#i mean c’mon even the SCAR

[seraphdreams]

JJK MEN AS YOUR PERSONAL TRAINER. | TOJI FUSHIGURO, GOJO SATORU, CHOSO KAMO, SUGURU GETO.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — synopsis. having private sessions with the men prove to be an experience. what type of trainer are each of them?

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — cw. smut, edging, degradation, praise, dry humping, fellatio, switch!choso, overstimulation, emo boy!choso, cervix fucking, unprotected sex, they are all whores. mdni <3

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — word count. 3.1k

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — dolled up! oh em gee ?? headcanon format ? yup! i originally wrote this as a little joke since i started pilates but then my mind wandered and it wasn’t a joke anymore. other than that, ino was supposed to be on the list but he couldn’t make it :( something about being busy .. regardless, comment / reblog if u like ! it would make my day, thank u ♡

TOJI — THE CORRUPT TRAINER.

there must’ve been a clear distinction as to why your trainer only allowed sessions from 9pm up until midnight, but your desperation when it came to relentlessly searching for a personal trainer didn’t leave enough room in your mind to think deeper about the true nature of its shadiness. all you needed was a spotter, and toji’s services claimed to provide just that.

and what happens when you combine height, a monsterous build, superhuman stamina, and a handsome face? well, you get toji fushiguro in all his abhorrent glory.

his chiseled body virtually doubled your frame with biceps the size of your head, shoulders wide enough to emphasize the narrowness of his waist, and veins crawling up his limbs even when the muscles weren’t flexed. a mean looking man with a scar over his mouth like some battered veteran. whatever he got into during the day was truly nothing you’d want to take part in.

inviting him over to your home gym was one thing, but it was looking to be another when his “help” took the form of sensuality; his large hands running along the back of your thighs when he’d seemingly fold you over with your legs on either side of your head for warm-up stretches, or even the occasional groping of your ass when it came down to squats, he was barely doing his job, what you paid a hefty price for, and yet you loved every bit of it.

“c’mon, you can take more of it, cant’cha?” toji’s gruff voice goads, watching the way your tiny cunt struggles with swallowing the head of his wrist-thick, bulbous cock. you were put in the awkward position of doggy, yet another one of his sessions derailed and he deemed this new workout could help you build up some much needed endurance. you were going to need it if you planned on keeping him around.

it surely seems that way when you’re practically running from the pleasure he pistons into you, thick cock kissing your cervix with each skillful, angled thrust of his. large hands were wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place for him — because if there was one thing your personal trainer was strict about, it was form. and your form was beyond perfect.

“‘s just too good.” you mindlessly whined, attempting your hardest to grip onto the thin cushion of the yoga mat beneath you. toji lets out a deep scoff at your vocables, driving his hips against your ass once more, this time a bit sharper with a hint of fervor as its aftertaste. “and you’ve been training with me for how long now?” his question came out in a mocking tone as his lips stretched wide in a crooked smile, that of a statement rather than a query.

“t-two weeks .. fuck.” you respond, mind going hazy from the gaining intensity of his potent movements. the feeling was all too much, it came as no surprise when pleasure began to surge from your spine to coil at your core, building up that high you've been chasing for the past hour, that grumpy ol’ toji continued to rip away from you.

pressing a heavy hand to the small of your back, he arches you forward, groaning at the sight of how swiftly you position yourself for him, your face pushed against the mat.

maybe his training has paid off. . “two weeks and you’re still struggling to take my cock?” he pulled your hips back against his, leaving you defenseless in the ministrations. “guess i need to train this pretty little hole of yours more often.”

with the end of his sentence, he snakes his thick arm around your waist, the pad of his thumb finding your achy, puffy clit, rubbing the nub in tight, harsh circles. if your moans weren’t already loud enough, you were sure the whole town could hear you by now, crying out his name like no tomorrow while your legs trembled with your impending orgasm. “‘m cumming! so hard!” you cry, drooling into the mat as he fucks you through your orgasm.

it wasn’t until soon after that he finally reached his high, sending hot and sticky ropes of cum into your womb. not once had a session with toji ended with him shooting his cum in a more responsible way, with a rubber. it was clear to you since the very first time you allowed his fantasies to come to fruition — toji didn’t believe in condoms.

your body went lax as soon as he pulled out, and he tucked his cock back into his pants, hovering over your sad frame with an amused smirk on his scarred lips.

“good session. i expect $800 wired to my account by the mornin’.”

GOJO — THE ENABLING TRAINER.

when you first showed up to the private room of your local gym in search of your assigned instructor for the night a.k.a “the strongest,” you were expecting some big burly man with a cocky attitude — someone you didn’t particularly get along with. but much to your surprise, instead, he was handsome; fluffy white strands of hair that strayed upwards and a million dollar smile with just the charisma, the charm to back it up.

gojo stood over 6 feet tall, and although he was on the lankier side, there was no denying the lean muscles that peeked through his skintight black top. he smiled, throwing a loose cloth over his broad shoulders.

“you ready to get started?”

your eyes greedily took him in, scanning over the finer details of his gorgeous build. it wasn’t until about thirty seconds of daydreaming about what he’d look like unclothed that you finally gave him a response in the form of a nod and hum.

of course satoru wasn’t an idiot, he could tell from how dazed you were during the first few minutes of instruction that you were focused on something else, not that he minds though, it’s truly an honor that a girl as pretty as you is capable of fawning over him, just as many others do.

after having to shake your thoughts whenever it came to watching him take a large swig from his water, droplets of the liquid streaming down his chin to graze his prominent adam's apple, or the soft appraises he’d coo when you finally got the hang of his workouts, it was the end of yet another vigorous session with him, sweat dripping from your chin down to your chest that was scantily clad in a baby pink sports bra. you held on taut to your water bottle as satoru carried conversation with you.

“you improved so much in just an hour. i’m proud.”

his praises barely reached your ears before you looked at him with adoration glossed over those pretty eyes — there was something about him that you just couldn’t get over, but you knew you needed him badly. you dabbed perspiration from your forehead with a matching pink towel, soft smile forming on your doll-like features.

“thank you,”

he nods his head slightly before starting, “you seemed a bit distracted today, though. something on your mind?” his query pulled you from your gojo-induced hypnosis, causing you to blink away the embarrassment pooling up within you. were you truly that obvious?

“hm? there’s nothing, i’m fine,” your reply came out low and sheepish while your eyes struggled to find anywhere else to settle besides those bright baby blues. he took it upon himself to inch closer to you, studying your features until you gasped softly once your back hit the wall. “nothing?” he asks for confirmation, and you affirm. “nothing.”

“all you gotta do is use your words if you need me.”

gojo’s hands found their way at your thighs, creeping them upwards underneath the thin spandex of your shorts. his touch felt hot against your skin, each brush of his fingertips along the expanse of your inner thigh causing shivers to trickle down your spine while he watched with mirth at your pitiful attempt to keep your whines at bay.

“i think .. i think i need you.”

with that, satoru smirked and lifted your leg up just enough so that it fell over his arm. his lips met yours with a salacious that only the whorest of whores could possess, skilled tongue angling its way inside your mouth to gently clash with yours in the sweetest harmony that had you buckling underneath the frame of his body.

it must’ve been a spur of the moment when you found yourself rutting your hips up in search for satoru’s, a pitchy moan sounded into the kiss when he matches your ministrations, grinding his sweatpant clad and half-hard, leaking length into the seat of your shorts; creating the most delicious sensation as the tip nudged against your clit.

his free hand took purchase at your cheek, his thumb rubbing ever so gently against the heated skin while his movements increased in greediness. your mind’s too hazy to make out anything besides the pleasure and build up of your orgasm — so much so, that it pulled you back to reality as soon as it hit, your sloppy kisses coating gojo’s soft lips in a thin sheen and the seat of your shorts sopping wet from the release of your high.

yet, gojo kept at it until he too came to a falter, cumming an ample amount in his sweats while groaning deep into your mouth. he separated from the kiss for just a split second before he took it upon him to goad,

“we can add 30 more minutes and i’ll give you more than just a taste.”

CHOSO — THE INTIMIDATING TRAINER.

a pierced tongue, some tattoos running along both veined arms, and a deep, monotonous voice were a recipe for your timidness when it came to the kamo, who you’d invited over for your very first home training session. it didn’t help that he was on the quieter side, responding to whatever small talk you’d make with one or two words while his intense eyes would follow every move you’d make as he’d help with your form.

he truly wasn’t a bad guy, or so you thought. even now, during your session with him, his praises were appropriate, he wasn’t too handsy nor did he seem to have any ill intent; being with him felt surprisingly comfortable and refreshing just as the crisp, cold water you two were currently drinking, made fresh from your refrigerator’s tap.

“was it too intense?” he’d asked in regard to the exercises you had just completed. intense was an understatement, you didn’t know how you could move your body in such ways that you did, which wouldn’t have been possible without his expertise. choso set the chilled glass of water down onto your coffee table, feeling coy from sitting on your couch, something he’d never done even with his regulars, and in response, you shook your head at the query, settling yourself by his side.

there was truly no denying how absolutely stunning you were, like some angelic being brought to him from the heavens up above in the form of the sweetest thing he’s ever met. he was afraid that if he blinked too hard, you’d vanish.

the more his eyes focused on your lips when you talked, how you’d massage the sore muscles of your thighs and even let out cute whines because of the fact, the more he found it harder to contain his thoughts, rapidfire in his mind. those perverted thoughts that only some horny teenager could have, not a well off adult like him.

yet, it wasn’t enough to stop him from getting hard in his sweats, a dark grey patch spreading at the crotch, what he’d hoped you’d mistake as spilt water.

“shit,” with that of a husky sigh, he ran his hand over his face, tinges of pink battering the tattooed scar across his nose and cheeks. “i’m sorry.”

oblivious to his situation, you were quick to express your inquiry. “sorry about wh- oh.” the head of his cock practically peeked through the barrier of the hem of his sweats while he made a futile effort to cover himself with one of your pillows once you had realized.

he looked cute like that, embarrassed by something so natural that it even spurred on your arousal, the thought of him getting worked up over you doing virtually nothing. “i-it’s okay.. i can help you if you want.” you offer, moving your position to sit between his thighs.

violet hued eyes widened from your newfound boldness, the clearing of his throat being the only true source of sound he could make in that moment.

“nah, nah. it’s-“ before he could inch out the words, you were drawing featherlight circles at his tip over the fabric, causing his breath to hitch and resolve to falter.

choso wasn’t someone who’d allow himself to be in such a pathetic situation, yet the thought of you carrying out his perfect porn plot fantasy was all he needed for that internal morality to fly straight out the window.

you chuckled at the way he hiked himself up when you finally took him from his bottoms and into your hot, wet mouth. just the sight of his cock disappearing past soft, glossy pink lips has his temperature rising, feeling as though he could pass out.

it’s hazy for him — your hand at the base, the rhythmic bobbing of your head slowly while gradually picking up speed. he never would’ve thought the job he took on for extra cash to fund his college textbooks would end up with someone as gorgeous as you giving him a chance. every pump of your hand around what couldn’t fit into your mouth had him groaning, bucking his hips up as gently as he could without battering the back of your throat.

though, he wouldn’t mind if he did.

staving off a gag, you ultimately increased your pace, determined to get him off while your other hand fondled his plump balls.

from the faint touches alone, he could feel his high approaching, embarrassingly quicker than usual. yet, he couldn’t help it when you started to grow sloppy, a mix of spit and precum dribbling down his shaft.

“w-wait, fuck.. ‘m gonna.”

it took no time for him to shoot his seed into your awaiting throat, his head thrown back against the headrest while he bucked his hips to jettison every last drop. you swallowed all he had to offer before pulling away, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

maybe he wasn’t as intimidating after all.

GETO — THE CHARMING TRAINER.

you were his favorite. you had to be. even in the long line of women waiting to have their own turn with him, you were always a top contender. he had always made time for you, and you alone.

geto’s popularity made perfect sense in your mind. he was tall, handsome with narrow features and dragon tattoos strung along both arms, a man ahead of his time. not to mention, his docile, gentle demeanor. he was charming as all get out and you were beyond aware of your superstar status of being the only one he wanted.

“are we actually going to get some training done or is there something else you want to do?” he straps his fingerless gloves around his palm, tank top tight around his torso, carving out each and every trace of his abs while looking over you, a pleasant smile quirked at his lips.

you felt sheepish under his sharp gaze, a feeling that comes all too natural with expert trainer, suguru geto. “i’m fine with whatever you have in mind, sugu.”

if you didn’t know any better, you’d swore you saw his cheeks dust in the lightest shade of pink at the endearing nickname. you were cute, too fucking cute and perhaps, that was the reason he kept you around.

“i’m thinking we test that stamina ‘nd see if you can hold up riding me?” he hooks his finger under your chin, tilting your head up just slightly. “no help, all on your own.” in all honesty, you could definitely take up his challenge. how hard could it be to take some dick?

or so you thought.

“fuck, sugu! ‘s too much!”

you wouldn’t want to be caught dead in the miserable state that you were in but it ultimately did seem as though geto’s lessons had gotten you nowhere. the tip of his cock wasn’t even an inch past your cunt while you rested your hands on his broad shoulders, pathetically trying to take what was the easiest part.

he smirked at you, resting his hands behind his head. “i’m not helping, princess. i meant it.”

you continued to try and sink yourself down onto his unreasonably thick cock, a soft crack of a whine tumbling past parted lips when your pussy engulfed another half inch of him. “but-“

“if i have to help you, we’re not finishing until you’re a mess.” he grits, not harsh enough to come off as daunting but stern enough to warn you. yet, the warning fell to deaf ears when you began to whorishly beg pleas of “help me, sugu. help me.”

from that, he let out a low groan, his hands on your waist sinking you all the way down to the base before he gained stability, flattening his feet onto the floor and fucking his cock into your fluttering cunt.

with the way he moves, you were almost positive you had the wind knocked out of you from those first few thrusts alone. soft babbles resonated throughout the room while you clung to his body like it’d comfort you in the hell that was his potent ministrations.

you felt far more sensitive than you ever felt, white hot pleasure coiling within you in no time, your pussy tightening around his shaft in such a suffocating way, geto felt as though he couldn’t breathe either. “s-so tight, princess. i know you wanna cum, cum for me, baby.” he goads through a strained voice, his thumb now working between your folds to find purchase at your clit, rubbing the puffy nub in moderate circles.

“if you do t-that, i might—“

and before you knew it, you were gushing around his pretty cock, face twisted in the prettiest picture of pleasure. the aftershocks of your orgasm were way more intense as you were fucked to overstimulation, a sly grin on his lips.

“told you we weren’t stopping, darling.”

#𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑳𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑻 𝑾𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑬𝑺 ┆jujutsu kaisen. #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #choso smut #choso x reader #gojo x reader smut #choso x reader smut #choso kamo smut #getou smut #geto smut #suguru geto smut #satoru gojo smut #fushiguro toji smut #kamo choso smut #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #geto x y/n #toji x you #choso x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。09:08 AM — GOJO SATORU.

contents. manga spoilers, satoru keeps the scars bc that’s character development ok, post canon, insecure! gojo / reverse comfort, you sit on his lap, ig angst to fluff, embarrassingly cheesy look away pls :,)

satoru, since he’s come home with those scars, has always evaded your hand. you’ve tried a few times, have reached out to cup those cheeks you miss holding—but he’s managed to grab your hand and kiss it every time.

it’s smooth—like everything else he does, satoru dodges your touch smoothly. with an easy grin. with a teasing glint. it’s slick and all too natural, and almost undetectable. but you know him better. you know him better than anyone has had the pleasure of knowing him, you like to think. and you know that satoru doesn’t let your hand meet his cheek, not even the edge of his jaw, on purpose.

“good morning,” you smile, reaching forward to lay a hand over his face. satoru, with his eyes still closed (as expected), grabs your hand and plants a soft kiss to the back as he hums.

you’re almost certain he can sense the way your lips tug into a frown.

“mornin’ sweetheart,” he says lowly, “watching me sleep? that’s a bit creepy,” he teases.

“i can’t help it,” you hum, “you’re too handsome.”

this is rare—giving satoru compliments easily is rare. usually, you make him work for them, keep him waiting on the tips of toes before finally giving him that praise you know will go straight to his inflated ego. but sometimes, like now, you think he deserves to hear it—unfiltered and raw and filled with truth.

satoru is handsome. always has been. always will be.

“aw,” he cracks an eye open, “maybe i should let myself get scratched up a bit more. maybe you’ll talk nice to me more often.”

“i mean it, toru,” you frown, insisting, “you’re handsome. so handsome.”

your hand reaches for his face again. he turns his head this time, feigning a yawn as he stretches before sitting up. there’s a slight bit of tension in the air now, his lips tighter in his smile as he hums before turning to you and poking your nose.

“well, aren’t you sweet,” he smiles almost bitterly.

you haven’t seen his smile reach his eyes for a while. he doesn’t meet your gaze through the mirror in the mornings as you brush your teeth together anymore, doesn’t wink at your reflection and make you roll your eyes. he doesn’t spam your camera roll with pictures of himself anymore when you’re in the bathroom, doesn’t leave you with those silly faces and smug grins that make good wallpapers. he doesn’t even crack those annoying jokes anymore, doesn’t whine for you to admit he’s the most handsome guy you’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting as his face digs into your neck.

instead, satoru dodges your touch. he kisses you briefer these days, avoids looking in the mirror, smiles like he has to—not like he finds a reason to.

“you don’t believe me?” you ask gently, furrowing your brows, “you know i’d never lie to you.”

“i didn’t say that, did i?” he asks, waving a hand casually. “c’mon let’s go brush our teeth. you don’t wanna kill me with that morning breath do you—”

“satoru, you’re still handsome, you know,” you say gently. you decide to rip the bandaid off as you add, “even with these.”

for the first time, your hand manages to reach for his face without him pulling away. you think it’s more out of surprise than anything, that it’s because he wasn’t expecting you to be so straightforward instead of trying to be subtle like usual. for a second, you think he might just put his infinity up—but he doesn’t ever. not around you.

but you can see it, the way his knuckles twitch a little like he’s clenching them. the way he’s so still, it’s almost like he’s willing himself not to tense. the way he doesn’t even lean into your touch like he always does.

he doesn’t want your hand on his face, but you stroke a thumb over a scar anyway, cupping his cheek as you study his face up close.

it’s still him—still satoru with that sharp nose and those rosy cheeks, still satoru with those long lashes and perfect jawline. there’s rough, marred bits of skin that meet soft, supple ones. you feel over the dips of where each scar starts slowly, committing each one to memory.

they’re newer parts of him, ones you don’t know very well yet, ones that remind you of the ugliest parts of the world—but they’re a part of satoru now, and anything that’s a part of satoru can never be ugly. no matter where they come from, no matter what they’re a reminder of.

not if it’s him.

“you think so?” he asks with a tight grin, “is my money maker still money making?”

“don’t be greedy,” you quip, “you have plenty of money.” and then, softly, you add, “but i’d pay a good fortune or two to wake up to this every day.”

“good thing i give it to you for free,” he hums, “i’m generous, you know?”

“what a catch,” you grin, “generous, strong, rich,” you list, making an amused grin stretch across his lips, “handsome,” you add. his smile falters a bit at that. “satoru, i’m serious.”

“oh, i love when you get all serious,” he whistles. he’s deflecting—you expect him to, but you’re not backing down. one leg swings over his hips, and then you’re climbing onto his lap, right there where he can’t avoid you. but he finds his attention to your lips, still smooth as ever as he avoids meeting your eyes.

“satoru—”

“oh? you want to do this already? it’s barely—” he makes a show of glancing at the clock before turning back to you with a suggestive grin, “—nine am. but i guess we can have a little fun before—”

“i don’t care about these, you know,” you murmur, pulling your head back when he leans in for a kiss. your finger lightly traces the scar by his left cheekbone, making him frown.

“see? you’re basically admitting you have to look past them,” he groans frustratedly—it’s the first time satoru’s acknowledges his scars. it’s the first time he’s finally let himself look upset without trying to hide it behind a forced grin and a dry chuckle.

“i don’t,” you frown, “sure, they’re new,” you admit softly, “and i don’t like being reminded you got hurt. but they’re not ugly—you’re always pretty.”

“there’s so many,” he mumbles, “they’re everywhere.”

“i think they’re cool,” you shrug, “they make you look tougher. less like a spoiled princess.”

“hey,” he pouts, “i’m not spoiled.”

“you’re a bit spoiled,” you chuckle, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck—his lips quirk up, and you can’t help but notice how real it looks for once. “but i suppose you deserve it. not because you’re handsome though. because you deserve good things—just for being you,” you insist.

his lips are quivering a bit, and he’s blinking faster now. you ignore it, though, taking your sweet time as you lean down and kiss along the edges of every scar on his face, tracing your lips along where the old skin meets new.

“that’s cheesy,” he mutters, “now you sound like a therapist.”

“i mean it,” you say firmly, “and i meant it when i said you’re handsome too.“

“handsomest guy you’ve ever met, right?” he bats his lashes—they’re a bit hopeful, though, and you smile as you gently kiss the corner of his mouth before nodding.

“definitely,” you nod, “you’re the prettiest.”

“am i?” he grins, “now i’m more spoiled. who’s fault is that really?”

“i’ll allow it for today,” you snort, “today you can be spoiled. i’ll humble you tomorrow.”

“we’ll see,” he hums.

your hands cup his cheeks as you lean down for a kiss, and satoru’s hands clasp over them gently, holding them in place—and when you kiss him delicately, like the sun meets the moon as your lips touch, like your world revolves around him as you pull him closer, you think satoru is unfairly handsome.

and you’ll have to remind him that a bit more often.

he’s my liddol sourpatch :(

#teepods.writings #drabbles. #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo fluff #gojo angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk angst #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen angst

[sanguineterrain]

in your hands | jason todd

Summary: Jason thinks he's too big to be loved. You show him that that's impossible.

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings/tags: bathing together, sad jason, brief dissociation, i hc jason to have body dysmorphia and i wanted to explore that, non sexual nudity, washing your partner, bruce angst, hopeful ending.

A/N: as always, if you like this fic, tell me through comments and reblogs :)

the divider

Tonight, Jason comes home far away.

You clock it as soon as he walks in. He’s moving on autopilot: boots by the door, helmet on the shelf, gear in the closet. He washes his hands, hangs up his jacket, and then he stands at the doorway. And waits. 

You’re never quite sure what he’s waiting for. But you know that he’ll stay stuck in his head if you don’t step in. 

“Hey, baby,” you say, cupping his cheeks. “Hey. You wanna eat or clean up first?”

The change is instant. As soon as you touch him, Jason is there. You’ve never mentioned it to him. It frightens you too much to explore, knowing that you’re his tether. You don’t want to think about what that means, having the power to anchor a man who used to be dead.

He looks at you, meets your gaze head-on.

“Did I disappear?” he whispers.

“Little bit. It’s okay.”

You keep stroking his cheeks, avoiding his shaving cuts and the freshly split lip. There’s a bruise around his eye and on his temple. 

“Wanna wash up,” he finally says, but his hands cling to your waist. 

You pet the back of his neck. “Want me to go with you?” 

“Please?” He glances at the kitchen. “But if you’re in the middle ‘f something, then—”

“No, Jay. C’mon.”

You take him by the hand and lead him to the bathroom. Jason undresses while you draw a bath. Soon the bathroom starts to fog up with steam. You pour in some Epsom salts for his muscle aches—you know he should soak more than he does. 

You turn off the faucet. Jason is in his boxers, staring at himself in the mirror. He picks at his autopsy scar, presses the puckered white flesh until it turns red. 

“Jay,” you say gently. “C’mere, honey.”

His hands drop to his sides. Jason goes to the bath, pulls off his underwear, and sinks into the water. It’s a generously-sized tub. Jason had gotten his old tub replaced for a larger one after you’d mentioned that you liked baths. Soon enough, you’d introduced him to the wonders of hot baths for his sore muscles. 

Even with its size, Jason still has to bend his knees slightly to fit. He pushes himself up easily. A little water sloshes over and dampens the edge of your shirt. Jason curses.

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. 

“It’s okay, honey. You want me to come in?”

He nods. You pull off your shirt, then your pants and underwear. Jason folds in on himself to make room, but you stop him.

“I’ll just sit between your legs, Jay. No problem.”

You step into the bath. Jason holds your wrist so you can sit down without slipping. He stares at his hand on your arm after you’ve sat. 

You reach over for a washcloth and pour a lightly-scented soap. You lather it up first, then rub it over his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. Jason is perfectly still. 

“Can you lean over, baby? So I can get your back.”

Jason obediently leans over. You smile at him as he holds himself up with his core. You know Jason’s not just strong, that he’s agile too. He’s very good at wielding his body.

You wash his back. This close, you can see the contours of his muscles, how broad he is. 

When you’re done, you wring the soap out of the cloth and cup water in your palms to rinse the suds off of his skin. You catch his gaze in the mirror across the tub. Jason turns his head.

“God, look at me. How are you not afraid every time I come stompin’ around?”

You stop pouring water and rest your hands on Jason’s biceps. “What do you mean?”

He scoffs. “I’m like a huge, fuckin’... monster. Too big, too loud. I’m—” He swallows, bows his head. “How can you look at me?”

“Jay, honey. You’re not a monster.”

“Bruce thinks so,” he whispers, and straightens. “He can barely look at me. Every time he does, ‘s like he doesn’t even recognize me.”

His hand quietly swishes through the water to claw at his autopsy scar. 

“This is all I am. Just violence. ‘M too big for anything else.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and pull his head into your chest. Jason hugs you back. His shoulders begin to shake. 

“You’re more than your body,” you say. “You’re more than what the Pit made you. What you were.”

He shakes and cries into your neck. “I was small. People loved me when I was small.”

You pick up his head. Jason’s eyes are thick with tears. You lean in and kiss his Cupid’s bow.

“I love you.” You brush away his tears with your lips. “I love you so much, Jay. That’ll never change.”

“Too big for it,” he rasps.

You shake your head. “No, Jaybird. You’re never too big to be loved.”

“I’m s-scary.”

You kiss his temple, rub between his shoulder blades. Jason clings tighter.

“You don’t scare me. You never have.”

He pulls you closer, so you’re chest-to-chest. You straddle his stomach with your legs and hug Jason as tightly as you can. 

“I was good when I was small,” he says. “I don’t–I don’t know how to be good anymore. I wanna be good, I do. I don’t want Bruce to think I’m bad. I’m still good.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath. “Oh, Jay. Baby. You are good. You came back to make a change. You’ve always been good. You’ve got a good heart. Nothing’s going to change that. Bruce is stubborn and stuck in his head. But you’ll always be his son. And you’ll always have people who love you.”

“What if I’m not worth it?” he whispers. “What if I’m too lost?”

“Then I’ll go out and find you. And we’ll come home together,” you say. “You’ll always find your way back home.”

He smells like soap and Epsom salts. You kiss his autopsy scar. Jason shakes more. 

“Let me wash your hair, baby,” you say.

He nods, tears on his lashes. You wet his hair and pour shampoo. You rest your lips on his cheek as you lather the shampoo, detangling tiny knots with your fingers. Jason bends at the waist so you can rinse off the soap with the faucet.

You tap his hip and Jason sits up. He slips his arms around you again and tucks his chin into your neck.

“Don’t let go,” he says, suddenly desperate. “Don’t–don’t let me go.”

“I won’t, Jay. I’m right here.”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd fanfiction #red hood x you #red hood x reader #red hood fanfiction #jason todd imagine #jason todd angst #fluff #soft jason todd #batman fanfiction #dc fanficton

[thefreakandthehair]

apollo, who?

prompt: beach day | pairing: steddie | wc: 1.5k | rating: teen & up | tags: eddie munson pov, athletic steve, post-canon fix it, pining, reciprocated crushes | written for @pearynice for the @strangerthingswritersguild April Fools exchange! 💕☀️🌊

There are three absolute truths when it comes to Steve Harrington: 

The first is that Steve is a gifted athlete. 

The second is that Steve was born to thrive in the summertime. 

And the third, much to Eddie Munson’s chagrin and horror, is that the combination of the first two truths will be his undoing. In public, no less, because the universe has apparently concocted a plan to let Eddie live but to make him suffer nonetheless. 

Unloading the van had been easy enough— Steve grabbing the cooler stacked to the brim with soda, water, and snacks and Eddie watching as he’d trekked through the sand to where Robin and Nancy set up their chairs and beach umbrella. Most of the kids were long gone already, staking their claim with blankets and towels a few feet away from Robin and Nancy, leaving Eddie to snag the sunblock he’s basically been made to swear a blood oath to Wayne that he’ll apply generously over his scars. 

He leans back over the passenger seat to grab it from the center console, along with his walkman and sunglasses, and when he turns back around, he stops dead. 

Steve’s shirtless.

In the span of ten seconds, Steve’s already shirtless on the beach, nothing but swim trunks hanging from his hips, and Eddie realizes he’s underestimated how fucking beautiful this sight might be. 

