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#i’m moving to california in the fall
annarubys · 1 year
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if i see even one single petekey get fob tickets tomorrow and i don’t i’m ending it all
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Conrad deserves better than Belly. After he sees Jere and her kiss, he get his ass to Stanford and meet this cute and smart maybe tutor girl (Haley James style) and falls in love with her and then they show up at Jere's wedding years later and Belly is jelly
I've spent the last five days working on this one.
p.s. it's 2k words...
my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time
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When Conrad finished his exam, he went back to Jeremiah and Belly. He was going to tell and confess his love to her before she had to get home, but when he got to his car, the scene Conrad walked on made him sick to his stomach: Belly and Jeremiah were full on making out against his car. He stopped short of the car and cleared his throat, causing the two to spring apart from their heated kiss and see Conrad looking right at them. 
Conrad’s face was white. He would rather have had someone shoot him in the head with a nail gun, repeatedly, than have to watch the two of them kissing.
He didn't know who he was more angry at. Belly, who, not even a day ago, had told him she would have fought harder for him if she knew he loved her that much. Or Jeremiah, who, although he knew how much Belly meant to his brother and how fucking in love he was with her, seized the opportunity to kiss Belly the moment he was alone with her.
‘’Conrad—’’ Belly started, guilt settling in her guts. 
He cut her off, his voice cold and cutting. ‘’I don’t want to hear it.’’ 
His gaze shifted from Belly to Jeremiah. There was so much hate in his eyes. How could Jere do that to him? They agreed to stop hiding things from each other and talk, but Jeremiah must have forgotten already. 
‘’You broke up with her, Con, remember? We did nothing wrong,’’ Jeremiah said, pulling facts in his favor to make himself feel better — less guilty — for kissing his brother’s ex.  
When Conrad kissed Belly on the beach last summer, he didn’t know she and Jeremiah were a thing — if he could call it that — or that he liked her. If he had, he wouldn’t have kissed Belly or confessed his feelings to her. Had the situation had been in reverse, Conrad wasn’t sure Jeremiah would have backed off. 
‘’I’m done.’’ Conrad's voice was resolute, his heart heavy as he turned away, unable to bear the sight of them any longer.
Jeremiah moved to follow, calling out Conrad's name. He didn’t stop, needing to be as far as possible from the painful scene. His mind was racing with a jumble of emotions. Anger, betrayal, and a profound hurt gnawed at him. He had trusted both Belly and Jeremiah, yet they pulled this shit behind his back. 
‘’Why do you always have to act like that?’’ Jeremiah said as he quickened his pace to catch up. 
Finally, Conrad turned to face Jeremiah, his expression a mix of sorrow and resentment. ‘’You don’t get to tell me how to react, Jere. You kiss the girl I love outside my school, against my car while she’s wearing my sweatshirt. If you don’t see how disgusting and messed up it all sounds—’’
‘’She kissed me,’’ the younger one quickly defended. 
 Hearing this made him want to pack his bags, get his ass to stanford and focus on school. He needed to turn the Belly page, and in order to do that, he needed to be away from both she and Jeremiah. California seemed far enough, right?
*
The first days and weeks were tough for Conrad, struggling to accept the definite end of the relationship. She was still all over him like a wine-stained shirt he couldn’t wear anymore. 
He blocked both Belly and Jeremiah’ numbers. If he wanted to move on, he had to keep his distance from them. For a while, at least. Then, he deleted all the old pictures he kept of Belly on his phone. There was no going back for them anymore. 
He was done.
*
You met Conrad a little before Christmas break. Just like those cliché rom-coms, you walked right into him and spilled your chai latte all over his sweater. You wanted to break the cliché and not fall for the victim of your clumsiness, but after one look into those beautiful blue eyes, you knew it would be impossible. 
 After that day, you kept crossing paths around campus and, one afternoon, you asked him out. He was so surprised, but he said ‘yes’. 
Although you had sealed the end of the night with a few kisses, you decided to take things slow. You had a very busy schedule with the tutoring lessons on top of your regular program, and Conrad was unsure if it was too soon to get in another relationship, if he was ready for it. The scar Belly had left on his heart was healing, but was he ready to open his heart to someone again? 
‘’Have you ever been in love?’’ you asked one night in his dorm while studying. 
Your question had caught Conrad off guard. It was visible on his face. 
‘’Have you?’’ he returned, not taking his eyes off his textbook. 
He was trying to dodge the question. 
‘’I asked you first,’’ you said, seeing through his plan.
‘’Then yes.’’
‘’How many times?’’
‘’Once.’’
His answers were flat, annoyed he was by all your questions. He wished you would stop and get back to studying in silence, but you kept going. 
‘’On a scale of one to ten, how in love were you?’’
‘’You can’t put being in love on a scale,’’ he said, lifting his head with furrowed eyebrows. ‘’Either you are or you aren’t.’’
‘’But if you had to say.’’
Conrad started flipping through his notes. He hadn’t thought of Belly in months. He missed her — in a different way he used to. She was his friend before they got tangled into this mess.
He didn’t look at you when he finally said it. ‘’Ten.’’
*
The more time he spent in your presence, the more Conrad was — unknowingly — letting go of his past. 
The pictures he deleted months ago became pictures of you, filling his phone until there was no space left. The smell of your perfume lingered on some of his clothes and in his car. He had your coffee order memorized, along with your favorite study-break snack, which he made sure to have in stock in his dorm. 
You became part of his routine — part of his life —, brightening his days even on his darkest, saddest nights. 
He didn’t want to bother you, but nothing was calming the ache in his chest. He tried getting some air and smoking weed, he even thought of calling Laurel, but it was almost 2am in Pennsylvania. Conrad didn’t want to scare her. 
So he pulled up your contact and called, the weight of his grief still heavy in his heart, wishing Susannah was still there. He couldn't believe a full year had gone by since she took her last breath. 
You were about to slip into bed when you saw his name flashing on your phone. You almost didn’t pick up, but you got a gut feeling that he needed you. 
When you opened your door, a saddened look was etched onto Conrad's face, his beautiful eyes glistening with unshed tears. The sight pulled at your heart and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him for the whole night.
Supported each other through finals and all-nighters.
‘’Getting tired?’’ you said, catching him actively fighting against his own eyelids. 
Conrad shook his head, taking a long gulp of his coffee. ‘’No time for sleep. I have this huge exam first thing tomorrow and I still have a lot of chapters to cover.’’
‘’You can take a short nap if you want. I’ll wake you in thirty minutes,’’ you kindly offered, flipping through your notes for a specific annotation. 
‘’Nah, I’m good.’’ He flashed you a soft smile, then returned to his studying. 
A few minutes later, and you couldn't help but notice that Conrad's eyes had begun to droop. They would halfway close and then he would either blink a bunch of times, or widen his eyes until they were bug eyed. It was cute.
‘’Con? Conrad?’’ you called out gently. 
‘’I'm not sleeping. I'm resting my eyes,’’ he mumbled defensively, fighting fatigue.
There was no way he was getting through the night, so you put your notes down and slipped on Conrad’s flannel shirt that was on the back of your chair to shield you from the night air. ‘’We’re gonna need more coffee.’’ 
As you came back with two fresh cups of coffee, you found Conrad fast asleep on your pillow, still clutching his pen.
