Sorry to make you come all this way. Hopefully next week I’ll be back to normal.”

Taehyung nods, yet makes no move to hand over the soup he’s currently holding hostage. “You should rest. Let me heat it up for you.”

You can’t help but wonder what he expects to happen when he crosses the threshold, and that makes you heave a sigh, then quickly bury the cough that chases after it into the crook of your elbow.

Thankfully your voice doesn’t give out when you manage to answer him. “I’m serious, Tae. I’m not—” you pause, considering how to phrase it: desperate to be railed? “—you know, the way I usually am on Fridays. Nothing’s gonna happen tonight. Except maybe you’ll get sick.”

He shrugs, like there are worse things. “I get it. But you shouldn’t be alone.”

At least he’s been sufficiently warned, you think to yourself, and then you relent, leaving the front door of your apartment swung wide as you step back across the living room to promptly collapse onto the couch again. You bury your face in the blankets with a muffled groan as you hear Taehyung shut the door behind him, then make his way into the kitchen.

As is typical with any man that enters your kitchen, you expect to have to walk Taehyung step-by-step through how to do everything. But, to your surprise, he asks no questions: he seems to find a good-sized pot and figure out how to work the stove all on his own, and you can hear him humming softly to himself as he goes.

Truly a credit to the male species, you think to yourself with a bitter laugh.

You collapse back against the cushions, a little too aware of the fuckbuddy in your kitchen to be able to drift off to sleep entirely. Nevertheless, you still find yourself slipping into a haze, your eyes dropping shut just to snap open again at the tap of a bowl being set down on the coffee table in front of you.

Your eyes widen as you sit up and stare down at your ramen, only to find two halves of a soft-boiled egg staring back up at you. You’d ordered from your favorite place in the city, which is easily the best ramen you’ve had in your life, but you know those fuckers charge extra for an egg. Which is why your cheap ass never orders one.

But here one is. So that means…

Taehyung drops down onto the couch next to you before you can even finish compiling the thought in your brain, but he must be able to read the look on your face. “Oh, do you not like eggs?”

“I— no,” you answer quickly. “I mean yes. I mean, I like them, I just… Thank you.”

You glance up in time to see him shrug, his mouth twisting a little, like he’s suddenly made shy by his own kindness. “Gotta get your protein in,” he offers casually, and you laugh over the steam rising up from your bowl.

He keeps a tentative cushion’s distance away from you, but you can feel his eyes watching as you take your first sip of the rich, warm broth. While you slurp it down, you tell yourself not to get greedy with Taehyung’s time: you expect this will be it, that with his act of kindness done for the day, he’ll get to his feet and be on his way. As soon as your front door slams shut behind him, he’ll probably be pulling up his text messages with one of the many other options that must be available to him.

You try to ignore the way that thought makes your stomach twist, to just eat your damn soup and not think about it. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.

But to your surprise, Taehyung leans forward and snatches the TV remote off your coffee table with a triumphant sigh before slumping back against the couch, like he’s settling in. “Do you wanna watch something?”

You shake your head as you take another sip before answering. “You really don’t have to stay, Tae. I can appreciate that I’m not a lot of fun to be around tonight. And obviously you didn’t come here to watch me eat ramen.”

Already starting to scroll through your streaming services, Taehyung runs his free hand through his hair with a knowing, slightly horny smile. “Depends on what you mean by eat ramen.”

You nearly choke on a noodle, but he’s otherwise distracted, mouth dropping open a little as he clicks into one of the options.

“Oh, I know what we can watch.”

When he pulls up A Charlie Brown Christmas and promptly presses play, you can’t help smirking. “Christmas? You’re, what, five days late?”

Taehyung’s mouth opens again, like he’s going to say something, and then he just smiles that same self-conscious smile. “Ah, I just like the music.”

His long fingers splay out in front of him, miming along to the opening melody while he adopts the faux-cool expression of a jazz pianist. You hide a giggle in another sip of broth, and he quickly shrugs the impression off, crossing his arms over his chest as if to keep his limbs under control.

“And it’s cute,” he adds, voice halfway between shy and sentimental. “The little tree.”

It occurs to you now that you’ve never seen Taehyung so… your brain can’t find the right word. He’s just different tonight.

You nod as you slurp up a strand of noodles, and you can’t deny that he’s right as the movie plays on. It’s been years since you’ve seen it, not since you were a kid, but it’s just as enjoyable now, somehow timeless. You find yourself smiling softly as you finish your meal and settle back against the couch, tugging the blanket up to your chin.

All at once, Taehyung jumps up, and you watch dumbfounded as he silently scoops up your dishes and disappears off to the kitchen. When you hear the tap switch on, your jaw drops in sheer disbelief, and you sit up again, peeking over the back of the couch to get a glimpse of him: he’s pulled on the dishwashing gloves you keep tucked next to the sink and is making short work of not just the bowl and the pot, but the takeout container too, and your various other sick-person dishes you’d regrettably let pile up. Humming to himself along with Vince Guaraldi, like it’s something he does every day.

Your head spins as you drop back down against the cushion. What is happening? Did you take too much cold medicine?

That thought only reverberates louder in your brain when he returns, still humming the last few notes of the song. This time he chooses to settle in right beside you on the couch, as if entirely unconcerned about the contagious virus running rampant in your body— he just pulls you into his side, one arm wrapped over your shoulders, fingertips casually starting to play with the ends of your hair. Like it’s that easy.

You glance up at him, shaking your head a little, and Taehyung looks down to meet your gaze. “What?”

“This is just…” An incredulous laugh cuts off the end of your sentence. It’s hard to believe you’re looking at the same person. This can’t be the man who wraps his hand around your throat as he spits into your mouth, who will keep you in his bed for hours until you’re crying from overstimulation, who fucks you so good you can hardly walk the next day.

“I didn’t expect you to be like this,” you admit, pairing the words with a finger driven gently into Taehyung’s ribs. He squirms a little. “You’re… sweet.”

Taehyung’s lips part, and then he pauses, clearly considering how exactly to answer you. His mouth turns up soft at the corners, hesitant, as if he’s embarrassed to say what comes next. And then he says it. “You didn’t seem like you wanted sweet.”

The words settle over you, offered quietly in the low, rich tones of his voice, and as you keep gazing up at him, it strikes you: he’s not wrong. If he’d pulled this cozy domestic housewife act on you any earlier, on a normal Friday, you would’ve sent him packing without hesitation.

That thought makes you a little sad.

You tuck back in against Taehyung’s side, trying to refocus on the TV screen as you snuggle in under the blanket. Pressed close like this, you can feel the sturdy thud of his heartbeat in his chest, at a rhythm not dissimilar to yours.

“Well, I won’t tell anyone,” you breathe, and you swear you can hear him smile.

His touch lingers as the last few minutes of the movie play on: slipping from the ends of your hair to trace over the fabric of your shirt, then sliding further up to dip beneath the collar of it. The talented fingers you’ve become well-acquainted with work their magic in a new way, pressing firm circles into the muscles of your shoulders, muscles you didn’t realize were pinched so tight until he starts to work them open.

“Fuck,” you murmur, shifting a little to allow him better access as he continues. “That feels so good.” You can’t quite help the laugh that flutters out after your words; it’s certainly not the first time he’s made you say them.

There’s a small huff of breath from Taehyung beside you, and then his hand moves up to cup the back of your neck and give a gentle squeeze. It’s a comforting motion, and just arousing enough to make you sigh a note, your eyes briefly dropping shut. When they flutter open again, you realize the movie has ended, that he’s looking down at you, a knowing smirk toying at his lips.

“Don’t start,” you warn, unable to keep your voice entirely serious. “I meant what I said, I’m tapped out for the night.”

Taehyung raises his palms in the air, as if to claim his innocence, and you find yourself instantly missing the heat of his hand on your skin. “All I was thinking is that I kinda want dessert. Too tapped out for that?”

“I’ll never say no to dessert,” you admit with a soft smile. “I think I have ice cream in the freezer.”

Something glints in Taehyung’s eyes at your words. All at once he untangles himself from you and, rather than standing up and walking the long way around like a normal human, chooses instead to vault himself over the back of the couch, as if to get your freezer as fast as possible. You tip back against the cushions, momentarily overcome with laughter, and thankfully, it doesn’t trigger a cough attack.

After a second, you cocoon the blanket around yourself, then get up to follow after him, dropping unceremoniously down onto one of the barstools tucked on the far side of your kitchen island.

Taehyung glances up, clearly surprised, then continues trying drawers until he finds the silverware and retrieves two spoons.

“Just want to keep you company,” you say by way of explanation as he hands you one, and you reach down to pry off the lid of the pint of chocolate ice cream he’s set down on the counter. It’s only as you glance up again that you realize he’s grabbed something else, too, and is continuing to rummage through your cupboards. “Wait, what are you doing?”

There’s an innocent look on Taehyung’s face as he rights himself, the handle of a pan clutched in one hand. “I found something when I was looking for the ice cream. It’s my favorite. And I thought it might make you feel better, too.”

“Uh huh,” you intone, though your mouth is already starting to tick up, endeared. “A completely selfless act, I’m sure.”

“Of course it is,” he answers with an over-exaggerated wink, flipping the pan cooly in his grip. You squint at the bag as he thuds it down on the counter beside him, then sets the pan on the stove and flips on the burner beneath it.

Hotteok. You’d completely forgotten you’d even picked the bag of frozen sweet pancakes up a few weeks ago, that you had purposefully tucked them into the back of your fridge for a particularly good— or bad— day.

“Chef Kim,” you ask, feigning the tone of a journalist conducting an important interview as you fish your phone out of the pocket of your sweatpants. “Can I interest you in some background music, or do you prefer to cook in absolute silence?”

Taehyung glances back over his shoulder at you, his grin nearly too big for his face. “How about Sinatra?”

You raise one eyebrow at the admittedly unexpected suggestion. “Frank or Nancy?”

He pauses for a moment, as if considering. “Either.”

It’s only a few taps, and then Come Fly With Me is floating out of your Bluetooth speaker, and Taehyung is singing along to himself as he drops a frozen disc onto the heated pan, occasionally turning back to deliver lines to you with an extended hand.

You roll your eyes as you drag your spoon through the top layer of softening ice cream, sucking it into your mouth in an attempt to hide the grin that’s spread over your face.

By the third song you find yourself humming along too, trying not to put too much strain on your still-weak throat. The kitchen has started to smell of sweet, toasted dough as Taehyung works diligently at the stove, and he finally flips the burner off before turning back to you, a plate in each hand and a thick pancake stacked atop each plate.

“Sous chef, will you please apply the ice cream?” he asks, eyes wide and blinking as he sets the dishes down.

Quickly playing along, you nod as you begin to scoop a healthy amount onto each plate. “Yes, chef!”

“And sous chef, do you, uh… have any chocolate sauce?”

You bite back a laugh as his roleplay falls apart as quickly as it began. “It’s in the fridge.”

Taehyung promptly turns and pulls the door open, eyes searching the shelves before he finally spots the dark brown bottle and lets out a triumphant hum. He nudges the fridge shut again with his hip before striding back toward you.

“Plating is key,” he muses. You answer with an appreciative nod and a giggle when he uncaps the sauce, then leans down close to the plates, feigning intense focus as he drizzles each dollop of ice cream with stripes of chocolate.

Once his artful design is complete, he steps back, his tongue toying at the corner of his mouth as he spins one plate to admire his handiwork.

“What do you think, chef?” you tease, and he nods once, decisive.

“It’s perfect.” He glances up, shooting you a grin that knocks the breath from your lungs, and you try to collect yourself as he nudges a plate toward you, encouraging you to take a bite.

You carve your spoon through the pastry, right down the middle where it’s stuffed full of sweet brown sugar syrup. The flaky layers pull apart at the impact, warm enough that you can see steam rising off of the golden dough. You pair a small piece of pancake with a wedge of ice cream on your spoon, then bring both into your mouth at once, and the contrasting mixtures linger on your tongue: hot and cold, sticky sugar chased by rich chocolate. It’s so good that you can’t help but make a soft, appreciative noise as you press your hand to your mouth and chew.

“Do you want to know something?” Taehyung’s voice pulls your attention back, and you look up at him.

“What?”

“Today’s my birthday.”

There’s a split second where you wonder if this is another imagined scenario, and then your eyes widen as you take in the look on his face and realize he’s entirely serious.

“Wait, Taehyung, really?”

He nods once, bringing a spoonful of ice cream to his lips.

“I-I had no idea,” you stammer, suddenly feeling like an asshole. His birthday, and he’s here waiting on you hand and foot, while you haven’t so much as said a word of felicitations. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, he’s waving away your apology with his spoon, then proceeding to answer around his bite of food. “It’s not like I expected you to know. I don’t really make a big deal of it.” He shrugs. “I tend to… I don't know. I get sort of melancholy this time of year. The holidays, my birthday. It’s a lot all at once. A lot of pressure. To be happy. To have everything figured out.”

Nodding slowly, you let his words fully wash over you before you respond. “I get that,” you finally murmur, working off another piece of hotteok. “Nobody ever talks about it, but I feel like birthdays are kinda weird as an adult. You have enough of them and it just starts to feel like a day, you know? Not special.”

“I usually find myself just hiding out, waiting for it to be over,” Taehyung admits.

You take a second to think back. “Yeah. I didn’t even do anything on my birthday this year.” A self-pitying laugh rises up before you can stop it. “Honestly, this whole year was such a flop. I’m glad it’s nearly done.”

Taehyung makes a face like he can’t disagree. “Hey, sometimes that’s life.” He pauses, brow furrowing slightly, then reaches a palm across the table. “Can I play a song?”

“Go ahead,” you offer, pushing your phone into his hand. You scrape your spoon along your dwindling dessert, and haven’t even managed to bring the assembled bite to your mouth before the music changes— from one Frank Sinatra song to another, this one with a driving blues rhythm.

Taehyung is already on his feet, hips starting to sway. “Ah, come on. You have to dance with me.”

He’s closed the distance between you before you can even protest, his hands smoothing across the blanket still wrapped over your shoulders.

“Let me take your coat, ma’am.”

You shift off the stool and onto your feet with a smile as he unwraps the blanket from around you and tosses it toward the back of the couch, missing by at least a foot.

“Why thank you,” you tease, feigning some kind of Transatlantic lilt to your voice that makes him really laugh. “Such a gentleman.”