The edge of Lake Michigan laps at the rippled sands as Steve reels back and tosses a football that Eddie’s pretty sure materialized out of nowhere to Lucas a few yards down the shore. All of his freckles and moles and scars out on full display, the sun beats down on his tanned skin and uncharacteristically messy hair that Eddie’s watched slowly morph from chestnut to ash brown over the course of the season. 

As Eddie applies his stupid sunblock, he lets himself stare unnoticed. Lucas throws what Eddie assumes is a good pass if Steve’s celebratory, “Great spiral!” means anything and when he puts on his sunglasses, it’s more to shield the blinding light of Steve’s smile than the sun. Maybe it’s cliche, maybe it’s overdone and contrived, but Eddie can’t stop himself from comparing Steve to a Greek fucking God. 

Apollo, who? 

El appears next to Steve and Eddie continues to watch— about three layers of sunblock in at this point because he’s lost track— as Steve demonstrates something. Holding the football in one hand, he points at the laces and seems to check in with El for understanding before handing it over to her and adjusting her grip slightly. When she attempts to throw it to Lucas, it falls short and lands in the sand just a few feet away from where she and Steve stand. 

Eddie’s chest fucking swells as Steve trots over to grab it and simply hands it to her again, smile in place to counteract El’s pout. Three or four tries later, the ball flies straight enough for Lucas to catch it and Jesus H. Christ, Steve cheers like she scored a touchdown, or whatever the fuck it’s called. 

He can’t leave the side of the van. If he makes his way down to the beach, it’ll be all over for him. He’ll have to hide in the water the entire time, and now there’s too much sunblock on his face to blame the inevitable flush on sunburn. It’s fine, he can hang back. Everyone looks preoccupied anyways and with any luck, no one will notice he’s not enjoying the surf and sand with everyone else until it’s time to leave— 

“Eddie!” 

Right, he thinks to himself. I have no luck. 

Steve waves at him to come join, turning that sunshine smile directly at him and it’s a direct hit. Apparently, even on the opposite side of the sands, he’s still a goner. 

“Eddie! C’mon, what’re you waiting for?” He calls out again, both hands resting on his hips. 

It does nothing to quell his urge to stare at places friends aren’t supposed to stare at. As far as he knows, the only person to have picked up on his unfortunate crush is Nancy, who’d seemed to understand the importance of discretion and hasn’t said a word. If he can leave this beach day with his secret intact, he’ll chalk it up as a success. 

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’!” 

With a deep breath, he locks and slams the passenger door to the van and walks out onto the hot sand, barefoot with his sneakers in one hand, SPF 70 in the other, and sunglasses hung over his nose. Distantly, he recognizes the grittiness of the sand beneath his toes and the earthy scent of the freshwater stretching out for miles in front of him but more acutely, he just keeps his eyes on Steve. 

Please let these glasses be tinted, he thinks. 

“Finally, what the hell were you doing up there?” Steve asks when he makes it down the narrow path lines with tall grass. 

“Aw, did you miss me, Big Boy?” Eddie drones with a smirk. If he just acts normal, no one will know the difference. It’s not like Steve ever flirts back—

“And if I did?” 

He hasn't planned for that response. All he’s prepared for is a gentle eye roll, maybe a flustered laugh or furrowed brow, and now Steve’s shirtless, sun-baked, sweat dripping from his temple and suggesting he missed him. 

What the fuck. 

“Heads-up!” Lucas yells and Steve turns just in time to take two steps backward and catch the football coming in their direction. 

There’s no way for Lucas to have known he’d just saved Eddie from something horrendously embarrassing, but he’ll find a way to thank him all the same. 

“Ever throw a football?” Steve holds the oblong ball in one hand, wiggling it at shoulder height with a grin. “I taught El how to throw a spiral, so I think I can teach you, too.” 

Okay, actually, he’s still being subjected to something humiliating. 

“Sports have never really been my—”

“Don’t start with that, c’mere. It’s easy.” Steve gestures with a nod of his head for Eddie to join him further out on the beach and like a satellite to its orbit, he follows. 

It takes way more attempts than it did El— something Max was all too quick to point out loudly— but he does eventually throw something that Steve considers a spiral. Maybe it would’ve taken fewer tries if Steve hadn’t insisted on standing directly behind him, adjusting his stance and grip with his chest damn near pressed against Eddie’s back. 

Of all the unfair cards life has dealt him, this has to be the worst. More than once, he makes eye contact with Nancy who raises an eyebrow and smirks before returning her attention to whatever she and Robin are talking about. 

Probably him. Him and Steve and his dumb, dumb, dumb crush that’s ruining his life. It’s fine. 

When he finally throws the ball at an acceptable angle, Steve claps him on the shoulder and stands next to him, effectively draping an arm over both shoulders. 

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

He swallows and turns, breath catching his throat. All of the sun has brought Steve’s freckles to the forefront, a shade darker than usual with new tiny pinpricks of color appearing along his nose with a faint pink hue along his cheekbones. 

If they weren’t in public, he’d do something very, very stupid. Instead, he clears his throat subtly and finds words. 

“Sure, yeah, I’m a regular sports guy now, Steve. Guess I’ve gotta find something to teach you, huh? Y’know, return the favor?” 

“I’ve always wanted to learn guitar. You can show me the basics some time. Or uh,” Steve grins and lowers his voice. “I’m sure there are some other things we can learn together.” 

Eddie’s fully lost track of how many times he’s been caught off-guard so far today, but this one takes the cake. Steve’s fucking flirting with him. Actually flirting with him. Beating him over the goddamn head with it, really. 

“Yeah! Yeah, uh, yeah,” he repeats, smooth. “To both, I mean. Yeah, to both.” 

Steve squeezes his shoulder and unravels his arm with a hopeful expression. 

“We’ll talk more when we aren’t surrounded by nosy shits, especially those two,” Steve nods at Robin and Nancy who wave with their fingers. “In the meantime, race you to the water?” 

“What is it with you jocks?”

He barely has time to get the question out before Steve takes off, plunging into the water a solid foot before Eddie even reaches the shore. 

“That’s cheating, Harrington!” He bellows, running through the sand to join him, heart thundering between his ribs and head still spinning from what just happened. 

“Sounds like what I’d expect from someone who just lost,” Steve shoots back, taking a breath and submerging himself before popping back up. 

Hair slicked back with the freshwater of Lake Michigan, Eddie watches as Steve runs both hands through it, then down his face and back into the lake. Water droplets glisten off his skin and Eddie wades a little closer, finding Steve’s hands once they’re submerged enough to disguise it. 

“Oh, contraire,” Eddie muses. “I feel like I just won.”

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #myblurbs

[ruporas]

a conversation about scars

[ID: A Trigun comic. Vash is shirtless with his back to the viewer, showing off his many scars and metal implants. He complains, “Oh, c’mon... The shirt got stuck... Argh.” Wolfwood’s finger pokes him at the base of his neck, and Vash exclaims, “Ack! Wolfwood!?”

Wolfwood, looking down, asks, “Does it ever hurt?” Vash’s eyes go wide with surprise, and he looks down and says, “No-- Sometimes they ache, but nothing unbearable.” Wolfwood kisses the back of his neck and then leans against Vash, silent as Vash cheerfully laughs, “Got it! It’s free, finally!”

Wolfwood still looks sad, and Vash turns back and smiles nervously to ask, “What is it?” Hand over the grate over Vash’s heart, Wolfwood says, “... I was just thinking it would’ve been better had I met you sooner.” He hugs Vash from behind, and the background goes dark.

“If I were with you earlier, I’d been able to stop you from making dumb decisions. And protect you when you do.” Wolfwood’s expression is heavy as he looks down Vash’s back and says, “Then you’d at least have less of these.” He puts his face against Vash’s back, and Vash, mouth tight, thinks, “.. When he puts it like that... It’s so embarrassing somehow...”

Vash moves away and says forcefully, “But-- I don’t want you to protect me. Because then-- you’d get hurt.” Wolfwood angrily replies, “Huh? Are you forgetting-- Scars don’t last on me!” Vash angrily exclaims “Idiot!” and grabs Wolfwood’s collar.

Wolfwood, irate, goes, “Idiot!?” but Vash pulls down Wolfwood’s shirt as he leans their foreheads together. He exclaims, “I meant up here!” Vash looks upset and says, “Just because your body won’t leave anything-- doesn’t mean nothing every happened!”

Wolfwood grits his teeth as Vash continues, “So don’t say that-- I can take care of myself and I... wouldn’t want you to be burdened any-- mh?!” He breaks off with a loud sound of surprise when Wolfwood pulls him forward to kiss him.

Scowling very fiercely, Wolfwood demands, “Don’t call yourself my burden. That’s up to me!” Vash, flushed and scowling back with one hand raised to his mouth, shouts, “That’s what you’re upset about?!” For a second, they stay in the same positions, Vash braced over Wolfwood as they glare at each other, both labeled “upset.”

Then Vash turns somber and says, “These scars don’t bother me at all and I own responsibility for them... And... at least, I can count mines.” Wolfwood looks away as Vash touches his hair and says, “What about you?”

They lie down, Vash on top of Wolfwood as he says sadly, “I’m never going to know how many times you’ve been shot, how many times you had to drink that potion. (You won’t even tell me how it works...).” There’s a close up panel of Wolfwood’s eyes, tired and guilty, and Vash continues, “Don’t focus on me now... Please just protect yourself first.” Wolfwood responds, “You have to consider yourself first too.” Vash says, “This isn’t about me,” and Wolfwood argues, “Yes it is.” Vash says, “Nuh uh.”

There’s a final cartoony panel of them against white space: Vash pouting with annoyance at a ticked Wolfwood. Their next speech bubbles hover in white. Wolfwood aggravatedly shouts, “Listen to your own advice!”, and Vash exclaims, “Ack--! Don’t get mad, Wolfwood!!” “Fin” is written next to a donut and lollipop.

At the very bottom of the page is a cartoony sketch titled “Alt to p.4″. Vash presses their heads together and shouts, “I meant up here!” Wolfwood looks down with confusion at his bare chest. Vash looks down too, sweating. Wolfwood, squinting, says, “My ch--” but Vash cuts him off with a shrieked, “NO!!” End ID]

credits for ID text  

#vashwood #vash the stampede #nicholas d wolfwood #nicolas d wolfwood #trigun #trigun maximum #trimax #HUAUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #some text are in the captions #as much as i could fit them anyway #ruporas art

[mochiwrites]

couldn’t help writing a lil thing from @plumadot’s arts (linked here and here!)🥺👉👈 third life scarian possessed me so hard I broke out of my burn out for this reblogs would be really cool and awesome okaythankyou

——————————

“And how are preparations for Doom Day going, my good sir?” Scar’s voice is a light sound behind him, tone cheerful and inquisitive all at once.

Grian turns around from where he’s knee deep in sand, a small hole dug out in front of him. Scar comes to stand beside him, red eyes staring down at him. His gaze is soft, far too soft for a man who’s meant to be anything but.

With a soft noise, Grian pushes himself up to stand while dusting off his hands. He leaves his shovel in the ground by the hole. His wings flutter.

He hums, surveying the area. He gazes at the holes of sand, where the tnt will be set down, at the place where a bunker will be built. “Not bad, I’d say. I think this place’ll be ready by tomorrow or some time ‘round then.”

Scar whistles, moving to casually wrap an arm around the green life’s shoulders. “Amayzin’!” His lips lift in a smile. “Man, those Dogwarts guys won’t know what hit ‘em!”

“That’s if this trap even works, Scar,” Grian mutters, unable to hold back the bitterness in his voice. His traps have hardly worked all game, and he’d be lying if he said he isn’t worried about this one failing too. “It has to,” he says, brows knitting together, “there’s too much riding on this one.”

His eyes trail over to Scar, who doesn’t seem to share his worries.

“Aw, c’mon G,” Scar starts as he pulls the other toward him. He tugs so that Grian’s facing him, their faces a few inches apart. Grian can feel how warm Scar is this close, can see the way his chest rises and falls. “I have total trust in you and your trapping skills. So relax a little, yeah?”

Grian frowns at him in turn. Speculation and trust aren’t good enough when up against his fail rate. He needs one hundred percent certainty. But he can’t just test this one. It’s a one time pull. “Scar—”

Careful fingers grab his chin, rough and calloused from the harsh conditions of the desert but still far too careful. Red names aren’t supposed to be careful or gentle, and yet here Scar is.

“I trust you,” Scar says again, and Grian doesn’t think this is how things are supposed to go. It’s not the first time he’s had this thought, and he’s sure it won’t be the last (provided they both survive this, that is). “You really do worry too much.”

“One of us has to while you’re off gallivanting around without a shirt on,” Grian grumbles while reaching for the edge of Scar’s cloak. He holds onto it, fingers digging into the fabric.

Scar lifts a playful brow at Grian’s comment, “Does that mean I look good while valligaggling?”

Grian snorts, the action laced with too much affection. “That’s not even a word, Scar,” he replies with a little laugh, one that makes Scar’s grin widen.

“It’s close enough,” the man hums in answer, their faces moving closer. His hand drops to Grian’s elbow, the other drawing him in closer by the waist. Red eyes flutter shut as his breath ghosts over Grian’s lips. “And it made you laugh.”

“Your priorities are seriously mixed up,” Grian’s voice is hardly above a whisper as watches as Scar draws in closer.

Their lips meet seconds later, chapped and warm. Grian stares at Scar’s face, the way the creases in his forehead smooth over and relax. He looks so content, a funny feeling to express when the powder keg is seconds from exploding.

It hardly takes any time at all for Scar to deepen the kiss, raising his hand from Grian’s elbow to hold the edge of his jaw. His thumb settles too close to Grian’s throat, yet not an ounce of fear runs through him. His eyes shut as he presses his lips back against Scar’s, a bit more pressure than the other applies. He catches Scar’s wrist in his hand, and his grip is a little tight at first (too tight for a green name). He has to remind himself to loosen his hand, but Scar never gives a reaction.

He simply angles Grian’s chin up slightly, hand shifting to cup his cheek. His fingers tangle in his hair, brushing against his ear.

It’s kind of a shame they’re blowing up the desert. He wouldn’t mind sharing more kisses with Scar out in the open chilly air like this.

Scar kisses him like he’s something fragile, something precious. He kisses him like he’s afraid of breaking him, and really it’s laughable how gentle he is with Grian. His eyes say he shouldn’t be.

(Ironic then, that Grian is wearing more red than him.)

It’s with a soft sigh that Scar pulls back, setting their foreheads against one another. So easily, so fluidly, he holds Grian’s face in both of his hands, one of his thumbs brushing along his cheek. There’s a fond smile on his face, and Grian feels a little dazed by the sight.

“Gri,” Scar says quietly, a moment shared for only the two of them, “I need you to know, I—”

Some kind of alarm rings in Grian’s head, and he knows he cannot let Scar finish that sentence. Panic runs down his spine like electricity, zapping him. He sets his hands on Scar’s front, gently pushing back as he turns his head away.

“H-Haha, we’ve wasted enough time, haven’t we?” he questions, some kind of desperate attempt to change the conversation. “We have a war to prepare for, remember?”

He doesn’t watch Scar’s face as he turns away, unable to face it. He turns his back to Scar, wings twitching behind him. Grian purposefully looks down at the sand before him, reminding himself of what he’s meant to be doing. “We, uh, have much to do still,” he says, trying to focus on anything but Scar. “I mean, unless you want me to lose my first life!”

Grian goes to say more, but two hands land on his shoulders, stopping him. He jumps just slightly, startled. Yet it doesn’t last long as he feels Scar’s warmth against his back. “…Scar,” he mumbles.

Arms wrap around him proper, holding him close. He feels Scar bury his face in his hair as the smell of lilacs and poppies flood his senses. “Just a little longer, okay?” the red name murmurs so softly.

Let me hold you for a little longer.

Stay with me for a little longer.

Pretend this’ll last for a little longer.

How selfish, Scar is. Grian looks down at the sand below, its mocking grains. He grabs hold of Scar, keeping him right where he is. “…I’m not going to die, Scar.”

“Promise me.” Scar’s arms tighten around him, giving away how much he needs Grian to stay alive. How much he treasures Grian, both his partnership and company.

Grian squeezes him. He supposes he’s a little selfish as well. “…I promise.”

Scar lets out a shaky breath, burying his face further into Grian’s hair.

They don’t move for a little while. A gentle red name and a green name clothed in far too much crimson. Together they stand, selfishly.

#mochi writes #scarian #trafficshipping #AAAAAAAA SORRY IF THIS IS ROUGH #I HAVENT WRITTEN ALL WEEK ;;;;;; #ALSO HI PLUME I HOPE THIS IS OKAY JDFHGJFHG #I couldn’t resist doing a little drabble on this #ueueueueue these boys can create So many feeling #and not talk about their own <3

[norman-fucking-reedus]

Nobody can convince me that Daryl doesn’t have some kind of breeding kink

also can’t convince me he wouldn’t be an amazing dad (girl dad to be exact)

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

It would really be the heat of the moment that does it for him, the way you’re so tight and wet around him makes his head spin, causing him to lose all focus.

You had your legs wrapped completely around his waist, and one of his large hands kept a bruising grip on your hip. His stubble scraped your flesh as his mouth bit and sucked at your neck, breathing harshly against you.

“C’mon, darlin’, let me put a baby in ya, please? Wanna turn ya into a lil mama” His tone was husky as he spoke against your lips, staring down into your eyes longingly.

Daryl always had a way of using dirty talk to get what he wanted out of you, even when it was your turn to take control in the bedroom, asshole even used it outside the bedroom.

He lifted your hips further into his lap so that he could pound deeper into you, dropping his head onto your shoulder as his body trembled from pleasure, soft moans falling from his lips.

You gripped his shoulders, dragging your nails down from the new angle, tightening your thighs around him. “You want me to give you a little Dixon? So the little fucker can trash the house?” You huffed, it felt like you weren’t getting any oxygen. The room was blurry and all you could feel was your boyfriend ontop and inside of you. “Fuck baby, yes tha’s all I want, gonna get ya nice ‘nd full” He practically whimpered the words out at this point, hips beginning to sputter as his grip on you got impossibly tighter, spilling his load deep inside your throbbing cunt.

You stared at the ceiling as you caught your breath, feeling your boyfriend’s warm seed oozing out slowly. You leaned up onto your elbows and thought for a moment. “Do you seriously wanna have this kid with me, Daryl?” You whispered to his scarred back, watching as his movements of going through the drawer cease. A few minutes of silence passed and you thought that maybe he really didn’t mean it, that he had regretted everything he said. He slowly turned to you with the smallest and most genuine smile you’ve ever seen on him. His blue eyes stared into yours as the mattress dipped under his weight.

He directed you to come closer, slotting your fingers together and brushing his free hand against your jaw, eyes never once leaving yours. “I want this more than anythin’ I ever wanted somethin’, as much as I wanted you gorgeous” He whispered the words so sweetly into the air, all you could do was lean up to kiss him, already thinking of how your little Dixon is gonna have the best dad.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Ever since I saw how well he handles Judith this has engraved itself into my brain… Imagine how soft and gentle he’d become when he’s holding his daughter?? My heart hurts and my head

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

© norman-fucking-reedus 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified, or adpated to any other platform. You may translate my works with my asked and given consent.

#daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixion smut #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl x female reader #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #twd #daryl dixion imagine #twd daryl #daryl x you #norman fucking reedus

[wannaeatramyeon]

Jake Kim x Reader: Jealous

G/N. Silly + fluffy. Spawned from chatting with @steamedeggs, as always.

"Who's that?"

Jake follows your eye line.

"Samuel Seo," He tells you with a sigh. Whether that's a result of their meeting on the Pier or something else you can't be sure.

"The famous Samuel Seo," you mutter.

You watch him gracefully fold his limbs into a fancy executive car and lament the shitbox Sinu has left Jake, "Oh damn, he's hot and loaded?"

Jake huffs a small exasperated laugh, curling his arm around your shoulders. "Some would consider him hot and loaded, yes."

You throw your boyfriend a cheeky grin, raking over his form with greedy eyes.

"Obviously not as hot as you, though."

"Obviously."

.

.

Listen, Jake does not lack confidence. Jake is secure. With his appearance, his personality, his finances- no wait, scratch the last one.

Bottom line: Jake is perfectly fine with himself.

Lua has called him egotistical and conceited at times, but that's besides the point. Vivi has commented that he's ugly to his face and he couldn't care less. (All the girls throwing themselves at him in the club certainly showed otherwise.)

Sometimes even you think it is grossly unfair. Jake has won the lottery in the looks and personality department. He is beyond charming, winning hearts wherever he goes. Not even his battle scars dull his shine, adding only a sexy and bad boy air to this giant golden retriever of a man.

Anyway, the point is-

It's hard to phase Jake. It's nigh on impossible for his jealousy to flare up.

Yet.

.

.

"What was that on his neck?"

"Whose?"

"Samuel Seo's."

"You mean his tattoos?"

"Huh, neck tattoos? That's bold."

Jake watches you type in neck tattoos, and if he isn't mistaken, you look impressed.

'What's impressive about neck tattoos?' He wonders, leaning over to look at the designs on your phone.

"You want me to get a neck tattoo?" He angles his head to show off his throat and your phone no longer holds your attention. You're desperate to sink your teeth in. Add your own markings.

"Or what about a face tattoo?" Jake grins, "Tear drop under one eye? Writing on the other cheek? Some big letters? Big Deal?"

Picturing his suggestion, you wrinkle your nose. "Definitely not-"

"'Cos I guess these aren't enough for you, huh?"Jake raises an eyebrow, one corner of his lips pulled up and flexing his biceps.

It's obnoxious but goddamn this man. Enough of his charm shines through that it's sexy, a touch silly, and a lot endearing.

.

.

"Does your friend actually need glasses?"

Jake mentally flips through the list of people he knows. Friend? With glasses? "Samuel?"

You nod.

"Probably. Not sure. He never wore them in Big Deal."

"So they're just for show? He's a poser?"

Jake chuckles at your words and shrugs.

"Hmm," you tap your chin, "It does make him look smart-"

"Samuel is smart."

"-and sophisticated. You want a pair?"

"C’mon," Jake looks at you with mock hurt and clutching his heart, "I already am smart and sophisticated."

"Sure you are."

"And I look it!"

"Absolutely."

"Hey!"

.

.

“You’re pretty tall, right?”

Jake blinks, because what a question. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes, except maybe professional basketball players.

“...Yes.”

“And Samuel is the same height as you?”

“I think so?”

“Huh.”

“What do you mean huh?”

“Nothing. Just… huh.” You begin to walk away but Jake grabs onto your arm and yanks you back. You fall into his chest with an ‘oof’.

“I’m not tall enough for you?”

“7ft might be nice. Maybe 8ft. Why not double digits. 10ft!”

“Yeah,” he laughs and rolls his eyes, “I’ll get right on that.”

.

.

Jake is sulky and pouty.

He knows you’re teasing. Messing around, playing. Hell, he teases you enough. 

Despite this. He is sulky and he is pouty.

"Jake..." you plop yourself into his lap, "You know I'm only joking right?"

He gives you a sidelong glance even as he angles his cheek for a kiss.

"I think you're the best," You give him a smooch. "Your tattoos are hot," Another smooch. "You're very smart."

"And sophisticated," he grumbles, though he makes no attempt to hide the smile creeping over his face.

"The most sophisticated!" You kiss him loudly on the lips this time. "You should teach people how to be as sophisticated as you are. Charge them a billion won each to listen to you talk about sophistication. And you’re the tallest. A giant. The biggest man to have ever existed. I don’t know how you fit that massive head through doors,” You squeeze his shoulders, “How do you even get this huge body in a building.”

Jake bursts into laughter at your ridiculousness. 

“I even love your awful death-trap that you call a car. With no air conditioning and no airbags and seatbelts that jam when they shouldn’t."

Jake clicks his tongue at you, "Now I know you're lying. Even I hate that stupid car. And it’s not mine."

“Ok,” you give in, “I do hate it.”

Jake’s face turns soft and tender. He pulls you close, until your foreheads are touching and you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes. “I think you’re the best and hot and smart and sophisticated. You’re not that tall and you don’t have a car... But you are mine though.”

“Yeah,” you agree, melting into his arms, feeling his heart beating in time with your own. “I am yours.”

#as usual daydreaming too much about jake kim #the panel doesnt really fit but he looks pretty good there mmhmmm #lookism #lookism x reader #lookism webtoon #lookism manhwa #lookism fic #jake kim #jake kim x reader #kim gimyung x reader #kim gimyeong x reader #wannaeatramyeon

[sw-33-ts-stuff]

She Don’t Wanna Marry Me

Part 5

You wake up groaning and with a bad back.

You crack your neck from side to side waiting for that all too familiar pop before you get up and grab a glass of water and some Tylenol. Once you finish you make your way to your bedroom.

“Raine?” You try not to be too loud as you approach. You’re met with another groan making you chuckle before you gently place the water and pills on the bedside table next to her.

“Take those and I’ll make us some breakfast yeah?” The girl just groans again making you laugh and think back to the first time you’d send her drunk.

14 years old

“I don’t know Raine what if your parents find out?” The smaller girl rolled her eyes.

“They’re out of town and we can get more from the store before they notice it’s gone.” Big brown eyes looked at you accompanied by a small pout.

“Please.”

You sigh twisting open the small bottle full of brown liquor. You take the first swig making the girl smile triumphantly. She danced in her seat before you passed her the bottle chuckling as she winced and coughed from the after burn.

“That’s disgusting.” You laugh taking another swig. “How can you not die after drinking that?”

You shrug swirling the bottle around. “I may have snuck in sips when my mom wasn’t looking. She left bottles open a lot.”

A saddened silence falls over both of you before Lorraine nudges your shoulder.

“Bet I can out drink you.” She grins at you, you grin back scoffing.

“Little ole you? Pfft I’ll

Win this easy. What are we betting on?”

“Loser has to buy dinner?” You smirk internally, already knowing you planned on getting her a slice of her favorite pizza from the corner store down the road. As you always did every Friday.

“Deal.”

Twenty minutes later Lorraine’s small body was leaning against yours barely able to hold her own weight, head on your shoulder as you try to keep her up.

“C’Mon Rainey let’s get you some pizza.”

“Pizza!” She jumps up excited and begins running almost tripping over her own feet before you catch her.

Laughing you pull her back against you to keep her upright.

After finally getting her into your house, your mom nowhere to be found as usual. You gently lay her on your bed.

“You ok Raine?” She hums eyes closed as she smiles.

“Mhmmm.” You catch yourself staring for a moment her slightly red cheeks brushed by long eyes lashes. You brush a finger across her cheek making her hum once again and lean forward. Blearily brown eyes lock onto yours.

“Y/n?” You gulp at the sudden change in atmosphere.

“Yeah Raine?”

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

Your eyes flash down to soft pink lips. “I think you’re gorgeous.”

The smaller girl hums unconvinced before she laughs.

“I think you’re lyin’.”

You stroke her cheek softly making her nuzzle herself further into your bed.

“I am.” Lorraine frowns eyes wide as she stares at you horrified. You lean in a little closer. “I don’t think you’re gorgeous I know you are, but even that isn’t good enough to describe what I really think of you.”

Blunt fingernails slightly dig into the back of your neck. “Swear you mean it?”

Dark eyes bore into yours as you nodded.

“Y/N! I KNOW YOU TOOK MORE MONEY AND MY LIQUOR YOU LITTLE SHIT!”

It’s a flurry of movement as you pick up Lorraine and hid her in the closet. Next to her a kaleidoscope.

“No matter what don’t come out.” You shut it quickly as your mom barged in the room.

Lorraine picked up the toy looking in to find a sky full of stars looking back at her. She didn’t realize she hadn’t moved for 30 minutes until you came to get her.

You came back with a busted lip and a scrape above your eyebrow but still smile at her as if she’s the only thing that matters.

“Come on, let’s get you some rest and I’ll take you home in the morning.”

You brought back to reality by shuffled footsteps. Placing two plates on the table you feed Lorraine then yourself. She lets out a quiet thank you as you two eat in silence.

Lorraine stares for a moment hand reaching out to stroke the scar on your eyebrow. “I’m sorry.”

You furrow your eyebrows at her slowly chewing on a pancake.

“I don’t know why I-“

You chuckle. “It’s alright Raine.”

She shook her head. “No you took care of my drunk ass…again.”

You laugh. “It’s nothing new.”

She tries to hide her smile but fails.

“You know as long as we’ve known each other I’ve never seen you drunk. Why is that?”

You breathe softly through your nose amused.

“Because you can’t carry me home short stack.” She gasps in fake shock.

“Rude.” You smile cheekily at her as you go to stand making her do the same. She backs away slowly as if you’re a lion waiting to pounce.

“Don’t you dare-AHH”

She tries kicking and punching but you have her too high up.

Once you put her down back in her seat safely she giggles.

You get her back home before you start your shift. As always you try to shove away the thought of waking up to brown eyes, freckles and a pretty smile.