And held his hand through the rainiest times — literally.
‘’Isn't California supposed to be the sunniest state?’’ Conrad asked, watching the downpour through the windshield, drenched from head to toe. ‘’The seats are all wet...’’ 
‘’You gotta learn to live with the consequences of your own actions, Connie baby.’’ 
It was his idea to get waffles when the sky was looking very gray and angry. He insisted that it would clear out, but a loud clap of thunder echoed on your way back to the car and rain started pouring. You took the road back to campus, but it got too dangerous, forcing Conrad to stop the car on the shoulder of the road and wait for the rain to calm. 
You wiped your face with the sleeve of your hoodie and a smile curled on Conrad’s lips, still the most beautiful to his eyes despite your wet hair and the slight smear of mascara under your eyes. 
 ‘’Rain happens everywhere. Even in the dryest desert,’’ you reminded him, pulling out your phone to check the weather app.‘’Unfortunately, this one isn't gonna stop anytime soon.’’
You toed off your sneakers, making Conrad draw his eyebrows.
‘’What are you doing?’’
‘’We’re gonna be here for a while.’’ You peeled off your hoodie — also wet from the rain —, leaving you in your skirt and dainty bralette. ‘’Might as well occupy ourselves,’’ you explained before leaning over the middle console and kissing him, fastening yourself to him with a stitch. 
The kiss took him by surprise, but he wasn’t complaining. He could spend hours kissing you and never get bored. 
You crawled over the console and on Conrad’s lap without breaking contact, your hands easily finding grip on his hair as you felt his hands all over your body, caressing and pulling. The windows were fogging quickly around you, creating a veil of privacy as more layers were peeled off.
Conrad once believed he had found love, that Belly was it for him, but the feelings he felt back then were nothing compared to how he felt right now. 
‘’You’re the best thing that happened to me,’’ he confessed, his forehead pressed against yours. 
*
The invitation came in a few weeks before the wedding. Conrad couldn’t believe his brother was going through with this. Everything was happening so fast and seemed rushed. Him and Belly weren’t even twenty. Who gets married so young anymore? 
He arrived in Cousins a few days prior to the wedding, surprising everyone — and stealing the attention from the soon-to-be-weds — when they saw a girl with him. 
The only person who knew exactly who you were was Steven. A few months ago, you had posted a picture with Conrad at the beach and tagged him, leading to Steven finding out about his friend’s new girlfriend. He was surprised when he saw it, but very happy for Conrad. He deserved better than someone who plays between two hearts. 
Laurel put down the table-center she was holding and went over to pull Conrad in a hug. She turned to you, making quick introductions, and Conrad held his breath. He’s always been close to Laurel and her approval meant more to him than his father’s or Jeremiah’s. 
While the two of you engaged into a conversation, he saw her. Belly. Dressed in a white sundress and talking to Taylor, she looked just the same. The only difference was, Conrad felt nothing. No pain, no old feelings rising back. 
For the first time, what’s past was past.
‘’Belly, come greet Connie and his girlfriend,’’ Laurel called out to her daughter. 
Although you had never met her, you could tell exactly who she was in the room — and not only because her dress was white. The jealousy filling her eyes when they fell on you gave her away.
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adrienne-ll · 1 year
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My son is gone for the night, so I’m just sitting in my living room listening to music on my surround sound speakers. I’m trying to be considerate of my neighbors and the fact that it’s almost 9PM, but some songs like Usher and Monica “Slow Jam” must be played loudly.
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lixiesfreckless · 21 days
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Into It | b. c.
➸ synopsis: the california sunset looks pretty damn good when you're on the hood of Chan's car.
➸ starring: bang chan x female reader
➸ word count: 3k
➸ general content: best friend!chan, car sex, drunk sex, chan is lowkey obsessed with you, mutual pining, dirty talk
➸ warnings: lots of swearing, sexual content, alcohol consumption, mentions of california(LMAO east coast on top)
➸ rating: 18+ MA
➸ author’s note: another oldie but goodie! also I don't even bias chan but I literally went insane writing this so what does that mean-
♫ into it- chase atlantic
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Far away.
You feel like your mind is so far away.
The engine roars in your ears as you and Chan zip around the outskirts of downtown Los Angeles, convertible top down to let the wind whip through the vehicle. 
Your hand dangles outside the car door, lazily twirling a half empty bottle of beer in your fingertips as you fully sink into the car seat. Your thoughts are fuzzy, his music is loud, and the breeze is enough to keep you from getting too hot. 
This is as close as you can get to bliss.
Palm trees lining the road, orange and magenta in the sky, hell— if heaven didn’t look like this, did you even want to go?
The car slows down enough for Chan to make a right turn, angling the two of you to a desert close to where they host raves and concerts every summer. By the time the current song stops playing, Chan is pulling the convertible off the road, driving over hardened clay and rocks until he’s about 50 yards away from the asphalt.
“Pass me one of those,” he says, putting the car in park and slumping into the seat. You reach down to the six pack of beer near your feet and pass one to him, bringing your own bottle up to your lips as he takes it.
The guy sticks the cap between his teeth, cracking it open with a sharp twist of his arm, and flicks the cap into the cup holder.
“That’s one way to crack open a cold one,” you chuckle, taking another swig.
“Too bad I’m not with the boys…” he sighs, narrowly dodging a swat from your hand as he laughs.
“Hush, I’m better than the boys.”
The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, letting the troubles of the week dissolve under the tangy taste of the alcohol and the bass from the speakers.
You can’t remember exactly when you started spending your Friday nights like this, driving to random places in the passenger seat of Chan’s car. Usually you’d prefer to spend your nights indoors, but with him, it was never overwhelming. He was your weekly dose of adventure, and you became addicted easily.
But how could you not when he was so…Chan?
He always knew what songs to play, what you felt like talking about, what kind of view would cheer you up— he became someone that knew you better than your best friend, even.
And there was something so disarming about his vintage band tees, beat up converse, blond curls and dimples— especially his dimples. They were a weapon and he used them.
And they reappear right as you notice you’re staring at him. Serves you right for zoning out in his general direction.
“Something on your mind?” He chuckles, and you pop the passenger door open, shaking your head.
“Nope. Just need to stretch.”
You walk around to the front of the car, and the shell dips slightly once you perch on the hood.
This beer is defective, you decide. Alcohol is supposed to blur your thoughts, not sharpen them.
And yet all you can think about is the man moving to lean against the front of the car, standing just a foot away from you.
Your mind pretends not to notice the way Chan’s gaze lingers on your lips, almost glazing over every time you take a swig from the bottle in your hand. Your body however, burns. Reacts like water on hot oil. It feels like every cell is dancing in the remnants of the sunset when he looks at you. 
It might just be the alcohol though.
You lean back and lie on the hood of the car, using your hands as a makeshift pillow behind your head as you watch the sky turn an even deeper shade of pink. Chan takes one glance at you and takes a long sip of beer as he quickly looks away, pushing the sight of your shirt riding up your torso far back into his mind. The…things he could do there-
“Shit, how many of those have we gone through,” you mumble, lazily shifting your eyes up to the sky.
“Uh, four?” Chan glances back at you, mentally cursing at the way your face matches the sky above, dusted with pink. He doesn’t know it’s from you staring at his arm veins. “We have water in the back if you want some-”
“No, no I’m good.” Your voice sounds like honey to him; maybe he should pass the bottle back to you, just so you’ll stay quiet. “Just feeling more than a little buzzed.” 