Taehyung turns to face you again, and then you feel his large hand pressing to the small of your back, warm even through the fabric of your shirt, and your heart stutters a little. You take his other hand in yours and let him lead, let him pull you all the way in until you can turn your head and press your cheek to the firm plane of his chest.

Frank Sinatra croons on about how you can’t let life get you down, and suddenly there’s a weight settling in the pit of your stomach.

“I feel bad, Taehyung,” you admit, and when you glance up at him, he’s looking right back down at you. “That you’re here with me tonight.”

“Why?” he asks, like he really doesn’t know.

“Because,” you shake your head. “I don’t know. There’s a million better places you could be. I can’t even give you birthday sex.”

“I wouldn’t have stayed if I didn’t want to,” he answers simply, then leans back, guiding you under his arm for a spin.

A little giggle bubbles up in your chest, catches on the first syllable of your reply as you twirl. “A-are you sure?”

Taehyung nods, thoughtful, when you come back to center again. “This is a good reminder that… I like taking care of people. It’s been a while since anyone’s let me.” The hand holding yours gives a gentle squeeze, and you can’t help but squeeze back.

“Well, thank you for taking care of me,” you answer softly. “You did a good job. Pretty sure I’m on the mend already.” You blink up at him through your lashes, and the way his eyes are fixed on you makes your heart squeeze, too.

It’s nearly overwhelming, taking him in like this, close enough that you can see every stray beauty mark kissed over his handsome features. Fluffy-haired, big-dicked Kim Taehyung— who would’ve thought?

Taehyung’s adam’s apple jerks in his throat as he swallows, and you feel a sudden rush of heat all over, one you don’t quite think you can blame on a fever. It hardly even occurs to you that the two of you have come to a complete standstill now, barefoot in the middle of your kitchen, Taehyung’s palm pressed to your back, the fingers of your joined hands now shifting to lace together.

“Taehyung,” you’re breathing his name before you even realize it. “Would you… want to stay here tonight? Like, sleep together, literally?”

The smile that flashes over his face is nothing short of brilliant. “Yeah, okay.”

Your voice dips a little lower, teasing, as you smile back. “I really do think I’m feeling better, so. Maybe in the morning I can take care of you, too.”

Taehyung’s fingers brush the length of your jaw, then reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as you continue.

“I’ve got this spray that makes my throat totally numb, so.”

He pauses, his mouth so close to yours that you can feel his breath ghosting over your skin, but he can’t quite keep a straight face. “Fuck, why is that so sexy?”

You’re laughing against his lips when he kisses you.

#taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #taehyung x y/n #bts fluff #bts x reader

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silver-velvet-860 · 21 days

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Fresh Fit Friday - May 3, 2024

This week's outfit:

-BlobMob Mask

-Navy Eminence Jacket

-Sun & Shade Squidkid IV

#splat3 #splatoon #fresh fit friday #splatoon outfits #splatoon 3

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cosmichahn · 4 months

Text

BEWITCHED

Melissa Schemmenti x Fem!Reader —☆

about: melissa only expected for her friday evening to go as always, but plans change when she sees you crying on the sidewalk

warning/s: mild cursing

word count: 4.7k

note/s: first time writing for mel, might be a bit rusty but i really enjoyed writing this and hope you guys enjoy reading! lyrics from bewitched and from the start by laufey mentioned. (i also have not watched the new episodes yet so yeah)

The parent evening at Abbott Elementary just ended, as every teacher and every parent went their separate ways. Everyone but you who left about an hour earlier than everyone. No one knows why, no one dared to ask when you rushed out of the building after cleaning up your classroom and grabbing your bag. Not even a goodbye like you always do, especially to Melissa who grew worried because of this; but she decided not to call you, especially how it seemed as though you wanted some time alone.

Your movement wasn’t harsh, nor was it rough. It was more of a quiet rush that might as well be considered worse than an angry one.

Melissa says her goodbyes to her co-workers before setting off to go home. She looks at her phone set up on the side with an attached stand to it, pondering on whether she should call you and ask how you are or perhaps not. You’ve only been at Abbott for a year, and in that year, Melissa grew very fond of you. There was just something about you she couldn’t pinpoint in the beginning, not until one of her kids came rushing to her crying and asking for you, for some reason. You started as an aide just to see if the teaching position would fit you at Abbott after about four years of teaching experience in a different state.

When you were Melissa’s aide, her days never ended up being exhausting. You were a breath of fresh air and really helped her around the classroom; with managing two classes at once, it’s not an uncommon occurrence for Melissa to stress herself out. Eventually, you’ve come to apply for an official teaching role at Abbott to teach 6th grade Biology after 2 and a half months of being an aide. It was perfect since the last Biology teacher just straight up gave up and signed up for a resignation; which is a bad image given that it kind of shows the students a message that they may not be worthy enough to stay for since that said teacher left to go to Addington. It’s great that you’re qualified for the teaching role and Ava, especially, was thankful for that.

The redhead drives over the street, her mind only occupied with next week's lesson plans that she should finish on Sunday. Thankfully she’s already done with grading papers. As her mind wanders, she comes across someone familiar on the street, tears pouring down. She stops her car immediately near the familiar broken down car whose owner is the person crying in front of her. You.

Upon noticing the sudden warmth of someone’s presence, you look up only to feel embarrassed, so you quickly wipe off the tears that already stained the bottom of your shirt used for wiping them off. You have the mascara stained from all the tears, and the lipstick that smudged just right on the side of your lips. This is an ugly cry that you never want anyone to see, but Melissa is the exception. You don’t mind her.

She looks at you with not pity, but worry. Wiping off the dust and small grains of dirt she can get off beside where you are, Melissa takes a seat, trying not to be too close to you so you can have enough space to be comfortable or not feel too crowded. “Hon, what happened?” Her voice is so smooth that it sounds like the only symphony you can listen to for the rest of your existence. She looks at you, her eyes speaking more emotion than her words, as always.

“It’s nothing, really.” You sniffle your runny nose in between words that shake your voice and tone. “Just a mishap, but thanks.” Your eyes meet hers, giving her a light chuckle which makes her raise her eyebrow.

“You know me enough not to believe this stunt.” She slightly tilts her head towards you, crossing her arms. Melissa knows you too well upon the year she spent with you at Abbott. She knows when you’re being all bullshit. This is one of those times.

You look at your lap, then your hands that had small stains of black from that mascara that you wore today. “Fine, it’s something. But it’s not really that big of a deal, Mel.” Your gaze turns to her. “It’s just a parent being a parent.”

“Seeing you like this doesn’t make it feel like it’s a small deal.” Melissa isn’t always one for being interested so quickly towards someone, but you just managed to intrigue her the more she knew about you.

In defeat, you tell her what happened; but you feel guilty upon telling her all of this. For whoever up there’s sake, this is only your second year at Abbott and you’re already dropping a bucket worth of tears over one comment a parent made for the first time in your whole career. “One of the parents, um, she called me a terrible teacher because her son was struggling with something and all I really did was help her son out but she wasn’t listening to what I was saying and blamed it all on me.” Talking about your problems really has always been the catapult to a breakdown that you can never find a way to stop. “She blamed it all on me that her son’s grades weren’t high enough, when he has always excelled in all of his subjects. He’s on the verge of burning out, and I’m just trying to help him, Mel.”

“She thinks her son’s grades aren’t enough, when they’re high and he already reached his goal. The mother is so strict but I can’t speak on it because I am not the parent, I am only the one who teaches and calculates the grades. I don’t make the grades, I just help the students achieve the grade they want. She called me terrible. A terrible teacher. I have never been called that and I feel so bad, so guilty, and sensitive, for feeling this way about it. About what she said. And I’m sorry for dumping all of this on you when you’re handling two classes at once, you’re incredible, and I know how stressed you are at times. I care about you a lot.”

Melissa thinks before she speaks, signaling if she can touch you and you nod in response; and so she places her arm around your shoulder, pulling you in with a small apologetic smile. “Some parents really are like that, and unfortunately we can’t exactly do anything about it other than have a quiet and listening conversation with our student.” You hold onto her other hand, feeling her squeeze yours in comfort. “And you don’t have to apologize for feeling this way. No apologies to me, we all have our own experiences, hon.” Melissa removes her arm around you, where she is now holding both of your hands in hers. You melt under her touch, she brings you warmth. She’s the beaming sun that lifts up your glow. “Your feelings aren’t any less. I care about you too, I care a lot.”

You only mumble a quiet thank you to her, letting go of her hands before moving closer and burying your face on her neck, feeling the warmth she had to offer. The comfort her presence gave you was enough to recharge from a tiring day. “Thank you so so much, Mel.” The warmth Melissa gave not only came from her natural body temperature, but also the sudden contact of you leaning into her this close that sent up sparks in her mind and caused her to grow a blush she couldn’t take away.

Melissa places her right hand on your back, leaning her head on yours, before whispering “Anything for you, cara.”

“You’re so nice to me, Mel.” You whisper with a small chuckle, feeling her heart beating, feeling it speed up. “I never knew that something I would say is enough to make your heart crazy.”

“Great assumption you got there.” Melissa jokes, lifting your face off her shoulder. You looked a mess with your smudged makeup, and yet still she was enchanted by you; to her you were still beautiful as always, and she was glad that you felt comfortable being in states like this around her. She keeps your trust the way you take care of hers.

“No use in lying to me when I look like a mess.” You shrug your shoulders, feeling the tension of your feelings cool down and feel lighter. She only playfully rolls her eyes and chuckles at you.

You never denied your attraction towards Melissa, but that’s something she doesn’t know. Something you never had the guts to tell her; you were just scared, confused as to how and why would she date someone like you. Someone younger, obsessed with movies, and could talk about anything and everything within every second of the day. You’ve seen how Melissa acts when Jacob starts yapping about something, but then if you’re the one doing it, she never scolds or avoids you when you talk about your interests even though she doesn’t get most of them. Melissa could just be really friendly to a selected number of people, and you’re lucky enough to be one of those people; that’s one of the main reasons as to why you’d rather not express your romantic feelings for her.

Melissa is too important to you. She’s your friend first before all.

“Why are you even stopped here anyway?” Melissa questions, looking at your car parked on the side near hers.

Embarrassed, you answer her with a small hint of nervousness “Well, you see, I ran out of gas.” You also realize your inability to head home because you remember now that you left your house keys on the desk right before you rushed out of the school a while ago. “Shit! I left my house keys in the school. Son of a bitch.”

Your evening after that parent situation really isn’t going how you want it to. First, you forget your apartment keys in a school that’s already locked, and second, your car is out of gas. You have nowhere to go and nowhere to sleep in, until an idea pops up in mind, but Melissa had another idea. “You can always stay at my-”

“I can call Janine and ask her if I can stay.” You say in full confidence, remembering how Janine once offered for you to stay at her place if ever that there were any cases of unfortunate occurrences. But instead of Melissa agreeing and knowing it’s better for you to stay at Janine’s, she reacts differently.

“No! I meant you can stay at my place.” This peaks the curiosity in you. A year of being friends with Melissa, and yet you’ve never been to her house before, surprisingly.

“As tempting as that offer is, I don’t want to be in the way of your weekend.” You say. Melissa only scoffed and shook her head with endearment. “And I do know how much you cherish your privacy.”

“That’s nonsense, sweetheart. You’re an exception.” Before you can say anything, Melissa stands up to open her car, making sure that you follow. “I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer, by the way.” She’s pretty persuasive. Pretty and persuasive. She smirks at you as she waits for your approach; she leans on the car and crosses her arms with the keys dangling on her finger. “We both had a tiring day, so a little wine wouldn’t hurt too, right?”

You nod with excitement, looking back at your car while approaching Melissa’s. “Don’t worry, we can get back tomorrow. I have a guy that can help with your car without hassle.” Thankfully, the area where you stopped your car when it ran out of gas was a safe space. Knowing this part of Philly, it surely is more peaceful. Melissa is so thoughtful and just the sweetest, when what she always does, at least to you, is what you think of as something like the bare minimum or just something she does to her close friends. You’re not that special to her, as to what you think; but to her, you’re more than that.

Before leaving off with Melissa, you first check over your car just to grab your things. “Let me just get some stuff from my car. I don’t want any important things gone.” She nods as you head off, unlocking the back of the vehicle and grabbing some things. You take your files filled with student papers you need to check off and grade, then in front of the car is your bag with all of the pens you use and essentials. You double check to lock the door then look over to Melissa. “Well, it seems like we’re both gonna be occupied.” You say, showing her the very thick file folder you have.

“We can grade papers and drink wine.” She suggests, and all you can imagine is grading papers on the table together with Melissa’s glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose, hair up in a loose bun with a wine glass in hand and the smell of her lingering in her home. She holds your hand every so often after taking a sip of her wine and you brush a strand of hair off her face while she smiles at you and thanks you. That is all an image in your head.

“Sounds like a fun evening.” Is all you can say in reply.

As you approach her car, Melissa opens the door for you and you quickly thank her for it. The car ride was comfortable and quite fun. It’s not your first time riding in Melissa’s car, and usually she leads playing music in the car, but she actually lends you the aux cord from time to time. You connect your device to the speaker and radio in her car, where you then blast one of Laufey’s songs; a fairly recent artist that Melissa denied when you first played it around her, but she soon grew fond of the artist knowing that you loved listening to her music a lot.

Melissa would always find herself looking the artist up just so she could be reminded of you when she listens to it. It just for some reason makes her feel closer to you whenever she engages with things you love.

“You bewitched me.” You sing along the rhythm, slightly bopping your head to the light and magical tone of the song. Melissa quietly glances at you, a smile growing on her lips upon adoring the sight, before looking back on the street. “From the first time that you kissed me.” The lyrics catch Melissa, causing her to swallow the invisible lump in her throat. “To experience this song is to make my life complete.” You joke, not imagining anyone to dance to this song with other than Melissa.

Upon hearing this, Melissa wanted you to kiss her under the bustling lights of an evening in Philly. She wanted to lean in and whisper how much she wanted to keep you in her heart. She wanted to be the one who makes you bewildered, bewitched.

“Well, if I ever get the time to buy her vinyl, that would also be an alternate way to complete my life.” You shrug, chuckling.

But I’m falling so badly, I’m coming apart. The song continues. You cast me a note, cast a spell on my heart.