Back at the Days after she’d gotten settled in, Lorraine goes downstairs to find Bobby, Maxine and her parents looking at old photos.

Her mom pulls up one of her favorites. It’s you smiling wide with a trophy surrounded by teammates and Lorraine, her parents just a step behind the crowd. But that’s not what catches Bobby’s eye. It’s the brunette next to you. She looks from the girl in the photo to the girl in real life finding the look on her face to be something more. Something she’s not even sure Lorraine has admitted to herself yet.

Taglist: @ctrlamira @tundra1029 @friedryes @alexkolax @wol-fica @natasha25052 @pdione11 @dksjskx @the-camilucha @niqmandu @pawiie @cozwaenot @evanivox @livingdreams97 @haughtsauce21 @autorasexy @dogtamer415 @karsonromanoff @wedfan2 @starry-night17 @originalpat @red1culous @canvascoloredin @bigbadsofty07 @osnapitzmel1 @rainbow-love4ever @paladinncleric

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #wlw post #lorraine day imagine #lorraine day #lorraine day x reader

[lewisvinga]

salvatore | esteban ocon x fem! reader

summary; after living a life full of cold exes, y/n never expected to find her ‘salvatore’ during a summer in monaco

warnings; toxic/abusive exes, slut shaming,

word count; 1k

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1 @minkyungseokie @goldenmclaren @ollieshifts @lavisenri

notes; this is song has been on repeat

‘born to die’ series masterlist.

masterlist !

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“C’mon, Y/n, you need a man. You need to live a little!" Y/b/f exclaimed as she followed around Y/n who was tidying up around her home.

"Y/n," She sighed, "I don't need a man."

"It's been 4 years since you broke up with your ex. You haven't dated anyone since you were 21!”

“And you know why.”

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5 years ago

“C’mon, Y/n, let’s just go out!” Y/b/f asked through the phone. “You’re already ready!”

Y/n sighed as she cleaned the counter with a damp towel. She kept looking over her shoulder and back at the front door. “Louis is on his way. I can’t-“

“You can’t or he won’t let you? C’mon, Y/n, you deserve better.”

“I can’t.” She huffed as she rushed to finish off a quick chicken dish so it could be ready when her boyfriend arrived. “How ‘bout we go out tomorrow for lunch? I’ll call you later, promise-“

“Call who?” Louis's voice interrupted her mid-sentence. She hadn’t realized he arrived and she quickly hung up on Y/b/f.

“Y/b/f. She just wanted to hang out and-“

“That’s why you’re dressed like a whore?”

“I-I was about to ch-“

“Change into another slutty outfit?”

Y/n let out a sigh, keeping her gaze on the floor. She could feel Louis’ harsh stare as she turned off the stove and grabbed him a plate. Fortunately, he wasn’t so frustrated after work so he wasn’t as mean to her as usual.

Still, she felt tired of everything. She felt tired of constantly being paranoid. She hated how every word of his left her a mental scar. She hated how sometimes she had to wear sweaters in warm weather to cover up the black and purple marks on her skin. She was just tired.

Y/n glanced at him as she served the food on his plate. In the back of her mind, she knew Y/b/f was right and she was already thinking of the perfect time to leave him.

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present day

Y/n held onto her Dior tote bag as she strolled down the streets of Monaco. She was killing time in the shops before having lunch with Y/b/f and a couple of other girls to celebrate her best friend's engagement.

Y/b/f had instructed them to wear white so Y/n wore a short white sundress. She had an iced latte in her hand, glancing through the window of various boutiques and designer stores.

The summer was hot but she didn’t mind it. She spent the past week working on her tan, eating soft ice cream, and enjoying her week off.

She was lost in her thoughts when before she knew it, she suddenly bumped into what she thought was a wall until she heard a panicked voice. “Oh, fuck! Are you okay?”

The collision had caused her to spill her latte all over her white dress, staining it brown. She let out a chuckle as she looked down at the stain and at the empty plastic cup. “I’m fine. I wasn’t paying attention! Sorry for that.”

Y/n glanced up and was met with probably one of the most beautiful men she had ever seen. His deep brown, almost black eyes were filled with concern as he looked her over. He ran his fingers through his jet-black hair before running his hands over his equally jet-black stubble.

“I’ll-i’ll buy you a new dress! Where’d you get it from?”

“I said don’t worry! It’s a pricey dress anyway.” She said with a smile but that didn’t seem to satisfy him.

“No, please, let me. I can afford it. I’ll even get you another latte.”

“You won’t drop this will you?”

His lips curled into a smile as he shook his head. “Nope!” He said with a shrug. “But the least you could do is give me your name.”

She shook her head slightly and laughed as she holds her hand out. “Y/n, and you must be?”

“Esteban.”

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3 years later

“Bonjour. Good morning.”

Esteban’s soft voice woke Y/n up from her deep slumber. Her vision was still blurry as she slowly sat up against the bed, rubbing her eyes and letting her vision get used to the bright lights.

She realized that he stood in front of her with a tray in his hands. Once her vision cleared up, she noticed the iced latte and a croissant with a small candle resting in the middle of the tray.

“Joyeux Anniversaire, chérie.” [happy birthday, dear.] Esteban whispers, sitting beside her on the bed. He kissed her forehead as she took the tray from him. “Now make a wish.”

A small pout decorated her lips as she looked down at the candle. He purposely picked a pink candle knowing that it was her favorite color. Something her ex-boyfriend never bothered learning about in their 3 years of dating.

A panicked look appeared on Esteban’s face when he noticed Y/n’s eyes fill with tears as her bottom lip quivered. “Chérie? What’s wrong? Shouldn’t you be happy on your birthday?” He asked, his voice filled with concern. He reached over and fixed her bed hair.

“I am happy.” She replied while tears streamed down her cheek. She lifts up the tray and softly blows the candle out. She turns to look at her now boyfriend of nearly 3 years with a wide smile on her voice.

“I just never had anyone care for me like you have, Estie.” She whispered as she set the tray on the bedside table. He wraps his arm around her shoulder, tucking her into his arms. “You’re my salvatore. [savior] You saved me. I didn’t even need to make a wish because you’re all I’ve ever wanted. You’re the best thing in my life.”

Esteban places his finger under her chin, causing her to look up into his deep brown eyes. He leans down and places a gentle kiss on her lips. He whispered against her lips, “I’ll always be your salvatore.”

#f1 x reader #f1 smau #formula one x reader #f1 scenario #formula one scenarios #f1 imagine #formula one imagines #formula one imagine #f1 scenarios #esteban ocon scenarios #esteban ocon x reader #esteban ocon imagine

[saetoru]

JUJUTSU KAISEN + MAKING YOU SQUIRT

「 CHARACTERS 」 ⋮ gojo satoru, geto suguru, fushiguro toji, nanami kento, okkotsu yuta

≣ contents ⋮ nsfw and 18+ content, all characters are aged up, fem! reader, unprotected sex, squirting, overstimulation, cunnilingus, clit slapping, dacryphilia, size kink, riding, fingering, creampie

≣ notes ⋮ have not posted in a bit oops

𖧷 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

gojo is mean under the ruse of being sweet, cupping your cheek tenderly as he chuckles at your tears. he likes watching you squirm, watching your hands pressing gently at his chest to push him away even as your hips meet his thrusts halfway. you’re sensitive, the drag of his thick veins running along your walls and the blunt head of his cock kissing the spongy spot deep in you, making you sob as you near yet another orgasm. 

“p-please, toru—’s too much, i c-can’t—”

“aw sweetheart,” he coos, kissing the tears that slip from your lashline and coat your cheeks, making you whimper as you feel his navel bump along your clit. “don’t underestimate yourself,” he chuckles, groaning as you hug tightly around him, “you can give me one more, can’t you? just so damn needy for me, aren’t you, baby?” 

his hips slam into you faster now, angling to hit you right against your sweet spot, making you cling to him as sob, legs hooking around his hips as your hands tug at his hair. 

“toru, toru—oh,” you gasp, hips raising off the mattress as your orgasm crashes over you, pulling whimpers and mewls from your lips as your release coats him and soaks the mattress under you. gojo’s hips almost still as he watches you, entranced—and then he groans needily, bucking into you harsher as he chases his own high. 

“fuck,” he curses, “think you can do that again, baby?” he asks desperately, lust in his voice even after all the rounds he’s fucked you through, “jus’ one more time, yeah? wanna see it one more time.”

𖧷 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

geto hums against your pussy as your legs squeeze around his head, one hand moving to stroke your thigh soothingly as he licks another stripe along your folds. he’s fucking his tongue into you before flicking it along your clit, staring up at you with wide, hazy eyes as he watches your lips part with another moan. 

“suguru—fuck, like that,” you plead, grinding your hips further against his face. his tongue plunges past your folds once more, nose bumping along your clit and making your fingers tangle into his hair. he groans when you pull at the strands, making you sob with pleasure as the vibrations run along your heat. there’s a mess of your slick and his spit along his chin and your inner thighs—but it only makes him want you more, the taste of you on his tongue not enough to satiate his hunger. 

“c’mon princess,” geto mumbles as he presses a soft kiss against your clit, making you whimper as your hips buck for more friction, “gonna cum nice and hard for me, right? like a good girl?”

“y-yes—yes, gonna cum,” you gasp, biting your bottom lip when you feel yourself get closer and closer to falling over the edge—and when his lips wrap around your clit and suck, you can’t help but let go, the coil in your belly snapping with more force than ever. “su-suguru—”

you cut yourself off with a squeal as you cum, hard, gushing over his face as you release, making his eyes widen before they narrow with urgency. his lips don't leave your dripping cunt, making you whine as it becomes too much—but he’s determined to watch you cum like that again.

“sugu—” you sob, trying to push him away, but he wrenches your legs apart and slaps your cunt with a warning.

“don’t interrupt, baby,” he growls, “‘m not finished yet.”

𖧷 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

toji likes to watch you struggle to sink down on him, the thickness of his girth almost too much for you to take even after so much prep. he smirks up at you, scarred lips forming a lopsided grin as he watches you huff in frustration. his arms are behind his head, lazily raking dark eyes over your figure before settling on your glistening folds, spread open as you take him in slowly, the head of his cock disappearing inch by inch as you whimper. 

“‘s big,” you whimper pitifully, lips wobbling as they curl into a pout, “c-can’t—”

“need help, huh doll? can’t do nothin’ on your own?” he chuckles before flipping you over, slowly pushing past your tight cunt and bottoming out, making you squeal as your arms wrap around his neck. the sounds you make against his ear as he slowly rocks into you encourage him to pick up his pace, right until he’s bullying into you cruelly, hand reaching between your bodies to find your clit. 

“‘m close,” you whine, “please, please—need it,” you babble, making him chuckle smugly as he kisses the skin of your neck. 

“close, huh? already?” he mocks, groaning as you clench down on his cock at his words, a dull ache spreading to his heavy balls as he quickens his pace and chases his own high, “so fuckin’ tight, doll. feel so—”

“oh,” you sob, and then he feels his crotch soak, staring down in shocked, wide eyes as you gush all over him, wetting the sheets under you and leaving your skin glistening with your release. he blinks, before another cocky grin tugs at his lips as he rolls his hips and slams into you with a punishing pace. 

“atta girl,” he rasps, “so fuckin’ pretty. be a doll and do it again for me, okay?”

𖧷 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

nanami is gentle—delicate as he kisses between your brows, whispering praise against your skin as he trails his lips along your cheeks and jaw. your cries are muffled against his lips as he meets you with a deep kiss, his fingers sinking into your tight cunt and stretching you out, curling against the spot that makes your eyes roll and your lips part with a gasp. you feel the steady ache build, slowly bringing you closer to your high as his wrist thrusts to dig his fingers deeper.

“so pretty, love,” he hums, “always look so perfect like this. come on,” he presses a quick kiss to your lips, “cum for me. let go for me, yeah?”

“ken,” you whine, writhing when his palm glides over your clit as his fingers fuck into you fast, the squelching sound of his digits sinking in and out of you filling the room along with the soft moans you let out. “k-ken, ‘m…’m gonna—”

“let go,” he pushes, fingertips hitting your spot with perfect precision, making your back arch as you cum with a choked cry of his name, thighs shaking and toes curling at the intensity of your orgasm. he watches with labored breaths as your arousal coats his wrist, making a mess between your legs as your release flows from your dripping cunt. it makes his own erection throb against his boxers, straining to be set free and sink into your wet heat. 

“good,” you gasp, “feels good.”

“fuck,” nanami curses, pulling his fingers out of you and quickly exposing his red, aching member, “need to feel you do that on my cock.”

𖧷 𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀

yuta has lost count of how many times he’s cum in you, a ring of the mess he’s made formed at the base of his cock as he sloppily thrusts into you even as you both hiss with sensitivity. he can’t think straight—only aware of how badly he needs you, how there’s never enough when it comes to you.

“feels…feels so good,” he pants, his voice breathy and labored, “not enough, ‘s n-not enough. more,” he whines. 

“yu—”

“jus’ one more,” he pleads, cutting you off, “need more, princess. please.” 

you’re clinging to him, arms wound tightly around his neck and letting his cock bury deep into you with wet, squelching noises, muffled by the sounds of your whimpers and his low groans. his hands are everywhere—feeling you up as they trail over your skin and leave it burning with the feeling of his touch, bringing you closer to your high. 

“o-oh god…gonna—yuta,” you cut yourself off with a shriek of his name, and suddenly, he feels something wet coat him, looking down to watch with wide eyes as you soak him with your arousal, the clear liquid glistening along his crotch as you sob through your high. it makes his hips stutter before he cums instantly, body falling over yours as he’s gasping into your neck, your walls spasming around him and milking him of his cum. 

“fuck, fuck—again,” he pleads, “do that again. need to feel you again,” he babbles, hips still rutting into you as his cock twitches with each rope of cum he spills into your abused cunt.

© hanmas do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend on platforms outside tumblr such as tik tok

#teepods.writings #thirstee! #hcs. #gojo x reader #geto x reader #toji x reader #nanami x reader #yuta x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo smut #geto smut #toji smut #nanami smut #yuta smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo x you #geto x you #toji x you #nanami x you #yuta x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you

[dabisbratz]

LIPLOCKED — yuuji itadori+megumi fushiguro x male reader

w.c: 2.2k

cw: nsfw, vanilla! short, first kiss, fingering, rimming, polyamory, praise, cliffhanger (kinda) ending, slow n steady, brief mention of horror movie elements, ambiguous genitalia, virgin reader, bottom!reader, all characters depicted as 18+

a/n: i was writing this mid-paragraph when i realized we reached 2k!!! imagining that many ppl in same room, staring at me, is so terrifying… but i’m glad it’s you guys!! thank you so much!! it means the world to me.

Three boys step into the crisp, winter air with miscellaneous bags draped over their strong arms. Railings are decorated with a thin, frozen chrysalis, where you catch a small glimpse of yourself in passing. Not too bad— nothing compared to your boyfriends, though. With their pretty faces and pretty eyes… Pretty lips and pretty hair. It’s gnawing at you.

Wafts of chilly air against your poorly concealed skin keeps you alert, a tremor racking down your spine as your boyfriends—Yuuji and Megumi—walk before you. There’s something on your mind, lilliputian embers of shame etched into the details as you watch them walk, confident strides that guide their movement. Megumi’s dark hair bounces with stride, his pale hands stuffed into the pockets of his black sweatpants and chin buried beneath the collar of his matching zip-up. Should’ve worn a coat.

Your teeth chatter, loud as they click against each other— but neither seem to notice. Maybe it’s the growing distance as you trail behind, chewing at the insides of your cheeks. You scan their bodies from behind, try to imagine the muscles of their backs rippling while they walk— how the tendons in Megumi’s hands flex and bend as he curls them into fists. The broadness of Yuuji’s shoulders, how his strong legs bend with each step. The cotton-candy tufts of hair that look soft and smooth… the way dark hair curls up at each end.

You’re approaching Yuuji’s home, in the heart of Sendai city, where the trees adjust themselves and prepare for spring's welcome. There’s a high blush at the apples of their cheeks, peachy and pink, that decorates their boyish faces. Your eyes linger to their lips, shiny and moisturized, as they move to speak. You want to press your lips against them so badly, kiss them, but…

You don’t know how.

There’s a worry to your lips, plump and pouty as you clasp your cold hands to your chest. The tremble isn’t just from the cold, there’s a shiver dancing down your spine as you imagine their lips on yours, warm and inviting and wet. Heat tugs at your skin, and despite the cold air being pushed past your body, you’re warmer than ever.

Yuuji invites you inside with a smile, already shuffling to kick off his shoes before he’s even through the door. A small smile pulls at your lips, admiration blooming in your eyes as Megumi walks through with a solemn nod, and invites himself in.

Have they kissed before? Eachother, at that? Your eyes follow Yuuji’s movements, the way he jumps onto Megumi’s shoulders and grins when the man suggests a future trip to a hot spring. They’re impossibly close, Yuuji’s lips ghosting over Megumi’s flushed cheeks with barely half an inch to separate them.

A frustrated whine exudes from your throat as you stand in the doorway, body stuck between hot and cold as the wind blows against your back— but your front ignites with heat.

What do you say? Hey, Yuuji! Just wanted to know if you’ve made-out with anyone before! Hey, Megumi, wanna lock lips? Hey—

“Hey, honey? You okay?” Oh, Yuuji. His voice is kind, still a pretty chirp that remains syrupy sweet as he waves his large, scarred hand above your face. “Your eyes look… Funny. C’mon, don’t stand in the cold.”

You stare back dumbly, eyes glassy as he pulls you forward and shuts the door behind you. Megumi’s seated on the couch now, remote in hand as he flicks through his choice of horror movies. His cheek envelops his palm in lukewarm warmth just before he lifts his head, sniffling as he soaks in copious amounts of air through his nose. The muscles of his cheek tense, having been squashed against his palm for a despicable amount of time. But it seems he’s caught your gaze, the tiniest fragment of a smile gracing his lips. He’s inviting you to sit.

How long have you been standing around?

Sit you do, unzipping your coat and folding it into a neat square as Megumi makes room for his boyfriends. you hadn’t noticed it before, it’s much warmer in Itadori’s home. Warm, tinted with yellow and full of something that makes you feel sleepy. Comfy. Vulnerable.

You want to tell them.

Yuuji settles next to you, so you’re between them. You feel your body sinking into the faux leather by the minute, a hazy edge dancing along your eyelids as you make yourself comfortable, comfy enough to fully relax. Their warmth is so inviting, holds you close like a childhood blanket, feels soft against your skin. You can’t help but rub your eyes, nodding your head despite the oh, so exhilarating display of fake blood and guts projecting on Yuuji’s flatscreen TV. Guess being a sorcerer really does get you somewhere.

“Are you sleepy?” Megumi asks, tearing his gaze away from the particularly teamy cutscenes of two characters—who look oddly perfect, might you add— shedding their clothes as they make-out. Would that… Be the same for the three of you?

“No, not that…”You’re quick to shake your head, pushing yourself up by your palms. They dig into the respective thighs of your boyfriends, punched sounds escaping their mouths as you sit up— much more alert now. They quirk their brows in unison.

You need to tell them.

“I don’t…. get…it?” The words tumble from your mouth, uncoordinated and enveloped in confusion. There’s a beat of silence as you gesture to the TV, watching the camera pan down milky thighs. It’s like a metaphorical record stops, scratches dead-center as your boyfriends whip their heads around to fully look at you. Your eyebrows are furrowed, gaze stuck on the embroidery of Yuuji’s pink letterman jacket. You’d rather look there as opposed to their faces, sure their handsome features are compacted into disgust.

“You don’t get ‘it’?” Yuuji echoes, an amused lilt in his voice as he nudges Megumi with a leather-clad elbow from behind you. The raven-haired male grumbles, blinking at you with an unreadable expression. “Like, sex, you mean—?”

“Or kissing?” Megumi cuts in, eyebrows pinched as his hands make fists against his sweatpants.

“Here,” You must be dreaming, you’re sure of it, because Yuuji’s hand is on your face— your cheek, and your vision is distorted by his handsome form. He’s close, too close, and his body heat permeates off his skin like a broken heater. Too hot. “Let us teach you.”

You nearly jump out of your skin, a tiny sound parting your lips as Megumi’s lips press against your cheek, soft and sweet and gentle. Zero hesitance behind it, almost as if he’s been thinking about it as much as you have. You deem it impossible, you’ve spent many sleepless nights imagining their lips on yours, how perfect they’d fit, how syrupy their tongues would taste… how the muscle would feel. Your stomach churns.

You let out a breathy sigh before your brain can catch up to your heart, the thrum loud in your ears as Itadori swivels you around to face him. You may as well be on Megumi’s lap, draped on his thighs as Yuuji inches forward to close the space between you.

“So we’re your first?” He says, pink hair bouncing as he leans down to focus his gaze on your lips. His tongue briefly darts along his own, wet and bubblegum pink. It’s like your senses have been put on overdrive, every touch is sensitive and lingering. Megumi’s fingers trailing up your arm, Yuuji’s hands resting at your waist. The sound of their breathing, quiet and hitched… The ambiance of the t.v., full of suspension and anticipation, much like your racing mind.

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you nod.

Yuuji’s pupils blow wide, cinnamon eyes glistening as he blinks down at you. His laugh is breathless and rushed, like he’d been holding it in, and Megumi seems to share whatever similar thought is racing through the man’s head. Like clockwork, you feel their lips at the corners of your mouth, pillowy and feathery as a warm hand ghosts over your neck and holds you in place. It’s a grounding feeling, the warmth of pale palms against your throat.

You can’t help but hold onto the wrist anyway, fingernails barely scratching the surface of skin. Megumi’s hand, you’ve deduced, runs slightly colder than Yuuji’s. Rougher, too.

But his kiss isn’t any less soft, quite the contrary. It grows softer by the second, and you feel like putty in their hands as they begin to take turns pressing gentle pecks against your lips, slow and steady. Megumi tastes like salted caramel, a contradictory flavor that dances on your tongue and leaves the moment it arrives. Yuuji tastes like fresh bubblegum at the center of a lollipop, with sugar that lingers in every crevice of your mouth.

You can’t help yourself, stuck on the new feeling of a kiss, as you cup their cheeks and pull yourself in deeper, messily raking your tongue over teeth and gums. It’s messy, a trail of spit connecting your lips every so often… but it feels good. What were you so nervous about?

As if it’s now your turn to get down the mechanics, Yuuji is quick to lean over and press a chaste kiss against Megumi’s plush lips, full of half-taken breaths and quiet groans.

“‘Gumi..” You breathe, loud and shaky as your eyes flutter open and your heart stutters in your chest. The butterflies in your stomach have soon left, swallowed by heat and electricity that makes your thighs involuntarily spread. “Yuu..”

“Shit.” Shit. Megumi makes an effort to shield his face in his bicep, which glows a bright shade of red and blazes with heat. It’s your expression— eyes glazed over and expectant—that has him so worked up, the way your eyebrows sinch and your mouth falls open, desperate for air. Desperate for him. Yuuji, shameless as ever, has his hands under your shirt, inching his fingers upward to play with the sensitive bud of your nipple, coaxing a few more sounds out of you. It was just supposed to be a kiss, but..

“I can teach you more stuff,” He breathes, eyes fixated on the imprint of his hands underneath your shirt. He should rip it to shreds. “We can, if you want. I’d say I’m a pretty good teacher!”

He watches a smile form on your lips, a bit dazed and delayed. If he could, he’d look right into your brain, see what’s got that pretty head of yours turning into mush. But he can’t, so he instead settles for lightly punching your nipples between his fingers, rolling the bud until you’re arching further into his hands and nearly off Megumi’s lap.

“Hm?”

“Yeah,” You rasp. “Please, please.”

The boy’s grin grows, stretching wide across his face as Megumi leans down to envelop you in another kiss. Hot and wet, his tongue glides over your own as Itadori makes busy tucking the hem of your shirt under your armpits. He watches your body writhe, squirming under his gaze and pervading heat while you buck your hips into the air. It’s clear you’re not even aware of the action, the way you’ve lost yourself in Megumi’s lips and have yet to come back to the surface. If a simple kiss gets you this worked up then…

“Yuuji!” You moan, loud enough to frighten yourself. Your legs are hiked up onto his shoulders, spread embarrassingly wide as he spears you open on his tongue. Itadori licks a fat stripe down your perineum, lets his spit pool and slide down your ass until he’s circling the cute, puckered ring of muscle that consistently winks back at him. “You said you’d… teach me.”

“Shh, sh. See? I’m teaching you..” His voice is muffled between your thighs, and barely coherent as his tongue slips past your rim. “Look, can you see?”

“Mm-mm, s’too deep inside—!” You squeal, gripping Megumi’s forearm for support. Realistically, you know if you really wanted to watch his tongue disappear inside you all you’d have to do is sit up on your elbows, maybe even ask Megumi for help. But you’re not thinking realistically, if you’re even thinking at all. His eyes are murky and dark, emerald turned clover, as his hand grips the base of your sensitive, twitching cock. Your body can't help but convulse, trembling in Megumi’s arms as he holds you still.

You can feel his erection on your back, right where your spine curves to meet your neck, and an overwhelming part of you wants to turn around and emulate the movements of his fist pumping your own.

“Need you to do something for us..” Megumi says, eyes lazy and eyelids heavy as he looks down at your twisting face. “First official part of your lesson.”

And then you feel fingers. Yuuji’s working you open, slipping in a long, wet finger that you can’t stop your hole from fluttering around.. It’s too much. You’d only gotten your first kiss like… what, thirty minutes ago?

“M’gonna—”

“Go ahead, keep goin’, You can’t tell which half of that sentence is for you, but it doesn’t really matter. Your thighs tighten, toes curling as you moan into your dark haired boyfriend’s arm. You’re close, so close, about to reach the peak that you’ve only ever been able to dream about, and—

“Look at Yuuji, pretty,” It’s commanded straight into your right ear, dances around in your empty brain until your gaze snaps downward, and umber eyes meet yours. “Watch his tongue go in n’ out. Be a good boy for him, let us teach you.”

You’re cumming.

#₊˚⊹♡ 𝒻𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓈𝓎 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝑔𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑒 #anime x male reader #x male reader #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk x male reader #jjk x y/n #yuji itadori x reader #yuji itadori x you #yuji x reader #yuji x y/n #yuji x you #megumi x you #megumi x male reader #yuji x male reader #yuuji x reader #yuuji x you #yuuji x y/n #x male reader smut #x bottom male reader #yuji itadori smut #yuji itadori imagine #megumi fushiguro smut #yuji headcanons #megumi headcanons

[mypoisonedvine]

𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝘃𝗲 𝗴𝗼𝘁 𝗺𝗲 | tom (make up) x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | you and tom have been two peas in a pod for your entire lives: tommy and birdie, partners in crime. you only fell in love with him a few years ago, though. maybe he'll notice sometime before you die of old age... but probably not.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | 15.8k (oops)

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | smut (18+ only, dry humping, handjob, unprotected sex/loss of virginity, fingering, oral f receiving), alcohol consumption and tobacco use, best friends to lovers, angst, pining, fluff, tom and reader lacking braincells, extreme cornish, protectiveness/jealousy, There Was Only One Bed, I can't stress enough how fucking stupid these two are, truly no braincells detected in this entire fic

(title's after the song by the greeting committee <3 will always be the song that makes me think of tom the most)

YOU DON'T NEED TO SEE THE MOVIE TO READ THIS! plot of the film is totally discarded lmaooo

author's note part 2: there's a moment where the reader mentions that sometimes people think her and tom are siblings, she does not necessarily mean that they look alike! she means that they ACT like siblings and could be related through adoption or marriage-- her appearance isn't described and it's left open-ended for anyone to insert themselves ❤️

before we get started, I'm including a convenient cornish dictionary for you all to use if you're not already familiar with the dialect! other terms might pop up but they'll be explained in the text

teazy - acting grumpy or throwing a tantrum; something you might say to a kid having a fit or an adult who is being childishly negative

tuss - insult referencing male genitals; similar to 'knob' or 'dick' in UK and US english

my 'ansum - common, platonic greeting for men ("my handsome")

my bird - common, platonic greeting for women

rich - lovely, endearing, or beautiful

diddy? - a phrase used to mean 'is that true?' or 'really?'; diddah? and issuh? mean the same thing

wasson? - a greeting; short for "what's going on?"

jumping - very angry

hanging - terrible, gross

scat - (NOT WHAT YOU'RE THINKING lol) to push or fight someone

geek - a quick look; you can 'take a geek' at something

“Leave off, m'fine." Tom crinkled up his nose as he tried to brush your hands away, but you fought to keep dabbing the cuts on his face with the washcloth.

"Fine?  You look like you lost a fight," you frowned.

"Well, we won the match, so," he smiled, but winced when you went back to the cut just above his eyebrow.  “Fuck off, that hurts!”

“Couldn’t hurt as much as it did when you got it,” you insisted.  “C’mon, it’ll scar if you don’t let me clean it up right.”