“Oh yeah?” He chuckles, and the huskiness in his voice practically pokes you in the side. “Now would be the best time to do something crazy then.”
“Something crazy?” You laugh out loud, then sit up slightly on the hood, leaning back on your elbows. “There’s nothing but desert for miles. What are we supposed to do-”
Your sentence stops dead in its tracks as your eyes meet with Chan’s, the heat rushing to your gut all at once as the wind blows his blond curls into his eyes. He doesn’t even hesitate this time; his eyes wander lower and lower on your face until they land on your bottom lip, trapped between your teeth. 
“God, why do you always do that…” he whispers, shifting his gaze back to the road.
…What? 
The wind whistles in your ears as you feel them growing hotter, unsure what to make of his sudden statement.
“Do…do what?” He looks back at you with tortured eyes, as if you’re the only water in the California desert.
“Bite your lip like that; it makes me think-” he stops and drains the rest of the bottle in his hand, then leaves it on the hood and shakes his head. “Never mind. I’m gonna turn the music up.”
Your eyes follow him as he trails along the side of the car, and you feel a certain window of opportunity beginning to close. Summoning most of your courage, you jump off the hood and walk up behind Chan, waiting for him to finish messing with the stereo before tapping him on the back.
“Yeah?” He turns around and barely has any time to think before you’re pressing on his shoulders, pulling him down slightly as you crash your lips onto his. He immediately catches your waist, letting out a surprised muffle that dissolves into a sigh as he pulls you against him.
You break apart after a moment, lips still tingly and buzzing with excitement, but you wonder if you’ve made the right decision as you look up at Chan, who still has his eyes closed.
“You’re drunk,” he whispers, finally looking down at you with a flushed face.
“Not drunk enough.” You twist the shoulder seams of his shirt between your fingers in consideration. “I’m sober enough to know that look. And if you don’t do something about it, then I-”
“You want me to do something about it?” He pulls your hips tight against his, and now that you’re leaning on him, you can feel the bass from the car reverberating through both of you. That combined with the buzz of the alcohol and his hands on your bare midriff nearly sends you over the edge, but you keep your composure.
And by that you mean you pounce on him— you love his voice, but you’re tired of talking about something you could be doing.
If you both were a little less tipsy, the kisses would probably be less frantic. But neither of you seem to care, hands grabbing at each other desperately as you search for better ways to pull each other closer.
“You have no idea,” he pants between kisses, “you have no fucking idea how badly I’ve wanted this.” You shudder into his lips, raking through his blond locks and tugging at the ends as Chan’s grip tightens on your hips. He takes a sharp inhale before picking you up, waiting for you to latch your legs around his torso before he slides his arms under your legs. As he walks around the car, you both never separate; you’re actually surprised when you feel the cool metal of the hood come into contact with the backs of your thighs.
He nestles himself between your legs, resting his hands on your thighs and tracing the distressed hem of your denim skirt as the bass of the song picks up. You’re lucky you’re on the hood and not the trunk; the subwoofers vibrating against you would have been too much for sure. 
He pulls away from your lips, dipping his head to catch his breath as he pants into the crook of your neck. To him, this is insane. He has you on the hood of his car. He has you on the hood of his car.
How is a man supposed to think straight in this situation? 
Meanwhile, his hot breath on your neck is driving you to the brink of insanity. Just a raise of your shoulder and he’d be kissing it. Shoot, he could make you crazy with his fingers just an inch higher too.
“Chan,” you whisper, not realizing how close your breathy voice was to his ear, and the last of his resolve practically evaporates off of him.
“Y/n…” his nose follows the curve of your neck as he makes his way up to your face, “tell me if I need to stop, I just…”
He hooks his hands around your knees and pulls, effectively pinning your hips together in a casual display of strength, and you gasp before he seizes your bottom lip between his, sucking and biting until a soft moan slips from your lips.
“Fuck, make that sound again,” he groans, hands sliding back up your thighs to the hem of your shirt. You relent, no longer keeping your sighs and sounds of pleasure to yourself as his hands slide under your crop top, around to your back.
He makes quick work of your bra, releasing the tension around your ribcage before sliding his thumbs along the underside of your breasts. Just thinking about all of the things he could do to you has both of you buzzing with anticipation, panting against each other’s mouths.
His thumb just barely grazes your nipple and you swear you see the world begin to tilt.
You don’t know what it is; normally a gesture that small wouldn’t elicit such a reaction out of you, but the alcohol in your veins and the bass under your thighs seem to bring every motion of his straight to your core. And usually you’d be embarrassed at how loud you are, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when he continues just like that, both thumbs barely putting any pressure on the peaks under your shirt.
Your head lolls back slightly, and Chan wastes no time in licking a thin stripe up the column of your neck, stopping right at the shell of your ear.
“Ideally, I’d want to take my time with you, but right now…” his voice is thick with lust as he flicks both of your nipples, and you jolt forward. “I don’t think you’d want me to.”
“Chan, please,” you gasp out, wanting to press your thighs together, “get on with it already.”
He obliges you, hands sliding down to your skirt and then back up under it, looking for the edge of your panties. Once he has them, he pulls them down and over your Nike blazers, tossing them into the convertible onto the passenger seat.
He then reaches behind you, pushing two empty bottles off the car as he presses you flat against the hood. The sound of the bottles breaking against the rocky terrain is barely registered by you though, you’re more focused on Chan’s free hand snaking back up your skirt.
Curses slip out of his mouth once his thumb brushes across your clit; he’s more than shocked to feel just how soaked you are, but you shake your head vigorously, catching his attention.
“Skip it,” you say breathlessly, looking directly into his eyes. He understands instantly, coffee colored eyes practically turning coal black seeing your desperation.
The sky seems to swirl different shades of purple and pink as the wind feathers over your body, and just past the contrails in the sky, you can see the stars beginning to poke their faces into the rosy backdrop.
There is a very real possibility that you are dreaming all of this.
But the sound of his zipper being pulled down snaps your senses into focus, and the possibility of Chan fucking you under a sky like this seems more urgent.
The next minute flies by, and before you know it Chan is lining himself up at your entrance, checking that the condom is on properly before lifting your skirt to your hips.
His eyes flicker to yours momentarily, and you nod before relaxing fully, letting your head rest against the hood as he holds onto your hips tightly.
And then you instantly tense up once he starts pushing into you.
It’s almost embarrassing how easy it is for him to slide in without really touching you, but the hiss he draws between his teeth tells you he’s not really focusing on that.
You’re focusing on how you didn’t catch a glimpse of him before he put it in, and now your entire lower abdomen is tingling in excitement over just how much of him there is. Silly how you were trying to sober up for this moment, only for you to feel high all over again with him fully inside you.
“I- shit, okay wow,” he hisses, dragging himself out and back in slowly. “You’re so warm, god-”
You can’t even respond, you’re so occupied by the feeling of his ridges along your walls that your fingers are already looking for something to grab onto.
Somehow in the haze of it all, you still want to urge him deeper, so you wrap your legs around his waist and watch as he tilts his head back, eyes fluttering closed mid-thrust.