Melissa takes a quick glance over the radio. Well, you’re right about that. She thinks to herself, indulging the lyrics of the sweet yet whimsical song.

“Not the first time you’ve talked about the artist.” She looks over to you through the front mirror, noticing the embarrassed chuckling you let out. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I think it’s cute.”

“Thanks, Mel. People don’t really engage with me when I talk about things I love.” You look over at her with an endearing smile. “But thankfully I have you, don’t I?”

“I talk about firefighters to you a lot, hon. I think we’re even.” She laughed quietly. “And you really love the food I make.” In all honesty, there’s a mix of excitement and nervousness in Melissa right now. It’s your first time both going to her house and staying over there for the weekend. Is the sink cleared? Will there be time to whip up a quick meal? Is her bedroom clean? Wait, you’re sleeping in her bedroom? On the same bed as her? Unless you don’t want to, she’ll just sleep on the couch. Melissa’s mind just shuffled.

You notice that Melissa kind of dozes off, so you try to catch her attention. “Mel, you good?” Waving off your hand beside her, until you catch her attention.

“I’m good. Just thinking of something.” You quirk an eyebrow making an attempt to guess, but trying not to push it much as for Melissa to not get frustrated.

You remember the vending machine guy that the Abbott crew would always mention to Melissa. Given that he leaves hints that he likes her. This happens way after they forget to tease you and Melissa for being close. Although there’s some sort of jealousy that flows through you whenever this happens, it’s not really something you can do anything about, given that perhaps Melissa feels the same for him too. “Ooo, is it Gary?” You tease.

Melissa shakes her head quickly. “No, that’s not- he’s not-”

“Oh! My bad, sorry.” You apologize but she denies this apology, saying that there’s nothing to apologize for.

The next moments were filled with comfortable silence, as you then start humming to the next song playing.

Don’t you dare look at me that way; I don’t need reminders of how you don’t feel the same.

─────────

Shortly afterwards, you arrived at Melissa’s place, seeing the beautiful interior displayed right in front of you. She looks at you adoring her house, with only the luminescence of the neighboring houses and the moon lighting up your face. “Beautiful.” Melissa compliments.

She leads you to the door, unlocking it while you stand behind her, carrying the file folder and your bag. You’re greeted by a well decorated living room and several photo frames across the walls and the side tables. “You can just place your things on the couch and I’ll whip us up something to eat for dinner and maybe a snack while grading. That sound good?”

You nod in response, carefully placing your things on the couch that’s still covered by plastic, but that’s okay. It’s very Melissa, quite as you think.

“You know, Schemmenti, you’re all heart and passion.” You say, following her to the kitchen. Melissa manages to short circuit after what you just said, trying to mentally fix her composure.

“Flattery doesn’t work around here. Sorry, Sweetheart.” She shakes her head with a soft chuckle before turning to you and leaning on the counter. “And besides, you’re not helping in the kitchen, but you can sit there and look pretty.”

Compliments like these are common between you and Melissa. Both of you appreciate and care for each other’s everything; even when Melissa’s stress and temper gets a hold of herself, or when you go quiet from being too overwhelmed. “Funny, but I do need to fix this face.” You point at the several faded marks of makeup on your face, making Melissa walk towards you and offer to take you upstairs where the bathroom is.

She points to the bathroom then leaves you there, with the idea going across her mind that you probably don’t have any spare clothes to change into to be able to sleep comfortably. Due to this, while you’re getting yourself clean in the bathroom, Melissa gets an old Eagles shirt that she found in her closet and a pair of sweats she never uses. She knocks on the bathroom door with the clothes hanging on one of her arms. “I got you some clothes, hon.” She says, and you reply to her with thanks. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you so much, Mel.” You open the door and thank her, carefully taking the neatly folded clothes from her arm.

You soon finish freshening up, looking at yourself all fixed up in the mirror with the change of clothes on. The Eagles shirt smells exactly the way Melissa does, and you take it in, feeling as though she’s with you right now. The scent fills you with comfort and warmth you don’t want to stop feeling.

Upon arriving at the kitchen, you’re greeted with a quick meal that Melissa made that’ll surely fill you up for the evening. You wonder how long you took in the bathroom because Melissa is already in a different set of clothes with, just as you thought, her hair in a loose bun. She sees you and the only thought that comes across her mind is ‘Damn’ There was just something about seeing you in her clothes, in her kitchen, even in her car, that felt so domestic. It’s the same thing she feels every time she offers to pick you up from somewhere or when you have lunch ‘dates’ where it’s just the two of you; or when sometimes she asks you to go to the farmer’s market with her, and you ask her to go to music stores and bookstores with her.

Now, you’re here in her house. You’re staying over for the weekend, and she can’t help but just keep herself from getting too attached to the idea of a domestic life with you.

“That looks delicious!” You exclaim, walking towards the counter where Melissa had already set up two stools and two sets of plates.

“You look delicious.” She blurts out which makes you burst out laughing, in mind that she was probably just joking around like always. You playfully punch Melissa’s shoulder, and if anyone were to ever do that to her, she would probably punch them harder, but she only looks at you with her brows furrowed.

You shake your head, “I thought flattery doesn’t work around here.” You sit across Melissa from the counter where you both prepare to eat. It’s filled with silence, before she clears her throat and tells you.

“Delicious doesn’t say it all.” Melissa shrugs, wanting you to take the flirty compliment.

After exchanging a few laughs with each other over dinner, you stop to look at Melissa who just finished laughing at something you said. “I like this side of Melissa Ann Schemmenti.” You rest your chin on your palm, elbow flat on the table with your eyes only to hers. “Anyone who would have the chance to be with you is lucky enough to experience what it feels to have a domestic life with you.” You say without thinking of what this might cause to the aura in the room.

“Well, um, not that it matters when I say it.” You say, feeling your palms grow sweaty by the clock. “I think a domestic and simple life with a partner I love is just a really incredible thing, I mean, I would want that kind of life to be mine. Not that I’m assuming that it’s the same thing you want, of course.” You smile apologetically.

“You think about it a lot?” Melissa asks, intrigued to know more and yet still going back to what you previously said about her. Even though she knows she has feelings for you, it still sits in the back of her mind that she may not be fond of marriage. Especially with things during and after Joe, she’s not sure when, but she knows she’s not ready for anything other than a relationship. No marriage, no union or anything.

But why is it that when she thinks of you, she thinks of marriage? She thinks of a life where she wakes up with you on her side. She gets ready in front of her vanity with your reflection in the mirror adoring her from behind. Walking hand in hand around every corner of town. Giving each other flowers just because you felt like it. Taking care of each other when one’s sick. Talking about everything and nothing at night.

“Marriage? Not a lot, but settling with someone I love? Of course.” You like the topic of it all. You love love; how it’s always there, how it doesn’t always have to be a person, that it can grow in places or on people you don’t expect. To love and be loved is what you want, and have always wanted. “I want to one day be loved. To be held, heard. Be sappy and all. To wake up and do the littlest of things. It doesn’t matter if it’s only a quiet day at home or looking through the grocery list while the sounds of the washing machine bustle in the background.” After that brief monologue, you catch Melissa’s eyes.

“You never know.” She gives you that reassuring and hopeful smile. “That person might just be the one in front of you after all.” Melissa sees the way your expression changes from sentimental to a confused furrowed look that made her eyes widen upon realizing what she had just said.

This makes you think for a bit, your brain split in half. Is she just being helpful with the conversation or is she confessing something. She waits for a response quietly as the two of you silently sit across each other. Does she regret saying this? Is she overthinking things?

“I hope so.” You respond nervously. “Are you saying what I hope you’re saying?” She takes her hand out on the table, hoping for yours to hold hers and you do so.

“I want it to be me.” She holds your hand softly.

“Oh.” The only word that came out of you, not being able to process things immediately. Until this registers in mind. “Oh.” You’re clueless as to how to respond. “I need to pinch myself.” You say before standing up, in which Melissa lets out a soft laugh. “Jesus Christ.” You mumble to yourself.

Melissa stands up to tidy the table, but all you can do is freeze in place. Perhaps this is what really happens when your mind short circuits. She puts the used dishes properly in the sink, before wiping her hands clean where she then walks to stand near you, the counter facing your back as she is now standing in front of you. Only the surface of the counter and Melissa in between your body, with only a shorter distance between herself and you. She walks closer, making you walk back, but the edge of the counter is now sticking to your lower back. Both of her hands are placed on either side of the counter behind you.

You clear your throat, only able to look her right in the eyes. Her lips were right there, ready for you to lean in closer just to feel what you’ve always wanted to feel. Her. The risk is for you to take. No, for the both of you to take.

“May I kiss you?” Before you could receive a vocal response, you feel her lips coming in closer onto yours. With closed eyes, Melissa’s hands make their way up to your hips, then to your waist, which slightly lifts up the shirt you were wearing; and so the coolness of your untouched waist was cooled from her fingertips.

A smile grows from your lips, returning it. The world feels as though it froze around the two of you. She pulls away only to look at you and your stunned and lovesick reaction, not wanting the moment to end before kissing you again. A groan escapes her lips, relief and excitement. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.” Melissa mumbles in between kisses.

You swoop in and place both of your hands on her cheeks, feeling the warmth of her face on your palms. She takes a short step back as you lean more into the kiss, giving a light bite on her lower lip where she then smiles softly. “You’re the most beautiful person I have ever seen.” You whisper close to her, feeling her pull you closer by the waist. You’re smitten, and finally, she knows.

Your hands find themselves on Melissa’s shoulders as she pulls you in for a tight hug, her arms snaking around your waist as you rest your head on the crook of her neck.

The world froze around us, you kissed me good night.

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #wlw #melissa schemmenti imagine

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tpwkwriter · 11 months

Note

could u please do where the reader falls asleep on his lap and harry finds it adorable and takes a picture of her and doesnt move so she doesnt wake up but when she finally does harry kisses her and says how beautiful she is and shows her the picture he put as a new lockscreen :D

~Personal pillow~

Awweeee this concept❤️ thank you so much! Sorry this has taken a while a lot has been going on lately, thank for all of your patience🫶🏼

— — — — — —— — —— — —— — —— — —— — ——

It had been a long week, one of them weeks were waking up was hard enough, one of them weeks were working days were long and hard, Friday was a godsend.

Harry leaned back on there shared sofa, his legs outstretched on the ottoman adjacent to him, his eyes glued to the Tv mounted on the wall, which was showing some 90s romcom.

It was a Friday evening, y/n’s return from work was nearing, Friday evening was the one of the couple’s favourite evenings, an evening full of cuddles, takeout, and a random show which they’d end up binging the whole weekend.

Knowing y/n has had a crappy week, he made sure her favourite candles were lit, there shared home was tidy and her favourite drinks and snacks were stocked in the fridge. He was thoughtful like that.

It was nearing 6pm and there was 0 sign of his loves return, Harry normally understood the girl had to work late sometimes, but it never stopped him from thoughts circling his mind, he reaches for his phone checking the notifications and still nothing, just as he clicks to his messages, he hears the familiar keys enter the lock.

Even after a long day at work she still managed to look like the prettiest girl to walk the Earth. She walked in bag on shoulder eyes sleepy and hair slightly frizzy but she still managed to glow.

“Y alright darling?” He calmly asked, forgetting his phone to the side.

“Mmhmm” she hummed, toeing off her shoes and hanging her jacket and bag up and remembering to toss her keys in the bowl so she didn’t forget them.

Harry could read y/n and vice versa, Harry knew that sometimes y/n could be just be quiet that never meant she was mad or upset, sometimes she just enjoyed listening over speaking and that was okay.

“Tea love?” He offered.

“Please H” she faintly smiled.

Harry was quick to his feet, before he got to the kitchen he pressed a sweet kiss to the girls rosey lips to which she happily fell in.

“Go get comfy, n I’ll sort dinner” he hummed in-between pecks.

Y/n got upstairs and stripped out of her work clothes and comfortably changed into Harry’s green packers hoodie which was a perfect oversized fit, and her white pyjama shorts, before moving she took a moment to take in the scent of the hoodie which still smelled like her lover. Home. Is all she could think about.

The smell of brewed tea and fresh linen candles practically lulled her dow the stairs.

She saw Harry back in his original position on the sofa, she didn’t hesitate to curl up next to him with the warm mug of tea.

“Thank you for this bubs” she mewled leaning her head on his arm by his side.

“N’worries love” he contently sighed at the feel of her touch and presence.

“Anything in particular y’want for dinner?” He asked pulling up his phone with his free hand.

“Usual” she softly hummed.

“N’problem lovie”

Once they have had dinner, and cleared up y/n’s energy levels had really ran low.

Without another word, y/n adjusted her position and laid her head on his lap, her legs were a perfect fit on the rest of the sofa allowing her a great deal of space.

Harry didn’t question or query he accommodated her and her comfort.

His left hand instinctively went to her hair and softly played with and combed through her locks.

His eyes glanced down at her to check she was okay.

“Y’okay angel? Haven’t heard much from ya tonight” he gently asked leaning his head down pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Mmhmm, just sleepy, s’been a long week” she softly smiled using her right arm to caress his cheek.

“Y’can relax now sweet girl” he whispered.

His eyes go back to the Tv screen in-front of them within 15 minutes of time passing and Harry’s fingers running through her hair it wasn’t long until the girl was killed into a slumber.

Soft snores and sighs were occasionally heard from the girl on his lap.

His heart couldn’t help but melt, he now felt obliged to stay still and let the girl rest peacefully.

Seeing her so vulnerable and so peaceful made something click into him, yes they shared a bed every night and had seen each other sleep a million times, but there was something about his girl using him as a pillow which just made his heart burst.

He was in awe.

Luckily his phone was in arms reach, ‘Lock Screen opportunity’ he thought to himself, he opened the camera app on his phone and happily took a few photos of the girl.

“As if I couldn’t love you anymore” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of her nose.

A few moments of f pure bliss passed until a faint noise appeared from the sleep girl.

Her eyes began to flutter open.

“Y’wanna get into bed?” He softly asked, hovering above her rosey lips.

“Mmhmm” she sleepily hummed.

“Can y’stay with me though” she quietly asked.

“Of course I will lovie” he answered

“Carry me please?” She pleaded, the idea of having to move annoyed her at that moment.

“Whatever y’say darlin” he smirks.

He gently moves out of y/n’s touch and gently placed her head back on the sofa replacing his lap which earns a small whine from his girl.