“So?  I thought the lasses liked scars,” he grinned.  “Makes me look tough.”

“Makes you look like you got your arse handed to you.”

Tom really wasn’t built for rugby.  Though he certainly wasn’t in bad shape, he was the slimmest of all the guys he played with; he was fast, he had that going for him, but the poor kid got pummelled every time he played.

“Wish you wouldn’t go out there,” you mumbled, one of those rare times that you admitted how much you hated seeing him get hurt.

“Wish you wouldn’t worry about me when I can take care’a meself,” he replied.

And that was how it had always been— Tom was just reckless like that, and you had to try to reign him in as best you could.  You could remember so many nights spent this way, you trying to scold him enough that he might be a little more careful; but considering you’d been doing this since you were just little kids, you eventually gave up on trying to stop him and just decided to be there when he needed a little comfort.

You might’ve always been Tom’s greatest comfort.  So many things in life are uncertain, temporary, fleeting.  Not you; you’d always been there, as long as he could remember— even longer, really.  And not just because he had a shit memory from all those rugby concussions.  

“Aren’t you worried you’ll look beat up in all our holiday photos?” you asked him, speaking quietly since you were so close to his face to treat his injuries.

“Why’d that bother me?” he shrugged.  “You think I’m gonna be lookin’ at me own stupid mug in photos?”

“Don’t say that,” you shoved him on the shoulders as he laughed, leaning back into the couch.  “You’ve got a nice mug, if you didn’t get it all mucked up.”

“You think m’pretty then?” he cooed sarcastically, putting his hand under his chin and batting his eyelashes; you giggled and shoved him harder, this time knocking you both back until he was laying on the couch and you were on top of him.

“Yeah, pretty daft,” you replied, and he snorted.

“Fuck off,” he rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around your back.

“Lemme go, need to get a bandage for your face,” you explained as you squirmed.

“Nuh uh,” he denied your request, “not letting you up— sorry, birdie.”

“Tommy!” you whined through a laugh, struggling harder against him, but he just held you tighter and grinned down at you.  Giving up, you made a pouty face and rested your chin on his chest.  He mimicked your expression, mocking you until you frowned for real and gave up, turning your face again to lay your cheek down on his shirt.

He gave you a kiss on top of your head, and you let your eyes fall shut.

“Maybe just a little rest,” you decided, your voice already slurring— you were more tired than you thought.

“Mhm,” he agreed, brushing his fingers over your hair.  “Just a little, huh?”

You nodded groggily.  

“Alright— sleep tight, birdie…”

You were only tired because you’d been up way too late, packing for your trip to St. Ives with your and Tom’s families.  Joint vacations were nothing new to the two of you— actually, his parents and yours had been taking trips together since before the two of you were born.  There were pictures of you and Tommy, chubby little babies in your mums’ arms, riding on the London Eye; you’d watched a home video a few times where you were playing in the sand together at a beach in Valencia.  You weren’t sure why they felt the need to fly all the way to Spain for beaches when there were plenty here in Cornwall… but, case in point, this trip was going to be a much more relaxed (and budget-conscious) one: a roadtrip across the county, a couple rooms at a beach-side inn, and some much needed time in the sun for the next week.  Tom promised to teach you how to surf, though you weren’t sure you’d be able to figure it out anyways— but you looked forward to trying.  Really, you looked forward to Tom’s hands on your waist as he tried to help you find your balance.

Truth be told, despite being secretly in love with him since you were fourteen, you never really expected anything to happen with Tommy.  You were like brother and sister— even his parents treated you like a daughter, and vice versa— and you’d always been so close.  There’s always that fear of confessing to someone you’re close with and ruining the friendship, but this was even worse than that.  If you lost Tom, you’d lose everything.

So, it wasn’t sad— there wasn’t a lot of pining anymore, not many nights spent gushing into your diary about it and then crying yourself to sleep because he got a new girlfriend or something.  It was peaceful now, the one-sidedness of it.  You loved him, he didn’t notice, everything went on as usual and that was it.  You kept dating other guys, though Tom never liked any of them, and he dated other girls that you pretended to get along with until they split after a couple weeks.

In fact, dating was the topic of the hour as you and Tom sat in the back of his dad’s suburban, trying to entertain yourselves on the long drive to the beach resort you’d be staying at.

“That girl Dani,” you remembered, focusing most of your attention on a sudoku from the book you’d brought for the trip.  “She was fit— why’d you break up again?”

“Too clingy,” Tommy shrugged, not looking back at you; he was toying with the friendship bracelet around his wrist, the one you’d made for him at summer camp when you were eleven with blue and yellow and black chevrons.  Since you gave it to him, you’d never seen him without it, which is why the colours were all faded and dirty now, and why you were glad you made it adjustable all those years ago… he certainly outgrew the original size by now.

“I thought that was Claire,” you recalled.

“Oh, her too,” he nodded.

“This seems to be a problem for you,” you noticed, “clingy girls.  What does that even mean?”

“Means they get, like, possessive,” he clarified, holding his hands up almost like a motion of choking someone.  “Wanna know what you’re doing all the time, want a text every half hour— it’s too much.”

“That just means they like you, Tommy,” you rolled your eyes.  “You shouldn’t dump girls over that.”

“They usually dump me,” he corrected.

“What?!” you squeaked, before you cleared your throat when you noticed what your utter disbelief might imply.

“Guess they just get, I dunno, jealous?” he explained, crinkling his nose as he reached up to scratch the back of his neck.

“Jealous?” you repeated, looking away from the page in front of you for the first time.  The way he was looking at you— head tilted to the side, one eyebrow raised and mouth in a small frown— you realised what he meant.  “Of me?”

“Well, yeah,” he mumbled, “I mean, we spend so much time together.”

“But we’re just friends,” you noticed.

“That’s what I try to tell them!” he insisted.  “I mean, I say that you’re my best mate and all but I don’t even think of you like that— c’mon, I’d never…”

You looked back at the half-solved sudoku, letting out a sigh that you hoped you could pull off as frustration with the number grid before you.

“Guess they don’t believe me,” he concluded, “or they don’t care.”

“They must think it’s bound to happen one day,” you posited.  “That we’ll get together, I mean.”

“Yeah— but don’t you think if it was gonna happen, it would’ve happened already?” he pointed out.

You bit your lip.  “Yeah,” you agreed curtly.

"Hey— whatever happened to that lad with the crooked teeth you liked so much?" Tommy asked.

"You'll have to be more specific," you huffed, keeping your eyes trained on your puzzle.

"He had specs and a freckle right on the end of his nose," Tommy continued.

"Oh yeah!  Frank," you reminded him of the boy's name.  "What, did you actually approve of him or something?"

"Course not," Tommy scoffed.  "Jus' wondering, 'cause you used to go on about him all the time— 'bout how he was so wonderful and all." Tommy rolled his eyes, just to make sure it was perfectly clear that he didn't approve.

"Erm, well," you stalled, "yeah, haven't talked to him in a while."

Tommy wouldn't buy an excuse like that from you, he knew you far too well.  Leaning in, he titled his head to try to get a view of your face.  "Did something happen with him?" he pressed, and you swallowed.

"Yeah, I mean— nothing really," you shrugged, "he just got upset that I didn't wanna take things too fast, I guess.  Called me a slag and threw my phone— didn't crack, though, got lucky there—"

"Diddy?" Tommy spat, his anger obvious on his face.  He sat back up when you nodded, taking in a deep breath through his nose.  "Shoulda told me, would've scat 'im down and beat his face in.  Can't be talking to my birdie like that."

Your heart skipped a beat.  His birdie.  

"And throwin' your phone, too?  Bleddy tuss," Tommy sneered, shaking his head as he looked out the window, like he was trying to calm himself down.

"Did anyone ever tell you that you get especially Cornish when you're angry?" you giggled.

"Only twice a day, birdie," Tom laughed.  

Did anyone ever tell you that it turns me on?

“We’re here!” your mum announced, and you looked up to see that the car was turning in to a roundabout driveway.  Tom excitedly leaned against his window, looking up at the hotel.  “Wow,” he breathed.  “Look!”

He guided you to lean in right up against him, pressing your cheek to the glass so you could see the tall building.  It wasn’t a skyscraper or anything— this wasn’t that kind of place— but it was at least ten stories, with white bricks on the outside and seafoam-green shutters on each window.

With the car parked, Tom and the dads were going through the boot while his mom ran to use the loo and you and your mom checked in.

You weren’t really paying attention, honestly, while your mom gave the woman at the front desk a credit card for incidentals and all that.  The interaction only piqued your interest when you heard her confirm— “three rooms, then?”

“Yep,” your mum agreed.

“Three?” you repeated, looking up at her.

“Yeah— your dad and I, Gary and Marie, and then another room for you and Tom.”

You cleared your room.  “Tom and I get our own room?”

“You think us old geezers wanna be kept up all night by your giggling?” she snorted.  “Figured you two could entertain yourselves just fine, give the grown-ups some space.”

Before you could decide how to react to that, the opening of the front doors got everyone’s attention.  Tom looked ridiculous trying to carry as many bags as he could— all of yours, plus his and his mom’s— and you snorted as you watched him waddle into the lobby with all of them.

“What floor are we on?” he asked, the strain in his voice apparent and hilarious.

“Ten,” you informed him, and he groaned.

“Kidding!  Three,” you chuckled, “and there’s a lift.”

“Aw, Jesus,” Tom grumbled as he walked past you, struggling under the weight of the bags.  “You’re tryin’ to kill me, birdie.”

“I didn’t tell you to carry all those,” you rolled your eyes, looking at the concierge again as Tom turned the corner to find the lift.

“Is that your boyfriend?” she asked, continuing before you could answer.  “You two are adorable.”

“O-oh, er— no, actually,” you stammered, “just a friend.”

“Oh!” she mumbled.  “I see, my apologies.”

You looked down at your phone for just a second, only to hear your mom make a strange noise— a little giggle, and you saw her and the woman at the desk looking at each other.  “What?” you asked your mum.

“Nothing, dear,” she dismissed.

“What?!” you hissed, groaning when she hid a cheeky smile but said nothing.  “You’re so weird sometimes, mum…”

“Anyhoo,” the concierge mumbled, “you’re all ready to go!  Three king bed rooms, third floor, ocean view—”

“Wait, wait,” you interrupted, “all the rooms have a king bed?”  She nodded.  “Just a king bed?”

“Well… there’s a couch,” she offered.

You deflated slightly.  “That might be a little strange.”

“Oh,” she hummed, “well, I could change your room if you’d like.  But they won’t be connected anymore…”

“That’s fine,” you shook your head.

“Okay, there’s a room with two twins across the hall,” she explained, reading from her computer screen.

Ugh, a twin was gonna be uncomfortable, but so would just one bed.  “That’s fine, thank you.”

She clicked around on her keyboard for a bit, and right as she looked up at you again, Tom appeared from around the corner again.  “All done,” she announced, “I’ve changed your room for you!”

“You what?” Tom choked.

“She’s just changed our room for us,” you explained to him.

“Ah god,” he panted, laying his head against the wall while he caught his breath.  “Birdie, I just put all the bags away…”

You sighed, and the woman piped up again.  “I could still change it back for you, if the bags are too much trouble.”

“Please,” Tom breathed, and she nodded and started up with the keyboard again.  Rolling your eyes, you brushed past Tom flippantly.

“I’m gonna change,” you announced.

“Goin’ up to the room?” he asked.

“No, I was going to strip in the hallway and hope nobody walked through,” you replied snarkily.

“I was just gonna give you the key, birdie,” he smirked, pulling the plastic card out of his pocket.  You chewed your lip, regretting being so rude.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking it from him and moving along to the lift.

~

You’d only brought one swimsuit, the new one you’d bought just for this.  Maybe you’d had this crazy idea somewhere in the back of your mind that if you wore a tight little bikini, you’d finally get Tom’s attention and he’d stop seeing you just as the little girl he’d grown up with.  If you’d been a little less emotional and a touch more logical, you would’ve checked the weather first.

Yes, it was a beach, but it was still an English beach… the sky was grey and cloudy, and without sunlight, the ocean breeze was less refreshing and more chilly.  Very chilly, in fact, when you had hardly anything on like this.  You were trying so hard to act natural, to lay there on that chair on the beach and look as gorgeous as possible for whenever Tom came out, but it was so cold… every few seconds you were tensing up your jaw to try to fight off a shiver.

He came down a couple minutes later, wearing his swim trunks, but since he was apparently smarter than you, he was also wearing a half-zip jumper and a t-shirt underneath.  You pretended not to see him coming and laid still, only reacting to his presence with a polite wave when he was too close to ignore.

“Not gonna get much of a tan in this weather,” he noticed with a laugh as he sat next to you.

“I’m not tanning, I’m… relaxing,” you explained.

“Want me jumper, birdie?” he offered.  “You look freezing.”

“I-I’m fine,” you insisted, but your teeth chattered.  Next thing you knew, he was peeling it off over his head anyways— his shirt stuck to it and started to lift, too, exposing his stomach.  He managed to get the jumper off, though, and pulled it down over your face as you laughed and resigned yourself to your fate.  “Tommy, stop it,” you whined, batting his arms away so you could put the garment on yourself— he’d been trying to force it on you and accidentally trapped your face in one of the sleeves.

When you finally navigated your limbs through the borrowed sweater, popping your face out and breathing in a deep breath of fresh air after being stuck inside the cotton for a moment, you saw him looking at you… different.  Just a little different, but different nonetheless.  You wrinkled your eyebrows together at him, and he shook his head with a little laugh, and it was all back to normal again.  “Should keep you warm,” he mumbled, turning back to the view of the ocean and bringing his feet up onto the chair.

“Thanks,” you nodded, watching him lift his hands up behind his head and sigh.

For a while, you two laid there in silence, the sound of the ocean waves and seabirds like a quiet, slow song.  If you weren't thinking constantly about whether or not Tom was looking at you, you might've been able to relax enough to fall asleep.  Apparently Tom wasn't all in his head because he dozed off within a couple minutes, and after that, you decided to get up and explore the beach a bit.  There were little shops dotted here and there, a gelato stand, a cosy open-air pub playing music over their speakers.

You stopped to watch some boys playing volleyball on the beach, and one of them seemed to notice you staring— and he smiled at you, just before he served; you had to be careful not to make yourself look stupid by suddenly smiling down at the sand and toying with your hair, but you desperately wanted to.  He was cute, and tall and, you know, shirtless.  They all were, but he probably looked the best that way of any of them.

He ended the round with a spike right beside the net, and his side of the court cheered while the others groaned and complained to each other.  You clapped for them, and the boy looked at you again; he said something to his friends, and with the ball still under his arm, he jogged over toward you.

"Hey," he greeted with a sideways, pearly-white smile.

"Hi," you returned.  

"Did you like watching us play?" he asked, glancing back at the net for a second.

"Yeah, you're really good," you nodded.  "Are you a real team or somethin'?"

"No, god no," he laughed, "we just play for fun.  Not many sandy beaches to play at in London."

"Oh, you're visiting from London?  What part?"

"Southeast," he replied.

You nodded.  "Oh…"

There wasn't much you could say to that because you didn't know anything about London; he chuckled, apparently realising just that.  "I guess you're from around here?"

"Sort of— an hour down the way but, yes, I'm from Cornwall," you agreed.

“You’ve got an interesting accent,” he noticed with a smirk.  “It’s cute, actually.”

“Oh, y’think?” you smiled shyly.  “Always heard growing up that a Cornish accent made me sound like a dumb farmer or somethin’.”

“It works on you, though,” he decided.

"Oi!  Come back and serve!" one of the boys by the net called, and your new friend turned his head around.

"Go on without me," he told them, tossing the ball over.  "I'm talking to, er…"

He looked back at you, and you stammered out your name; he repeated it back to you with a smile.

"I'm Devon," he told you.

"Well, hi, Devon," you smiled.

Aaaaand, just in time, you heard Tom’s voice calling after you: “Birdie!” he shouted from down the beach, and you turned and sighed as you waved back.  

In a moment, Tom was beside you, slipping his arm around your shoulders.

"Where'd you run off to, my lover?" Tommy asked with a tilted smile, but he didn't give you a chance to answer before he looked over at the other young man and back at you.  "Who's the emmet?"

"My name's Devon, not Emmett," the Londoner corrected, and you hoped your polite laugh would break the tension.

"No, Devon, 'emmet' is Cornish," you explained.  "It's what we call tourists."

Except, ‘incomer’ is what you call tourists.  Emmet is what you call annoying tourists.  And you knew Tom was annoyed by him because he was hitting on you.

"This your girl, then?" Devon asked Tom… a little straightforward, but that's just how Londoners are, maybe?

"What's it to you?" Tom wondered.

"Er—" you interjected immediately, "no, actually, Tom's just a friend," you coughed, knowing that even though it was a way to greet a good friend around here, Tom surely intended for it to be misinterpreted.

"Bloody hell.  Can't tell what you people are saying," Devon grumbled, and you spoke up before Tom surely asked what 'you people' was supposed to mean.

"Anyways, point is— Tom and I are good friends, known each other since we were kids," you continued.

"Really?" Devon pressed.

“Yep," Tom replied with a beaming smile, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer to him, "she’s been me best mate since we were wee babes,” he beamed.  

“A bird’s your best mate?” Devon scoffed.  “Sure you’re not bent?”

“I’m bent?  You’re the one spendin’ all your time with a bunch of blokes with no shirts on, mate,” Tom defended.

Devon stepped forward and you had to jut yourself in between them to keep it from getting too heated.  “Okay, lads, let’s settle down, then—”

“Be careful,” Tom warned Devon, and you jabbed him with your elbow as punishment.

“I said to stop it, alright?” you hissed at Tom.  “Doesn’t matter, Tommy.”

“Yeah, Tommy,” Devon snickered, and you literally had to lean all your weight onto Tommy to keep him from trying to dive right over you to pummell the bellend.

"Let's go," you informed Tommy as you scoffed at Devon.  Wrapping a hand around Tom's waist, you guided him to walk with you back down the beach, away from the possibility of a fight.

Tommy could find a fight anywhere— even on the beach on holiday.  It was a real talent of his.

"You're horrible!" you whined as you punched Tom on his side.

"What did I do now?" he groaned.

"You scared that boy off, he was cute and he was flirting with me."

"Exactly!" Tommy emphasised, and you rolled your eyes.  "He turned out to be a wanker, anyhow, you heard him making fun of our accent, didn't you?"

"I think he was just making fun of your accent," you frowned.

"We've got the same one," Tom noticed.

"Well— just stop doing that!  You always do that."

"Sorry, birdie,” he shrugged, not seeming especially sorry.

You sighed and decided to let it go, because it wasn’t worth the argument.  “What’s next, then?  Think I’ve had enough of the beach.”

“Pub?” he suggested, and you laughed.

“Hardly late enough for that, don’t you think?” you snorted.

“Okay, dinner first, then pub,” he offered instead.

“That’s better.”

~

There were a few pubs along your walk back from dinner, but only one that had the rugby match on; so, of course, that was the one Tom picked.  It was almost entirely empty when you came inside, and since the match had gone to commercial break, Tom decided now was the best time to run to the loo.

“Order me something?” he requested.  “Whatever you’re getting.”

You nodded and he dashed off down a hallway.  Sitting at the bar, currently unattended with no other patrons but yourself, you looked up at the telly on the wall and caught a couple seconds of a car commercial.

“Can I get you anything?” 

The voice made you turn your head away from the telly, and you were surprised to find a boy your age on the other side of the bar.

“Oh, erm,” you choked, “just something on tap?  M’not picky.”

“There’s a stout we brew right here in the neighbourhood,” he suggested, “you might like it.”

“Sure,” you shrugged, “and one for my friend.”

“Great,” he smiled, bending down below the bar and reappearing with two pint glasses in hand.  You watched him as he tilted the glasses and filled them from the tape, admiring his tan skin and longer hair— he had that surfer look about him, in a Cornwall sort of way.

“Aren’t you a little young to be tending bar?” you noticed.

He laughed, revealing some dimples in the process.  “And you’re one to talk?” he shot back.

“I’m old enough to be served, aren’t I?” you challenged.

“Well actually, I was gonna ask for your ID,” he admitted, “but, you’re cute, so I decided to let it slide.”

You looked down as he set your drink on the bar for you.  “Thanks,” you hummed.  You tried it, giving him a nod of approval when the taste hit your tongue— it was pretty mild, and sort of grapefruit-y somehow.

“In town for holiday?” he assumed.

“Yeah,” you nodded, and he clicked his tongue.

“Too bad,” he shook his head.  “When are you going back home?”

“Thursday.”

“And where’s home?” he asked.  “You sound local.”

“Yeah, I am,” you agreed, “about an hour north.”

“Liskeard?” he guessed, and you shook your head.  “Launceston?”

“Closer,” you smiled.

“Bradworthy?”

“Oh, too far…”

“Holsworthy,” he grinned.

“Got it,” you nodded.

“Seems like it’d be easier to just drive up to Westward Ho! wouldn’t it?” he tilted his head.

“I try not to go anywhere that has an exclamation mark in the name,” you explained, and he chuckled a little.  

“I guess that’s fair,” he shrugged, “and it’s a good thing you came here anyways.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because now I get to look at you,” he cooed.

You took a sip of the beer to hide your warming face.  When you brought the glass back down, he laughed at you softly.

“Got some foam on your nose, my bird,” he warned you, reaching forward to wipe it off with his thumb.

“Oh, th-thanks,” you stammered, watching him put his thumb to his mouth and suck that bit of foam off while he kept looking at you.  What a flirt!  Do it again.

Tom came back from the washroom and sat on the stool next to yours, thanking you for ordering his beer for him before he took a large drink of it.

"O-oh," the bartender choked, and you knew that look— the ‘shit, you've got a boyfriend’ look.  

You sighed.  "Hey, um— this is my friend, Tom," you explained.

"Wasson?" Tom greeted him, nodding his head quickly in acknowledgement.

"Not much, mate," he replied, "Cade.”

“Tom,” he answered back as if he didn’t already know that, not going so far as to shake hands since Tom was holding his glass and Cade was holding a rag to wipe down the bar.

“She was just telling me you're only here for a spell,” Cade recalled, “which is a proper shame.”  

You smiled shyly.  “Oh, yeah, well, I wish our holiday could be longer, too.”

“Always the prettiest maids just here on holiday,” Cade nodded, looking at Tom.  “You know how it is, don’t you?  You’re from a holiday town, too, I heard.”

Not quite as popular as your current location, but yes, vacationers would occasionally appear in town.  You’d never noticed this ‘girls visiting from up-country are prettier’ principle, but your eyes turned to Tom expectantly.  “Uh, yeah,” Tommy nodded.  “Yeah, I know how it is.  And half of them have boyfriends back home.”

It made your heart sink a bit— what you would give to have one of those.  Or to have Tommy say no, the prettiest bird’s right here with me now.  Or both.

“But that doesn’t stop all of them,” he added with a laugh, and you rolled your eyes.

“You’re awful, Tommy,” you shoved him lightly.

“Yeah,” he agreed, licking his bottom lip.

Cade gestured at Tom’s rugby union shirt— “You play?” he asked.

“Yeah, sometimes,” Tom nodded, “you?”

“I just watch,” he shrugged, pointing at the telly in the corner.  “Cooped up in this pub all the time, anyway.”

“That’s no excuse,” Tom chided, “gotta get out there and get roughed up!”

“That’s what surfing’s for,” Cade smirked.

“Okay, now I’m definitely not going,” you shook your head.  “I don’t wanna get roughed up by the ocean!”

“I said I would teach her,” Tom informed Cade, “now look what you’ve done.”

“Sorry,” Cade laughed, “you’ll be fine, and you’ve come at just the right time of year for it.”

“That’s what I said!” Tom agreed.

Oh god, were they actually getting on alright?  Would Tom give his approval, finally?  

You sipped your stout and let them go on about rugby and football teams for a while, letting yourself get your hopes up that Tom would actually like a guy who liked you— and sure, he was a barkeep in your holiday spot, not exactly the foundation for a serious relationship, but it would be nice to have a little fling without worrying that Tom would end up beating him up.

Tom was the one who made fun of you sometimes for being a virgin, anyway.  He never meant it— actually, when he occasionally took the time to be serious, he assured you better than anyone else that it was perfectly normal and fine to still be one.  But still, you weren’t exactly trying to hang onto it much longer.  Tom told you to wait for the right person; but you’d been waiting for him for way too long.

Watching the match together, you and Tom put down a few pints and laughed at some stupid old inside jokes— Cade tended to stick around, chatting with you both, when there weren’t other customers to serve.  You caught him glancing at you a few times, and you liked how you felt when he looked at you like that— desirable, maybe even grown up.  You and Tom had been friends since you were little, after all, and since he treated you the exact same way he always had, sometimes you still felt little around him.  But you weren’t.  It was good to remember that.

The match ended— Cornwall won, thank god, or you’d be babying Tom all night after he drowned his sorrows in something stronger than the local stout.  He still drank a little too much to celebrate, but less too much.

Enough that he had to go to the loo again, though, at which point Cade was suddenly right by you again.  “Your friend’s funny,” he smiled.

“Yeah,” you agreed, “he’s not always that loud, but, yeah, he’s never been very subtle.”

“And he’s just a friend?” 

You rolled your eyes.  “Yes,” you insisted, and you focused your tone on your annoyance and not your disappointment.

“Just checking!” Cade returned defensively.  “How long have you known him?” 

“My whole life,” you sighed.  “Can’t remember a time without him.  He’s just… always been there.”

Cade nodded.  “That’s nice, wish I had a friend like that.  People come and go a lot in a place like this.”

“I bet,” you offered sympathetically.  “And your girlfriend?  Does she come and go, or stick around?”

“What?  I don’t have a girlfriend,” he frowned.

“Just checking,” you winked.

“Why, you think I should get one?” he raised an eyebrow.

You shrugged.  “If you can find one…”

His eyes dragged over you, his smile fading slightly; you pretended not to be totally overwhelmed by it all.

“Cade!” a voice shouted from the back, and an older woman poked her head out of the kitchen as Cade turned his head.  “Come back here an’ clean up!”

“I will, mum!” he called back, before returning his attention to you.  “Listen, I’d better get back to work— but you could come by tomorrow?  If you wanted.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I think I’ll find the time.”

“Tom can come too, of course,” he added, leaning closer to you on the bar, “but… I’d rather have some time alone with you, if that’s alright.”

Reaching up to scratch your shoulder, you bit your lip to hide a smile.  “Okay, yeah—” you set your hands back down on the bar when you saw the way he was looking at you, “yeah, I’d like that, too.  I’m sure Tommy can find some way to entertain himself for an hour.”

Cade’s hand landed on yours suddenly, giving it a quick squeeze while he winked at you.  And then he threw the rag over his shoulder and disappeared into the back.  You pursed your lips and exhaled through them; it had been a while since you had butterflies like that.  

Tom came back around the corner, leaning beside you on the wooden bar, and you giggled when you saw how red his nose had gotten from the booze.  “Tommy, you look like you’ve stuck your face in blusher,” you noticed.

“Aw, really?” he scrunched up his nose, wiping it with his hand.

“You can’t wipe it off!” you laughed harder.  “Cade’s gone to the back to work— wanna go on a walk, take a geek at the rest of the neighbourhood?”

“Sure,” he agreed, letting you take his hand and pull him along with you out the door and around the pavement.  You walked in silence for a few moments, glancing at him once, before you just had to bring it up.

“So, Cade was nice…” you trailed off.  You looked at Tom expectantly, wearing a hopeful smile, but you hadn't even said anything yet before he expressed his dissent.

“No, no way,” he shook his head, ignoring your protests, “not good enough for you.”

“What?  Tommy, what’s wrong with him?”

“What’s wrong with him?” Tom repeated.  “Birdie, what’s right with him?”

“I thought you liked him!” you whined.  “He was so nice to you, and you talked rugby for ages!”

“Was looking at you funny,” he shuddered.

“Well, I’d hope so,” you rolled your eyes, “doesn’t that mean he’s interested?”

“That’s what you want, creepy guys drooling all over you?” Tom snorted.  “Come on, let’s go— I don’t want you seeing that sod again.”

You groaned, but let him drape his arm over your shoulders and guide you away.  “You shouldn’t be so protective, Tom… this is why everyone thinks you’re either my brother or my boyfriend.”

“If it keeps the boys away from you, I don’t care what they think,” he decided.  You rolled your eyes as he pulled your head down with his arm, enough that he could plant a kiss on top of your head.  “There, now they’ll think I’m your boyfriend, how about that?”

“You kiss me all the time,” you laughed.

“Eh?”

“On the head,” you clarified.  “You give me kisses on the head, doesn’t make you my boyfriend.”

“Guess not,” he agreed.  

Halfway along your walk, you passed a park which Tom decided would be the perfect place to share a cigarette— actually, he was just going to smoke it himself, but you made him share.