“Oh fuck,” he moans, picking up the pace and holding your hips tighter as you whine, feeling him finally start to brush one of your sensitive spots.
Chan cannot process the scene playing out in front of him. You’re draped over the hood of his car, taking what he’s giving you so easily, face flushed and hair falling over your face from the wind. Your shirt is halfway up your torso, but your skirt is up six inches too high, high enough to see where he's sheathing himself inside of you. He couldn’t make this up if he tried.
The pressure building inside of you jumps to the next level once his hand slides up your shirt again, gently rubbing circles over your nipple as opposed to the faster thrusts down below. Your back arches into his hand as you gasp, squeezing your thighs around him tighter as you do so.
“Chan,” you whine, scratching your nails against the car, and a few more curses tumble out of his mouth as he stares down at you. 
“You’re so good y/n,” he pants, snapping his hips against you now, “better than I- ah, I imagined.”
“You’ve thought about this before?” You’re cut off by another moan; it’s a miracle how you can even speak.
Chan doesn’t reply; instead, he hooks his hands under your knees and drops them on his shoulders, then scoops his hands back under your hips and pulls them to his with a quick snap.
“I’ve thought about this before,” he says with a wicked grin, hitting you at just the right angle to pull a sharp gasp out from your lips.
“Oh my god, there-” you moan breathlessly, pressing your hands flat onto the hood of the car as he pounds into you relentlessly.
The sky is spinning. Your heart is pounding. You wish you could focus on something, anything other than the spongy part of you that Chan is hitting to the beat of the song under you, just so you could last a little bit longer. 
But the sight of him with your legs around his neck, eyes closed with strands of gold wisping across his face, the look of pure ecstasy painted across his cheeks, ensures that you have close to three seconds before the knot in your stomach unravels.
“Shit, don’t stop,” you say as you feel yourself coming undone, back arching into your release which only makes Chan pound deeper, heightening the intensity tenfold.
He cries out once you clamp down around him, spitting out random strings of curses until he’s emptying his restraint into the condom, slowing down his thrusts as he finally opens his eyes again, locking gazes with you.
He looks nothing short of ethereal with the now purple backdrop of the sky, framing his blond locks with lilac clouds as he slowly pulls out of you, doing his best not to overstimulate you. You almost tell him not to; being that full was nice, something you’d probably never admit unless you were actually drunk.
“Wow,” you breathe out, watching him lower your legs down to the hood. “That was…”
“Crazy, I know,” he laughs, still trying to calm his breathing as he looks at you. “But you were amazing, holy shit-”
“…better than the boys?” You tease, smirking up at him. 
He gives you a knowing look, picking up on the funny way you worded the question. But instead of getting flustered, he leans over the hood, caging you against it with his arms.
“Hmm…I don’t know. I think I’d have to try this a couple of times before I can give you a definite answer.”
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certifiedfreec · 10 days
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・❥・close - gojo satoru x f!reader (crossposted on ao3!) ・❥・
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⊹ oh nooo you’re trapped in a hotel room with gojo… and there’s only one bed… ahhhhh
⊹ 18+, smut, frenemies to lovers, a ridiculous amount of banter
⊹ word count: 9.8k (i’m so normal about him lol…)
“Well fuck.”
Mouth agape, you stand tiredly beside your overly cheeky partner-in-exorcises, surveying the last available hotel suite that’s closest to your current assignment. Cramped could describe it if you’re feeling generous, as the sparse amenities make the single queen-sized bed in the center of the room look like a California King. The overblown stock photos of generic flowers hanging haphazardly above the bed are nearly mocking the otherwise drab room, and the dim lighting makes it all look more dingy than romantic given the scenario you’re in.
One bed left in this overbooked “hotel…” This has to be a fever dream.
“I call the left side!”
Said partner, Satoru Gojo, is oblivious to your inner turmoil as he languidly steps into the room with his singsong tone, surveying what little it has to offer with an otherwise calm expression. God, this guy gets on your nerves, but not for any pertinent or extravagant reason. Really, he just carries himself a little too cockily for your taste, like he’s used to people fawning over him for doing nothing. While you work well together for the most part, there’s something about his presence that just makes you-
“You can take the whole thing,” you grumble dismissively, carefully moving around him to set your backpack down on the warped work desk. You’d sooner sleep in the bathtub even if it was soaking wet, you think.
Your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets with how hard they roll when you hear him let out a feigned hum of disappointment. You can sense him studying your every move, even through that stupid blindfold thing he’s always got on.
“Bummer. You scared you’re gonna catch some cooties? I’m not contagious.” Gojo tuts playfully, shaking his black jacket off and tossing it over the back of the chair. “Guess that means more room for me!” He wastes wastes no time in flopping onto the middle of the stiff mattress with a grin, and part of you can’t help but admire- no, simply notice, you tell yourself- how his shockingly white hair and pale skin contrasts the dull, dated comforter. He’s got a white button down on, and you’re tempted to call him a bloodsucking vampire with how translucent he looks. Humming to himself, he reaches for the remote that practically shrinks in his large hands, clicking the clunky TV on and watching it take a few minutes to whir to life.
You’re unsure what to do with yourself, but you’re determined to put some space between the two of you with whatever happens. It’s unfortunate when you realize that you really might not be successful with that endeavor, given your dwarfed hotel room that could trigger any sane person’s claustrophobia. It didn’t help that this guy already took up most of the lackluster room with just his body, either. Your eyes flicker over to your work partner, who appears unnervingly okay with this turn of events. With a deep sigh, you pull out the creaky chair and slump defeatedly onto the desk. You’re careful to scoot to the edge of the chair so your back doesn’t make contact with his resting jacket, and he doesn’t miss your obvious attempt at distance. It’s known by many that he’s always been a huge fan of himself, and you’d be damned if you ever let him think you were part of that club, too.
“Hey, careful with the outerwear.” Gojo’s selectively ignoring your clear discomfort, opting to poke at you anyway because he just does that. “That’s a pricey jacket, y’know.” His face is serene as he’s clicking through the available channels and making his own little noises when each show is less intriguing than the next.
“Right… I’ll try my best,” you reply disinterestedly with a yawn. You rest your face on the cool wood- anything to mentally take yourself out of the painfully tiny space you and this massive human were expected to share for the evening. It’s been a long day of mundane yet necessary work, and apparently the real work is supposed to happen tomorrow. Being instructed last minute to change your stopping point for the day, you were left with no choice but to call around in a new area until you found an option. Gojo simply shrugged and started searching, not even slightly irritated at the change of plans. It irks you how little your colleague is bothered by, well, anything, because it has to be disingenuous at some point, right? Over time you’ve realized that with him, it truly is a brazen confidence- a kind that you decided was more dangerous than reassuring in reference to your line of work. It’s just unnatural- then again, nothing in your field is, so what’s your real issue with him? The question always leaves you befuddled at your core, and now it’s glaring in your face with the close quarters you’re sharing.
After some time spent listening to Gojo’s disjointed chuckles at whatever was playing, you take out your phone to text Shoko about your dreaded situation. This’ll be a long night, you think, grasping at straws to reason that it’s only temporary and that the smell of his spicy cologne will soon fade away from your senses. You have to say though, the scent fits him pretty well…unlike this miniature room you’re both posted up in.