One forearm goes under the girls knees as the other under her shoulders using his shoulder to support her head on.

She hums in contentness, the feeling of him just being there.

He presses a kiss on the top of her head before carefully plopping her down on her side of the bed and covering her with there shared duvet.

As H places his phone into the charging lead his phone screen flashes a new image that is his lock screen.

“Baby, lemme see y’phone again” she softly laughs.

Catching on to what she was saying, “oh this” he faintly chuckles showing her the screens background.

The image shows the girls face peacefully sleeping on his lap, her eyelashes almost touching her cheek, her lips rosey and almost in a pout, her cheeks a perfect blush colour with no single indent. Even in these moments she was just beautiful.

“Harryyyyyyy” she playfully dragged, blushing once again.

“Y’look so perfect on m’lap like tha” he replied, placing his free arm over the sleepy girls shoulder.

“Mmm, I love you” he mumbled into her cheek before pressing a sweet kiss there.

“I love you too, even if take pictures of my most vulnerable moments” she smiled into his touch.

— — — — — —— — —— — —— — —— — —— — —

679 notes · View notes

avastrasposts · 5 months

Text

A Baker's Dozen - Seven

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stand alone short stories, all set in the same bakery.

Hello!

Javi P got a lot of attention last week, both his visit to the bakery and for the many Pickled Peña fics he starred in. Thank you so much for all the lovely comments! It really means more than you probably reaslise! It's been a rough week and I feel lucky to have found a great community here and to have found so much fun and enjoyment in writing to keep my mind off things.

This week's Pedro boy is dedicated to my lovely friend @secretelephanttattoo who is not only an amazing writer, but also one of the best people I've meet on Tumblr. Love you ❤

Series Master List

Working in a bakery almost every day means you pick up on people’s habits, whether they come into the shop or not. You know the bookshop owner across the streets always arrives ten minutes late on Tuesdays. The bodega owner next to your bakery always picks up his dry cleaning on Fridays and the dry cleaning lady always throws out her trash on Thursday evening. And you know that the cute guy with a dimpled smile always walks past your shop at about eight forty-five every weekday morning.

He hasn’t always walked past, it started just a few weeks ago, but now it’s routine. You’d first noticed him when he stumbled over something on the sidewalk, smacking his hand against your window to keep his balance, and making you jump. He’d given you an apologetic smile, that’s how you know he’s got a deep dimple on his left cheek. And a really, really, great smile.

The next morning you noticed him again as he glanced in through the window and smiled, a quick wave as he hurried down the street. And the same thing the next morning and then it was a routine. Around eight forty-five, between customers, you’d keep glancing over at the window until you see him walk past in his well fitted business suit, always a tie flapping in the breeze. He has a routine with those too you notice; a blue tartan pattern on Mondays, slate gray on Tuesdays, navy blue with white dots on Wednesday and the then tartan one again on Thursdays before he ditches the ties on Fridays. You wouldn’t go as far as saying that seeing him is the highlight of your day, but when one day he doesn’t pass by, you notice. And when the rest of the week passes and he doesn’t show up at all, you feel a little bit sad, even though you never even spoke with him.

Monday morning, eight thirty, and you’re working your way through the morning rush, serving coffee and selling croissants and cinnamon rolls, he suddenly appears again. But this time he’s in front of your counter, holding on to a credit card as he smiles down at you.

“Hi,” he says, the dimple deep in his cheek, “I thought it was about time I stopped by and said hello properly.”

“Hi,” you say, a little breathless, he’s even cuter, and handsome, up close, and you’re suddenly very aware of your shiny face, straggly hair and stained apron.

“I’m Marcus, Marcus Pike,” he says, holding out his hand, “I’m the creepy guy who slams into your window and never comes inside.”

“Hi Marcus,” you reply, taking his hand, hoping yours isn’t too sweaty and clammy, “I’m the creepy baker who stares at you every morning.”

He laughs at that, a warm sound that makes your spine tingle as his eyes crinkle at the corners, a wide smile making another dimple pop on his cheek.

“I guess we need to be less creepy then,” he chuckles, “maybe I can start by buying a coffee like a normal customer?”

“That sounds like a good start,” you smile back at him, “what would you like?”

“A cappuccino, please,” he glances up at the coffee menu behind you.

“Coming right up, anything else?” You motion at the fresh croissants and pain au chocolat piled up on the counter and he looks at them with longing.

“I would love too, really…but my job, we’ve got this fitness test thing in a few weeks and I’ve got to be in shape for that. That’s why I started walking to work, instead of taking the metro.”

“Come back when the test is done then, if you pass, it’ll be on the house,” you wink at him over your shoulder as you start preparing his cappuccino.

“Now there’s the motivation I need,” Marcus laughs, stepping back and glancing over the selection inside the display cases, “But you don’t have my favorite I think.”

“No? What’s your favorite then?” you ask, “No, wait, don’t tell me, let me guess.”

“Ok,” Marucs smiles as you hand him the cappuccino in a takeaway cup,” what’s my favorite?”

You look him up and down, and he grins and takes a step back so that you can see all of him, holding out his arms and giving you a little spin.

“Hmm…business suit, always a tie, well polished shoes and a job that requires fitness tests…” you hum, enjoying the chance he’s given you at properly taking him in. His suit stretches almost tight over his broad shoulders, hugging his biceps, and when he holds out his arms, the shirt underneath hangs on for dear life. The suit jacket lifts up over his butt as he turns and you’re given the privilege of eyeing it for the first time. It’s just as cute as the rest of him and you have to mentally chastise yourself for ogling.

“What’s your guess?” he smiles, coming to a stop in front of you again.

“Carrot cake, but you wipe off the frosting to stay healthy,” you say and he manages to look both cute, amused and offended at the same time.

“No way, I would never sacrifice the frosting!” he says, pretending to be insulted as he grins, “but nice try, I really like carrot cake, but it’s not my favorite.”

“Hmm…maybe-”

“No,” he interrupts you with a wave of his hand, “you get only one guess per day, you can guess again tomorrow.” He gives you a warm smile and as he taps his credit card to pay for the coffee.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, keep guessing,” he says, stepping aside to let the man who’s just stepped into the shop approach the counter. With a final wave he disappears out through the door.

The next morning he turns up again, as the morning rush dies down, and orders another cappuccino.

“Canéles,” you say, pointing at him. “Fancy, French, just the thing a guy in a smart, well tailored suit would like.”

Marcus grins and shakes his head, “I don’t even know what they are, but keep guessing!”

“Give me more clues then!” you protest as he takes a sip of the coffee you just handed him.

“Hmm…I used to play bass in a band in college,” he says and you raise your eyebrows. He does not look like a bass player, or any kind of band member for that matter.

“Special brownies?” you ask with a wink and Marcus almost spits out his coffee.

“Definitely not,” he splutters, chuckling as he wipes his chin, “and you only get one guess per day.”

“Says who?” you ask, but you already know the answer, Marcus’s grin tells you.

“I do, my game, my rules,” he gives you a wink and heads for the door, “see you tomorrow!”

Wednesday he comes in a little bit earlier and hands you a travel mug.

“This looks brand new,” you say and he nods.

“Decided I should save on the environment, and your takeaway mugs,” he smiles, leaning on the counter while you start preparing his coffee, “What’s your guess today then?”

“Cinnabons,” you say, glancing over your shoulder, feeling butterflies erupt in your belly when his face splits into a wide grin. But he shakes his head and you give him a mock scowl.

“You’re impossible to guess!”

“Keep trying, gives me a reason to come in every morning,” he replies, “Not that I need a reason though,” he adds, a pink flush suddenly creeping up from beneath his shirt collar as he gives you an uncharacteristically shy smile.

“I’ll keep trying if you promise to keep coming in,” you smile back at him, you can feel heat creeping up your own cheeks as you hand him his travel mug. And of course his fingers touch yours, just a light brush, but enough for both of you to glance down at your hands. You jump a little as his breath catches and when you look up at him again, his lips are parted and you see the tip of his tongue peak out, just for a split second, before he composes himself.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he smiles, “thanks for the coffee again.”

Thursday he’s a little bit late, and he hurries through the door with his tie hanging around his neck, untied.

“Sorry, I worked late last night and slept through my alarm this morning,” he huffs as he reaches the counter.

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” you smile, “I only sell you your coffee,” you hand him the cappuccino you’ve already made him and he gives you a grateful look, “and let me fix your tie while you caffeinate yourself.”

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver,” he sighs and takes a long sip of the coffee as you walk around the counter and stand in front of him. You look up at him, taking hold of each end of his tie, and you suddenly realize you’ve never been this close to him before. There’s always been a counter between the two of you. Now he’s standing barely a foot away and you can smell his aftershave, warm and woody, as you adjust the tie.

“Over…under…over again…” you mumble to yourself, trying to remember what your dad taught you, “up through the neck and down…there, got it,” you say, gently tightening the tie up against the collar as Marcus lifts his chin up, “but you might want to adjust it.”

“No, it feels perfect,” he says, giving you a warm smile, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you smile back at him, tilting your head up a little to be able to meet his eyes now that he’s standing so close. You should really move back but he smells good and his eyes are so soft looking, the way he just smiles at you.

“What’s your guess?” he asks, smoothing his hand down over his tie as you drop yours to the side.

“What?” you mumble, slightly distracted by how his throat bobs just over the knot in the tie where your hands just where.

“What’s your guess for my favorite baked thing?” Marcus says again and you blink, catching on.

“Oh, of course! Uhmm…brownies? But real brownies, gooey in the middle and crunchy corners?”

“Oh….that is definitely high up on my list, but not my absolute favorite, you’re getting close though,” he grins at you, putting down his coffee mug on the counter.

“I’ve got to run, but….are you free tomorrow, after work?” he asks, his eyebrows knotting together as he waits for your answer.

“Yeah, I’m free,” you say, you can’t stop the smile breaking out on your face at the question and he smiles back at you.

“If you want, I’d really like to have dinner with you, maybe we can both drink something this time?”

“That sounds nice, I’d like that, Marcus,” you reply, butterflies multiplying in your belly as he gently puts his hand on your arm, “and I’ll definitely figure out what your favorite is by then.”

“It’s a date then,” he grins, “you supply my favorite and I’ll sort the rest, I’ll come by at closing, ok?”

You nod and before you know it, he’s leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on your cheek, “I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

Friday morning Marcus stops by and buys his, by now, regular coffee, “So what’s my favorite?” he asks with a cheeky grin and you stick your tongue out at him.

“Not telling you,” you smirk at him, “I’ll serve it tonight, I’m pretty sure I’ve got it figured out now.”

“I can’t wait,” he chuckles, winking at you before he grabs his travel mug and hurries off to work.

Your day drags on and your nerves tingle every time you glance up at the clock at the wall. When the shop quietens down after lunch you prepare what you hope is Marcus’s favorite dessert, putting it in the fridge for baking later.

Just a few minutes before the clock hits closing time you hear the jingle of the doorbell and look up to see Marcus step through it. He’s changed out of his usual business suit and is wearing a leather jacket over a gray t-shirt and jeans, a bright smile as he gives you a wave. You ring up your final customer, bidding them a nice weekend as Marcus lingers to the side, and then you get a chance to say hello to him as you go to lock the door and flip the sign.

“Hi Marcus,” you smile at him as he steps forward.

“Hi,” he says, leaning down and brushing his lips against your cheek, leaving the spot tingling and your skin warm. When he straightens up he smiles at you, his eyes soft and crinkling at the corners, “I hope you don’t mind, but I have a slightly unusual plan,” he says, pointing to the duffel bag he’s got hanging from his shoulder, “Dinner’s on me, but in your kitchen.”

“You’re cooking for me?” you ask and he nods.

“Seems only fair, you’re making dessert, so I do the rest….well…” he gives a little embarrassed shrug, “with a little bit of help from my favorite restaurant.”

“Sounds like a nice plan,” you say, putting your hand on his arm and his smile brightens again, “come, let me show you the kitchen then.”

You lead him past the counter and into the back room, the kitchen clean and ready for tomorrow, except the dessert for Marcus. “What do you need?” you ask, “Help yourself to anything.”

“First of all, I need you to sit down,” he says with a smile, looking around the kitchen for a chair and spotting only the stool with wheels on, “Not many places to sit in here, huh?”

“When would I have time to just sit around?,” you laugh, taking your apron off and throwing it in the dirty laundry basket in the back room, “I usually just sit on the counter.” You heave yourself up onto the large workbench as Marcus starts unpacking his duffel bag. He’s hung his jacket on the hook by the door and now he’s crouched down, digging through the content at his feet. The gray t-shirt hugs his shoulders, stretching tight over his back and riding up, exposing a strip of bare skin just above his jeans. It’s so far from the man in the well fitted business suits you’ve been seeing every morning for the past few weeks, a much more relaxed Marcus.

“Do you wear the suits every day because your job requires you too?” you ask, taking the opportunity to stretch your tired back as you get settled on the counter, baking all day takes a toll on your body.

“Yeah, I don’t mind them but I prefer the days when I don’t have to wear them,” he answers, standing up and placing a stack of boxes next to you on the counter. “No peeking,” he says in a stern voice, smirking at you and you hold up your hands.

“I’m not touching anything,” you reply, “But I never asked what you work with?”

“I work at the FBI, with art theft,” he says and you widen your eyes.

“Don’t tell me you’re an FBI agent?”

“Yeah,” he furrows his brow as he looks over at you, “do you..is- is that a problem?”

“No, no, not at all, I’ve just never met an FBI agent. It makes being a baker seem very tame is all.”

“Maybe tame is good sometimes,” he chuckles and looks around the kitchen and his brow furrows again, “Hhmm…hang on, I’ll be right back,” he says, grabbing the bag and going out into the shop again, “No peeking!”.

“What are you doing?” you call out to him as you hear tables and chairs being moved around.

“Nothing, just setting things up, just wait there,” he calls back and a few minutes later he comes back to the kitchen.

“Now, let’s get dinner ready,” he smiles, “Plates and a small saucepan?”

You direct him to them and soon he’s arranging food on two smaller plates.

“Miss,” he says, winking at you and holding out his arm, “Let me show you to your table.”