“Remember your sixth birthday party?” he asked, seemingly out of nowhere, after a drag.  “You tripped and sprained your ankle running in the backyard that day, but you stopped crying when we gave you your presents.”

You laughed at the memory.  “God, I barely remember— but yeah.”

He handed the cigarette to you and you rested it between your lips.  “Do you remember what I got you?” he continued.

“A Barbie,” you recalled, “wasn’t it?  She was some little princess or something, can’t remember now.”

“Yeah,” he nodded.  “Well, I want you to know that before I gave her to you, I took her out of the box and took her clothes off.”

“What?!” you snorted, making a cloud of smoke 

“I had to know!” he laughed.  “I put them back on and put her back in the box and everything first before I gave her to you.”

“Yeah, I think I would remember getting a naked Barbie, Tom,” you scoffed, and he carefully plucked the cigarette from your fingers and took it back.

“Right, well—” he stopped to inhale, and then let it out as he continued— “she had plastic panties on anyway.  Wasn’t worth it,” he shook his head.

You dropped your forehead into your palm.  “The fuck are you talking about?” you giggled. 

“Just that time of night where you feel like confessing things, I guess,” he shrugged.

“Any other secrets you’ve been keeping from me?” you pressed.  “Any other childhood toys of mine that you violated?”

“Took a geek up the skirt of a Cabbage Patch Kid or two,” he added, “but that’s about it.”

“Well, we all did that,” you rolled your eyes, and he grinned at you.

“Oh, I knew it,” he purred, “I think you were just as much of a pervert as I was.”

“Yeah?  But you’re still a pervert,” you accused.

“Maybe,” he relented, “but at least I’m not a prude.”

You looked away quickly.  “M’not a prude, Tommy…”

“I know, I know,” he soothed, handing you the last quarter of the cigarette, “you’re just picky.  And you should be.”

He suddenly laid his head down on your lap, making you tense up a little bit and wonder where you were supposed to put your hands.

“Nobody deserves you anyway,” he mumbled, closing his eyes as he adjusted himself to get comfortable on the bench.

“Well, that doesn’t really solve my problem, does it?” you said, speaking a little quieter.

“What’s the problem?” he wondered sleepily.

You sighed, holding the cigarette in your mouth as you reached down and carded your fingers through his hair.  He hummed and smiled a little.  “Nothing,” you dismissed, and he started to breathe slower and slower.  

You finished the cigarette over the course of the next however-long-it-had-been, absent-mindedly touching his head and playing with his hair, and only noticed that Tom had dozed off when you felt a wet patch under his mouth on your legs.

“Eww, Tommy!” you whined, shoving him off of you as he tried to wake up.  “When I said I wanted guys to drool over me, this is not what I meant.”

“Sorry, love,” he laughed, wiping the side of his mouth with the back of his hand.  “Think that’s our cue to go back to the room and go to bed, eh?”

~

He didn’t say anything before he got in the shower, so you didn’t know what to expect when he got out: was he going to suddenly realise there was only one bed?  Had he already and just didn’t care?  Were you supposed to protest, or act like it was no big deal, or what?

When he emerged from the steamy bathroom in his pyjamas— aka, just his fuzzy plaid trousers, the ever-present friendship bracelet, and the chain on his neck— he found you standing in the middle of the room, staring at the singular bed, and gave you a confused look.

“I guess you saw when you brought our bags up,” you mumbled nervously.  

“Eh?”

“The bed.”  You motioned towards it, and he wrinkled his eyebrows together.

“What about it?” he shrugged.

“There’s only one of it!”

“Oh,” he nodded, “yeah, guess so.”

“So, we’ll have to share,” you helped him reach the obvious conclusion.

“Oh,” he said again, “you think it’ll be weird?”

“I mean, I figure,” you shrugged.

“I’ll take the couch,” he insisted.

“No, Tommy, let me,” you pleaded.

“You jokin’?  I’m supposed to let a maid sleep on the couch?”

“Didn’t realise you were such a gentleman,” you frowned, crossing your arms.

“Aren’t I?” he smirked.

You felt bad about it, but he was already putting a spare sheet down on the sofa while you were getting through your nighttime routine.  Leaning out of the bathroom, toothbrush sticking out of your mouth, you caught a glimpse of him laying there on the couch with one arm up behind his head and the other holding the book he’d been reading as of late— one of those fantasy novels that were much too violent for you.  He looked past the top of it to smile at you, and you popped back in to wrap up.

You were just wearing a baggy old t-shirt that was just long enough on you to cover your red panties, which you felt mostly not-weird about wearing around Tom, though walking past him to get to bed made you shiver a little bit.

“G’night,” he offered.

“You too,” you replied quietly, and he reached up above his head to switch off the lamp.

Sure, it was you who had worried about the whole bed-sharing thing in the first place, but that was only because you were pre-emptively worrying that he would worry about it.  It was sort of a lose-lose: if he was against it, then you’d feel dejected, but if he was fine with it, it was another way for him to rub it in that you could hold him but never have him.

Still, now that you were alone in this big old bed, you couldn’t help but think that at least it was nice you could hold him… but he was all the way over there.

You chewed your lip, trying to stay quiet.  You made it about thirty seconds.  “Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Think you’ll fall asleep alright on that?” you wondered.

“Should be asleep in a couple minutes, once you’re quiet,” he replied.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” you mumbled.  You made it a whole minute before you spoke again.  “Tommyyyyy,” you whined.

“What!” he snapped.

“I can’t sleep, I feel too bad!” you pouted.  “Just get in the bed?  We fall asleep together all the time!  What’s the difference?”

“Difference is it’s all night,” he explained, “haven’t done that since we were eight— and you kicked me in your sleep!”

“Are you seriously going to sleep on that musty old sofa, and leave me alone here in the king bed, just because you’re still mad at me for kicking you?”

“Not just that,” he mumbled, “you snore, too.”

“Shut up,” you groaned, “just come over, won’t you?  I’m cold anyways…”

He paused as he considered it.  “There’s room for me?”

“Tons,” you promised.

You heard him throw the blanket off of himself, and you smiled instantly.  In a moment, he was diving into the bed, and you laughed as the mattress creaked; he laid next to you on his back, and you reached an arm around his torso while setting your head on his shoulder.

He smelled so good after his shower, clean and woodsy from his deodorant, and his curls held their shape despite being wet still.

“Should’ve known you’d be like a barnacle soon as I got in here,” he chuckled.

“I said I was cold,” you reminded him, hugging his waist tighter.

“Night, birdie,” he whispered after he kissed the top of your head.  With him holding you, you were asleep in an instant.

It was one of those dreamless sleeps that went by quickly, like you’d only shut your eyes for a few minutes.  You would’ve thought it was still the middle of the night when you woke up, if it weren’t for the sun coming in through the open window.

Specifically, you woke up because of a long sigh right by your ear, making you blink your eyes open quickly and start to stretch your legs out under the sheet and blanket.  You were on your side, and Tommy was pressed right up on your back, his arm draped around your torso.

He sighed again, and you felt him shift around against you.  Most importantly, you felt something hard and hot on your lower back.   Eyes going wide, you jolted as you felt him rock his hips against you again.

"Tommy," you whispered, hoping to wake him up.

"Mm," he hummed, smiling against your neck, and you shuddered.

"Tommy!" you hissed, and he snorted as he woke up suddenly.

He pulled back and all but jumped away from you.  “Shit, I—” he mumbled, sitting up as the bed creaked; god, his face was so red, he looked adorably flustered and a bit terrified.  “I’m sorry, birdie, I swear I wasn’t trying to—”

“It’s okay, Tommy,” you insisted, sitting up with him, “it’s not a big deal.”

“What’d you say?  It’s not big?” he choked.

“No!  Tommy, it’s—” you stopped yourself from saying what you wanted to say then.  “I know that happens to guys in the mornings…”

“Oh, yeah,” he agreed, reaching up to rub the back of his neck nervously, “happens when we’re in bed with pretty girls, too…”

Before you could wonder if there was something to read into there, he spoke again.

“I’m fucked,” he groaned, running his hand down over his face, “what’s the time?”

“Ten ‘til 9,” you informed him following a glance at the clock on the nightstand.

“We’ve got that breakfast soon, we’re supposed to meet downstairs in five minutes,” he recalled.  “And I can’t get dressed ‘til he’s gone away.”

“How do you normally get rid of it?” you wondered, watching him look at you for a second before looking away again.

“Well…” he trailed off, clearing his throat.

“Well?” you pressed.

“Y-y’know,” he stammered, “it’s— er— fuckin’ hell, birdie, can’t say it with you lookin’ at me like that…”

“C’mon, Tommy, I know you wank off,” you rolled your eyes, “you and every other bloke on the planet.”

“But I can’t do it with you here!” he yelped, and a pang of self-consciousness hit your chest.  Were you that horrible of a sight that he wouldn’t be able to finish with you nearby?

“I-I’ll leave then, give you some space,” you offered.

“Birdie, I’ll know you’re just outside the door, that’s not gonna help,” he frowned.

“Well shit, Tommy, where’dya want me to go?  Fuckin’ Launceston?”

“No, shit, that’s not what I meant,” he groaned, reaching up and covering his face as he rubbed his eyes with his fingertips.  “You’ve just got me all messed up— s’not your fault, I mean!  I just don’t know what m’gonna do now…”

You bit your lip, glancing over at the flowery wallpaper on the opposite side of the room, then to the window and its view out over the beach.  “I mean, maybe… maybe if it would help, I could…”

“Jesus, birdie, don’t say you’re gonna wank me off or somethin’,” he pleaded with a concerned tilt of his head, and you stammered as you tried to remember what you were going to say.

“No, I— I was gonna say you could…” you began again, “er— I mean, before, while you were asleep, you were… it was…”

“What?” he pressed, leaning a little closer to you, and you chickened out.

“Nevermind, sorry,” you shook your head, “you should just get dressed— nobody’ll notice it.”

That was a lie: if it looked as big as it felt, a family of four could go camping under the tent in his shorts at this point.  “No, c’mon,” he pleaded, scooting a little closer to you, “won’t make fun of you or nothin’, just wanna know what you were gonna say.  You know I can’t run down to breakfast with my willy tryin’ to jump out, yeah?  Like, ‘hey mum an’ dads, pass me the eggs, then— don’t mind my fuckin’ blood sausage under the table—’”

You laughed, pushing him on the chest— but he just moved closer, again, looking right at your face.  You felt oddly exposed to him, even though he should’ve been the one feeling like that considering the circumstances.  “Fine,” you relented, “I was just… thought maybe you could— well, it could help you if you, um… just… pressed up against me, again?  Like you were before?  And you could, er…”

Dropping your voice to a mumble just above a whisper, you watched your hands clutch the spotted quilt in lieu of meeting his invasive stare.

“You could… grind on me, a bit,” you finally completed, so quiet that you barely heard yourself.  But he was a few inches away— he must’ve heard you.  Literally, he must have, because you couldn’t say it again.

“Eh?” he grunted, and you rolled your eyes.

“C’mon, Tommy, you’re not deaf, are you?”

“No, m’just… you wan’ me to rub me stiffy on you?” he realised, tilting his chin down and raising an eyebrow.  Leave it to Tommy to throw all the subtlety to the wind and just say it outright like that, ignorant to the way it made your cheeks burn and your throat catch.

“I-I mean, I don’t want you to,” you denied quickly, “I just thought it might go away if you did.  Means to an end, right?”

“Yeah, means to an end,” he agreed, clearing his throat.  “Just feel a little weird about it, birdie, I mean… it’s you.  You know I love ya— don’t wanna be rude to you or, er, disrespectful—”

“It’s not,” you promised, “I’m offering— and it’ll be quick, right?”

“Er, yeah,” he coughed, rubbing the back of his neck again, “should be…”

“Okay, then, should we?” you asked, sheepishly raising your eyebrows as you looked at him.

“I mean, fuck, birdie,” he laughed nervously, “I think you know we shouldn’t.”

But you both already knew that you were going to, and the thrill of something so forbidden titillated you further.

“Lay down then, yeah?” he instructed you softly, and you turned back onto your side as you felt him press up to your back.  His arm slipped around your front, the one with your bracelet on his wrist, and you could feel him breathing by the back of your neck as he brushed your hair out of the way.  “This alright?” 

You nodded, and he held you a little tighter; you felt it then, brushing up against your lower back.  You were getting sweaty from how warm it was with him pressed up on you under the thick covers, yet you still shivered.

He hummed quietly, his hand moving down your hips so he could hold you steady.  And he rocked into you again, more confidently, a shaky breath falling from his lips.  

When his forehead rested against the back of your shoulder, you felt your back arch slightly; and then you could feel the ridge under the head of his cock, you could feel it when he moved in one, long stroke and you bit your lip, arching your back deeper.

“Shit,” he grunted quietly, and he started to move a little faster right after he said that.

After just a minute or less of that, you were beyond desperate to have him inside you, you couldn’t stop thinking about what it would feel like— about how he would stretch you open, how he would moan for you as he filled you to the brim.  If he wanted to, right now, he could just lift up your shirt a bit and pull your panties down without saying anything, slip inside you in one go; you were soaking wet, he’d slide in so easily…

“Fuck, birdie,” he breathed, “roll over.”

His verbal command was a bit moot, since his hand was already on your shoulder, gently pushing you to lay on your back.  He hovered above you for a moment, and you looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Spread your legs,” he whispered; you’d only been waiting years for him to say that to you.  You did it unquestioningly, and he slotted himself between them with a low groan.  When he pressed his cock up against your aching cunt— through so many frustrating layers of pyjamas— he shut his eyes and tossed his head back for a second.  It was so perfect, his face in bliss like that, the morning sun peeking in through the curtains and making his curls shine golden-blonde.  He looked fucking beautiful.

A little gasp jumped in your mouth as he started to thrust against you again, each stroke of his hips rubbing right over your clit and making his chain dangle over your face.  You almost felt guilty, for a second, with the little engraving of Saint Thomas right there, like he was watching you do this.  “Sh-shit, Tommy…” you hissed, catching yourself before you moaned aloud when he rocked his hip harder against you and your whole pussy clenched.  If only he could feel that now— if only he could feel around his cock how desperately you needed him.

He descended down upon you, burying his face in your neck.  His hair tickled your cheek, and you fisted at the sheets to stop yourself from reaching up and holding onto him— that would be too much, too needy, right?  It was just supposed to be a means to an end, after all.  “Can I kiss you here?” he asked under his breath.

“Er, why would you do that?” you wondered.

“Just— thought it might make it go faster,” he justified.

“Y-yeah, Tommy, s’fine,” you nodded.  Do whatever you want to me.

He latched on right away, a mess of lips and tongue and teeth all over your neck; everything in you fought to keep your moans down, because you didn’t want him to know how much you loved this, how close you were to coming without even doing anything… without even taking your clothes off!

“Are you close?” you asked him softly, feeling him nod.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, and his heavy breathing cooled your skin where it was still wet with his spit.  “Just a little longer?”

“You’re not gonna give me a hickey, are you?” you whispered.

“Not if you don’t want me to,” he replied.  

“Just— make it quick, Tommy, we’ve gotta be downstairs soon,” you reminded him.

“Right, yeah, m’gonna come,” he promised, sending another chill over your body.  One of his hands moved down, holding your thigh as he thrusted faster and faster— fuck, the headboard was about to hit the wall.  Just as you looked up to see it slam once, you saw his free hand reach up and grab onto it tightly, blocking the impact with his knuckles.

“Tommy,” you breathed, an involuntary reaction to how deliberately sexy that was.

“Say it again,” he requested quietly.

“Tommy,” you repeated, and he grunted right against your ear— he didn’t stop moving entirely, just slowed down quite a bit as he rutted on you.  

“Fuck,” he sighed, panting.  You swallowed, feeling wonderfully strange knowing that must be it, that he just came— because of you.  His weight sank down onto you, making you let out a little squeal from the air rushing out of your lungs, and he laughed quietly.  “Sorry,” he mumbled, lifting himself up and hovering above you again, “didn’t mean to crush you…”

“S’all fine, Tom,” you promised, closing your legs as soon as you had the chance— before he could see that you’d soaked through your panties.

“Oh, ‘Tom’, eh?  Gettin’ formal, are we?” he grinned.  “Now that you’ve got me to bust in me trousers, we’re not so friendly anymore?”

“Shut up,” you laughed as you pushed him aside, swinging your legs off the bed so you could get up.  “Gonna use the loo and then I’ll get dressed.”

“What?!” he croaked.  “You kidding?  Of course I get to use the loo first!”

“Not if I get there before you,” you challenged, jumping up and trying to race him across the hotel room.  He beat you, but only by playing dirty— he ran up behind you and grabbed you, spinning you around as you kicked and laughed and squirmed in his grasp.

two weeks later

Moonshine on the bay had become a tradition on nights like this, when the warmth of summer was creeping around the corner, ever since you were both fifteen and in desperate need of some rebellion.  Now, without the illegality and all, it had lost some of that titillating appeal, but you still loved going out so late and meeting him at your secret spot.  It had the perfect view of the water at night, not that it was a particularly scenic section of the sea since it was mostly cargo ships and docks and all that, but under the flickering old street lamp and the tall field elms, it was almost romantic.

Tommy was currently still standing while you leaned back on your hands, brandishing the liquor he’d secured for the evening.  “For you,” he offered you the opened bottle with a smile, and you took it, but waited for him to take a sip of his first.  He did, and you saw his lips curling as he drank.

“How is it?” you asked, and he stopped drinking to cough a bit.

“It’s hangin’!” he grimaced.  “But it’ll do the job.”

You took a sip while he sat down next to you, and made a face of your own.  “Ah fuck!  That’s terrible!  Where the fuck’d you get this?”

But you knew what he meant when he said it would do the job— one sip was already warming your chest, and the next, though just as disgusting as the last, made you feel tingly at the tips of your fingers.

With your bottles halfway finished, you two sat up in the grass and watched the lights of ships go by slowly in the night.  “Had a date last night,” you blurted out suddenly, just to make conversation.

“Really?  With who?”

“You remember Jack Meyer?”

“God, I wish I didn’t,” he sneered, “what a knob.”

“Could you stop insulting all the guys I go out with?” you frowned.

“Stop going out with knobs and I will,” he bargained.

“Anyways, he was nice,” you announced firmly.  “Took me to the cinema and bought me a popcorn.”

“What size?” he asked.

“Medium.”

“Cheap bastard,” Tom grumbled.

“Shut up!  I’m trying to tell you that it was a nice date!” you yelped, pushing him on the shoulder.  “We actually, um… well, maybe I shouldn’t tell you.”

“What?” he wondered.

“I mean, I tell you everything— you tell me everything.  You told me when Sharon Caldwell let you feel her tits in eighth grade, and you told me when you lost it to Annie— what was her name again?”

“Annie Shaw,” he finished for you.

“Right… so, point is, I figured I should tell you what happened with me and Jack, right?” you wondered.  When you found the courage to look over at Tommy, his expression was… intense.  Almost angry, a little terrified.

“Don’t tell me you gave it up to him,” he pleaded, leaning in a little closer.

“God no!  I just wanked him a bit.”

"You did what to 'im?!" Tommy yelped.

"W-well, I dunno!" you backpedalled quickly. 

“Aw, birdie, you can do so much better than him,” he groaned.

“Okay, maybe so, but he’s the one I wanted to go out with.  And he was nice and he made me feel— I dunno, pretty?” you mumbled, afraid to sound too girlish.

“Come on, you can’t go rubbing off any guy who calls you pretty,” Tom scolded.

“This isn’t just any guy!”

“Yeah, it’s Jack Meyer.  In fourth year he swallowed a penny and it never came out!”

“Believe it or not, Tommy, it's not fourth year anymore,” you frowned.  “Things are different.  We’re older.  I’m not a little kid— and I’m tired of being treated like one!”

He sighed slowly, taking another swig of the booze.  “I guess that’s fair,” he relented.  “Still… can’t stand thinking about you doing that to some guy.”

"Why?"

He seemed confused by your question, and gave you a look.

"Why can't you stand thinking about it?" you interrogated.

"I… I don't know…"  He coughed a bit, clearly wanting to change the subject, but you kept staring at him as you waited for an answer.  “I guess it’s just that,” he began again, “I worry because it’s Jack, you know?  He’s a little aggressive with girls— or, he was back when I knew him.  He didn’t… pressure you into it, right?”

You thought back to the night before, and how it all happened.  “Erm, no,” you decided, “not really.”

“Not really?  What’s that mean?”

“Well, he didn’t make me do it,” you explained, “but he was… showing me how, ‘cause I didn’t know.”

“Sh-showing you?” Tom repeated.

“He, erm, he took my hand,” you remembered, feeling your heart start to race as you looked at Tom closely.  “And he put it… he put it right here.”

It was the liquor that made you do it; you pressed your hand up to the front of his trousers, feeling him getting firmer under your touch already.  He jumped a little but didn’t stop you.

"He told me to take it out for him…" you continued, voice wavering as your whole body was suddenly shivering from nervousness, and started to open his trousers yourself.

“Birdie,” Tom gasped, and you looked up to his face again.

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked him point blank.  He didn’t say anything.  “Can I keep going?”

His mouth was open slightly, and he was breathing heavily through it; he nodded.  You unzipped his fly and reached in, navigating the opening of his boxers to get his cock out.  

Of course, you’d felt it before, but you’d never seen it.  It was as beautiful as a cock could be, you thought: tanner than the rest of him for some reason, flushed at the tip, still just starting to poke out from his foreskin with a teal vein running up under your palm.  Biting your lip, you wrapped your fingers a little tighter around it.  “H-he told me to stroke it, like this,” you stammered, moving your hand gently and slowly from the base to the tip and back— then again, and again.

Daring to glance up at Tom’s face again, you saw him watching your hand with a dumbstruck expression.  You twisted your hand slightly as you reached the tip and he groaned.  "Birdie…" he sighed— his voice wore some impossible mixture of arousal, confusion, scolding, disappointment, and desperation.  It made your knees weak.  Good thing you were still kneeling on the ground, so it didn’t make much difference.  You were so sloshed that standing up would’ve been a bit of an effort, anyway.

“When I was doing it right,” you continued, “he’d tell me I was bein’ good for him… it made me feel weird when he said that, but good.  You know?”

“Y-yeah…” he choked, hissing through his teeth.  

It went on that way for a little while, just his panting and the crickets chirping; though there was clear fluid leaking from the tip of his cock, you thought it might not be enough, so you pursed your lips and let your spit dribble down onto him so you could spread it out with your hand.

“Christ,” he groaned, “Jack taught you that, too?”

You nodded, and he growled a little— the sound made your chest tighten up (as well as a few other places).  His cock was starting to bob against your grip, and his breathing was faster and heavier with each stroke.  "You're close?" you noticed, and he nodded, chest heaving as he stared down at what you were doing to him.  "You can come, Tom.  I want you to."

"Shit," he hissed.  "Shit, jus' don't stop then."

And you didn't, in fact you moved your hand even faster, until it was just a blur and he was bucking up into your palm desperately.

"Ah, fuck!" he gasped, and come started to spurt from his pulsing cock, landing on his shirt and your hand.  "Fuck…"

You watched his face as it tilted back, his eyebrows knitted together, his mouth parted in a little moan.  Your hand was still moving, and his jumped up to grab your wrist and stop you.  Then it was still, and silent, except for him breathing like he'd just run a marathon.

After a moment, he tilted his head down again and came back to reality; he instantly looked mortified.  "God, birdie," he choked, "I made a mess on you— m'so sorry, let me get it…"

He tried to wipe the come away with his shirt, frantically cleaning your hand up as best he could.  "It's fine, Tommy," you giggled.

"No it isn't, I've got your pretty hand all dirty now…"

Examining his focused expression as he wiped up the smears of come, you bit your lip slightly.  You did feel guilty for making up that whole story about a date with Jack Meyer that never did— and never would— happen, but it worked.  You’d never lied to Tommy like that before, but you decided to blame it on the liquor and not your desperation.  

In the two weeks since your holiday, nothing untoward whatsoever had happened between you and it was driving you crazy.  You didn’t even talk about it!  You, of course, thought about it every day— well, really every night, when you touched yourself and tried to remember exactly how his voice sounded in your ear.  That was what drove you to this, to getting drunk and making shit up for a chance to touch him.

"Kiss me," you said suddenly.  He looked up at your face, and you just stared at each other for a second.  

His hand dropped yours— it was clean now, or clean enough at least— and moved up to hold your face.  You sighed slightly; his thumb stroked your cheek and he smiled at you.

He gently tilted your head down and met you halfway, pressing his lips to your forehead.  Your chest deflated and your eyes fell shut.  So this is what heartbreak feels like.  It's not as bad as I thought.

"That better?" he asked as he pulled back, moving his own face down so he could look up at you with a tender smile.  You nodded, willing yourself not to cry in front of him now.  

You were throwing yourself at him and he was throwing you away.  "We'll always be friends, won't we?" you asked quietly.

"Aw, birdie— of course," he cooed, pulling you into a hug.  You clutched at his shoulders, digging your nails into handfuls of his ratty old Nirvana t-shirt.

He rolled back onto the grass and pulled you down with him, making you laugh and try to get away— but he wouldn't let you go.

"We'll always be friends," he promised again, "'cause otherwise who'd keep all those awful boys away from you?"

"Shut up," you rolled your eyes.

"I will," he sighed, relaxing his grip on you slightly.  "I'm gonna ease up on you, I think.  Let you date somebody if you want— even if he's a tosser.  'Cause you're right, you're not a little kid anymore.  And it's not fair to you."

You swallowed, laying your head on his chest.  You'd never actually wanted him to let you date someone else… you just wanted him to finally love you back.  But maybe this was the best you were going to get.

~

“Go, Tommy!” you cheered from the side of the pitch, though he surely couldn’t hear you through all that.. rugby-ing.  Rugbing?

Whatever— point is, you clapped and hollered anyways as you watched him run all over the place, narrowly dodging being tackled a few times.  You winced when he got taken down from the side by one of the biggest guys out there.  Tommy had a high pain tolerance, but you’d rather not see him lose a tooth or something.  What a waste of a perfect smile that would be.

For all their efforts, Tommy’s team lost by just a few points; it was just a scrimmage, hence why there was basically no one else here but you and the actual team members, so you hoped he wouldn’t be pouty the rest of the day after losing.  He didn’t seem to be, from what you could tell this far away— he was shaking hands and bumping fists, sweaty and streaked with dirt and grass as he chugged from his water bottle.  It really should not have been as attractive as it was…

Before you got caught ogling, someone caught your attention: “Hey,” one of the players jogged up to you, and you blinked up at him blankly, not sure who he was.  You’d definitely seen him before, you remembered his dreads and… overall massiveness.  But you weren’t sure what he was talking to you for.  “You’re here with Tom, yeah?”

“Oh, yes,” you smiled.

“He said you’re an old mate of his,” the player went on.

“Mhm,” you nodded.

“Sweet of you to come cheer him on,” he laughed, “even though it didn’t seem to do him much good today.”

You shrugged.  “He loses a lot, but he always gets back up.”

“I’m Rhys, by the way,” he offered.  “I’d shake your hand or somethin’, but I’m pretty filthy at the moment.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you laughed.  “Surprised you haven’t gone to the showers already, that’d be the first thing I’d be doing after getting that sweaty.”

“Well, I was gonna,” he explained, “but, well, I was afraid you’d be gone before I got back.”

You raised an eyebrow, wondering what that meant, and he continued on.

“Listen, I asked Tom, but I figured I should ask you… er…” he stalled as he smiled nervously.  “Have you got a boyfriend or anythin’?”

“Er, no,” you answered.

“Issuh?” he laughed.

“Yes!” you insisted.  “You think I’m lying or something?”

“I think it’s a little too good to be true, that’s all,” he explained.  “Girl like you shouldn’t stay single too long.”

You kept waiting for Tommy to come ruin it— to come rescue you.  You glanced over, and you saw him look back at you, but he just smiled and kept working on the laces of his cleats.

“So, I guess I should ask for your number before it’s too late, yeah?” Rhys continued.  You were pulled out of your thoughts, looking up at him and dropping your mouth open as you hoped for some words to come out.

“Oh!  Erm,” you began, “well—”

“It’s okay if not,” he promised, “but, you know… I’d like it.  So I can call you sometime or something— maybe I’ll have worked up the nerve to ask you out by then.”

Your cheeks were warm, but so were the backs of your eyes.  You never thought you would miss it, Tom running up and putting his arm around you, shooting whatever guy you were talking to a glare that made everyone feel uncomfortable; you glanced over at him again, watching him chat and laugh with some of the other guys.  He was just going to let this happen, wasn’t he?  And so were you.  “Yeah,” you finally blurted out, “sure— got your phone now?  I’ll put it in for you.”

“Great,” he smiled, pulling his phone out of his pocket and handing it to you.  “Wow, that went surprisingly well.”

“Are you that surprised?” you laughed as you added yourself as a contact.

“These things don’t normally go right for me,” he explained.

“For you?” you glanced up at him incredulously.