Your eyes betray you when they briefly flit over again at the man lounging across the bed. It’s quite the spectacle, as the ends of his gangly legs and feet are dangling awkwardly over the edge, yet his expression is serene. The word "cute" passes through your mind and you immediately shush it by reflex, but it’s not as strong as the newfound proximity that prompts you to finally tease him in a dry tone: “Jesus, you’re taking up the whole thing and it’s still not enough.”
“Tell me about it.” He’s quick to react to your statement, and you swear you see his broad chest huff with amusement out of your peripheral. “It must be the price to pay when you’re a dreamy, charming, six foot three Jujutsu Sorcerer,” he adds in a lighthearted tone that seeks feigned sympathy. You’re not looking at him anymore, but you can guess that he’s batting the long white eyelashes that decorate his electric blue eyes. Meanwhile, you’re battling a smile.
Shoko’s not answering your SOS texts, so you actually decide to take the bait in the meantime. “You poor thing,” you coo halfheartedly, “It’s just never enough for you.” You shift, draping your arm over the back of the cheap desk chair that warps under your weight.
“You’re so right! I’m glad someone finally understands.” He points a finger at you, clearly pleased that you’re bantering along, and then he rests that same finger on his pointed chin. “Speaking of nothing ever being enough, I’m starving.” He suddenly sits up, making the bed creak with his movement. It’s apparent that his focus has shifted from the lifeless television show to you. “Who delivers around here?”
Gojo’s nonchalant behavior has the opposite effect on you- it’s disconcerting. At the same time, a very quiet part of you wants to warm up to the idea of finding it endearing. Being annoyed by him was all you knew- how could you ever change now?
The noise that escapes him is pure juvenile glee when you wordlessly open up a delivery app on your phone and sling the device over to him, which he catches with ease before scavenging through the limited number of nearby restaurants. If anything, you’ve never seen him so locked in. You hear him murmur his commentary to himself as he swipes through, picking out his order from his spot on the bed (which is basically the whole thing), and then he abruptly stands up with a matter-of-fact tone in his voice. Without watching him, you hear his steps move somewhere behind your seat.
“Hey, your girlfriend Shoko is texting you. I had no idea I was such a hot subject! Well, maybe I did.”
Oh shit. The heart that previously resided in your chest has plummeted to your stomach. You completely forgot you’d been virtually begging her for moral support when you first arrived at your shoebox of a room.
You muster all your inner strength to maintain a semblance of cool. “Is she on her way to save me?”
The grin on his face is nearly glowing as he reads your screen. “Hah, you wish. It says, and I quote, ’Sorry I’m just now seeing these! How are you and your “Honored One” doing? I promise he’s not as bad as you think he is, LOL.’”
You can feel all the blood in your body rush to your face as Gojo continues to read the message, who is doing everything to refrain from bursting into a fit of laughter. “’At least he’s not the worst looking, and you guys are gonna have to share a bed anyway. Wink emoji, wink emoji.’”
Your world comes screeching to an ugly halt. In this moment, you remind yourself to never text Shoko while you’re in the same room as him- ever again.
“Oh my god… You’re lying. Stop it!” You feel a wave of sickeningly nervous giggles threaten to rack through your body as you fly out of your rickety seat, marching over to the lanky sorcerer and swiping at him for your phone. He tsks, holding the device up from your reach with a mischievous tilt of his head, and you’re sure that you’ve never been this flushed with humiliation before. His muscled arm holds your phone up revealing the chat, and unfortunately, he wasn’t lying. And his voice? It’s smug, obnoxiously so as he taunts you. “This is so much more interesting than ordering food right now. I think I’m gonna answer her. What should I say?”
“Give it back, Satoru Gojo.” You glower up at him, silently knowing your efforts are futile due to your drastic height difference- and that goddamn Infinity ability of his that he loved to show off.
“Oooh, don’t say my full name. It really scares me,” Gojo gasps mockingly before making a show of squinting up at the screen and beginning to type with his other hand. “Let’s try this.” His fingers begin to dance across the screen. “’Shoko, I think I might be falling for Satoru Gojo, all six foot three of him. We’ve had such a romantic evening-‘"
“Jesus Christ, hand it over already!” You’re reaching your limit with tolerating his antics, body teeming in some liminal space between annoyance and mortification. You stretch up again to try and pluck the phone only to make contact with nothing. Fucking showoff. He’s still got his blindfold on, and you’re unable to see how his eyes are completely shimmering with mirth and self-satisfaction.
“Aaand, sent! I think she’ll like that. Anyway, go ahead and add your order to the cart. It’s on me- I remembered to bring the JuJutsu High credit card this time!” Gojo carries on casually like he hasn’t just done the equivalent of planting an explosive in your text messages, feeling incredibly proud of himself as he plops the phone back into your open palm. Glaring up at him and his resilient grin, you are entirely uninterested in eating any kind of food right now. He thinks it’s kind of cute how quickly your face turns ruby red.
You stare at your violated device, blinking in disbelief before looking back up at him. “You’re a real motherfucker, you know that?” You challenge, though your voice isn’t as hostile as it should be.
His large hands fly up defensively. “Whoa, who says I don’t go for daughters either?”
He’s maddening. How do his students stand him? Your free palm has never moved so fast to your face. Resolving into your clunky self-assigned seat, your butt collides firmly with cold wood. “You’re right. Who don’t you go for?” You huff.
Gojo chuckles with his whole chest as he moves to sprawl out over the miniature bed, returning to the original position he was in before he hijacked your text conversation. With blindfolded eyes focused back on the hazy television screen, his hands lock behind his head as he shrugs indifferently. “Never been a big fan of Geminis, to be honest.”
Unreal. He could talk to you in circles like this forever, and only because he knows he gets under your skin that way. You resign, eyeing your phone screen and scrolling through the restaurant he picked to order delivery from. He’s got quite the spread in the cart, complete with an elaborate dessert that could’ve wiped out your savings account.
“Clearly a fan of cheesecake though, holy shit.” The jab doesn’t come out as mean as you intend it to, and honestly, you aren’t sure how much longer you’ll be capable of treating him with this much animosity. You’re already tired, and if you were any more awake you’d realize that your work partner was slowly wearing your guard down, quip by cocky quip.
“Right again. Don’t you just love getting to know me through our intimate time together?”
Shoko is spamming you with an endless barrage of confused and shocked emojis, and you’re far too sleep-deprived to reply. Your entire body flushes at his words as they reverberate in your mind. Intimate is not the right word. No, it shouldn’t be, more like invasive. Right?
“Couldn’t be happier,” you reply curtly, mindlessly picking out whichever menu items are at the top before punching in the room number and credit card info, which was smoothly slid onto the table by Gojo without your prior notice. With your back to him, his gratification is on full display as he pretends to watch whatever crappy show is playing. Winning is his favorite thing in the world, and grating on your nerves is a close second- though really, the two coincide. Part of him wonders how much further he can blur that line.
——————————————————————————————————-
The comically large bag of food is immediately torn open by an eager Gojo the second it lands on the hotel room’s table, and he’s forking together a messy array of sides onto his plate before dragging over a lounge chair from the corner next to yours. He’s sitting far too close for your comfort, but you begrudgingly comply. It wasn’t like he was going to go away anytime soon, even though the night would be so much easier that way. As he shovels his dinner into his mouth, your mind aimlessly ventures as to how he keeps his form so trim with an appetite like that. He’s got to have a strict workout regimen somewhere, though “strict” is a word not often associated with him-
“Hey, your food’s gonna get cold if you keep staring like that.”