“How nice, please lead the way,” you smile at him and slip off the counter, taking his arm. He brings you out into the café part of the bakery and leads you to one of the small round tables by the window. He’s put a white table cloth on it and set two candles in the middle, another few candles arranged around the shop. The sun is setting outside and in the dim light of the shop the candles spread a golden glow, giving it an atmosphere you’ve never seen before.

“Marcus…this is lovely, I’ve never had my shop look so nice before,” you say, sitting down as he pulls out the chair for you, “It’s so…romantic,” you let it slip out without thinking but Marcus puffs up a little and beams down at you.

“I’m glad you like it, I really like your shop,” he smiles, “and I really like the shop owner, I wanted to make it special for you.”

“You might be my very favorite customer, Marcus,” you smile back up at him, your cheeks heating up and he grins.

“First course is coming right up,” he says with a smile and disappears into the kitchen.

“You should give food walking tours of the city,” you joke as Marcus smiles at you from across the table. “I’m so full but I still want to go and eat at all your favorite places right now.”

“I’d take them here first,” he says, “and make sure everyone knows where the best bakery in town is, but…” he leans forwards and grins at you, “Speaking of baking, I want to know if you’ve guessed my favorite dessert yet.”

You give him a soft laugh and mimic his movement, leaning forward to meet him across the table, “I think I might have, I just need to go and turn on the oven and then they’ll be ready in a few minutes. But I just realized, you never said what my reward would be for guessing correctly.”

Marcus hums, tapping his long fingers on his chin as he looks at you, a mischievous smile making the corner of his mouth curl up.

“I don’t think we agreed on anything, but if you go turn on the oven and I’ll come up with something good,” he says, his smile widening, making your skin heat up as his eyes seem to suggest something enticing.

Thank god for your industrial oven, it turns on and heats up to the right temperature in no time. While you pull out the dessert plates and take the ice cream out to soften, it hums to life and pings. The dessert goes in and you set a timer and go back out to Marcus, sitting down at the table again.

“It just needs a few minutes,” you tell him, “did you come up with a reward?”

“Yeah, I did, but what if you guess wrong?” he asks, “I need a reward too.”

“If I’m wrong…” you say, thinking out loud, “you tell me your favorite, and no matter what it is, I’ll make it for you.”

“That’s a nice idea,” Marcus smiles, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, the t-shirt stretching tight over his biceps, you swear you can hear a seam ripping behind him, “but I like my idea better.”

“What’s your idea then?” you ask, giving him a suspicious look, he’s got a very happy grin as he looks at you.

“If you guess wrong, I can take you on a second date,” he says and you laugh, that’s probably the easiest reward he could’ve asked for and you see the corners of his eyes crinkle as he sees your laughter.

“Hardly a difficult reward, Marcus,” you smile at him and he gives you a warm smile back, “But what if I guess right, what’s my reward then?”

“If you guess right, you get to take me on a second date,” he grins and you feel little happy bubbles in your chest as his soft eyes stay locked with yours, you can’t help but smile widely back at him.

“Deal, Marcus,” you say, holding out your hand to him. He leans forward and takes it, his large hand enveloping yours, thick fingers gently closing around yours as you both shake on it.

“I can smell chocolate,” he grins, glancing at the kitchen, “I think you’re on the right track.”

“I know you, Marcus,” you laugh, “all serious business suits on the outside, but a wild child on the inside, bass player and all.”

“Hardly the definition of a ‘wild child’,” Marcus chuckles, “now, if I’d been lead singer or lead guitar, then maybe.”

“Well, the dessert is only a little bit of a wild child, the defining factor is that at its heart, it’s very romantic, just like you.”

Marcus gives you a slightly embarrassed smile, “It’s that obvious, huh?”

“That you’re a romantic? Of course, but I like it,” you smile softly back at him, turning off the timer that’s just gone off, “Moment of truth. Did I guess right or not?”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m getting a second date either way,” he says, winking at you as you stand up and head to the kitchen.

Pulling them out of the oven you quickly plate the dessert and scoop up the vanilla ice cream, finishing with a light dusting of cocoa. Your hip bumps open the door to the shop and Marcus watches you eagerly as you bring the plates over and set them down on the table.

“If this is what I think it is, you’ve got yourself a second date,” he jokes and grins up at you.

“That’s not helpful, Marcus,” you laugh, “either way, you’ve got yourself a second date.”

“I know, that’s the beauty of this deal,” he chuckles, picking up his dessert spoon and looking at you expectantly, “Can I guess?”

“Sure, go ahead,” you smile and he pokes the dessert lightly.

“Chocolate fondant?” he asks, looking up at you, raising his eyebrows, before he digs the spoon in and cuts it open. The soft chocolate cake exterior gives way to a thick river of chocolate that pours out of the interior of the little cake. Marcus giggles and scoops up a bite of both cake and sauce and puts the spoon in his mouth, humming at the flavor and closing his eyes. You watch with pride as he tips his head back and moans, the spoon still in his mouth as he sucks it clean.

“How did you know?” he asks, a bright smile on his face when he’s finally done with his first bite.

You shrug and smile back at him, “You’re not a health freak, you didn’t recognise the more complicated French pastry, you like gooey brownies and you’re a romantic. Chocolate fondant seemed like the obvious choice. Decadent, sweet and just the right amount of fancy,” you grin at him.

You take a spoonful from your own fondant and put it in your mouth, watching the chocolate flow out from the inside, just the right amount of undercooked to keep the inside flowing and warm. The chocolate flavor spreads across your tongue, paired with a hint of vanilla and salt, rich and warm and you let an involuntary moan escape. When you glance up you don’t miss the dark look Marcus gives you, his eyes fixed on your mouth as he takes another spoonful.

“You really guessed right, I love chocolate fondant, but I’ve never had one this good before,” he says, humming around the big piece in his mouth. “How come you don’t have them in the shop? Actually, don’t have them in the shop, I’d buy them all every week.”

You giggle at his blissed out face as he takes another big bite, dropping his head into the palm of his hand as he sucks the spoon clean, “It’s like hot chocolate, brownie and chocolate sauce all in one fluffy soft shell of cake.”

“I’m glad I guessed right, seeing your happy face makes me happy,” you smile at him and the tips of his ears go a pink in the dim light as he clears his throat and chuckles.

“Coming to your bakery makes me happy,” he smiles, scraping the last bit of fondant from the plate while he looks up at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners and it’s your time to feel the heat rise in your face, his grin widens as he sees you shift awkwardly in your chair and glance at him with a smile.

“Really, getting my morning coffee has become the highlight of my day,” Marcus says, “How sad isn’t that?”

“Not sad, you coming into the bakery every morning has been the highlight of my day,” you say, finishing off the fondant and putting the spoon down while Marcus watches you with a smile. He suddenly pushes his chair back and stands up, holding his hand out to you.

“Dance with me,” he says, the warmth of his hand spreading across your palm and down your arm as he pulls you to your feet.

“There’s no music, Marcus,” you laugh but he just grins and spins you around before catching you in his arms, one around your waist, the other still holding on to your hand as you put your own hand on his shoulder.

“Who cares about the music,” he says, gently swaying you back and forth while he gives you a soft smile, “it was just a clever ruse to get to hold you.” His hand on the small of your back is lightly stroking the fabric of your shirt and you’re very close to him, pressed up against his chest as he holds you near, moving slowly in a circle. You can smell his aftershave, mixed in with the dark chocolate of the dessert and without thinking, your hand slips into the soft looking curls at the back of his neck. Marcus tilts his head as your fingers play with the silky strands, letting go of your hand and moving it slowly to cup your face, his thumb stroking the soft skin on your cheek as he seems to inhale slightly and dip his head to yours.

His lips are just as soft as you’ve imagined them, warm, gentle, as he parts them and tastes you. His steady hand holds you close, the curve of his strong nose brushing up against your cheek as he angles his head to better kiss you. You feel your fingers gripping his hair, willing him to press you even closer to him. All of his warm, solid body is pressed up against yours, his hand at the small of your back sliding up to hold you closer to him, your own hand gripping his shoulder, steadying yourself as you feel like melting into his touch.

He’s still swaying the two of you gently, your lips moving slowly together, tasting the chocolate on each other's tongues. Heat is creeping through your body, wrapping around you, as you feel him tighten his hold on you, his breath skating over your lips as he exhales, a quiet groan leaving his throat.

“You taste so sweet, even sweeter than the dessert,” he mumbles, his mouth close to yours, “I never want to stop kissing you.”

You stand on your tiptoes to reach more of him, your hand around his neck, and part your lips for him, letting his tongue lick into your mouth with more fervor. He also tastes sweet and the way he pulls you closer as you steady yourself against his chest makes you moan under his increasingly heated kisses. He’s not swaying you anymore, instead he lets you melt into his body, his arm holding you up, as he bends his head, another groan slipping from him as he feels your tongue slip around his own.

Marcus’s kisses make you forget the time, where you are, and not until he pulls away with a sigh, do you open your eyes and look up at him. His eyes are dark, filled with lust, and it’s mirrored in the way his body feels against yours, his arousal a clear presence between you. And you can feel your own fill your core with heat, a slow shiver as you touch upon the thought of having him even closer.

Marcus keeps his eyes locked on you, his warm hand gently stroking your cheek as he seems to take a deep breath, composing himself. Your fingers are still toying with the impossibly soft curls at the back of his neck, letting them slip through your fingers, and you feel like you might drown in his dark brown eyes if he doesn’t release you soon.

“Is it too soon to ask for a second date tomorrow?” he whispers, his eyes dropping down to your lips again, and then back to your eyes as you shake your head.

“No, tomorrow sounds like a very good idea,” you mumble, slightly hazy from the way his hands never stop touching you, warming your body and sending shivers to your core.

“Ok,” he mumbles back, “can I kiss you again?”

“If you do, we might not get out of here tonight, Marcus,” you smile at him and he chuckles, nodding and pulling back a little.

“You’re very right, maybe it’s best to save more kisses for tomorrow.”

“I look forward to them though,” you say, letting your fingers slip from his hair and down over his shoulder, caressing his arm, his wrist, and finally his hand. He takes your hand then, enveloping it in his larger one, and brings it to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to it.

“Tomorrow then,” he smiles.

Part Eight

@harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3 @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #marcus pike fluff #marcus pike #marcus pike x female reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x ofc #marcus pike x reader #a baker’s dozen

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totowlff · 5 months

Text

the betrayal

➝ you never allowed yourself distractions during work. but how can you resist such a beautiful one?

➝ word count: 4,4k

➝ warnings: smut, polish, crimes

➝ author’s note: i still don't know how i wasn't arrested after this story, considering the number of people and real events involved.

The apartment was dark, the furniture illuminated by the soft moonlight that leaked through the curtains that covered the balcony door. As you tried to figure out whether what was next to the frame on the wall was a lamp or a tall plant in a pot, the door behind you locked to the sound of keys jingling, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps.

And then, you felt a large hand slide down your neck, fingers brushing your skin teasingly, but without squeezing. Feeling them rise up your jaw, leaving a trail of excitement in its wake, you knew there was no turning back.

— Maria — a deliciously deep voice whispered in your ear, while an arm wrapped around your waist. Then, with a pull, you felt your body fit against that of the owner of the hand whose thumb caressed your skin. Even with the fabric of his shirt and your dress between you, you could feel the heat and power emanating from the man who nibbled your ear and made the words melt in your brain.

This was wrong, you knew it. But, how could you resist Toto Wolff?

After the photo you sent of the little porcelain figure on your shelf, the two of you began to exchange cordial messages, talking about ordinary things in your routine. It didn't take long for you to discover that Toto had a stock market investment company, whose office was close to the cafe where you had first bumped into each other. That detail ended up becoming the pretext for you to meet again and this time, with nothing fragile between you.

That moment between you made you feel lighter. It was as if there, in front of him, you left all the tension and anxiety that surrounded that investigation outside the cafe. Toto was light, fun, a breath of fresh air in your days in Vienna. And, no matter how much you tried to deny it, you knew you were falling more and more in love with that man.

The invitation to dinner came naturally after you said you hated the famous wiener schnitzel. After arguing in defense of his favorite dish, Toto said, with a smile, that he knew a place that had a schnitzel that would make you completely change your mind about the dish.

— If you want, we can have dinner there on Friday — he murmured, suggestively.

And you couldn't say no.

Wearing a blue satin dress, which you had bought in a hurry at a department store, since you had brought nothing remotely suitable for a date, you allowed yourself a night without thinking about your mission in Vienna. Between bites of schnitzel and laughter that made your chest warm, you had in mind that moment was just yours and Toto's.

And you wanted to make the most of it all.

And that meant melting in his arms. It meant feeling his hands press your body against his tightly, while feeling him taste the wine that was still on his tongue. It meant ditching the taxi you had called and going with him to the apartment he had nearby, feeling his warm palm press against your thigh the entire way. It meant staring into his hungry brown eyes through the reflection of the elevator mirror while his mouth distributed bites in your neck.

— You look so beautiful — Toto murmured in your ear, his deep voice taking you back to the present, where you were about to combust — So hot in that little blue dress of yours...

— I chose it for you — you replied, your hands resting on the arm that wrapped around your waist.

— Oh, yeah? Did you choose it for me?

— Yeah — you sighed, feeling him press your body harder against his, causing something hard to rub against your back — You like blue...

He chuckled against your skin, as he led you through the dark living room slowly.

— And how did you find out about that?

— Your shirts — you panted, feeling him place his hand against your belly — All blue...

Laughter sounded again throughout the apartment, accompanied by a sudden movement. Rotating you on your own axis, you faced Toto, whose face illuminated by the shy light of the moon allowed you to see the intensity of his gaze on you. An intensity that couldn't be compared to any man who had ever been in that position in relation to you.

— Smart girl — he murmured.

You smiled, feeling a certain pride grow inside your chest.

— Pretty too — Toto added, before kissing you again, his tongue exploring your mouth voraciously, as if you were going to escape at any moment. But you knew you would never be capable of that, not when you were sure you would combust if you didn't have that man to yourself that night.

— Szkoda, że tak dużo kłamiesz — he whispered against your mouth, something about the way he pronounced the syllables making your skin tingle deliciously.

— What does that mean? — you asked softly, your curiosity overriding your own desire to take Toto to bed.

Pulling his face away from yours, he smiled mischievously.

— That I can't wait to take off that dress of yours.

Giggling, you kissed him again, allowing Toto to lead you through the dark hallways of the apartment. Your heavy breathing and his giggles joined the staggering steps when he noticed the way you tried to unbutton his shirt, trying to feel his skin under your fingers.