“Now, don’t give me an ego,” he chuckled, and you laughed with him.

You quickly held his phone up to take a selfie with your tongue sticking out, adding it as your contact photo.  “There you go,” you handed it back to him, and he looked at it with a wide smile on his face.

“Aw, that’s rich,” he said, and you bit your lip.  “I really should hit the showers now, but, I’ll call you?”

“Okay,” you smiled, “I’ll answer.  Probably.”

He waved at you as he left, looking down at your contact in his phone one more time with a shake of his head, before disappearing into the little tunnel through the stands.

You told Tom you would wait for him until he was all done, but god, he was taking forever getting cleaned up.  In fact, everyone else had left when he finally came out in his change of clothes and found you leaning against the cement wall outside the practice facility.  “Fuck took you so long?” you groaned as he appeared.

“You know how long it takes to wash off after a match like that?” he laughed.  “You wouldn’t have walked home with me in the state I was in.”

“Okay, fair enough,” you sighed, “can we go now?” 

“Well, um— actually, I have to get my bag from the locker room…”

“Oh my god,” you whined.

“Don’t get teazy, I just have to pack up all my gear,” he scolded.

“I’m coming with you,” you insisted, “and helping you carry it so we can get fuckin’ home already.”

“Fine, fine,” he laughed, starting back as you followed along with him.  “Lucky for you, it’s empty.”

“Aw,” you faked a pout, “no sexy rugby boys to look at?”

“Just me,” he smiled— and fuck, he was joking, but it scared you for a second.

There was a little awkward pause while he guided you around the bend into the locker area, left surprisingly clean after the boys were finished; it was only Tom’s locker open, with his things all strewn about, and you sighed.  “Look at the mess you made…” you breathed, starting to help him clean it up and get his things together.

“Rhys finally asked you out, then?” Tommy grinned, elbowing you lightly.

“O-oh, yeah,” you breathed, “erm, well— he just got my number, no date yet or anything.”

“Well, it’s a start.  I didn’t want to give him your number for you, but he asked me for it— actually, he’s asked about you a couple times now.”

“You think he’s good enough for me?” you asked.

“I mean, I dunno,” Tommy shrugged, “I don’t know him that well.  But he seems nice enough— figure you can decide the rest.”

You sighed, nodding a little.

“If he tries anything, though, you let me know and I’ll set him straight, alright?” he added, and you laughed.

“Alright, I will,” you agreed, kneeling down to get some of his clothes from off the floor and stuff them into the duffel.  “Not sure how you’re gonna do that when he’s got a metre on you and maybe twenty pounds of muscle—”

“Shut up,” Tom scoffed.  “You know I can take any guy down if it’s got to do with you.”

Your throat caught, and you stood up again.  "Tommy, listen, I actually— I wanted to… talk to you."

He cleared his throat, looking nervous as he rubbed the back of his neck.  "Yeah?  You're all good, right?  Everythin's okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," you nodded, leaning back against the lockers, "I just… I was thinking about you."

He stepped up closer to you, close enough that your heart started to race.  "Oh… what about me?"

"Well, about us," you clarified, "you and me— I want… erm…"

"Hm?"

"I just— you know how we sometimes…?"

He leaned his head in a little closer, waiting with raised eyebrows for you to get to your point.

"That thing we do, sometimes?" you started again.  "I wanna… do it again."

He nodded, like he understood, but then paused and moved his mouth over to the side.  "You wanna go to the cinema?"

You laughed, more out of frustration than amusement, and tilted your head forward to rest on his chest.  "God, Tommy…"

"What?" he laughed.

"I— I want—"  

You couldn't look up at him as you said it.  You took a deep breath and tried to compose your bravery.

"I want us to touch each other again," you finally rushed out.  You waited for him to say something, or do something, but he didn't.  “Like when we were on holiday,” you recalled, toying with the hem of his shirt.  “And that night on the bay…”

“God, birdie, I— I dunno if I can do that again,” he breathed, and you felt your eyes start to burn a bit.

“Really, Tommy?” you sighed.  “I’m that… repulsive?  Or is it Rhys?  ‘Cause all he’s done is get my number—”

“N-no,” he groaned, “shit, m’not makin’ any sense.  I can’t do that again with you because it’s too hard, okay?”

You looked up at him, knitting your eyebrows together.  “What’s too hard?”

“Touchin’ you like that,” he whispered— even now, the way he said made your spine tingle— glancing down from your eyes to your lips and back, “and havin’ to act normal again.  Not bein’ your boyfriend.”

Of everything you thought he might say then, you never expected that.  You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling, even when you bit your bottom lip.  A laugh broke out through your grin, and you had to cover your mouth to try to hide it.

“Jesus, you’re laughin’ at me now!” he lamented.  “I finally tell you and you laugh at me!  You’re heartless, you know that?”

“No, Tommy, v’got a heart— and it’s all yours,” you promised, standing up on your toes to peck him on the cheek.  He gave you a confused look, and you laughed again.  “You don’t get it do you, still?  I’ve fancied you for ages— proper in love with you, really.  Kept askin’ you to do all that stuff ‘cause, well, you’re all I think about anyways.  Thought you were just doing me favours.”

After a pause, he finally laughed with you.  “Am I a fuckin’ idiot, then?  You’ve had it goin’ for me all this time and I didn’t notice?”

“You’re a little stupid,” you mitigated.  “I think I was being pretty obvious.”

“Yeah, and what about me?” he noticed.  “I’ve been all over you forever— kissin’ and huggin’ you, cuddling all the time— you didn’t notice that I think you’re fit?”

You shrugged.  "You've always been like that."

"Yeah!" he emphasised.

"Ohhhh," you nodded, "hm.  Okay, we're both a little stupid."

“Birdie,” he smiled, and your heart melted, because he’d never said it quite like that before.  He leaned in and gave you a kiss on the cheek.

“You can really kiss me, you know,” you told him, and he pulled away just enough to look at you with an impossible-to-read expression.  “I-if you want,” you mitigated suddenly, and he smiled at you, then laughed.

“Aw, fuck, Tommy,” you turned your head to the side, “you’re awful…”

He put his hand on the side of your face, gently turning you to look at him.  “Yeah,” he agreed.  And then he moved in closer and kissed you— properly, finally.  You shut your eyes, your chest emptying with a sigh; his other hand held your face then, too, and you reached up to hold his wrists.  Your right hand felt the worn-out old bracelet that he still wore, and you couldn’t help but smile a bit against him.  He smiled, too.

“Tommy,” you sighed, reaching out and grabbing him by his belt to pull him closer.  He pressed his forehead on yours, looking down at your hands working on the buckle shakily. 

“Birdie, c’mon,” he gasped, “not here—”

You pouted a little, and he laughed.

“We waited all this time and you can’t wait until we get home?”

“Yes!” you whined.  “I need you…”

“Shit,” he groaned, kissing you again— but just for a few very passionate seconds before he pulled back once more.  “We’ll go home and I’ll do this right, I swear.”

“Why can’t we just do it here?” you wondered.

“Because if you told me some guy had taken your virginity in a rugby practice field locker room, I would kill him,” Tom frowned.  

You laughed.  “Fine, fine… let’s go home.”

~ 

Thank god his parents weren’t home.  You didn’t want to try to be quiet.

He had you in his bed the second the door was shut, kissing you voraciously as he helped you undress and tore his own shirt and trousers off.  For a guy who was just preaching patience, he was pretty hasty all of a sudden.

When all you had on were your panties, he set his arms straight to hover over you and stare down at you, looking a little dumbstruck.  You almost felt self-conscious enough to try to cover your chest, but he smiled at you and you felt a little better.  “You’re so… fuck, birdie, you’re pretty.”

It was a simple compliment, but it felt incredibly powerful when he said it like that.  He was in his boxers, and it wasn’t too much more skin than you’d already seen while swimming with him and such, but it was different with his massive hard-on making a visible imprint in the patterned cotton.  

Gently, he spread your legs, and tightened his jaw at the sight of the wet patch on your underwear.  “Oh, fuck,” he sighed.

“I always get like that,” you admitted quietly.  “Should be easy for you to fuck me, right?”

“Yes, yeah,” he agreed, “but m’not gonna fuck you yet.”

You frowned a little, and he laughed as he kissed you again.

“I told you I’m doing this the right way,” he insisted, “it’s your first time.  It’ll hurt if I just go for it.”

He leaned back and sat up, bringing his hands down to the waistband of your panties and gently dragging them down your legs; you felt gooseflesh spread all over your body.

“Oh, darling,” he whispered as he opened your legs again, looking right at you now.  You squirmed a little, but his grip on your thighs was tight.  “I need you to tell me now if you’ve changed your mind about this… ‘cause I can already tell I’m gonna have a hard time stopping once I start.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you were sure, you were so sure.  “I haven’t changed my mind,” you promised.

“I won’t get mad at you or anything,” he assured.

“I know— I’m sure,” you breathed.  Wondering if you should return the sentiment, you asked, "You're sure you wanna do this?  With me?"

"Birdie, I've wanted to do this with you since I knew what this was," he smiled.

"And you don't mind that I've never…"

"No, birdie, I don't mind," he laughed.  "Think it's perfect actually.  Couldn't let any other lad be your first.  Couldn't let any other lad touch you like this."

You bit your lip.  “You were gonna let me go out with Rhys,” you reminded him.

“I let you give him your number.  We hadn’t even gotten to you going out with him,” Tom corrected.  “And I was acting fine as best I could but I was really jumpin’, birdie, thinking about if something might happen with you two— something like this…”

You whined as you tugged on his shirt, hoping to hide your face in his neck, but he pulled his face back so he could look down at you with a smile.  "Tommy, please," you whimpered.  

"Please, what?" he encouraged.

"Jus' need you…"

He kissed your neck again, making your back arch and your hands grab onto his shoulders, and pressed his hips down against you.  You whined at the feeling of his erection through clothes, but opened your eyes in confusion when he pulled back again just a moment later, hovering over you.  "Say my name when I make you come, yeah?" he instructed, and you nodded.  "Try it on for size just once, why don'tya," he encouraged with a smile.

"Tommy," you smiled back, and he kissed the tip of your nose.

"That's m'girl," he praised, before crawling back down, kissing a trail over your stomach, moving his hand up your thigh.

He just kept his face right up close to you, watching his finger swipe through your folds, then watching it gently circle your clit.  You whimpered, and felt your insides flex on nothing.  Apparently, that made him want to give you something to clench on— he gently slipped his pointer finger past your opening, and you let out a long sigh.

“So warm inside,” he observed.  He pulled the finger back out a second later, putting it in his mouth and humming happily.  He put his mouth on you at the same time that he put the finger back in, along with a second; that was a lot to take in, and your back arched up off the bed instantly.  He mouthed at your clit, swirling his tongue around while his lips created this wonderful pressure; you had to grab onto his hair, and thankfully, he didn’t seem to mind.

Eventually, he did have to break away for a second.  "Wondered how you'd taste," he admitted with a sigh.  

"Well?" you prompted.

"Taste like 'eaven, birdie," he purred.  "Sweet little pussy— an' it's all for me?"

"All yours," you nodded, and he growled a little as he dove back in.

The tip of his tongue slid right up from your opening to where your clit was swollen and throbbing— he pushed his tongue flat against it and you whimpered loudly.  He started to really fuck you with his fingers then, rather than just letting the natural movement of your hips force you to ride them; they curled inside you, hitting a spot that made your own fingers curl into fists in his hair.  You didn’t want to hurt him, but he didn’t mind getting his hair pulled, apparently, and just moaned lowly against you.

The pressure started weighing on your gut after a while, your pussy tensing up on him faster and faster until it was just bearing down on him unendingly.  “Fuck, Tommy,” you gasped.

“C’mon, birdie,” he mumbled against you, “wan’ you to come.  Go ahead and come for me, yeah?”

You called out his name one more time, and it all spilled over at once; he shut his eyes tight, letting you pull his face right up against you by his curls as your hips bucked and grinded on him.  You sobbed weakly, and when it was suddenly too much, he broke away and pinned you down for a messy kiss.

It left you even more breathless than you already were.  When he pulled back, his eyes were a little glazed over and his lips and chin were a lot glazed over; he gave you a crooked smile.  “Taste how sweet you are?” he purred.  You wouldn’t call it sweet, really, but it still turned you on like crazy to hear him say it.

“Please, Tom,” you gasped, grabbing his shoulders, “you’ll fuck me now, right?”

He nodded, and you let out a sigh of relief.  “Sure you’re ready?” he asked, laughing when you groaned and punched him on the arm.

“Course I’m fuckin’ ready!” you snapped.  “God, Tommy, you always give ‘em all this rigamarole first?”

He shook his head.  “Just you, birdie… it was always just you.”

Kissing you again, his breath changed as he reached down to push his boxers out of the way and kick them off to the floor.  The way it felt to have his bare skin against yours as he lowered himself down was… euphoric.  Warm and soft and smooth, and when he wrapped you in his arms, it felt like he could just absorb you entirely.  You wouldn’t mind it if he did.

He'd prepared you so well that there was only one quick sting of pain when he pushed inside you— though just that was still enough to make one tiny tear roll down your temple, which he kissed away softly.

"Are you alright?" he whispered.  You nodded.  "I need you to tell me, birdie."

"I'm okay," you promised through a sigh.  "It hurts a little, b-but please don't stop."

"You're sure?"

"Please!"

He pushed his hips flush with yours and you gritted your teeth, though everything in you relaxed just a moment later; and all that was left was the fullness, the warmth of him, the way his eyes sparkled as he looked down at you.  "You're so beautiful," he whispered to you, and you bit your lip.

"I love you, Tommy," you mumbled weakly, and he planted one soft kiss on your mouth.

"I love you too, darling."

He carefully began to move, needing to reach down with one hand to keep your hips steady.  Your moans were shaky at first, but got louder and more even with each movement.  

"You're… so deep," you breathed.  "Tommy, I— I didn't know anything could be so deep in me."

"Well, I am," he grinned.  "I'm right… here."

He pressed down on your stomach, right on the spot where the tip of his cock reached— and your eyes rolled back.  "Ohh, god," you whined.

"You feel it, love?" he cooed.

"Yes, yes," you groaned.  "Fuck, Tommy, why didn't you tell me you had a perfect cock?"

He laughed a little, leaning down to kiss you on the jaw.  "Guess it never came up."

"Does it always… is it always like this?" you wondered.  "It's so good, does it always feel this good?"

He shook his head, kissing your forehead and then trailing down your nose and cheek.  "No, it's not always like this," he answered quietly.  "Not for me, anyway.  It's never been like this."

His lips met yours again, and you reached up to weave your fingers into the hair at the back of his neck.  He groaned a little, moving his hips faster, and you smiled.  "Do you wanna fuck me harder?" you asked.

"Fuck," he mumbled, "I— I could.  Do you want me to?"

"I can take it," you promised.

Picking up the pace slightly, he held you tighter; and you felt each impact a little harder, the sound of his skin on yours echoing around the room.  “Like that?” he asked.

“Yes,” you answered— you meant it more neutral than it came out, it sounded proper pornographic the way you said it, and he smiled.  “More, Tommy, please?  Jus’ want more…”

He hissed but did as he was told, latching onto your neck with his lips as he let something a little more animalistic take over, making you cry out and hold onto him tighter.  “Beautiful,” he grunted, “you’re so beautiful, birdie— you sound beautiful.”

“It’s just ‘cause you’re making me sound like this,” you sighed, clutching at his back, too overwhelmed by pleasure to worry about scratching him up.

“I’m giving you a hickey this time,” he informed you.  “You want my mark on you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you admitted, “always, Tommy— fuck, always wanted it.”

“‘Cause you’re mine, yeah?”

“Always,” you whimpered.

“A-ah, shit— when it’s time, I'll pull out, okay?" he offered.

"No," you whined, wrapping your legs around his hips.  "Tommy, please, want it inside…"

"Birdie," he breathed roughly, "if you say things like that, I-I'll come too fast."

“Don’t care,” you whimpered.  “Promise you’re gonna come inside me.”

“F-fuck,” he groaned, “erm— yeah, m’gonna come in ya, okay?”

You choked out the shortest sob of joy.  “Please, please— fuck, I’ll come again…”

“Yeah, fuck, c’mon then,” he praised, “just say my name, birdie— I wanna hear my name.”

“Tommy,” you cried, feeling him gasp against your neck as another wave of heat spread over your body; feeling him flex inside you right as you hit your own peak was so perfect.  You could’ve never described your emotions in that moment with words, but they found their way out anyways: you started crying, instantly.

“Don’t cry, birdie, shh,” he soothed quietly, wiping your tears away with his thumb.  “C’mon, darling, don’t cry—”

“N-no, Tommy,” you sniffled, “I’m just happy— I’m so happy, I swear…”

So he let you cry, and held you close to him; he didn’t leave until you fell asleep, even though he said he was just going to get you a washcloth and a cup of water and come right back.  He played with your hair and kissed your face, and just talked about all the normal things you usually talked about— as in, everything.  But this time, it was actually everything, no more hidden feelings.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but after one of those dreamless sleeps that went by quickly— like you’d only shut your eyes for a few minutes— you woke up tangled with him and his sheets.  Turning on your side as best you could, you looked at his sleeping face and smiled to yourself.  He woke up just a bit later, cutting your staring short, and smiled back at you.

“Top of the morning, my ‘ansum,” you greeted as you pinched his cheek.  He laughed and batted your hand away, hiding his face from the sun under his arm.  

“You kicked me in your sleep,” he grumbled.

“So it’s all over, then?  Final straw, you’re finally getting rid of me?” you joked.

“Mm, I thought about it,” he snorted, making you laugh.  He popped his face up again and started to kiss your face all over.

“Tommy, stop,” you whined.

“You can’t make me stop now,” he pointed out, “it’s one thing to get your best friend to stop kissing you, but your boyfriend?  Nah, m’not stopping.”

You laughed, his hand on your waist pulling you closer to him only making you feel more ticklish and squirm more.  You only stilled when he grabbed your face and gave you a real kiss, and everything seemed to slow down quite a bit.  You kissed him back, properly, reaching up to weave your fingers in his hair.  “So, you’re my boyfriend, then?” you noticed when you broke away.

“No, I think we’re still just friends,” he nodded, and you laughed and shoved him on the chest.  

“Might as well be, everything we did before sayin’ we were only friends,” you admitted.

“I’m whatever you want me to be, birdie,” he promised.

#tom (make up) x reader #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #tom (make up) smut #make up (2019) fic #tom grant x reader #tom grant smut

[wisteriaiswriting]

𝔻ℙ𝕊 𝔻𝕒𝕥𝕖 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤

Type of date | Location | Are they romantic? | How much money will they spend | What happens after | Blurb

Words: 3161

𝔸𝕤𝕙𝕖:

Due to Ashe being, well Ashe. You’d think she wouldn’t do dates or much romance, but surprisingly yes! Much preferring calmer and simple dates.

Has set up your private room at her base, [Whether you live there or just visit] so she’ll set up in there.

She has very little experience, but with you she tries, and often succeeds. Flirts a lot, but you get all her real attention.

During her Deadlock days she’s gathered a pretty penny, and she’s willing to spend plenty of that on you. Even if you deny her, it won’t stop her.

Absolutely adores when you cuddle up to her, holding you back and closer. All the while making sure both of you are comfortable before falling asleep herself.

***

Ashe’s day was rough, and returning to you made the world around her seen non existant. Able to fall into your arms and the many, many blankets. Tugging you closer into her arms as she got under them.

Quickly enough she noticed your breathing evening out, looking just in time to see your eyes shut. Only able to chuckle at that, she just arrived and you were already out like a light.

Leaning down to leave a gentle kiss on your forehead, pulling away, and in the dim lighting was barely able to see the mark she left. Her thumb brushed over it as she thought.

It didn’t take long for her to do it again. And again.

ℂ𝕒𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕪:

If he’s being honest here, he had and still does, no clue what to do. But likely he found something, and that was heading out for a drink and maybe some food.

Mostly takes you to some bars and a few pubs when hungry.

He tries, and comes off real smooth yet kinda awkward. (He hasn’t done this in a while.)

Has very little to his, nothing legally. So he won’t spend much of the little he still has, but he will steal anything for you. (Be the distraction, please.)

Still awkward, but now he’s calmed down a bit. He’ll walk you to your residence before asking for a second date.

***

“C’mon now darlin’, don’t let this old dog down.” There he went again. You weren’t sure what would happen if he had a few drinks, but definitely not a flirty drunk. But luckily enough he stuck with you no matter what.

Also meaning you were subjected to all his flirting.

“Cassidy, again, you brought me here.”

“Did I? I mean why wouldn’t I, a catch like you with me, obviously.”

𝔼𝕔𝕙𝕠:

She’ll adapt to what you enjoy, but if she was given the choice it would be a movie.

While she would prefer staying at home or base, wanting your time together to be, well together. Although she wouldn’t be against the movie theatre.

Has no experience. But throughout your time together and even before, she’s always learning, especially what you prefer.

It’s likely Winston finds out and gives her the money. Using that on snacks and tickets if needed. Otherwise most of it is spent on you.

Will walk you to your room before leaving, finding Winston or Mercy to talk about it.

***

“Echo!” Turning around to find Winston making his way closer, one hand was closed, holding something likely for her.

“Oh Winston!”

“I was informed about the date, and was able to gather these.” He dropped the things into her open ones, revealing plenty of money. Especially more than enough in notes to pay for anything needed.

“Thank you, I’m sure Y/N will also appreciate the help.” With that she floated off, on her way to your room. Now she had this, all she needed to do was confirm with you.

𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕛𝕚:

He’ll drag you to a nearby arcade. But if you’re up in Japan he’ll bring you to one he frequented as a child / teen.

Either place will be loud, bright and flashy. Unless you become uncomfortable with anything he’ll actually enough the kids.

Hasn’t really lost his spark, but due to his death and scarring he might need some help.

Has a bit more than needed, so he’s paying for the whole night. Please don’t try to argue with him.

Afterwards he’ll take you out for food, your choice.

***

Compared to the cold winds outside Genji’s metal hand felt warm, likely from your own heat. Never changing or letting go when you entered the arcade, only pulling you around the place.

And you’d think someone who fights for his life almost every day would be able to win at a basic claw machine, right?

Well you’d be wrong. You watched as he failed time after time before almost giving up, before he finally caught one. It was small and simple but he beamed at you while holding it towards you.

It was a cute [Favourite animal] that held a heart, and there were plenty of other animals inside. Once he realized, now not focused on yours, he was determined to have a matching one.

ℍ𝕒𝕟𝕫𝕠:

He’ll much prefer something calming but able to be sentimental, like painting together.

Depending on the activity you’ll either stay home or go to a private studio for the time.

Has very little experience, he tries by giving you gifts. (Please let him know it works.)

He will spend plenty of money on the tools and wood, willing to get anything for the date and you.

You’ll be walked back to your house / room, and when he gets back to his own he’ll place all your gifts onto their dedicated shelf.

***

The day was spent just silently hanging out together. He sat across from you doing his own thing, which used a few tools. All had been brought in a small bag. While you continued doing your own hobby.

About an hour goes by before he moves from his spot. Turning around to gain your attention, using his empty hand to open your own. As he did his face became red and he looked away slightly.

Only looking back to place the item in your open palm. Which turned out to be a small wooden bow that he just carved. But before you could pull your hand away he also placed a few more things next to the bow.

Revealing them to be smaller, also carved arrows. Each one had either your names or your initials engraved.

This man would be the death of you.

𝕁𝕦𝕟𝕜𝕣𝕒𝕥:

He’ll drag you into his workshop, whether you join him or watch he doesn’t mind.

As a criminal he can’t go very far, so you’ll stay in his workshop.

He fully believes he’s romantic, tries but ultimately fails. Has no clue what he is actually doing.

Jamison has almost none, but he can’t use it anyways.

Being secretive the whole time pays off, even if he almost blew it many times. Showing off his project while beaming.

***

For the first few hours you willingly stayed with Jamison in his workshop. But after a while it was clear he wasn’t going to let you see, so without him noticing you left. The rest of your time was spent sitting outside the room while you heard him working away.

Before you knew it he had left the room, almost rushing past you. Luckily turning around in time.

“Oi, why’d you leave?”

“Takin’ to long Jami.”

“Well don’t do that…” He started pouting while reaching into his pocket, pulling out a small box. Placing it into your hands.

“Go on, open it!” Which you would, except there was no way to. Spinning it around until you heard a ‘click.’ The lid opened revealing a small heart rising and spinning, made of scraps and crappily coloured in different shades of red.

“So?”

“I love it Jami.” Leaning over to give him a quick kiss.

𝕄𝕖𝕚:

She focuses on getting to know you rather than an activity or certain place, wanting you to do the same.

You’ll spend that with each other and away from the others, likely at her place or a nearby yet kinda private park.

Due to, you know, being frozen for years, she doesn’t have much experience, even before that but she tries.

The most she spends is on any food and drinks, but is willing to spend more if needed.

Not much, but she won't let you go until you accept the snacks she made for you.

***

It had been hours since you arrived at Mei’s place, and it was finally time to leave. But it was clear she didn’t want you to leave yet, though she wouldn’t stop you. Surely you have plenty of things to be doing.

As she watched you walk off she suddenly remembered her gifts, the cookies!

“Y/N, wait!” And you did, letting you grab what she needed before rushing out. In her hands were a container, only able to see when she got closer. It was full of cookies.

“I made these earlier, almost forgot.” She giggled as she spoke, flushing red.

“Thank you.”

ℙ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕙:

She much prefers simple and calmer date ideas. Turns out building Legos is a good idea, one she should’ve done earlier.

She’ll have you both sitting in the living room, making sure you’re both comfortable as possible. With enough lightning and the tv as background noise.

Work has always gotten in the way of any romance she’s ever tried, so the only things she knows are from asking Ana. But she still tries, even if they cause her to flush red.

Is absolutely willing to spend plenty on different sets. She makes sure you can finish any set you want.

Helping you find the best placement for them. When you leave she takes pictures and sends them to Ana, fully prepared for any teasing from her.

***

When you entered the first thing you saw was another Lego set, it was from the botanical collection. Specifically the Orchids. All built and setting in a [favourite colour] vase. Footsteps pulling you from the scene.

In the doorway stood Fareeha, frozen while her face quickly became red.

“I can explain,” Stepping forwards as she spoke, taking your hands into her own. “I am aware we built some yesterday, but I saw these and they reminded me of you.”

ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕡𝕖𝕣:

Everyone assumes it’s a meeting, unaware (Except for Sombra) of what is really happening. Just you two spending quality time in silence doing your favourite activities.

He’ll have it set up in a private meeting room further down from the others, or invites you to his room.

Has plenty of experience (Had a wife) so he has learnt his love languages, being acts of service and quality time, although only with you.

Doesn’t need to spend any of his money but will buy anything you want or need for your hobby.

He’s a knitter, so before he leaves he’ll hand you the item he made. Please find him later for thank you cuddles, he will melt, literally.

***

A hand dropped onto your shoulder, if you weren’t a Talon agent it would’ve taken you down. But the metal claws gave away who they belonged to.

“Meeting room 6.” Smoke covered the area as he left, not wanting to stay around longer than necessary. Listening, you also left the area, everyone quickly became quiet.

The room's lights were off, the only light being a lamp behind him and the curtains pulled slightly open. Across the table sat Gabriel, gauntlets removed and thrown next to the yarn.

He was part way through knitting something, a stack of already finished squares. Just next to them sat the items for [activity], seemingly ready for you to start. And start you did, both of you sitting in silence for the next few hours.

𝕊𝕠𝕛𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕟:

She’ll spend a few hours setting up the perfect movie night, snacks, blankets and a selection of movies or shows.

All this will be set up in your shared bedroom so neither of you will have to walk far for any reason.

She’s aware she’s trying to be romantic, just unsure if it’s succeeding. (It has been for a while.)

The only money she’ll need to spend is on the snacks, buying all your favourites.

Likely one of you two will fall asleep during your bingeing, with the other following soon after.

***

You were both on your 3rd movie after finishing a while 4 seasons of an old yet interesting tv show. But by now your eyes started to hurt from all the lights, and your eyelids were starting to shut.

You knew you couldn’t prevent yourself from falling asleep, especially when you were so comfortable. Vivian had set up everything, so she was aware this would happen and was prepared.

She let you lean onto her, wrapping her own arms around you. And when your eyes finally shut, breathing evened out she leaned over and gave you a quick and gentle kiss. Finally following shut, letting the movie play as background noise.

𝕊𝕠𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕖𝕣 𝟟𝟞:

He enjoys simpler date ideas, the chosen one being a walk in the park. Managing to find a quiet and pretty empty day.

While the majority of your time is spent in the park, he’ll take you to a nearby food place. Ice cream or anything else you might crave.

He doesn’t have as much experience as he lets on due to work, he knows what to do. Just a little awkward about it.

For the chosen dates he won’t need much but is willing to splurge a little during so.

If it’s late enough he’ll take you out to lunch or dinner.