Your eyes widen in record time. It’s a hideous realization that you’ve zoned out on watching the renowned sorcerer-turned-temporary-roommate inhale his overpriced dinner, all from being overcome with either exhaustion or acceptance of your cramped situation. At this point, it’s maybe a little of both.
“Sorry,” you mumble, not even caring to articulate a more acidic response. It seems you’re beginning to neutralize into Gojo’s presence, and he mentally takes note of your changing chemistry with him as you quietly stab at your steak bites.
He’s got the perfect opportunity to coo something vain back, like “Don’t apologize, I’d stare too if it were me,” but he doesn’t. He simply keeps eating, sparing you with a less than uncomfortable silence. It’s never been the worst thing between you two given your extensive work history, and you feel yourself soften slightly when the bland hotel room’s air isn’t filled with his assumptive commentary for once. As your plates both get emptier, he feels this sudden need to hold your attention, as you’re less likely to be as combative as you’ve been before. You’re... not so set on hating him.
“You tired?”
Gojo’s two-worded inquiry jars you, almost to the point of choking on your bread. It's something genuine. He closes up one of the empty to-go boxes and shoves it into the takeout bag before pulling out the monstrosity that is his slice of cheesecake. For some reason your heart stammers at how refreshing the possibility of a real conversation with him could actually be.
You’ve got the perfect opportunity to snap something defensive back, like “Yeah, of you,” but you don’t. His shiny eyes shift under the fabric of his blindfold to you, almost prompting you to answer.
“…Yeah, I must be making it pretty obvious,” you say, unintentionally yawning and proving his point. If you were any more relaxed with him, he would’ve told you how cute you looked doing that. You secure your leftovers and start to chuck them into the bag before a large hand suddenly stops you with a “gimme” motion.
“Judging by how easily you’re willing to waste that perfectly good food…it’s not hard to tell,” he prods at you with a grin that you would’ve unnerved you earlier, but at this hour it’s a little more welcoming. Is that a snicker that comes out of you? You hand over the half-eaten order of steak bites to his jubilation, and he’s already popping open the lid to pick one up with his fingers.
Curse your brain in its exhausted state, because it’s nearly hypnotized by his digits. They’re long, dextile, confident somehow. They’re slender and defined, yet capable of serious damage- this you know all too well, and that excites you more than it should. The slice of meat dwarfs in his hold, its shiny reddish myoglobin starting to trickle down his hand and wrist, and it decorates his fine veins and tendons there with its sheen…
No, there’s no way you’re jealous of a piece of meat right now. Did you seriously feel a flutter somewhere that you shouldn’t? Satoru Gojo is literally eating your leftovers with his bare, grubby hands, and you’ve made the fatal error of finding it attractive. Yeah, you’re definitely sleeping in the bathtub tonight before your conflicted mind wanders any further.
He munches on the remainder of your dinner before finally digging into the cheesecake, and you feel blessed for the distraction from your shifting thoughts when you two chat about the mission at hand tomorrow. Is he worried about the curses you’ll be dealing with? No, of course not. According to him, he’s only worried about messing up his hair. Oh, and that expensive jacket you were careful not to touch earlier. With that all that added up, maybe he is nervous about it.
When the conversation dies down, the only sound in the unimpressive hotel room is the game show now playing on the practically vintage television. You quietly scroll your phone while your colleague digs into the soft dessert, stopping suddenly to stick his fork out to you.
“Want a bite? And before you say no, I already told you my cooties aren’t contagious.”
Is this real kindness? You whip your head to face him, studying the glob of caramel-drizzled sweetness, and he’s waving the fork around like a magic wand complete with some convincing “whoosh” sound effects. It’s even more comical with the way he fills his seat, almost like he’s sitting in a doll’s chair. The sight beside you makes you stifle a laugh, and in that moment you realize something: while he constantly irritates you, Satoru Gojo is the brightest, liveliest thing in that damn room. It’s not saying much given the plain wallpaper, dull sheets, and dusty furniture, but it all amounts to him looking pretty good despite your surroundings. If you weren’t sober right now, you’d admit that he looks pretty good just about anywhere. He’s so unfitting, literally, in the drab, cramped space that you almost want to let that very laugh out.
“Eh…I don’t believe you, but even if they weren’t... I couldn’t avoid them in this room anyway,” you joke sleepily, reaching for the fork and pushing the bite of cheesecake past your lips. He’s sitting pretty close, near enough that his spicy cologne still dances in your senses, but if he were any closer you’d swear you could spot him watching how your lips attached so tightly around the plastic silverware. You’re trying desperately to avoid the fact that sharing the fork was like indirectly kissing him, because if you think about it long enough it’ll make you blush all over again. So much for keeping a distance between you two.
You realize something else: he might’ve had a point with his dessert selection. “That is pretty good,” you commentate, handing him back the fork. There’s almost a soft expression on his blindfolded face when he wordlessly pushes the rest of the heaping slice between the two of you, as if the sugary dessert could substitute for a peace treaty. This is how all truces should go, you silently decide.
“Here, have some more in case you die tomorrow,” Gojo tuts with a grin, knowing fully well that you’d be perfectly fine during your assignment the next day. He loves to poke at you, but he can also recognize all the hard work you do. Hell, putting up with him was a full-time job, he could admit.
Your mouth flies open to let out a lighthearted “You asshole,” and you reflexively move to smack his shoulder. You’re even more shocked when your palm actually makes contact with the muscle there..as is he.
Gojo had turned his Infinity off. He must’ve gotten so caught up in wanting to break down your guard this evening that he neglected to remember his own.
“No way, I actually landed a hit on the Satoru Gojo,” you beam. Triumphantly taking another bite of the cheesecake, you feel his gaze train on you. His face-chiseled, you have to say- is conveying something unidentifiable. There’s some surprise and some amusement, but there’s another emotion lingering in the slight rise of his light eyebrows and his relaxed jaw. Something deeper, almost longing. It honestly concerns you for a moment, but he’s quick to recover by slumping backward over the chair, clutching a hand where yours landed just seconds before.
“Abuse! How dare you!” He declares, gripping his shoulder in the throes of his dramatics. “Yaga will be hearing about this. I’m reporting you to the higher-ups!”
“Don’t even. I’ll tell them you sabotaged my technology then,” you counter, waving your phone. “Oh, and that you misused company funds.” You point accusingly at the heap of cheesecake between you both. “And then we’ll both get fired.”
His fists hit the table as he falls forward dramatically. “Ugh…But then we’d end up living here,” he sighs woefully, “and that would be the worst part of all.”
You openly crack up at his refreshing honesty, finally recognizing this room for the shithole that it is, and you feel a newfound warmth spread throughout your chest. “Hmmm… But then we could keep ordering this cheesecake.” Maybe you like bantering with him, you decide.
Gojo chuckles as he stands up from his seat, dragging it back to where it resided in the corner and going along with your bit. “Not if we can’t ‘misuse our funds,’ you tattletale. We better start thinking of a side hustle to keep our lifestyle going.”