— Calm down, moje skarbie — Toto said, before turning on the light from the lamps that lined the enormous bed that occupied one of the walls of the room. In the dim light, you could see the amusement in his eyes, as if you were exactly the way he wanted — So impatient...

— I want you — you stammered, your hands gripping the collar of his shirt tightly, as if it were the only thing keeping you upright.

Limiting himself to a low laugh, Toto took you towards the mattress, his hands busy with the zipper on your back. The short, hissing sound was accompanied by the soft touch of satin sliding down your body, leaving a trail of anticipation across your skin.

Toto's dark eyes stared at your silhouette as if you were a feast and he was a hungry man. However, instead of simply satiating himself, he took long seconds to appreciate every detail, his gaze moving down your skin in an attempt to keep every little piece of you in his own mind. However, one detail made him smile mischievously.

— No panties this whole time?

— Yes — you replied softly — It appeared on the dress...

Raising a hand to your face, you could feel the excitement bubbling just below your navel.

— Just for that? — he asked, as his fingers slowly slid down your skin.

— Yes — you managed to say, feeling your breath catch in your throat when you saw his hand approach your right nipple. Lightly brushing his fingertips against the sensitive skin of your areola, you could see his satisfaction in having you there, completely at the mercy of his touch and desire.

— I thought you wanted to make things easier — Toto whispered.

— Do you prefer easy things, Mr. Wolff? — you asked in a challenging tone.

He smiled, pinching your nipple lightly. That touch sent an electric shock through your body.

— I prefer the right things, no matter how much of a mistake they seem.

Something about that sentence made your heart beat heavy in your chest.

— This is a mistake? — you questioned in a low voice.

— Maybe. Do you think it's a mistake? — he returned the question, while his hand slid towards your waist.

— No — you replied — You would never be a mistake.

— Naiwna dziewczynka — Toto murmured, before pulling you against him and capturing your lips again.

Completely surrendered to his touch, you let yourself be led around the room in slow steps, giggling when you felt the man suddenly stand below you as he sat down on the mattress. With his hands on your waist, Toto positioned you so that his leg was between yours, making you straddle his thigh.

Bringing your hands to his shoulders, you began to move your hips almost instinctively, rubbing your pussy against his pants. With a small smile of satisfaction, he brushed a strand of hair from your face.

— You're a very needy girl, you know that? — Toto murmured, with a teasing smile.

You even thought about answering, but there were no words that could convey the hot sensation that took over your skin and made your pulse roar in your ears. So, you kissed Toto, trying to convey in that simple touch all the intensity of your desire, your need to feel him inside you, filling the void between your legs that bothered you more every second.

As the kiss deepened, you moved your hips faster, rubbing your clit against the cream-colored fabric. The texture was perfect, causing your muscles to tense and your fingers to squeeze Toto's shoulders tighter and tighter.

— Fuck — you panted against his mouth, the sensation growing in your belly by the second.

— Skarbie — he whispered, his hands holding your hips tightly, as if trying to guide you to orgasm. But you didn't need or want to be led by him, especially when you knew that path so well — Are you…

— Yes, yes, my God — you moaned loudly, closing your eyes tightly as you felt your body showing the first signs that it was about to come apart — Yes, yes, yes, yes!

The hot wave ran through your body suddenly, the overwhelming sensation causing all your muscles to tremble. Throwing your head back, a loud, sharp moan escaped your throat, leaving you completely breathless.

That orgasm had definitely joined the list of the best you had ever had.

— Maria? — Toto asked somewhere far away in your head, while you still felt your body shaking with involuntary spasms.

— Hm? — you murmured, feeling your skin warm and pulsing as you returned to Earth.

— You didn't say you were going to cum — he said in a serious tone.

Opening your eyes, you looked at him, seeming to process that sentence amid the adrenaline that was still coursing through your veins.

— I…

— And you made a mess on my pants — Toto added, making you look down, finding a dark stain on the fabric, the result of the pleasure that had dripped from you. The sight made your cheeks feel hot with embarrassment, accentuated by the way he looked at you.

— I thought you wouldn't care about that...

He clicked his tongue, clearly dissatisfied.

— What, are you going to be upset about pants? — you asked, an eyebrow raised.

— Get up — Toto said, seriously. His tone showed that this was not a simple provocation, but an order. And orders were to be obeyed.

Standing, you watched the way he stood in front of you, imposing, almost threatening. His eyes seemed even darker when they were fixed on you, completely naked in front of him. It was as if he were a predator, completely satisfied with having captured his prey and about to feast on it.

— On the bed — he ordered — All fours.

You complied in silence, feeling your skin crawl as you positioned yourself on your hands and knees on the soft mattress. The expectation you felt was huge, your heart beating heavy in your chest as you waited for Toto's next order.

However, instead of words, you heard the sound of metal against the floor, as well as fabric against skin. The idea of seeing that man completely naked made you turn your face back to see him, even if just a little.

And then, a crack echoed through the room. The sharp pain you felt in your right buttock was mixed with the excitement of finding Toto's eyes staring at you sternly. He definitely liked to command and, as strange as it seemed, you were enjoying obeying him.

— I don't remember telling you to turn around — he murmured, while his hand massaged the place where he had slapped you.

— Do I need your permission now? — you asked, defiantly.

A new slap, this time on the opposite buttock, made a gasp escape your lips. Surprise replaced the expectation of being punished for not being able to remain silent when you felt Toto put his hand on the back of your neck and pull you back. Kneeling on the bed, you could feel his skin against your back, as well as his breath against your neck.

— You're a little brat, Maria — he whispered.

— Is that a bad thing? — you asked, a mischievous smile on your face.

— I don't like brats.

— Are you going to punish me for this?

Toto chuckled.

— I should, so you can stop being insolent.

— You like my insolence.

He didn't respond, preferring to return you to the position he wanted you to be in on the bed, with your arms resting on the mattress and your butt sticking up in the air.

— I like it when you're a good girl — he murmured, as his fingers slipped into your pussy, spreading your wetness across your vulva — Can you be a good girl?

The touch made you let out a shaky breath, your nails digging into your palms with how tightly you clenched your hands.

— Yes, I can — you managed to respond.

Feeling his hands on your hips, you didn't have time to prepare yourself before feeling him fill you completely. The sensation made your arms give out and a loud moan escape your lips, as you squeezed your eyes shut, savoring the pleasure mixed with a hint of pain.

— Fuck — Toto grunted above you, fingers squeezing your skin as he began to move against your hips, trying to establish some rhythm — You're... Fuck... Tight as hell...

You did not know how to answer, especially with Toto thrusting against your pussy, so you allowed yourself to sink your head against the duvet, hands gripping the fabric tightly. The sound of moans and sighs mixed with the noise of your skin colliding in a constant and delicious rhythm.

At that moment, you were sure that all the obstacles you had imposed on yourself up to that point had been completely irrational, not to mention idiotic. You had the right to feel good, to feel desired, to feel satisfied sexually, even if everything that led you to that bed was a lie.

“Men lie all the time,” you remembered saying to yourself before leaving your rented apartment that night to meet up with Toto. However, that thought wasn't able to shake off the feeling of guilt that took over you every time he called you Maria. He didn't deserve that, you knew, but it was the only way to protect him from all the mess you were involved in.

You came back from your own thoughts when you heard a slap sound across the room, followed by a familiar burning sensation on your butt. But you didn't complain about the pain, quite the opposite.

— Naprawdę jesteś małą, brudną dziwką, prawda? — Toto muttered, through his teeth — Kto by pomyślał, że kolacja wystarczy, abyś tu był, z moim kutasem w sobie…

— Toto — you moaned, feeling a warm wave of pleasure run over your skin. Something about the way he said those words made you want to melt into that bed.

— Nie jestem idiotą. Zawsze wiedziałem, że mnie okłamujesz. Myślisz, że nikt nie ujawnił niczego na temat twojej gównianej misji? — he continued, his voice breathless.

— Please, please…

Suddenly, you felt Toto's hand pull you by your hair, bringing your body against his. With your back against his chest, your sweat mixed with his, his breath hot against your skin. Bringing your hand to his head, you sank your fingers into his dark hair, trying to resist the instinct to continue seeking pleasure.

— What do you want? — he asked softly.

— I want to cum…

Toto slid his hand towards your neck, squeezing it lightly.

— Do you think you deserve to cum after your little show?

— Please, Toto — you whimpered.

— I could hear you moaning like that all night long — he said, giving a thrust that made a loud moan escape your throat — Desperate to cum on my cock, make the same mess you made in my pants...

Suddenly, something clicked in your mind.

— Sorry, please, I'm sorry — you stammered desperately.

However, Toto just laughed.

— You're truly unbelievable, Maria — he said, moving his free hand around your waist and bringing it to your clitoris.

With the double stimulation, it didn't take long for your muscles to tense, your apex getting closer and closer to you again. With your eyes filling with tears and your mouth letting out increasingly louder moans, your legs shook, almost like a silent announcement of what was to come.

— That's it, come for me, skarbie — Toto whispered, accelerating the movement of his fingers against your pussy, making you finally cross the line that separated agony from explosion.

— Toto — you moaned loudly, before collapsing forward, panting and shaking. Behind you, he tried to prolong your sensation as long as possible while searching for his own orgasm, which didn't take long to arrive.

— Fuck — he growled, as he spilled himself inside you, his hands squeezing your hips so hard that you were sure there would be marks on your skin the next morning. It wasn't like you cared about them either. In truth, you didn't care about any mark that Toto left on you as long as it was accompanied by that mind-blowing pleasure that only he could give you.

You allowed yourself to collapse onto the bed after the wave of pleasure wore off, leaving only the aftershocks and your racing heart behind. The sensation had been so intense that you didn't even notice the moment Toto withdrew from inside you, not even when he left the room to get a damp towel to clean you.

— Lubię cię. Chyba nigdy nie lubiłem kogoś tak bardzo jak ciebie — Toto murmured, looking thoughtful as he wiped the inside of his thighs — Szkoda, że byliśmy skazani na porażkę, zanim jeszcze skrzyżowaliśmy nasze ścieżki w tej kawiarni. Byłabyś świetną panią Wolff.

The sound of the syllables was pleasant to your ears, especially combined with Toto's calm and particularly deep voice. However, in the post-orgasmic haze, you couldn't distinguish which language was full of short pauses and nasalized words.

— What language is that? — you asked softly.

Looking up at you, Toto gave a small smile.

— Polish. Do you know it? — he returned the question. Upon seeing your negative wave, he smiled — I imagined.

Getting up from the bed still naked, Toto returned to the bathroom in silence. Meanwhile, you used the last of your energy to crawl towards the pile of pillows that were leaning against the headboard. Pulling the duvet to cover yourself, you snuggled in, enjoying the way the scent of the owner of that bed was permeated into the fabrics.

And it was by breathing in the musky notes that you fell asleep, without even saying goodnight to your host.

The timid light that came through the window was what woke you up that morning. The room was quiet and the temperature under the covers was perfect. Part of you wanted to turn the other way and close your eyes again, enjoy that moment of peace and quiet. However, as you turned on the mattress, you found a beautiful reason to keep your eyes open.

Lying on his stomach, Toto slept peacefully. His expression was calm, as if he had been having a good dream, which wouldn't be surprising considering the night before. And it was with that memory that something inside your chest tightened, a familiar feeling washing over you.

Guilt.

That moment had been just an accident along the way, an oversight. You weren't there looking for fun, a break, or even someone special. You were there to find a piece of history that had been stolen by a dangerous man whose family was up to their necks in it, not to end up in the bed of a handsome stranger who was particularly good at sex.

Silently getting up, you walked to the suite's bathroom in slow steps. Upon meeting your reflection in the mirror, you couldn't help but feel scared at the way your mascara and eyeliner had run out of your eyes. “I look like a panda”, you thought to yourself, as you wet your hands and put some soap on your face.

More awake and with clear skin, you slowly returned to the room, thinking about what you could put on at that moment, considering that your dress was nowhere to be found and that you had, conveniently, left your panties at home. After a few seconds of contemplation, you picked up Toto's baby blue shirt that was crumpled on the floor and put it on, pulling the sleeves to give your hands more freedom. And then, more or less dressed, you left the room in slow, silent steps.

Walking around the apartment during the day was definitely different than when you did it at night. The light that came through the windows revealed modern and minimalist environments, with furniture with clean lines and decoration in shades of blue. However, your mental note about telling Toto about his passion for that color was completely discarded when you came across the last thing you expected to be hanging on a wall in that flat.

In a prominent position in the room, there was a large and sumptuous painting, clearly ancient due to the style of the brushstrokes and its golden frame, which divided it into three. In the center, Our Lady and baby Jesus were erected by Prince Casimir of Poland and Saint Hyacinth, surrounded by saints, kings, queens and important figures in Polish history. On the side panels, two archangels, Michael and Gabriel from what you had read.

You finally found what you were looking for.

And that was the worst thing that could have happened at that moment.

— Good morning — a voice made you jump, turning your face to the side. Standing at the entrance to the room, Toto looked at you with a mischievous gleam in his eyes — Did you sleep well?

— Good morning — you murmured, feeling your throat tighten — Yeah, I slept well.

As he approached you, your mind tried to weave some story, something that would cover your shock at having found the triptych right there, in Toto's apartment. However, as soon as you felt his hands on your waist, as well as his body right behind yours, your heart started to beat faster, not because of his touch, but because of the tension that built up in your shoulders.

— See something interesting? — he asked, his hot breath against your ear making your skin crawl.

— Yeah, well, yes — you stammered — I hadn't noticed that painting yesterday.

Toto chuckled softly.

— Ah, yeah — he said, his thumb drawing circles on your waist — It's a triptych from the 19th century, painted by one of the great Polish masters, Jan Matejko.

You were frozen, staring at the illuminated brushstrokes that formed Our Lady's face. In your mind, it didn't make any sense for Toto to have that piece hanging on the wall in his apartment. Maybe he had bought it without knowing its origin or history, or he had received it as a gift, or…

— How…

— My grandfather had an antique shop and acquired this piece in the 1960s — Toto explained — He always loved Poland and leaving everything behind to save his own family was really difficult for him. I even think that's why he kept the triptych for himself instead of selling it, to have a little piece of the place he loved so much.