***

The air gained a slight chill whenever it passed you, causing Jack to lend you his jacket, sticking close even then. Without realizing the end of the trail arrived, letting both of you stand outside the park.

He looks up before down at his watch, looking for the time. Apparently it wasn’t late enough to finish just yet, so he invited you out for lunch.

“How about lunch, I’ll pay?”

Of course you accepted, free lunch and time spent with Jack. A win-win situation.

𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕓𝕣𝕒:

She tries as much as possible to keep you away from Talon, so she takes you to a concert of your choice.

The stadium is large and unsurprisingly loud, but she makes sure you feel comfortable during all of this.

Is much more flirty rather than romantic, but can be romantic if either of you feel like it.

There’s no need for money when she has everything at her fingertips, although if you really want to she will.

She’ll ‘book’ you two a shared hotel room, putting off returning to Talon. Also wanting to spend time with you.

***

“Ángel~” Her voice would’ve shocked you if she didn’t already blind you with her hands over your eyes. “I have a present for you, and I know you’ll love it!”

The air became cold but only in parts around you. Although she didn’t move it seemed everything else had. The once silent air changed, people talking, walking, even cars were driving.

Her hands were removed revealing the new location. It was a stadium, but not for their normal sports game. Banners and posters showed your favourite band/singer, as they were playing here, today!

And Olivia brought you here, you needed to thank her somehow.

***

Ángel - Angel

𝕊𝕪𝕞𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕣𝕒:

She plans everything for a fancy dinner date, willing to compromise for something just as fancy but smaller for your comfort.

As long as the place is fancy to a certain degree and has food you both eat she’s willing to have a date there.

Her romantic won’t be noticeable to others, if so won’t be taken as romance. But she prefers acts of kindness, helping you with work and grabbing you things.

While she’s willing to spend a lot on you and your hobbies she does have a limit, although it is pretty high.

Afterwards she’ll have someone drive you both to your place, making sure you’re able to get inside before asking for a second date.

***

As the car slowed to a stop her hand lifted off yours, holding it during the ride. You knew not to open the door, quickly finding out her habit of opening it for you. Only doing it for you though, but neither of you would change that.

When the door was opened she reached for your hand, gently helping you out. Again, her hand didn’t let go of yours until you stepped inside.

“I hope you enjoyed tonight, as I want to ask for another.”

Of course you agreed.

𝕋𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕖𝕣:

She’ll take you to the movie theater to watch a movie of your choice.

Will go to the theater but also enjoys having home movie nights.

Often enough she’s interrupted by giggling, but she can and has been romantic.

She lets you see the amount, being enough for popcorn, drinks and the tickets.  Before surprising you by buying you both some candy.

On the way home she’ll be ranting about the movie whether it was good or bad. When you both get home she’ll continue on while making sure you’re listening, that’s by trapping you in a cuddle session.

***

“C’mon Love!” Her hand had slipped and was holding onto your wrist instead, but she didn’t let go. The line was surprisingly short, only being a family and a few teenagers so you got to the counter quickly.

“What do you wanna watch?” A quick glance at the options revealed a few good ones, except one stood out.

“How about [Movie]?”

“Yeah, two tickets for [Movie] please!” She continued ordering, getting popcorn and drinks. At first you thought she wasn’t going to get candy, only after she ordered everything else did she get some. Both of you getting cups to choose your candy.

“C’mon then, can’t miss any scenes!”

𝕎𝕚𝕕𝕠𝕨𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖𝕣:

As she is a known criminal she won’t be able to take you very far, but will go stargazing with you.

The chosen hill is far enough from the Talon base but still safe enough, especially when with her.

She tries to be romantic, won't ever be the best due to her transformation but she tries for you.

For any date there won’t be any need for money.

If you’re not part of Talon she’ll make sure you get home safe, if so then she’ll walk you to your room.

***

The air has grown cold, but never becomes freezing. Staying at a comfortable kind of cold, the kind Amélie had grown used to over the years so it didn’t bother her. Yet it affected you, you shivered slightly as if trying to hide it from her.

You should know better by now, when it comes to you she won’t miss a single detail. Wrapping her arms around you, pulling you closer. When you shivered ceased she let you return to watching the stars.

And instead of doing the same her eyes never left your figure. To her you seemed to shine brighter than those stars.

#overwatch x male reader #overwatch x reader #overwatch ashe x reader #ashe x reader #cassidy x reader #echo x reader #genji x reader #hanzo x reader #junkrat x reader #mei x reader #pharah x reader #reaper x reader #sojourn x reader #soldier 76 x reader #sombra x reader #symmetra x reader #tracer x reader #widowmaker x reader #Wisteria♥

[kopilot-pop]

[New Jeans x Bodyguard!Fem!Reader]

- imagine.

Summary: You have been a bodyguard for several celebrities for some time now. Due to your job being quite dangerous, it’s easy for your girlfriend to worry from time to time. So, what will happen when one day she gets a call from the hospital saying you were taken to the ER after a crazy fan attacked you…

Warnings: blood/injuries, hospital(?), slight angst, fluff, crazy fans, stronk y/n, Danielle kinda cries, etc.

a/n: This is mostly a fluff imagine so don’t get scared by the tags, lmao. You’re not a personal bodyguard for NJ, just a normal, for-hire person working with a security team. Oh, and for Hyein I wrote it as like an ‘best friend’ reader.

———————————————————————

KIM MINJI

She got the call during dance practice, so everybody learned what was going on.

Due to a very nosey Hanni (and the fact that you were friends with everybody) she told them you were in the ER and that she had to leave early.

Probably the calmest out of everybody.

“Calm down Dani! It’s MY girlfriend, why are YOU crying???”

But she was probably the most panicked on the inside.

The moment her manager dropped her off, she quite literally zoomed to find you.

Stayed with you the whole time until you woke up.

Thankfully no serious damage, but she was probably really concerned after you were cleared to go home.

“You should stay a few days more… y’know… just in case…” >> says this like every minute you were packing things up to go home

Begged the company to let her stay at your house for a while… (she did contemplate bringing you to the dorm, but the first scenario that popped into her head was the girls pouncing on you with questions and your stitches ripping open so..)

so fucking gentle

cleaned your stitched wound (crazy fan threw something at you- turned out it was a broken shard of something, you have no idea why the bitch even had that) and changed your gauze every day.

she’s very strict about your care tho

that apprently means you can’t hug your girlfriend until you take the stitches out :D

“I’M FINE MINJI! JUST GIVE ME A GODDAMN HUG-”

“NO!”

“MY LIPS ARE FINE- I WAS JUST STABBED IN THE BACK NOT THE FACE! JUST GIVE ME A KISS WOMAN”

“SIT DOWN!”

Don’t worry tho. You’re still stronger even when injured, so you just trapped her in a cuddle. (c’mon, you’re a guard for a reason)

———————————————————————

Pham Hanni

She was just lying around at your house when she got a call from one of your friends.

Poor girl was so confused because your friend was rambling, but the moment she understood that you were in the ER, she ran to the hospital.

Apparently some crazy man was trying to get close to the actress you were assigned to protect, and threw boiling hot coffee at you for blocking his view.

Your whole (bodyguard)team of grown men struggled to stop Hanni from going to the police station to beat the psychopath’s ass.

They struggled until you finally woke up and told her to calm down.

Poor girl’s never leaving your side again.

several- and i mean SEVERAL kisses to the left side of your face (your right side is like.. blistering.. and shit…)

Very soft with you. I mean she was already an absolute sweetheart before you got burnt like a chicken nugget, but now she’s so SOFT.

Kissing your scars, helping you put ointment on them… just the sweetest… goddammit this girl has your heart in a chokehold :(

“I look like shit.” “You look very pretty baby, so shut up.” (we love aggressive affection)

She also tried to put the ‘coffee man’ in a chokehold, but thankfully you caught her before she left for the police station.

Oh, and also she’s a great cook. That means she’s making meals for you everyday after work.

“Hanni… Sweetheart… Nobody chopped my arms off, I can cook..”

“Nope! You’re not allowed in the kitchen from now on!”

“…It’s my house…?”

She freaked out one time because you made coffee for her in the morning.

“Sweetheart… it’s was an electric pot… I’m not gonna die..”

She’s still unhappy about it, so expect her staring into your soul while sipping her latte.

———————————————————————

DANIELLE MARSH

An absolute mess - I can say that for sure.

You were supposed to be visiting Dani after escorting a popular solo artist to their company building. That meant it was an easy job, involving just you, another guard and the artist.

It was supposed to be a 20 minute walk

But apparently a crazed fan had different ideas..

mf ran up to the three of you, and managed to smash you against a brick wall.

You passed out immediately and the other guard managed to call the ambulance and take care of the situation.

Meanwhile, after hours of waiting Dani finally decided to call you. Only to have a nurse pick up the phone.

She ran toward the hospital ignoring her members worried looks.

Cries the moment she sees you on the hospital bed.

and like, I mean SOB-

She already has a soft heart, and thanks to you it was shattered :D (technically it’s the fan’s fault but whatever)

Doesn’t want to hurt you so she quietly holds your hand until you wake up.

Listens to the nurse explaining that you have a concussion with wide, teary eyes. (The nurse almost fell in love with your gf ngl)

She cries again when you wake up, and even with the concussion you automatically pull her into a hug.

“Wh…what… where am I… huh… DANI?! WHY ARE YOU CRYING-”

Please remind her that you’re okay like a 100 times - that’s the only way to calm her down.

Even weeks after being cleared to go, Dani still gently holds your head from time to time and checks if you’re alright.

She always knew your job had the dangers.

You were pushed around alot, and had bruises from time to time (Dani sees them whenever you’re getting changed)

But this was the first time (after dating) that you were taken to the hospital

So please reassure her everyday :(

Kisses are very effective too fyi

“I was just so worried… you had bandages on your head.. and.. and… there was blood.. and…”

“I know, I know. I’m so sorry baby..”

———————————————————————

KANG HAERIN

A very threatening (and worried) cat.

She was just practicing in the dance room when Minji barged in to tell her you were in the hospital

You were tasked to escort a problematic celebrity to a show (you had no choice) when a pissed off man decided to attack.

That resulted in you having a full on wrestling match with a dude. You won ofc, but because you were bleeding everywhere your captain took you to the ER just in case.

“You should call your girlfriend.”

“But-”

“Call your girlfriend.”

“I’m fine, sir…”

“Fine then. Since she’s in your emergency contacts I’ll be calling to let her know you were taken to the emergency roo-”

“FINE, fine…”

You’re probably kind of scared of her lmao

She doesn’t hate your job (she actually thinks it’s cool), but she always has this stare whenever you come home with a bruise or two.

She doesn’t say anything, but just… stares..

It makes you sweat so you always keep non-serious injuries a secret

So rather than Haerin, you decided to call your friend Minji

“Are you calling me because you’re scared Haerin’s gonna be pissed?”

“Glad you know.”

Haerin barges into your hospital booth after a few minutes.

She doesn’t saying anything but grabs your face and scrunches up when she sees all the cuts.

“I.. I can explain.”

“…”

“I was just doing my job! And… and this dude just… Please look at me..?”

She turns away and gives you the silent treatment for the whole week :D

Haerin is very protective over people she cares about (family, members, friends.. you…) so she absolutely hated seeing you all battered up like that.

So it’s you sweating for a whole week until Haerin finally decides to talk to you.

Just pops up randomly at night and snuggles into you as soon as you open the front door.

You just hold her until she starts silently crying into your chest.

“I was so worried….”

Please hold her like that for the rest of your life, thank you.

———————————————————————

LEE HYEIN

(you’re the same age as her btw)

You guys were neighbors, and since your parents were friends y’all became friends too.

She left to train in her company, but the two of you still kept in contact.

Anyways, fast forward to 2023

You are her best friend since childhood, so she knew how much training you did for your dream- she knew you were terrifyingly strong for your age.

You even send her pics of you at the gym (to brag)

So imagine her surprise when she gets a text from you saying you were in the hospital.

You were at school when a bunch of boys in your class were talking shit about Hyein’s group, and you just lost your cool.

You don’t tell her that ofc

“Aren’t you supposed to protect people?”

“I was actually.”

“You broke one of their bones Y/n.”

“Shh… Nobody has to know…”

You did confess why you fought like months after though.

You guys were hanging out during one of her breaks, and you just randomly blurted out that you beat up people for her

She felt touched of course, but found it funnier than sweet LMAO

She has a habit of slapping you when laughing so you were probably more injured by her laughing her ass off.

“THAT’S THE STUPIDEST REASON Y/N”

“LEARN TO BE FUCKING GRATEFUL- AND STOP SLAPPING ME WOMAN!“

Even though she does laugh at you, she was still worried

You’re one of the most important people to her, so her heart did stop for a second when she saw your text the first time

Even after a few years, and you start working with an actual security team she does get worried from time to time

Helps you deal with bruises and muscle pain by just buying you a bunch of medicine

Just calling her every month like:

“Hyein, is this from you again..?”

“Huh?”

“What is this..? Bruise cream?”

“Oh yeah, I saw a video of you getting pushed on the internet. It’s my phone wallpaper now btw, luv u byeee~”

“LEE HYEIN!”

———————————————————————

#new jeans x reader #new jeans #newjeans #new jeans imagines #minji x reader #kim minji #minji #hanni x reader #pham hanni #hanni #danielle x reader #danielle marsh #haerin x reader #kang haerin #haerin #hyein x reader #lee hyein #hyein #fluff #imagine #new jeans fluff #new jeans fic #wlw

[skzdarlings]

part vii: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (chapter word count; 9600 words)

chapter warnings: beginnings of some kink exploration (dom/sub, mentions of discipline, breeding kink)

-

At one of your father’s dinner parties, a pompous idiot with too much to drink touches you.  It takes Felix seconds to rip that hand away, holding it in a painful clutch and threatening to snap his wrist if the man tries anything again.  Safe to say, he does not, and everyone else gives you a blissfully wide berth.    

You look at Felix on the ride back to the apartment.  The armed limo is huge and empty with just the two of you, the partition up for a modicum of privacy, but he is still quiet.   His head is on his fist as he stares out the tinted window.    It is not a particularly morose quietude; you suspect he is just tired because of the long day and late hour. 

You are tired too, your gaze dreamy and unfocussed as you look at him.  The security uniform tonight is a black dress shirt and black suit.  It makes him look severe, lean and dark, all high cheekbones and dark brows, his shock of blonde hair tied smoothly back.  

He looks very intimidating when he doesn’t smile, fitting a plethora of roles when it suits him.  This one stirs something deep in the core of you, something that makes you feel flushed and a little embarrassed. 

It seems like such a cliché, someone with your history getting turned on by a mean man with a meaner hand.  Your stubborn side is irrefutably against you even acknowledging such a desire, but the desire wins out anyway.  You and Felix know real violence better than anyone.  You know the power propelling your passion is not his deep voice snapping at that man, not his powerful stance or harsh action.  It was the way he looked at you after.  The way he so gently touched your side to comfort you, using that low voice not to threaten but console, asking so sincerely if you were all right and if you needed anything.  You know if you asked, he would have given you anything. 

Your father looks at Felix and sees an inhuman soldier.  Others look at him and see his masks, his roles, his duties.  You see all those things and more, his capacity for goodness among them.

Felix has taken beatings for you.  He has protected you with all his painfully won abilities.  He has trusted you with the darkest parts of himself, just as he seen the worst of your wounds.  You know he will always take care of those scars, and there is immense relief in trusting that way. 

You doze in your dreaminess, stirring when he gently shakes your shoulder at arrival.  You groan, more for show than actual displeasure.  He chuckles and squeezes your arm. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs.  “Gotta get to bed before you can sleep, yeah?” 

You blink your eyes open.  He is close, close enough to count each freckle.  You brush back a fallen strand of blonde hair, your gaze tracing it to the root.  He needs another touch-up.  You smile, thinking about the simple domestic routine that is helping him with his hair, a part of his body he can control and that he trusts you with completely.     

“C’mon,” he says again, as the driver opens the door.  “Let’s go.”

Felix steps out first, always assessing.  You follow when he offers his hand.  You both acknowledge the driver with the usual politeness then Felix escorts you into the building.  In the elevator, you rest your head on his shoulder and yawn.  He stands straight and stoic, aware of the cameras and surveillance.  You bumbling about in your tipsiness is normal but he should be indifferent to it. 

He takes your heels when you pass them to him, walking calmly while you sashay out of the elevator with a showy flourish.  You know it is killing him not to laugh until you are safe inside the apartment. 

“You’re a menace,” he says, tossing your shoes to the side.  You giggle and reach for him but he swerves and ignores your pout.  “Go to bed,” he says.  “I’m just gonna let your dad know we’re back.” 

The usual routine.  Phone call, security check, bed.  Sometimes he takes longer than necessary so you are asleep when he climbs into bed, but when you are awake he smiles despite himself. 

That smile dimples his cheeks tonight.  You are sitting at your vanity, wiping the last of your make-up when he walks into the bedroom.  He unknots his tie while swooping down, his mouth by your ear and your gazes meeting in the mirror. 

“You should be in bed,” he says.  His tone colours it so suggestively that he might as well have murmured something filthy. 

You feign indifference as you turn to him.  He straightens and you stand, your gazes locked in a challenging contest of wills.  You take the ends of his tie and tug him closer.  He is too coordinated to truly stumble so you know he does it for your benefit, looking charmed the whole time. 

“I need help, remember?”  You smile sweetly.  “You’ve been derelict in duty.” 

“Ah,” he says.  “Sorry to leave you waiting.” 

“You should be.” 

It seems long ago now that you were standing in your closet at the house, wishing you had an excuse for Felix to put his hands on you.  That was when you hoped for a circumstantial resolution, so you would not have to ask, so it would just happen. 

Things have changed.  He was with you when you bought this dress.  He was in this room when you stepped into it.  He zipped it because you asked, in on the same joke when you smiled at him through the mirror. 

Now you turn around and offer your back.  There were some tingles when he zipped you up, just like there were sparks when you tied his tie despite him knowing how, but having him undress you feels different.  A little shiver dances down your spine as he lowers the zipper, slower than he needs to, either tormenting you or bracing himself.   

He doesn’t need to slide the straps down your shoulders, nor help you step out of the dress, but he does.  He gathers it at your waist and sinks to his knees, letting you step out of the gown.  Then he drapes it over his arm and stands, pointedly not looking any lower than your neck. 

“Will that be all?” he asks, dryly, playing your little game. 

You lift an eyebrow and smirk.  He laughs, shaking his head. 

“Proper classes start next week, yeah?”  He leaves to hang your dress.  “You should try and get on a better sleep schedule.” 

“Ugh,” is your reply.  “You and your common sense.  I hate you.” 

He smirks, looking down at the dress as he slides it onto the hanger.  “I know,” he says. 

There is one more party before the summer ends.  You know there will be lots of socializing, the final summer bash an excruciatingly long event, so you take your time preparing.  You permit a little indulgence, lounging in a bubble bath while reading on your phone. 

You tend to mentally insert Felix into all the stories.  His understated dominance, deriving from a secure sense of competence, is far more tantalizing than some of the dramatically brusque characters, so you really have no choice but to think of your bodyguard as you slide your free hand under the water…

As if he knows you are about to be naughty, Felix knocks at the bathroom door. 

“Yes?” you ask, turning off your screen.  “What is it?”

“Uhh, is my jacket still in there?  I can’t find it.” 

“Yup.”

“All right.  Can you bring it when you’re done—”    

“You can come in,” you say.  You place your phone aside then sink into the water.  “I’m decent.” 

Felix opens the door only to immediately jump back a step.

“O-o-okaaay,” he says before laughing in disbelief.  He scrubs a hand over his face.  “Yeah, uhh, that was my fault.  I should have known better.” 

You giggle, blowing a few bubbles apart. 

“Don’t be a baby,” you say.  “You can’t see anything.”  That much is true as the bubbles blanket the water.  “Besides,” you say, smiling, “it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” 

He sighs and looks at you sideways.  You raise a wet hand and wiggle your fingers. 

“Uh-huh,” he says, amused despite himself.   He sighs again, his voice breaking on the upward lilt, making you laugh.  He crosses the room, pointedly not looking in your direction and fetching his jacket off the counter.  

He is leaving when you call his name in a syrupy voice.  

“Yes?” he asks, his back to you.  He is in a white dress shirt but ripped jeans, his hair in a messy half-ponytail.  He is only halfway ready, halfway your father’s man, but all the way yours when you call him back to you. 

He tosses the jacket on the counter again.  He crosses his arms, looking at you with an expectant tip of the head. 

You lift a leg and rest your toes on the end of the tub.  His eyes flick down the length of bare skin before settling on your face, his expression seemingly unmoved despite the compulsion to look. 

You hum casually as you wave a razor. 

“Are you kidding,” he says, more of a statement than a question, already knowing the answer. 

“What?  You’re here to help me, aren’t you?” you ask, blinking innocently. 

“I’m here to, hmm, stop you from being killed and, ah, what did your father say again…”  He taps a finger on his chin while ambling towards the tub.  He smiles as if remembering, nodding with utmost seriousness.  “Yeah, that was it.  Use my, uhh, discretion?  To discipline you?” 

“Do you want to discipline me, Felix?” 

There is a moment of tense silence.  He takes the final step to the tub and perches himself on the edge.  He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, carefully folding each crease up to his elbow.  You watch it, far more rapt than any person should be, looking at his forearms, his wrists, his hands, and wondering how you can be so attracted to even the most innocuous parts of him. 

“You know…” he says, without any teasing or irony, drawing your eyes up to his face.  “Sometimes I think… you know, I’ll be a monster my whole life no matter what I do.”  He takes the razor while you are distracted with forming an interjection.  He keeps speaking, lathering some soap on his fingertips.  “I don’t how you can ask me things like that, and somehow… just… make me feel like no matter what I’m doing, I’m still doing something, mmm, holy… and good.” 

You are good, you want to say.    

He clasps your ankle and rests it on his knee, then draws the razor along your calf, concentrated.  You are hyperaware of the kiss of metal, how easily he could hurt you, how he is so careful not to, even by accident.  He rinses the razor then starts again, eyes turned to his task while he speaks.   

“The way you look at me, ah,” he says, smiling and shaking his head.  “It almost scares me, yeah, just what I’d do if it was for you.”

“Well,” you say, letting your leg sink back into the water when he finishes.  “That’s because you’re a good bodyguard.”  It is the most you trust yourself to say.

“Am I?” he asks, with a tilt of the head. 

Your eyes meet for as long as you can bear to look at him, then you force yourself to shrug.

“You already know how I feel about you,” is what you say. 

He lets out a breath of a laugh, then stands and turns to leave.  You clear your throat loudly and he looks back at you.

“I have another leg,” you say dryly. 

He laughs and sits back down.

-

The party is a typical event.  Everyone blends together, a restless sea of noisy faces.  You do not take particular note of anyone. 

Until you see Hyunjin. 

He is across the room, sitting with his parents and a few other people.  It has only been a few months but his hair has grown, now touching his jaw.  He is handsome as ever but he is no longer faking happiness.  You relate to the look on his face, the open contempt as he regards a few characters at his table. 

He is helping himself to the complimentary wine, a blush on his cheeks from mild intoxication.  You watch him swing out of his seat and strut up to the bar, his father glaring behind him the whole time. 

Then his father spots you and you have to refrain from rolling your eyes.  You take a sip of your own drink, sighing as Hyunjin’s father crosses the room to whisper something to him.

Hyunjin looks your way.  Though there are many people between you, the fuss of the party fades away.  You see him, his slouch, how tired he looks, aged in just a few short months.  You want to ask him so many questions.  You hope he is okay, but he is here so that must be limited. 

Hyunjin looks at his father and shakes his head.  A quiet argument seems to brew between them, ending with Hyunjin storming off into the corridor.  You watch him retreat, debating whether or not you want to follow when your father says, “Don’t.”

You did not realize he had returned to the table.  He is sipping a coffee and watching you with obvious disapproval.

 “Don’t what?” you ask.  The question punches out of you very sharply.  The ordeal with Hyunjin reminds you of everything that followed with Jisung.  You cannot help the way your adrenaline kicks in, frightened and frantic. 

Your father is always happiest when he has an underling squirming.  He smiles into his coffee then slowly places it down.  He takes his time wiping his mouth, tossing the napkin on the floor after. 

“You’re not a child anymore,” he says.  “You don’t need a boy like that.” 

“I don’t want a boy like that,” you say.  “We’re still friends, though.” 

“You don’t need friends like that either,” he says.  “You’re better than this.” 

The absolute nerve of this man to act like he never liked Hyunjin, that your break-up was his plan all along, that your decision was actually his own.  To act like he is still in control.  

A part of you wants so badly to swing back with your own words, to tell him everything about you, about Felix, just to see the look on his face.  He’s not in control of your life, you are, and he can throw you into whatever situation he wants, but you will continue to make your own choices.  You have carved out your own happiness right under his nose.  You have done the impossible over and over and over again.   

You do not say anything, of course.  A few moments of gloating satisfaction is not worth the devastating outcome of such a revelation.  You just shake your head and clench your jaw, fixing your stare on nothing particular.  You count your breath to temper yourself. 

“I am pleased you agree with me on such an assertion,” your father says. 

He must know he is riling you up, but he gets to act calm and collected because he has no emotional investment in it.  Hyunjin was a means an end.  Jisung was nothing and no one.  Felix is a soldier.  He doesn’t care about Hyunjin’s artistic side, that he has a deeply sensitive nature.  He doesn’t care that Jisung is funny and brilliant and creative, that he brightens lives just by being there.  He doesn’t care that Felix has a hundred complicated layers, that he is good and goofy and kind, that he is sad and sorrowful and angry. 

He doesn’t care that you love them.  He cares that people play their part so he can play his, above them all where he is safe in his power.      

“I do what I have to,” you say through gritted teeth. 

“A valuable lesson for the Hwang boy if he wants to move up in the world,” your father says, otherwise dismissive as he looks at his watch.  The conversation is evidently starting to bore him.

That annoys you more than anything else.  Though you know better, your vexation propels you to blurt, “And what lesson was Jisung supposed to learn?” 

You regret it as soon as you say it.  You do not want to do anything that would ever endanger him again.  

Your fleeting panic is for nothing.  Your father is perplexed, looking at you like he thinks you may have finally gone insane. 

“Who?” he says. 

A twisted combination of fury and relief spins inside you like a hurricane.  Who.  Your best friend, an innocent civilian that he targeted and harassed, a good and kind boy who never wanted anything more than to love his friends and be loved in return.  One of the most heartbreaking separations of your life, a source of so much agony and anger.  It was only a few months ago.   

And your father says who. 

You are so stunned, you can only stare back at him, completely at a loss for words. 

Your father is standing, prepared to leave, when realization blooms on his face.

“Ah, right, the schoolboy,” he says.  Then he just laughs, like you told an absolutely hilarious joke.  He puts a hand on your shoulder and squeezes amiably.  “He learned not to aim higher than he’s worth,” your father says, laughing some more like he cracked a punchline too.  “Some people are destined to live and die as nothing.”

He walks away with a smile.  You stare into the distance, stone-faced. 

When the timing is less suspicious, you make your way over to Felix.  He is standing with the security team, armed and ready for action.  He unhooks his earpiece so he can hear when you whisper. 

“As soon as possible,” you say, “get me alone with Hyunjin.  And be as discreet, please.” 

It is obvious he was not expecting that.  He opens his mouth to say something then closes it again, looking confused.

“Please,” you say, then walk away so you do not arouse suspicion.  There is only so much conversation you would reasonably need to have with your bodyguard in the middle of a party. 

Felix pops his earpiece back in, frowning to himself as he resumes position.  You go to the bar for another drink, smiling at the appropriate guests, making small talk when prompted.   Hyunjin eventually returns to the room, so you and Felix make eye contact.  He straightens his jacket and moves across the room, blending in as security should.    

You wait by the balcony doors as Felix approaches Hyunjin.  At first, Hyunjin appears to be dismissing him, then he does a double-take and realizes it is Felix.  He looks confused but Felix departs as swiftly as he arrived.  He joins you by the balcony doors, following you outside. 

You wait, leaning on the balcony railing and looking over the hotel courtyard with unseeing eyes.  Your mind is faraway, already racing with questions, thoughts, concerns.  You told yourself you would never see Hyunjin or Jisung again, but that was before Hyunjin disappeared then reappeared.  You have a million things you want to know.  Did he try running?  Did he fail?  Will he try again? 

Then Hyunjin steps onto the balcony and you forget the tedium of words.  You hug him and he hugs you back, a tight but brief embrace.  You both laugh a little. 

You see Felix out of the corner of your eye.  He is lingering a few feet back like a bodyguard would, but he is staring like a jealous boyfriend until he remembers himself.  He clears his throat and stands straight, looking away. 

Hyunjin glances at him too, then looks at you with a raised eyebrow. 

“I’m guessing there’s… a story here…” he says. 

“You’re one to talk,” you say, thumping his arm.  “Where were you?  Was it…?”