There’s a certain weight to “we”s and “our”s that make your heart palpitate just the slightest. It’s like a promise of a future together, a future beyond the uninspiring walls you were forced to rest in tonight. Still in your fit of tired giggles, you close up the remainder of the dessert before sticking it in the hotel room’s loud, antiquated mini fridge. The change of pace between you both is almost freeing, allowing you to consider the idea of actually sleeping somewhat soundly tonight.
“Well, you ponder on that. I’m gonna get ready for bed.” You’re quick to tuck into the bathroom as your laughter dies down, taking your bag with you to switch into the pajamas you packed. All the while, you’re secretly wondering what the sleeping situation is going to look like. You know you’re desperate for rest and given how the evening between you two has warmed a little, the idea of sharing the tiny bed with Gojo is…less than awful to you now. You step out, only to gasp when said man is right outside the door. He’s leaning against the frame with his own bag slung over his shoulder, grinning wickedly and looking all too smug
“My turn, princess. Coming through!”
The novel nickname flutters through your system as he squeezes past you, closing the door in your face with another low chuckle. God, he’s an idiot, you think with a smile, opting to perch in the seat he used for dinner until he returns to the room.
You’re playing a mindless game on your phone when you hear the bathroom door squeak closed, and Gojo plops back into the stiff bed. There’s no shirt on his sculpted body, only a baggy pair of black pajama pants whose waistband barely kisses his narrow hips. Humbled is an understatement when you try not to ogle at the sorcerer before you, whose murder you were secretly plotting just hours before. The skin on your face is akin to the Sun’s surface as you summon every ounce of will not to stare, but his Six Eyes promptly detects the sheepish change in your demeanor.
“So, you sharing this thing with me or what?” He looks over at you in the chair as he stretches over the traverse of the mattress, head propped on one hand while the other toys with his blindfold. “Since you don’t seem to care about my cooties anymore.” The repeated movement of those long, deft fingers looping around the fabric is enough to conjure a flashback to him eating those damn steak bites, and you feel hot all over again. It shouldn’t be suggestive, it really shouldn’t, but the way he’s talking makes it seem like he wants you beside him.
You rest your chin in your hand as you reply with a frown, pretending to think, “Hmmm. That’s gonna be a tight fit.” He snorts in response, something devious but expected on the tip of his tongue, and you realize it as soon as you answer. “Don’t even say it, Gojo.”
He feigns surprise, scooting over and patting the pillow beside him. “Pffft. When have I been known to say anything out of pocket?” He can’t deny the thought of fitting tightly somewhere else, his aqua eyes flashing with a desire he’s never allowed himself to feel for a long time. “Listen princess, you’ve only got two choices for tonight, so pick wisely. There’s somewhere tight-“ he pats the pillow again, -“or somewhere wet.” The thumb previously tugging on the fabric around his eyes jabs toward the bathroom door.
There’s that nickname again. “How erotic,” you snicker, wordlessly complying and letting your exhaustion guide the way to the empty side of the bed. It’s not a ton of space, but you’ll do your best to make it work. Carefully, you slide in to avoid touching him, realizing just how difficult that task is going to be in your limited amount of territory. Should you make a pillow border between you two? No, because then that would take up even more precious space. Maybe if you bunched up some of your blanket-
“Alright! Wait till Shoko hears about this!”
Gojo visibly approves of your choice as he watches you timidly sidle in next to him, wearing that stupidly eager grin on his face and whooping like a sports game attendee. Shooting him a playful glare and an “Oh, enough with you, Six Eyes,” you feel the cool sheets hit your skin, and your body erupts in goosebumps through your thin-ish shirt and shorts. You quickly face the opposite way as him, but not before stealing another glance at his ridiculously toned chest and stomach as he reaches to turn the bedside lamp off. God, he smells so good, like minty toothpaste and his cologne. Darkness abruptly envelops you as your heart pounds, and you have a horrible thought: Who said I wouldn’t be wet sleeping here?
You hear Gojo release a barely audible sigh, almost as if he’s tentative to fall asleep beside you too. He’s not sure who to trust less, you or himself, but he hides his apprehension with a couple more quips as you settle into the compact mattress.
“You have any idea how many people would pay to be where you are right now? You are so lucky.”
He could talk in circles with you again for hours if it meant prolonging the inevitable vulnerability that is unconsciousness beside another person- though a deeper part of him reasons there’s nothing to worry about. Maybe there are other things you could do instead of talk, he thinks, doing little to shake the idea away. It’s kind of nice, way more than nice, the image of you all spread out below him-
The eye roll you respond with is felt by him but not seen in the lightless room. Clouded by an atypical hunger and pure fatigue, you murmur back, “Don’t worry, I tip well,” and a smug smile forms on your face. It’s kind of fun getting to poke back at him. That’s all it is, right? Harmless banter. Gojo senses your intentions on a level unbeknownst to you, though- and he’s not entirely upset at them.
“Listen to you! That was smooth. I just might give you a discount for that.” You hear the sheets rustle beside you, and you slowly turn. He’s fully facing you, boyishly propping his head up on his fist with his near-glowing eyes now exposed. You notice that his blindfold has now been placed neatly on the outdated nightstand. He’s keenly tuned in on you, finding your pajamas a little too cute for a pre-mission night of sleep. It’s clearly getting more difficult for him to deny how entertained he is by the sight of you all snuggled in on your diminutive side of the crappy hotel bed.
You pretend to cover your eyes after seeing his finally revealed to you, feeling thoroughly proud of yourself for matching his energy now. “Put those LEDs away, good lord,” you joke, allowing yourself to let out a sleepy laugh as you pull up the covers to give your bumpy skin some salvation. His intentful gaze is already doing plenty to send heat throughout your limbs though, and the act of grabbing the blanket is an effort in vain. As your eyelids flutter with the weight of tiredness, you understand just how close you two are in the moment. Mentally, you were so much farther away earlier in the evening than you are now- and it takes a second for you to process that you actually like the change.
Gojo laughs softly, and you can hear the late hour begin to seep into his tone. It grows more throaty, lower than before, and it’s entirely too pleasant. Part of you wonders if he’d consider the proposition of reading you a bedtime story. There’s a lingering tension in the air, nearly tangible, and it shifts when you note how his eyes flicker all over your face. Eyes, lips, back to eyes, back to lips.
“Maybe I wanna look at you a little longer. Are you gonna report me to the higher-ups for that, too?” Gojo bats his icy white lashes, his oaky scent further settling into the sheets. The only light in the shoddy room comes from his vibrant irises, and they’re spotlighting on you with piqued interest. The light has always come from him, and it’s an epiphany that has you scooting an inch closer.
“If those things blind me, I will.” You exhale through your nose, partially wishing you could reach out to the heat that radiates off his halfway bare body.
He blinks, and you swear the room flashes dark again for that split second. “Well, y’know, that might be a good thing,” he tries to reason lightheartedly, in a volume just above a whisper. “You wouldn’t have to look at this ugly room anymore.” You watch his hand- the same one you nearly salivated over earlier- land in the limited space between you two, almost as if it wants to cross that border. It takes the most willpower you’ve ever needed not to stare at it, feeling your face flush with a sick anticipation. “I’d be saving you.” Maybe it’s what he’s always wanted to do all along, you both think, and it encourages you to be just as coy back.