— An antique shop? — you stammered, as the dots connected in your mind. You knew that Czesław Bednarczyk had two daughters, but as far as your knowledge went, only the eldest was connected to the family business. There was no one with the last name Wolff in the intelligence documents that were in your apartment, you were sure.

— Yes, the antique dealer I took you to after breaking your ballerina is owned by my family. But you already knew that, didn't you… Maria?

You suddenly turned to him, shock frozen in his expression.

— Toto…

— Operation Królowa — he pronounced carefully, without taking his eyes off yours — Did you really think no one would know?

— That’s not — you stammered.

— You do not know the people you have by your side, Y/N. There isn't a person within that agency who doesn't have a price. And it was worth every Euro...

You couldn't speak, you couldn't move. The shock was so great that you were practically frozen in place, eyes taking in Toto's smug smile.

— When I found out that Europol was going to send someone to Vienna to investigate, I kept everyone in the antique shop on notice. And it didn't take long for someone to alert me that there was a woman monitoring the movement from inside the Eskeles — he continued, in a calm tone — And so I went to check in person, but I didn't find anyone in the cafe. Until I tripped over you and broke your ballerina.

There was a lump in your throat, your stomach churning with each word.

— I didn't think you were my problem until you said you weren't from Vienna. And, if I may say so, your accent sounds nothing like someone from Graz — he murmured, bringing a hand to her face — But it's pretty. Definitely pretty.

The touch made you wake up from that cathartic state you were in.

And what happened next was a blur.

Pulling away the hand that was holding his face with your left arm, you hit Toto on the nose with your palm, making him take a step back. Next, you tried to kick him between the legs, but were caught by surprise when he defended himself from the blow with a hand placed close to his groin.

Contrary to what Toto wanted, you retracted your foot. And, with adrenaline pumping through your veins, you bolted towards the apartment's front door.

— Come back here — he roared after you, his heavy footsteps mixing with the sound of your own pulse, which roared in your ears. You needed to get out of there, you needed to talk to your boss, you needed to say that you had found the triptych, you needed to reveal the truth about Toto Wolff to everyone.

However, you felt the ground beneath your feet slide. And suddenly everything went dark.

#toto wolff #wlffog #formula 1 fic #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader #toto wolff x reader #f1 x reader #formula one fic #toto wolff fanfic #formula one fanfic #ocwlff

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growingstories · 7 months

Text

Teamwork

Once upon a time in Frankfurt, there was a young and ambitious banker named Daniel. Fresh out of university, he landed a prestigious job at an investment bank, earning a good salary and living a comfortable life.

Daniel was introduced to his direct manager, Oliver, a handsome and beefy 40-year-old. Oliver was known as the deal-maker of the company and needed a partner to expand the business. The targets they aimed for were incredibly high, but Oliver assured Daniel that as long as they reached their goals, how they worked didn't matter.

Oliver shared his personal routine with Daniel, explaining how he worked out in the mornings to stay in shape. He used to play soccer but now enjoyed watching his son play, dedicating his weekends to family time. Oliver's physique had changed over the years, now sporting a muscular chest and strong arms with a slight layer of fat over his abs. He laughed it off, saying his wife Birgit didn't mind and didn't have to worry about other girls trying to steal a fit and handsome banker.

The duo delved into the workings of the job, with Oliver explaining the bonus system. Each week's target saved throughout the quarter would contribute to their bonus. If they had a bad week, it would be offset by a good week. However, if they received four warnings due to consistently failing to meet targets, they would be let go. They were tasked with convincing clients to invest, managing both existing and new clients. Their secretary would fill their agendas, and they received a weekly spending fee of €2000 for gifts, meals, and travel (with hotels being an additional cost).

In Daniel's first week, he accompanied Oliver to all of his meetings and experienced the grueling schedule of a banker. Oliver would start at 7:30 am, have morning office meetings, go over the day's plans with the secretary, and have a coffee meeting at 11:30 am. Lunch was an elaborate affair at a fancy restaurant at 12:45 pm. The afternoons were filled with car and Zoom meetings, and Oliver would head home at 6 pm to change and put his son to bed before going out for dinner meetings at 8 pm.

The pace was exhausting for Daniel, but he believed he would eventually get the hang of it. Determined to maintain his fitness, he started his days with a run as he was naturally tall and lean, not a fan of the gym. He sought advice from Oliver and began planning his own meetings. Though it was normal for Daniel to not reach his target in his first week, he began to worry when he realized he wouldn't meet his second target by Wednesday.

Daniel confided in Oliver, and to his surprise, Oliver offered him a deal with an easier client. The condition was that Daniel would buy him a nice bottle of champagne for their Friday night drinks. Daniel agreed and signed a promising deal, reaching his first target and buying Oliver the promised champagne. The following morning was rough for both of them due to the excess drinking. Daniel skipped his morning run, opting to stay in bed all day watching Netflix.

Oliver, on the other hand, went to Starbucks to wash away the grogginess with a big caramel coffee and whipped cream before watching his son play football. Later, he took his son to a pancake restaurant, indulging in his usual Saturday routine.

The weeks went by and Daniel and Oliver made a bet. The person who failed to reach the monthly target would have to bring coffee to the other person every morning for the rest of the month. Daniel, getting the hang of things, won the bet, with Oliver bringing coffee and two donuts every morning for them to share before their meetings. This routine continued for another four days, and before they knew it, the month was over, and Friday night drinks were on the horizon. Daniel had been dealing with hangovers every Saturday during his first month of working with Oliver.

On a Monday, Oliver delivered some news to Daniel. There was a big client in town who could only meet early in the mornings, meaning Daniel couldn't go for his usual run, and Oliver would have to skip the gym for a few days. They met at a coffee place at 7 am to prepare and had a satisfying breakfast, ensuring they wouldn't get hungry until their 1 pm lunch meetings. However, as the days went by, those small bites turned into full lunches, sometimes even second lunches with other clients. Daniel noticed Oliver's belly starting to protrude more, jokingly poking at it. Oliver laughed it off, assuring him that he would lose the weight once the client was signed.

Three weeks went by, and they successfully signed the client, reaching their monthly targets. Daniel achieved a bigger win, so he declared that it was Oliver's turn to bring coffee for the rest of the month. Oliver complied, bringing a box of a dozen Dunkin' donuts for the entire week. During their meetings that afternoon, the box quickly emptied as they indulged in a donut during each session.

Daniel began to notice love handles appearing and grew worried. He had never had to be conscious of his eating habits before and was always naturally lean. Wanting to take action, Daniel decided to go for a run one morning. However, Oliver advised against it, as there was a new client who needed early morning meetings. With multiple clients coming in, that pattern persisted for another month. Oliver also started noticing Daniel's weight gain but kept quiet about it. Instead, he continued bringing donuts every morning.

After six months of morning meetings, double lunches, Friday night drinking binges, and hangover food the following morning, both Daniel and Oliver had become significantly larger. Their waistlines had increased, and they both went up at least a clothing size.

Their boss was thrilled with their results and rewarded them with a substantial bonus. As their success continued, the targets became even higher, and their boss entrusted them with his prestigious clients, which required their special attention and demanded more from them.

Daniel and Oliver embraced the challenge and prepared their days together in the early mornings, engaging in double lunch meetings. Daniel took charge of early dinners while also joining Oliver for late dinners with important clients. They had target after target to meet, and as a result, their weight continued to skyrocket.

Daniel attempted to go for a run after months of inactivity, but he quickly stopped after only 10 minutes. He was out of breath, and his knee joints ached. Frustrated, he complained to Oliver, who sympathized, recounting how he struggled to catch his breath while running after his son's soccer ball. Oliver proposed a gym session, and together they struggled to squeeze into their gym clothes, ultimately abandoning the idea for a sauna session instead.

Week after week, their office was filled with food, snacks, and lavish drinks, and their weight continued to climb. However, they didn't seem to mind as their hunger for money and success overpowered any concerns about their physical health. Both Daniel and Oliver became fiercely competitive, pushing themselves to secure as many targets as possible.

After two years of this exhausting and competitive routine, both men had become fat. Still, they didn't let that deter them from their goals. Their boss, approaching retirement, presented them with a plan to take over the business. They worked diligently, crafting a financial proposal, and their boss gave them six months to make it a reality.

During those six months, they traveled the world, moving from one big client to another. Their days weren't as long, but they were welcomed everywhere with the finest food and drinks, attending parties at each stop. They truly lived a lavish existence, indulging in more food and becoming even larger. Daniel had nearly caught up to Oliver's size.

At the end of the six months, they finalized their proposal and presented it to their boss, who was thrilled and agreed to hand over the business to them. With their new roles, they acquired more prestigious clients than ever before.

To celebrate their success, they embarked on an all-inclusive trip to the Maldives, with Oliver bringing his wife along. It was a time for bonding, relaxation, and pure indulgence—three weeks of carefree living. Their competitive streak remained, as they wagered on how many brownies they could eat in the morning, indulged in ice cream at lunch, and drank champagne at night. They were stuffed all day, and by the end of the first week, they had grown even fatter.

After returning to the office, everyone noticed that their new bosses had become even fatter but seemed happier than ever. Secretaries started ensuring that every meeting had snacks and treats readily available.

Their business flourished, leaving clients highly satisfied, and the demand for their services grew even more. Five years into Daniel's banking career, he had become enormous, causing worry his among family. They urged him to diet and exercise, but he brushed off their concerns, instead opting to consume yet another sausage.

Oliver's wife, on the other hand, had no complaints. Her husband's size made her feel secure in their relationship, and the steady flow of money allowed her to indulge in new handbags weekly. However, they both knew they had to pace themselves. Simple tasks like tying shoes became nearly impossible, and even a short walk was a burden.

Realizing they needed assistance to handle their growing business, they decided to hire two proteges. These fresh, fit individuals joined their bosses for a month, trying to keep up with their demanding schedule. The question remained: would these newcomers achieve the same level of success?

And so the saga continues, with Oliver and Daniel's empire expanding, their weight reaching new heights, and their hunger for prosperity persisting, as they strive to conquer the world of finance. The end.

#fictionalweightgain #maleweightgain #maleweightgainstories #weightgain #weightgainstories #fictionalstories #wg fantasy #wg fiction #exjock

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yandere-paramour · 4 days

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First Time with Vivien - Part 1

When you first tell Vivien that you think you're ready to be intimate with him, he's already unbuckling his pants. He thinks you mean RIGHT NOW and he's a little disappointed when you tell him that you meant like, this weekend.

A little embarrassed, he pulls his pants back up and he's like "Oh."

But late that night, after you've left for your own apartment and he's emptied himself twice thinking about you, he gets to thinking. It's actually a good thing that you both didn't rush into anything today.

It's Tuesday night, and you're coming over Friday. He has three full days to prepare. He only has three days to prepare.

In between work, sleep, and stalking you, Vivien searches through every Reddit post, every internet forum, every advice column he can to try and get a wide range of information. Most of it is useless and he disregards it, but some of it is very useful.

The first thing he does is head straight to the store to buy new, soft sheets. His usual sheets are covered in... stains, and it would be embarrassing for you, his angel, to see that.

He didn't know this, but Patchouli can be used as an aphrodisiac. He makes a special blend of essential oils just for this occasion. If he sets up the diffuser right, he'll be able to help you relax and ease into everything.

Thursday night and Friday morning, he's too excited to sleep, so he gets to work making a platter of snacks for the both of you to share. He wants you both to be full, but not so full that it makes you both sleepy and knocks you out of the mood, so he guesses an aphrodisiac girl-dinner would work best.

He pairs slices of fresh baguette with some honey cinnamon butter, bakes heart-shaped brownies sprinkled with powdered sugar, and chills strawberry and banana slices with a white chocolate drizzle. He takes a little bit of money from his savings and splurges on a nice bottle of red wine for the both of you. For the finishing touch, he bakes brie with herbs and honey, setting it right in the middle of the charcuterie board.

With another thought, he adds some pineapple on there as well.

He looks around. The room is softly lit and quiet, smelling pleasantly of patchouli and lavender. The food is ready and waiting. The only thing left to prepare is himself.

He scrubs himself in the shower, wanting to make sure he is extra clean for you. He also takes the initiative to brush his hair and try and make sure the unruly strands stay flat.

When he answers the door, he is struck by how lovely you look. You both eat while you watch a romantic movie, and Vivien is fear-sweating. He looks at you whenever there is a sex scene, but looks away when you look at him. But throughout this, he pulls you closer and closer to him, his hand inching up your skirt.

When he kisses you, he can taste the sweets he made, and another perfect flavor that is uniquely you. Despite his extroverted personality, he feels meek and nervous today. He asks if you are ready, and when you say yes, he leads you gently to the bedroom.

Once you both are in and the door is locked, Vivien's anxiety disappears and he becomes someone different. He finally has you, willing and wet and ready in his bedroom. He will not waste this opportunity. He is on you in seconds, kissing, sucking, biting, desperate to leave marks on you, to prove to the universe that he is alive and you are his.

Your clothes litter the floor, all the care he put into this evening thrown to the wind as he lays you gently on the soft blue sheets. He caresses his way down your body, whispering about how you're so beautiful and so good to him and that he's waited for this moment for so long and he finally has you right where you belong, spread wide for him to ravish you.

He takes you into his mouth, licking and sucking like a man starved. For a man so well-versed in herbs and flowers, understanding the intricate ways smells and flavors fit together, there is nothing he can compare to the taste that is you. His tongue is moderately long, but it is strong and skilled, teasing moans out of you until you are gripping the sheets in two tight fists. He hums as he devours you, the vibrations giving another level of stimulation to the coitus.

This part is about your pleasure, but that does not mean he neglects himself. He is kneeling on the floor, tongue and left hand focused on you, but his right hand is busy, wrapped around his cock. He desperately ruts into his hand, pumping himself. Watching you like this; it is better than any fantasy, any daydream, any wet dream his imagination can come up with, and he is close to spilling over right now, just from the divine pleasure of tasting you. But he is desperately trying to hold himself back for the main event.

His tasting and sucking are no match for you, and you explode into fireworks, the triumphant feeling rolling your eyes back into their sockets and curling your toes at the same time. Vivien doesn't overstimulate you, not this first time. He pulls back, your juices smeared around his face as he gives the biggest smile you've ever seen on him. He thanks you over and over again for the opportunity to take care of you, telling you how gorgeous, how ethereal, how reverent he feels about you.