Hyunjin glances at Felix who is stoic as can be.  Hyunjin clearly does not know what to make of him, so he errs on the side of the caution, speaking quietly. 

“Paris,” he says.  “My dad sent me to live with family for the summer.  It was supposed to be a punishment, sending me away from my friends, but I loved it.”   

You smile.  You have to commend Hyunjin’s ability to find happiness despite how his parents try to control him.  They tried to terrify him as a boy, chasing him into the shadows to hide, but it only took a few moments with Minho for him to lean back into sunlight.  It pours out of him now in cracks and fissures, punching holes in his grim exhaustion and bringing him to life before your eyes. 

“They watched me closely the whole time, though,” he says.  “They still are.  I’m just biding my time.  What about you?” 

“Honestly,” you say softly, “I’m just taking it one day at a time.”

“You’re not alone, though,” he says, nodding toward Felix. 

In the face of Hyunjin’s honesty, past and present, you cannot lie.  One glance towards Felix reveals all your thoughts.   

Hyunjin smiles and pats your arm. 

“That’s good, at least,” he says.  “When none of you showed up to the graduation parties, I was worried.  I phoned Jisung but he said he didn’t know where you were.”

“Jisung?” you say.  “He didn’t go to grad?” 

“No.” Hyunjin shakes his head.  “He said it didn’t matter.  I figured that’s because your dad wasn’t letting you go or something, and Jisung probably wouldn’t have fun without you.  I told him to hang out with me but, whatever, he was kinda stubborn.” 

“Oh.” 

“You didn’t know?” Hyunjin asks, brow furrowed.  “What happened after you left my house?” 

“A lot happened,” you say.  You do not where to start, the story exhausting.  “Basically some of my father’s enemies… well, let’s just say things got out of control and my dad got mad.  Jisung was kinda in the middle of things so… I can’t see him again.  For both our sakes.”   

“I’m sorry,” Hyunjin says.  “I know you guys were close.”

You want to deflect and joke, maybe point out that most people lose contact with friends after high school.  But you can’t do that.  Your first true friend will always be a part of you and you cannot pretend otherwise.  You don’t want to pretend otherwise.   

“Yeah,” is what you say.  “We were.  I just hope he’ll be happy out there.” 

Hyunjin wraps you up for another hug, speaking low, “I hope we all will.” 

You close your eyes and squeeze him back.  You are not sure when you will see him again, but you honestly hope it is never.  You hope he gets away.  You hope the light inside him bursts through its restraints, never to be obscured again. 

Hyunjin returns to the party first.  You watch him go, reflective.  Eventually you look at Felix, expecting to find him stoic and composed, but he is frowning. 

Flustered by all the drama, you forgot Felix gets a little jealous around Hyunjin.  He still does not know the exact nature of your relationship, only that you faked a romance.  Given the peculiarity of the situation, you cannot blame his marginal envy, especially because he is not impolite or aggressive about it.  He understands you are all in difficult circumstances. 

Considering those dramatic circumstances, petty jealousy is hilariously trivial.  Felix can take out two armed agents in less than ten seconds but he cannot stop frowning at a rival pretty boy. 

 You touch his cheek, lifting the corner of his mouth into a smile.  It drops the second you let go. 

“We’re just friends,” you say. 

“I didn’t say anything,” he says.

“Oh, good,” you say.  “Because for a second there my very professional bodyguard almost looked jealous.” 

Felix smiles one of his toothy, saccharine smiles, eyes crinkled with overnice mirth. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says.  “I already told you, he doesn’t have what it takes to handle you, yeah?” 

He says it so sweetly, but he says it while sliding his palm down the curve of your ass.  You jump when he squeezes you, then his hand appropriately returns to the middle of your back to escort you inside. 

It leaves you both sufficiently keyed up for the remainder of the party.  It does not take much these days.  A particularly thorough regard in a quiet room is enough to get you hot. 

You find it hard to look away from him.  In the limo, you inch your hand closer and closer to his lap, but he catches your fingers when they graze his thigh.  Inside the building, you pretend to be more intoxicated than you are, so he is forced to sweep you into a bridal hold and carry you to the elevators.  You drop your head on his shoulder, sighing with deep satisfaction.  Your breath flutters the collar of his shirt. 

“Menace,” Felix says affectionately. 

He takes his time doing the security check.  You resort to reading on your phone, inadvertently losing yourself in the erotic romance.  You slide a hand under the covers, cupping yourself through your underwear.   Other than a t-shirt, it is all you are wearing.

Felix returns, dressed in his t-shirt and boxers for sleep.  He sits on the bed but it takes him a second to notice your guilty face.  He pauses, looking at your phone then where your arm disappears under the covers. 

“Hello,” he says dryly.  “What are you doing?” 

You pass him the phone.  He lifts an eyebrow but takes it, sitting up against the headboard to read.  He does not smile or frown, nor does he laugh or reprimand you.  He reads, brow furrowed in concentration.  At one point he flicks his thumb over his bottom lip, then he flips some hair out of his eyes. 

Finally, he exhales and turns the screen off.     

“Felix,” you say after a moment of silence. “Can I touch myself, please?”

“You, uhh…” He clears his throat.  “You don’t need my, uhh, permission for that.” 

“I want to do it here.”  Your smirk softens to a shy smile when he looks at you.  You wet your lips, his eyes flicking there before meeting your gaze.  “And aren’t you in charge at all times?” you tease. 

He laughs, a sharp breath through his nose.  Amusement tickles across his face, dimples deepening with a barely restrained smile. 

“I, uhh, I don’t think anyone could really take charge of you.”  He laughs, then jokes, “But the politeness is a nice change, I guess.” 

“I can be polite,” you say, batting your eyelashes.  “And I can be good.  But not for just anyone.” 

He swallows.  You watch the surrendering shrug of his shoulders, the tension leaving his body.  He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair.   He does not look at you when he says, “Yeah.  Okay.” 

“Okay?”  You smirk again.  

Your prolonged teasing backfires when he looks at you without a trace of nervousness.  He tips his head and looks at you expectantly, with a lifted brow and stern set to his mouth. 

“Okay,” he says, voice rough.  “Touch yourself.” 

You are shy under the intensity of his gaze, feeling especially vulnerable as you are laying down and he is sitting up.  But it is that same intensity that encourages you.  This is your Felix in your shared bed, his wandering gaze the same loving caress as always.

You push the covers down.  His eyes follow your hands as they hook into your underwear to shimmy down your hips.  It’s seductive in theory, but it feels silly to pull back your legs and tug the fabric down.  If it looks ridiculous, it does not show on his face, utterly transfixed in its devotion. 

You touch yourself at the same time his hand falls into his lap.  You can see him taking shape beneath his boxers, his hand finding the curve of his dick through the material. 

You make a soft noise and his hand freezes, his dark eyes fixed between your legs then gradually sweeping up to your face. 

Your hand pauses too.   

There is no action and no sound between you for a long moment.  You really do feel like you can read his face, every little detail, but maybe you simply see your own desires reflected back to you, the same way you have seen your own fears and insecurities over the years. 

Right now, you see all that mutual yearning.  Imploring, begging, to cross this space between you.  You cannot find the words to ask.  He just breathes deeply. 

“Felix,” you finally say.   

In the end, it’s all you need to say.  He slides across the space between you. 

He lays along your side, propping his head in one hand and letting the other drift down your torso.  Your own hand jumps to your chest, resting just above your rapidly beating heart.  He looks into your face as you part your legs in invitation. 

The moment he touches you, you swear it obliterates all the pain you have ever felt, suffused completely in the pleasure of his hand.  When he last touched you so intimately, you were rushed, stealing whatever touches you could in that stolen moment.  Now he takes his time, feeling you, rubbing softly at your most tender places.  You are so wet that his fingers glide so easily, each press silky and soft as he fits his fingers inside you, as your body welcomes him.    

Your whole body feels taut, rearing under his hand and wanting so much more.  He speaks to you in a low voice, nonsense sweetness that leaves you flushed and sweaty.

You grasp the collar of his shirt, tugging with thoughtless desperation, and his hand slows down.  You whimper miserably, looking at him with your saddest eyes, wondering why he is stopping.  Then you realize you grabbed him with the hand that was between your legs.   

You remember the time he came with your fingers in his mouth, the taste of you touching his tongue.  It spurs you to touch his mouth now.  His lips part with a gasping breath, as if he is trying to remember how to breathe.  The tip of his tongue touches the tip of your finger, then his whole face scrunches up like he is bracing himself for a hit. 

He exhales, then moves. 

You push yourself up on your elbows, looking down with equal parts disbelief and exhilaration.  He hooks a hand under your thigh and moves you, guiding it over his shoulder as he lowers his face between your legs.  His breath touches you first, then the cup of his lips, then his tongue, feasting and eager. 

You want to throw back your head with pleasure, but you also don’t want to look away.  You watch him through slitted eyes, his mouth, his flushed cheeks, his tongue.  He tastes you like he is savouring each second, like this is a luxury to be indulged reverently, with broad strokes of his tongue and a hungry press to his lips.  His open-mouthed kiss is wet and thorough, and his moan is a rumbling vibration, your thighs twitching around his head from the effect of both. 

You say his name, and you say please, and you say a string of hazy supplications until you think you might cry.  You touch his head, fingers sinking into his hair and tugging, making him moan and making you come.  You hold him there as he takes you over, licking you until you are a trembling mess of aftershocks and sensitivity. 

You gasp and he finally lifts his face.  He gazes at you while he sits back on his heels.  You watch him wipe his mouth, thumb circling his lips. 

Your eyes go from his mouth down, down, down, begging.   “Please,” you say, in a rasping voice.   

“You, uhh…”  His voice is so rough that even when he clears his throat, it still comes out dark.  “You don’t—shouldn’t—”

“I want to,” you say, already shifting. 

“You, uhhh, ah, you—” 

It’s a half-hearted protestation if that, inarticulate and spoken at the same time he reaches for you.  His hand curls around the back of your head, gently guiding you closer.   He kneels upright and you sit lower, fumbling with his waistband.  You are not sure if you are excited or nervous or both, but you forget to be shy when you finally take him in your mouth. 

He starts swearing in multiple languages.  Feeling him unravel with pleasure ignites more fire in your core.  Inexpert though you must be, you know him, so you listen and respond.  You show him the same reverence, with a slow drag of your mouth, looking up while he is between your lips.  He makes a sound that comes from deep in his chest, running a hand through his hair as he curses again. 

You are helpless but to moan as well.  He warns when he is close, to which you hum in acknowledgement.  He curses yet again, forgetting all his restraint and rules of behaviour.  He cups your face, then that hard body with all its hidden power goes soft and sweet just for you.   You are a little messy swallowing, but he is so dazed that he does not notice anything for a good few seconds. 

“Wow,” he finally says while you sit back and wipe your lips.  You cannot help but giggle back at him.  “That was, uh.  Wow.” 

“Wow,” you repeat, your voice still ragged but teasing nonetheless.  “No lecture, no scolding, no warning… just wow.” 

He laughs and shakes his head.  “Would you even listen if I did?” he asks. 

You pretend to think about it, making him laugh again, then you grin with a hearty, “Nope!” 

He is still smiling when he takes you in his arms, when he puts you on your back, when he kisses across your thighs until his face is back where you want him. 

“Mmm, then I won’t waste my breath,” he says.

You are still giggling when he parts his lips, though it softens when he starts licking at you slowly.  He works you up again gradually on his tongue.  Somewhere along the way, you realize are still smiling.  You have been so afraid of so many touches for so long that it is a marvel on its own – that you like him touching you so much, that you like it enough to smile and laugh even at the height of pleasure. 

Maybe it is that thought, or just the overwhelming burst of sensation when he sucks on you, when he licks at you, when he presses his face so intimately and thoroughly between your legs that you come even harder the second time.  Maybe it is a part of this.  Maybe it is all of this. 

But tears escape from the corner of your eyes.  You find yourself gasping, a shuddery sound.  He is surfacing and wiping his mouth when he notices, then he is leaning over you, touching the side of your face, his face full of concern. 

“It’s okay,” you say. “It’s the good kind, I promise.”  It is easy to prove because you are laughing through those tears, a bubbly torrent of giggles that you cannot contain.     

There is still a crease in his brow, maybe a little confused, but he smiles back at you. 

“Well, I only like the good kind,” he says, wiping his thumb across your cheek. 

“Mm.”  You take his hand and kiss his palm.  He sighs like it is somehow more torturously pleasurable than anything else.  “You’re a good bodyguard,” you murmur.  “It’s never the bad kind if you’re around.”

His eyes close.  Though he cannot meet your gaze, he leans down and kisses your forehead. 

When he withdraws, you touch his jaw and guide him close.  He cups your head as your lips meet, the tangy shock on his tongue rippling through you.  You do not shy away, holding him close, kissing him until you are both sated and sleepy.  He lays his head on the soft curve of your chest and you run your fingers through his hair. 

You get dozy, your eyes closing, your fingers slowing.  He exhales. 

“Mmm,” his voice is sleepy, words meandering in their low murmur, “Wish I could say… wish you could hear… Maybe…mmm… maybe you can hear me anyway, yeah…  Whatever you’re dreaming about…  I’ll tell you there, ‘kay.  Just listen.  Sweetheart.  Yeah.  Sweetheart…”

Though his sleepy ramblings are a little nonsensical, the sentiment is heartfelt and easily understood.   

That quiet, dozy space between dreaming and waking is the only place you dare accept it so brazenly. 

-

Every time is supposed to be the last time, just like the first time was supposed to be the only time. 

You feel so alive and so safe whenever he touches you, even if you know it actually puts you in more danger.   But real world ramifications feel far away.  Some days you almost feel normal, studying and attending class, wandering around campus, sharing a bed in your quiet apartment. 

He still phones your father with reports, though there is little to cover anyway.  It is easy to disappear on that sprawling university campus, just another face among hundreds.  Your friendships are cordial and mostly superficial.  Felix does not need to lie as your routine genuinely revolves around class and studying, maybe some casual day trips in approved public locations. 

The only lie is the biggest lie, that Felix is the perfect inhuman soldier your father wants, and you are the begrudging child licking your wounds until the day you accept your place.  Your father is so wretchedly trapped in himself that you doubt he could see the truth even if someone outright told him. 

A few weeks pass.  The season changes into autumn.  Everything turns red and gold, and the blue sky is an ashy violet on the best of days. Even in the dying browns of nature, you feel more alive than ever. 

As constant as the seasonal cycle is the cycle of rest and nightmares.  It is difficult to gauge when all that pain and anxiety might interrupt the peace.   It comes and goes, like a restless creature begging for attention.  You are not sure it will ever be truly tamed. 

You wake early one morning to Felix sitting up in bed.  His hair is a wavy, unkempt mess, like he was tossing more than usual.  Daylight is little more than a mist in the darkness, laying over the room like a gauzy film, making everything feel very still.   

He sighs and looks down at you, jumping when he sees you are awake.  Usually he is much more alert.  This nightmare must have been severe to keep him so occupied. 

He settles, though he looks away from you. 

“Sleep,” he says.  “It’s early still.” 

“Will you sleep with me?” you ask. 

He nods, looking into the distance.  He does not fully lay down, slouching against the headboard, but he holds out his arm.  You nestle into his side and he wraps that arm around you.  

He feels far away despite his proximity, returning to you in little breaths and touches until he is stroking his fingers across your back.  You hum with pleasure and snuggle closer.  It makes him sigh. 

You want to stay awake to comfort him but the early hour bests you.  Suddenly you are waking again, this time to your morning alarm.  You are on his side of the bed but Felix is gone, though you can hear the shower running so you do not fret for long. 

You are more awake this time, as is the morning itself, the daylight more determined to brighten the room.  You sit up in bed and scroll through your phone, waking more surely and waiting for Felix to show.  He never takes too long in the shower, functional and swift about everything.  The water stops before long and you can hear him puttering around the sink.    

Usually, you would not pester him during any private time, but you are still concerned after his strange start to the morning.  You shuffle to the bathroom door where you gently knock. 

“Yeah?”  His voice sounds brighter and more alert.   Maybe the worst has passed.  Sometimes going about your routine is the best remedy. 

“Alarm went,” you say.  “Just need a shower too.  Can I come in?” 

“Uhhh, yeah, sure.” 

You step into the bathroom.  He is standing at the sink, wearing only a towel slung low around his hips.  He didn’t wash his hair but it is still damp in parts, exacerbating his already messy bedhead.  He brushes some of it back and smiles at you. 

You feel warm and flushed like a child with a crush, suddenly very affected by the casual domesticity of this scene.    

Your hesitation concerns him.  He cocks his head, brow furrowing.  “Y’okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you say softly.  “Sorry.  You?” 

“Mhm,” he says.  

It seems preposterous that you should feel so flushed, as if you have not seen more of him and in more compromising positions.  It seems just as ridiculous that his eyes should linger the way they do, skimming your bare legs, up to where your long sweatshirt covers your thighs.  He has had his face there several times over the last few weeks, more than acquainted with the most intimate parts of your body.  Surely you should both be past gawking at each other like you have never seen any partial nudity. 

But he looks and you look back.  When he realizes he is staring, he draws himself away.  He fumbles with his toothbrush, then jams it in his mouth without toothpaste. 

You cannot help but smile.  This sort of tension, while torturous in its own right, is far preferable to the darker variety.

He looks at you through the mirror, not very subtly.   Your eyes meet and stay locked.  You grab the hem of your sweatshirt and lift it off, leaving you completely naked in a single sweep.  He takes the toothbrush out of his mouth.  His exhale shakes. 

He looks away and meets the gaze of his own reflection.  It makes him freeze in a way you recognize, the way you sometimes freeze.   Felix’s mind drifts easily, jumping from thought to thought, but this is the fastest you have seem him retreat.  

He does not look at you again, but he also does not leave.  He changes distraction tactics, reaching for his shaving cream instead.  

Taking the cue, you wrap a towel around yourself, the material tucked neatly under the arms so you are marginally modest.   You step up to the counter.  He meets your gaze through the mirror while he lathers shaving cream over his face. 

“Yes?” he says after a moment.   

You perch yourself up on the counter, just smiling and kicking your legs.  Felix jabs his tongue into his cheek to withhold his own smile.  He manages to reign himself in, clearing his throat.  He regards his reflection seriously as he evens out the shaving cream on his jaw.   

You reach out and flick a little, catching it on your fingertip.  You give it an inquisitive look. 

“Do you even grow that much facial hair?” you ask as he rummages through his things for his razor.

He laughs at the question and shakes his head. 

“Uhh, no, it’s splotchy and just… not sexy,” he says.  “Which is why I need to get rid of it.” 

“I see,” you say.  “I suppose I can’t have my bodyguard looking ‘not sexy’.  Tsk, tsk, the way people would talk.  I’d never be able to show my face at another luncheon.”

“Mmm, I’m sure that would be devastating to you,” he says dryly. 

Though he laughs along with your joke, a sombre air falls over him like a hush.  He finds his razor and rinses it, but he takes a little too long, his mind wandering away again. 

Your own giddiness fades.  Felix is prone to the same emotional whiplash as you, though he has always been better controlling it, but right now he is vacillating so quickly between glee and sorrow that you cannot keep up. 

You wonder if it was the nightmare, some dark thought still lingering in his waking mind.  It could be anything. You know Felix has many complicated feelings.  He is torn between his own personhood and the duty he has assigned himself, burdened by whatever treatise exists between him and your father.   What I get is a life worth more than mine, was all he told you.  You do not fully know what he meant; you just know how much it upset you to hear him describe his own life in such pithy terms.  

He has done a great deal to keep you safe as he can, often at his own expense.  He has grappled with his duty in relation to this.  Protect your life, protect another life.  He never says anything about protecting his own.  He does not expect his service to be returned.  He does not think it should be. 

“Can I?” you say when he lifts the razor to his face.  It makes him pause, looking from his reflection to you, clearly confused with the question.  When you nod to the razor in his hand, his brow furrows and he looks at it. 

“Uhh,” he says.  “I guess.  Sure.  Why do you—”

You take the razor and hook a leg around his waist, guiding him closer to you.  He comes slowly, almost warily, but his gaze softens when you touch his chin and tilt his head, your actions gentle.  He looks at you, not his reflection, his gaze thoughtful just as yours is attentive.  You are very careful, aware of how sensitive a face will be beneath the cut of a blade.  

He leans even closer while you work, drawn to your affection like a magnet.  He fits between your open legs, his hands bracketing your hips.  He is leaning close, his breath touching your skin, your hand and blade steady where you care for him. 

You wipe his face when all is said and done, smiling triumphantly up at him.   The smile he returns is practically glowing.  You cannot help but trace the line of his smooth jaw, all the way up into his hair where you flatten a few unruly strands of blonde. 

He makes a sweet noise, a low grunt of pleasure, tipping his head into your head.  You scratch at his scalp, down to his nape.  His shoulders loosen and he leans even closer to you. 

His eyes lift.  He catches his own reflection behind you and it makes him pause again.  You can’t possibly hate yourself that much, you think, morose. 

You sigh.  Holding the back of his neck, you pull his face closer.  His nose skims your throat, his cheek on your shoulder, and his gaze is forcibly drawn away from his reflection.  He exhales and you shiver.  His hand brushes your hip before settling on the counter again. 

“When I have nightmares, I like to be spoken to,” you say, the least pushy way of begging, talk to me about yours now. 

Given his breath of a laugh, he understands.  He makes another noise, one irrefutably guttural and suggestive, even though you are doing nothing to draw it out.  It makes you swallow, your fingers shaky in his hair. 

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” he says, voice so low and right by your ear.  It turns your insides molten. 

“Oh?” is the reply you manage.

“Mm.  The opposite, really.” 

“It seemed like a nightmare,” you say. 

“Only when I woke up,” he says, then pulls back.  “And it wasn’t real.”  His gaze goes from you to his reflection, then down at nothing.  His brow pinches.  “I should— Uhh.  I should go.  You should… shower.  I should…”

He says this, but he does not step away.   It makes it easy to trace a finger up the planes of his abdomen and chest, leading his gaze up and up just as surely. 

“Should,” you say.  “Stupid word.  Awful word.  Imagine if I did what I should.”

“I can’t,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips.  “Not for a second.”  The solemnness falls again, his gaze skittish.  “But I’m not you, yeah?  And I should go.” 

“Be me,” you say, pressing your knees into his hips to stop him from moving.  He could very easily pull away.  You know you are no match for him, physically.  But he lets himself be caught, as he lets no one catch him.   The world comes at him with violence and he combats it easily.   He only surrenders under the gentle sweep of your hand when you cup his jaw.  “Be me,” you say again.  “Don’t do what you should.  Felix.  Don’t think about what he wants.  What I want.  What any of them want.”  You slide your hand down his shoulder, his arm.  You touch the back of his hand.  “What do you want?” you ask.  “More than anything?”

You expect any number of replies, everything from a joke to deflection.  He just stares at you for a moment, a little panicked behind his eyes, his thoughts running quickly.  You worry you will have to catch him, to guide him back slowly and cautiously, but then he looks down.  Not away, but low. 

Then he unties your towel, parting it, revealing you slowly to his gaze.  He looks at you like he has never seen you, even though you stripped down just seconds ago. 

It leaves you warm and flustered, your fingers fluttering with the instinctive desire to cover yourself.  You do not, though you cannot help but breathe a little harder.  The cool mirror at your back has your nipples pebbling in the chill, especially with the towel gone. 

Your legs are open and he is already between them, keeping them them apart.  He looks down the whole length of you, wanting, hungry, then meets your gaze with an unmistakable plea.

You nod.  You wet your lips, a quick flick of your tongue, then his mouth is on yours and you are gasping against his lips.  You make a rough sound, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him back.   The kiss is so good and deep, wasting no more time.  

It fully conquers your senses, so you are surprised when he suddenly tugs you closer.  It is a sharp tug, his hands on your hips, yanking you to the edge of the counter.   

“Felix,” you say, his reply little more than a grunt. 

Your hand collides with his, reaching for his towel.  You leave him to it, raising your fingers to your own lips to lick them.  You put those fingers between your legs, touching yourself, finding you are already so wet, not even needing help. 

His eyes never leave your fingers, and they continue to watch the gentle rub of your hand between your thighs.  His towel hits the ground, then his hand skims your thigh, joining your fingers at the centre.  His fingertips are calloused, his touch distinct from yours.  You drop your hand and lift your hips, rising under the now-practiced stroke of his fingers. 

When he slides two fingers inside you, he moans so dark and roughly, as if more of him was already inside you.  “So fucking soft,” he murmurs, breathing hard.  His mouth skims your cheek, a kiss on your jaw.

Then he sucks a hard kiss on your throat, possessive, wet and hot and mean.  You clench around his fingers, gasping. 

He licks over his bite, no doubt leaving a bruise.  You will have to cover it, but for a moment you let yourself imagine differently, wearing his mark where anyone could see, where everyone would know he is yours and you are his.  It makes you whimper, practically pulsing around his fingers, squeezing him in, wanting more. 

“Felix,” you say again, and it is much more of a whine this time. 

He answers with a kiss, warm on your lips, just as tenderly bruising.  His wet fingers slide along your thigh, his other hand does the same, then he hooks his hands under your knees to lift them a little higher.   You lean onto your palms, holding the position while he licks his palm and glides it over himself.  His hair is a mess again, but you are hardly composed, as out of breath when he finally presses the head of his dick against you.   

You are not even sure if you are saying his name or just moaning incoherently, noises pitifully wanting when he eases himself into you.  It is far slower than you want.  Yes, there is a burn, as it has been some time, but you want it, the good and the bad, the pain and the pleasure.  You wrap your legs around his waist and lock your ankles, pulling him into you so he sinks fully to hilt in a quick glide.  

His hand slaps up against the mirror, a hard thud, twin to his sharp exhale.  His eyes are heavy-lidded, his pink mouth open.  His tongue swipes at your upper lip, then he kisses you softly.  He moves his hips.   

You hold his sides, legs still tight around him.  Your position has him leaning over you, pressing weight into his hand on the mirror.  You stare up at him, his closed eyes and the stern, focussed set to his features.  When you make a sweet noise, he looks down at you through slitted eyes, then dives down to kiss you.  It is a little less hurried, his erratic thrusting slowing to a more steady cadence, one that has you gasping on every deep push. 

“Yeah,” you say, rasping. “Yeah, yes, please…”     

He makes a deep noise, then exhales.  “We should—” he starts. 

“No shoulds,” you bark back. 

He laughs, the sound filling you with even more warmth and pleasure.  You luxuriate in the feeling. 

“I was going to say, should be using protection or something,” he says.   

“S’fine,” you say, logic too hard to comprehend because he is still fucking you, and it makes words too complicated. 

“Not if I knock you up, it won’t be,” he says.  “You want that?” 

He asks it very dryly as the answer is obvious.  No, you do not want that.  It would blow up your lives astronomically.  Even if you were safe, you doubt you would want children right now. 

But the notion enters the same fantasy as the simple bite on your throat, a reality that only hazily resembles your own, where you let him come inside you and you let it change everything. 

So he asks, and you say nothing, but you squeeze him inside you, an entirely accidental clench. 

“Oh,” he says, and laughs again.  It is not that golden jingle, but a low chuckle.  “You do want that.” 

“Shut up,” you say, slapping his shoulder.  “Do not.”

“Mhm,” he says, with a few sharper thrusts that make your eyes close and mouth open.  “Okay, sweetheart,” he says.  It is playfully condescending and it makes you look at him with equally playful aggravation.  He smiles.  “What?” he asks. 

“You talk a lot for a guy who has fucked me twice but never once in a bed,” you say.  Then you drop the joking ire because the realization makes you laugh.  “Despite the fact we have been sharing a bed for literal years.” 

He tries to catch his unexpected laugh, resulting in a sputter that makes you giggle more. 

He slows his actions then has the audacity to slowly pull out. You whine, pouting up at him.  He touches your face and shushes you, kissing your temple, then cheek, then the sore little bite on your throat.  It placates you temporarily, long enough for him to scoop his hands under your body and lift you up.  You cling to him, kissing his freckled cheek while he carries you out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom.  There, he drops you on the bed with a soft bounce.  He pushes your legs open while he climbs up between them. 

“There,” he says.  “Bed.”  Then he leans down, hand between your bodies to put himself back inside you.  You are humming with satisfaction when he grabs your arms to put them around his neck again.  He kisses your cheek then below your ear.  His breath caresses your skin, then he whispers, “Hold on.” 

He clearly mistakes fuck me in a bed for fuck me into the mattress, because he very much proceeds to make up for all those years of sharing a bed without doing so. 

After, you are laying in his arms, a bit sticky and sweaty and gross and very out of breath, but the glow has returned to his face and you feel just as warm.   You take his hand and kiss his palm, then curl your fingers around his.  He squeezes your hand back, resting it over his still racing heart. 

The morning light has turned a sunnier yellow.  You are going to miss your class. 

You will deal with the consequences tomorrow.   

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