Moving up beside you, he pulls you onto his chest. His cock twitches, desperately seeking the rampant stimulation it lost, but he tucks it between his legs. He needs to care for you before anything. He holds a bottle of water to your lips, asking if you are okay and did you enjoy it and do you need anything from him.

You assure him you are happy. Very, very happy in fact, and you want to move onto the real thing: the penetration. Vivien blushes immediately, wanting to mount you right then and there, but he asks again if you're sure. No matter how good it will feel or how pleasured he will be, he will not do this unless you are sure.

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tropes-and-tales · 8 months

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Too Much for You

Day 3: Collaring (Bob Floyd x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)

CW: Smut (Oral, m!receiving; oblique talk of other sex acts; oblique talk of power dynamics in the bedroom); 18+ only.

Word Count: 2865

AN: This was requested by the lovely @callsign-frostbite!

The Hard Deck is often segregated by cliques, like a high school lunch room: the fighter pilots post up by the pool tables and piano, the fixed wing aircraft pilots claim the stretch of the bar with the dart boards and juke box. The bar proper is the neutral zone, but the two groups rarely mix.

Bob Floyd falls in with the fighter pilots because he’s the back-seater for one, but he feels like he might fit in better with the darts-and-jukebox crowd. They are more sedate, seem more confident in themselves. There’s less of a nightly dick-measuring contest.

It doesn’t hurt that you’re part of the darts-and-jukebox crowd: the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, poured into your uniform so it fits like a glove. You move with that same quiet assurance as your fellow fixed wing pilots, but you’re like a bright point of light, always pulling Bob’s gaze to you. You’re fascinating to watch: when you’re playing darts, when you’re leaning over the jukebox, when you’re dancing a smooth two-step to the songs you pick.

Hangman is the one who first notices Bob’s puppy-dog staring, follows the WSO’s blue-eyed gaze across the Hard Deck where you and the other pilots drink and converse. Hangman nudges Nat, who whispers in Rooster’s ear, who beckons Javi over, and within minutes, the whole crew is watching Bob watching you.

Hangman is the one who first tells Bob not to bother.

“She’s not the one for you, Baby on Board,” he tells Bob while he clasps his shoulder, jostles him a little in his seat. “You need a shy gal. A homebody who will greet you at the door with fresh-baked cookies. A Betty Crocker-type.”

Nat scoffs, shakes her head. “You make him sound like a complete square.”

“Well…” Hangman trails off, shrugs with a wide smile. “I mean…”

“He’s not a complete square, Bagman.” Nat crosses her arms, and she squares up to her fellow fighter pilot. “And anyway, what’s wrong with her? She’s cute.” She tilts her head in your direction.

It’s Javi who has the dirt on you, which sounds like so much of the usual Navy outlandish gossip. He leans in close and tells Bob all about you.

“Her call-sign is Nix,” he says, and he keeps his voice low, as if you might hear over the din of the crowd. “Because she flies one of those Poseidon recon planes. But she’s a complete freak, man. I served on a carrier with a guy whose roommate’s brother dated her. She’s totally into that freaky bedroom shit. She’d eat you alive.”

Bob swallows hard, but he can’t help the flush that breaks out across his cheeks…or the faint throb of lust that drums along with his heartbeat.

“What do you mean, freaky stuff?” It’s Nat who asks the question; his pilot turns and watches you with frank interest now.

Javi shrugs, takes a sip of his beer. “BDSM stuff.” He looks at Bob, gives him another shrug. “Sorry, man. She’s too much for you.”

-----

After the fact, Bob bristles at his teammates’ collective verdict.

Bristling leads to simmering, which leads to outright resentment. The days pass, and Bob teems with indignation. How dare Bagman? How dare Javi? How dare any of them make assumptions about him? Sure, he’s quiet and unassuming and a back-seater, but it grates on his nerves how they act like they know him that well.

They don’t know him at all.

Even their dumb nickname for him: Baby on Board. They forget that he passed the same rigorous training they did, that he graduated from Top Gun just as they did. He’s a goddamned grown man, and they treat him like a boy.

The two cliques at the Hard Deck rarely mix, but halfway through a Friday night, Bob taps into his latent courage—the courage his teammates fail to recognize—and marches over to where you stand by the jukebox. He can hear Hangman behind him, trying to urge him back before it’s too late, but you catch sight of Bob’s approach out of your peripherals and turn to watch him. You neither frown nor smile; your expression is exactly neutral. Bob digs deeper into his hidden reserve of courage, and he holds out a hand.

“I’m Lieutenant Bob Floyd,” he says, and he hopes his teammates can see how he doesn’t stutter, how he meets your gaze levelly because he’s a goddamned man and not a boy. “I heard you fly the new P-8 Poseidon.”

“I do.” You hold your hand out to shake his, and you gift him a smile that seems guarded. “Though it’s a few years old now.”

“Still new by military standards.”

Your smile relaxes, and you drop your hand. “Very true. Are you a pilot?”

Bob shakes his head, tells you he’s a weapons specialist officer, and the conversation flows naturally to your respective aircrafts, the systems on each, and if Bob admired you from afar, he likes the obvious love you have for your airplane even more.

He spends the rest of the night with you, and the hours fly by like nothing. He leaves with your number, and the feeling is better than even the confused look on Bagman’s smug face—that quiet, unassuming Bob Floyd pulled the number of an unattainable fellow pilot.

-----

If you’re into freaky bedroom stuff, it doesn’t make an appearance right away. You and Bob take your time—it doesn’t help that you’re both active duty. There’s a stretch of time, just as your burgeoning relationship is on its shaky new legs, where you’re both deployed on separate missions.

Bob thinks it’ll be the end of the thing between you, but somehow strengthens your relationship. Absence making the heart grow fonder, all that cliched stuff. When you’re finally both back stateside, you make it official: Bob Floyd the WSO and you, the pilot who flies surveillance missions—an official couple.

Your first month as a couple, it’s that awkward period where you’re just figuring each other out in the bedroom. It’s clumsy at first but passionate, the two of you abandoning any pretense of coolness for the ardor that you have for each other.

Bob loves all of it: the time he spends between your thighs, coaxing orgasms from you with his mouth. The time you spend on your knees doing the same for him. All of the varied positions, you riding him, him riding you. The quickies and the love-making where you spend entire hours reveling in each other’s bodies.

BDSM stuff, Javi had said. Bob only has an inkling what that may mean. He imagines whips and chains, a gimp mask, tears of pain. He is open to nearly anything you might want to do, but the idea of pain in the bedroom makes him wary. He doesn’t want to hurt you, even consensually. If it is something you demand, he might have to end things.

The thought tortures him. Each day, he falls more in love with you. Each night, he is slow to fall asleep at the unspoken fear that you may be too much for him and the inverse: that he may not be enough for you.

Bob should have remembered that the Navy is little more than a hive of gossipers. People tell tales, and truth get twisted in the retelling.

Javi and his buddy’s roommate’s brother. Your alleged ex. It was a ridiculous game of telephone. The topic kinda comes up organically over dinner one night, talk about exes, and it leads to Bob blurting out his fears. That he’s not adventuresome enough for you. That when you inevitably ask him to tie you up and whip you, he won’t be able to satisfy you.

The look on your face is priceless. You gaze over your plate at him and ask, “huh?”

He can’t turn back now. He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “BDSM stuff,” he clarifies. “I don’t…I don’t think I’m into that.”

“Bobby—”

“But I’ll try.” He cuts you off, and he feels sick to his stomach to have brought his silent fears to light with so little finesse. “I’ll try, sweetheart.”

You set your fork down with a quiet clink, and you reach across the table and take his hand. When he chances a look at your face, you don’t seem angry or disappointed. Instead, you smile at him softly.

“You can’t believe everything you hear,” you tell him.

-----

Javi and the gossipmongers in the Navy are half-right: you are not into BDSM.

You are into playing with power dynamics.

Bob gets an education in an entire spectrum of sexuality he’s never even considered before. He’d be ashamed—embarrassed, maybe, as he usually is when it came to frank discussions about sex—but you’re an amazing teacher and, well….he finds that perhaps he’s into playing with power dynamics too.

And you’re both switches. You’re both capable of being dominant or submissive. The possibilities are endless. Bob’s mind boggles at the surfeit of scenes the two of you could play out, and it boggles further to find that those scenes make him fall more and more in love with you. It always felt hokey, talk of how sex was a way to build a connection. Bob never had it before, but now?

Now he has it.

-----

The day goes poorly for Bob: Hangman continues to live up to his nickname, and his rivalry with Rooster spills over to the rest of the TOPGUN pilots. Bob and Nat get paired up with Jake during a dog-fight exercise, and they lose over and over because the man is incapable of teamwork.

Bob can’t control Jake.

Bob can’t even control the plane. He has to cede control to Nat, and he’s usually fine with it, but he feels extra helpless as a back-seater during exercises like this.

But Bob, if he asks nicely, can control you—so when he gets home, frustrated and irritable, he asks if he can be in charge.

You gaze at him a long moment, and your eyes get steadily darker as your pupils dilate.

“Of course,” you tell him.

-----

Bob in charge: he makes you change into the sweet powder-pink lingerie he bought you. A casual cotton dress. He has a housewife kink, he’s found, and he likes to play around with the dynamic of pretending you’re waiting at home for him.

Lingerie, dress. He also helps you put on the collar, a deceptively simple silver band of metal. Not too tight. There’s a little hook at the end for a leash, but neither you nor Bob ever use it. The collar is just a visual reminder of who is in charge, and who is being led.

Bob in charge: he orders you onto all fours. He sits on the couch, freshly showered after his shitty day. He leans back, splays his legs wide. He crooks his forefinger at you.

“Come here, kitten,” he says.

It’s as simple as this. He gives you an order and you obey. He’s in charge; he tells you to crawl to him on hands and knees and you do. You kneel in front of him, your hands on your thighs, your eyes fixed to his face in an expression of adoration. You wait for his next order.

There’s no frustration like with Hangman. There’s no fickle controls like in the back seat of his and Nat’s plane. There’s no dog-fight practice where they lose Maverick in the sun, where they have to do hundreds of push-ups on the tarmac until Bob’s arms burn and his cold fury simmers.

“What do you want?” he asks.

“I want to make you feel good, sir,” you answer, and your voice has a deference it normally doesn’t. Bob feels the tension of his day bleed away bit by bit, then all at once.

Bob in charge: he orders you to put your mouth to him. He’s already half-hard, but he loves the feeling of your warm mouth on him, coaxing him to full life with your worshipful tongue laving him, suckling against his sensitive tip until he’s hard as iron and throbbing in your mouth.

He lays a hand on the back of your head, another tame display of dominance, but he doesn’t force you. He shifts it to cup the side of your face as you take him to the root, your nose pressed against the sparse, coarse curls at the base of his cock. Keeps his hand there as you bob your head, as you take deep breaths through your nose.

You’re reverent when you’re submissive. You always take your time. You cup his balls lightly in one hand, and when you feel them start to draw up—a sure sign his orgasm is approaching—you back off a bit. You release him from the warm confines of your mouth and draw the tip of your tongue over the prominent vein that runs along the underside of his cock. You lick the tip of him, suckle there again until he’s breathing harsh, punched-out breaths. Then you engulf him again, hollow your cheeks and actually hum against him, and the tip of him bumps against the back of your throat until your eyes water.

A lone tear breaks free when you blink, and Bob shifts his hand, brushes it away. He taps you on your chin lightly.

“Eyes on me, kitten,” he orders you, and a moment later, you look up at him.

You look beautifully wrecked: eyes wet and liquid as you gaze at him, your eye makeup streaked and ruined. Your lovely mouth stretched wide around his cock.

“You look pretty as a damned picture,” he tells you, and it’s true. He holds you in this position for a beat, wants to commit the image to memory. He wants to carry this moment with him for future frustrating days—when TOPGUN is grueling, he wants to remember that he has this to come home to.

Not just a gorgeous woman on her knees with her lips wrapped around him, either. You’re that, of course, but you’re more. You’re also the woman who orders him around, who calls him a “good boy,” who cups his face the way he’s cupping yours right now. You’re also the woman who ties him to the bed and teases him relentlessly. You’re also the woman who spends long, lazy Sunday mornings with him, making love in a languid, sleepy way that feels like heaven.

You’re also the woman who flies a spy plane, a lieutenant in your own right, a no-nonsense aviator who commands respect with your quiet competency in a field full of blowhards and jackasses.

Bob releases his hold on your face. He slips his hand down to your throat, and he hooks his forefinger around the metal collar, now warmed from being against your skin.

He tugs it gently. “I’m close,” he warns you. “You gonna take everything I give you? Swallow it down, kitten?”

You pull your mouth away long enough to answer. “Yes, sir,” you tell him, and you sound just as wrecked as he does. He knows what this game does to you. He knows your powder-pink panties are slick with your own arousal, your pretty little pussy likely twitching and clenching around nothing, waiting for him.

He nods, and you bend your head to him again. Your mouth is wonderfully warm, surrounding him, and you pick up your pace. Your hand on his balls squeezes him gently, and he feels his orgasm—delayed several times now—thundering towards him. His hips judder upward, involuntary, chasing the feel of your wet, sucking mouth, and you gag lightly against the action but you never stop.

You never stop once he’s given you an order.

A moment later, the heavy tension in his belly snaps, turns to light and heat that crackles along his spine to the base of his skull, crackles down to where his balls pull up taut in your hand as he comes. He groans out your name, swears as he pulses in your mouth, and each throb of his cock is answered by you swallowing against him, the slim column of your throat working to take everything he gives you.

And you clean him up at his order too, your tongue shyly running over his softening cock, and then your hand tucking him back into his sweatpants before your eyes find his face.

“Thank you,” he tells you. He hooks his finger under your collar again, gently leads you from the floor and onto his lap, and he wraps his arms around you. He presses his head into the side of your neck and sighs out the lingering bit of his frustration from the day, but he’s completely relaxed now. Once he’s recovered, he’ll repay you, but for now, he wants to bask in his post-orgasm glow with you on his lap and in his arms.

And he thinks back to Javi’s words, all those months ago. She’s too much for you, he’d said. Which turned out to be completely untrue: you’re just enough for him. You’re perfect for him.

#bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd x reader #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd #top gun maverick #kinktober 2023 #tropes and tales

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