In this moment, you feel bold enough to say something you thought would never leave your mouth: “But then I wouldn’t get to look at all six foot three of you.” You pout sarcastically, and Gojo gets the urge to kiss it right off your face. His grin is proud; it’s everything he never knew he wanted to hear.
Your teasing is like a silent permission for his hand to move closer to you, and your entire body stills when you feel it land gently on your lower thigh to play with the frilled hem of your shorts. Must be a pattern of his, you realize. He chuckles, and the sound is so low that you can practically feel it.
“Hmm… You’re right. Again.” Your work partner’s head tilts down slightly at you, and his expression is overcome with what can only be described as relief. “Guess I need to save you some other way.” He notices the goosebumps adorning your figure, and suddenly you’re pressed up against his broad chest. God, he’s so warm, you don’t even realize the way you’re curling right up into him. Somehow, despite your height difference, you fit perfectly along his lanky frame.
“Better?”
You are tired, fatigued beyond belief, but you’d be stupid not to stay awake to experience Satoru Gojo letting his guard down for you. Perhaps this dismal hotel room was a test of will for you two, and while you’re not entirely sure what denotes passing or failing, you do know one thing: Satoru Gojo is unbelievably comfortable to cuddle with.
Still…you wonder what would unfold if you pushed further.
“Hmmm… still not warm enough.” The words leave you before you can tame them, and the unspoken invitation behind them makes his eyebrows raise. The hand playing with the fabric of your shorts squeezes into your skin just the slightest, prompting you to look up at him where you see no reserves on his handsome (God, it’s good to admit that) face. His soft pink lips hover inches from your own, drawing closer like magnets.
“Really.” You feel a thumb rub slow circles along your outer thigh. “I can fix that for you, yeah?” His words shoot straight to your core as his head ducks a little lower, just breaths away from yours.
Well, you’re definitely not tired anymore.
“If you’re still offering that discount…” you breathe out. A rush of smugness allows you to bring your hands to his toned chest, traveling up to trace his defined collarbone. His skin is soft, almost velvety, most likely from years of keeping his perimeter so trained to avoid any unnecessary contact, and the act of smoothing your fingers over it becomes soothing.
Gojo’s lopsided grin conveys the desire he’s suppressed for so long, seemingly caught up in this new dynamic with you. “Nah, we’ll put it on the credit card,” he finally laughs before confidently pressing his lips to yours.
He is an entirely new taste, and you’re not able to reference his movements to anything or anyone; it’s another level of tact and precision. Did he plan this? His kisses are the perfect mix of messy and firm, and it’s clear he’s doing all but holding back. Something unlocks as he goes through the motions, maybe the realization of the snapped tension or maybe the feeling of you kissing back just as passionately, and his mouth soon scatters everywhere from your lips to your jaw to your neck in a flurry of teeth and tongue. He’s somehow magically in tune with your most sensitive areas of the exposed skin as his lips wander, leaving you to grab his firm bicep and cling as if he’s grounding you to the earth. The details of the dingy hotel room are completely abandoned as you feel your senses envelop, finally, with all that is Satoru Gojo, and there was truly no beauty greater than that.
Chest heaving, you almost let out a laugh at how rapidly the night has shifted. His well-trained hands travel, one squeezing the tissue of your breast over your thin shirt while the other dances just below the leg of your shorts. With all walls down, it’s pointless to hide the effect his touch has on you. If his hand moved any higher, he’d discover how wet you were- part of you dreaded how inflated his ego would become after that, but the other, hungrier part of you needed him to do it.
“Anyone ever told you-“ Gojo breathes out between his attack, brushing a thumb over your hardened nipple, “how pretty you are?” He is all too focused on drinking in your features, finding your weakest and favorite points. Your back arches ridiculously easily into his touch as you struggle to find the words to answer him.
“N-no one else that’s mattered.”
You’re sure his ego will balloon rapidly upon that little admission, but you partly didn’t care- not when he was capable of making you feel so unbelievably good.
He’s rightfully amused at how blatant your desire is now. “Oh? So I do matter to you then.” His other hand roams up your thigh, threatening to reach where you wanted it most. You snicker before a shudder erupts from you when a long, hot stripe is licked down your neck and over your shoulder, and it’s all you need to swing your leg over his, straddling him on the stiff, narrow mattress. The flex of his abs as he sits up to accommodate you is nothing short of poetic, and you find more prose in the clouded, desperate fog of his azure eyes when he watches you with curiosity. He immediately rests his grip on your waist, pressing you down gently onto what can only be described as a monster underneath his sweats. You understand now why he carries himself the way that he does: He’s fucking huge.
You push your chest against his, unable to stop the twitch of your hips when you feel Gojo’s hardness brush against your heat. The wetness of your arousal is sure to be felt through the fabric, and he’d be silly to halt your admittedly cute display of attempts in chasing just an ounce of pleasure. Your flushed face, furrowed eyebrows, small noises, it’s motion picture to him. However, he selfishly wants to be that pleasure for you, and he’s quick to slide a hand down your body to cup your pussy through your pajamas.
Your jaw goes slack as Gojo’s hand makes contact with your most sensitive area over your shorts, and the circles he rubs help him collect some of the condensation from the fabric. It feels good, but not good enough, and you can’t help but huff at the restricted movement. He is all too cocky when his hand pulls away, eyeing it with an intense mirth.
“Damn, waterworks, you always get this wet?” He’s half-amazed and half-amused as he studies his glistening fingers, his other hand gripping at your ass. “That’s so hot.”
“Shut up, Satoru.” You smack his bare shoulder before burying your face into it, feeling your cheeks turn crimson. He chuckles, finding you adorable when you’re embarrassed yet hating that you feel that way. He knows just how to help you get over that, and he starts by slowly sliding his body down, holding your thighs spread as he maneuvers his head onto the flat-ish pillow. You glare down confusedly at him in his newfound position, only to meet with eager cerulean eyes that are practically begging to pull you closer.
“Fine then, I’ve got other stuff I wanna do with my mouth anyway,” you hear him murmur from between your thighs, and his hand brushes over your clothed, throbbing cunt again. “Now sit, princess.”
“Huh? No, you won’t be able to breathe, I can’t.” Your head shakes vigorously in disapproval. Not that you didn’t want them there, but there was no way… you’d probably end up suffocating the guy, and while you had a more murderous urge to do that earlier this evening you’d much rather-
“Fine with me, now lemme taste you,” Gojo insists with almost a whine in his tone, not letting you respond before pulling the soaked crotch of your shorts to the side and licking a long, forceful line from your hole to your clit. You moan when he does it again, and again, feeling your knees weaken to finally sink yourself onto his mouth. The groan that vibrates against your nerve endings makes you look down, only to see his frosty white lashes flutter as you fill his senses. This was well worth the hours of wearing down your resolve this evening.
His movements become frantic, desperate to experience you now that he’s let his guard down this long with no dire consequences. You feel his tongue lap at your sensitive clit, and his lips kiss in your heat so loudly and wetly that it sounds like a porn scene. Your hands fly to his ivory hair, gripping till his scalp stings. This makes him groan again, and you can barely control the way your hips start to rock along his mouth.
Gojo breaks away for a split second, tongue dragging along your inner thigh with his cock nearly in pain because of he’s got you where he wants you. “Just like that, baby, ride my face,” he huffs quickly before returning to flattening his tongue along your clit. You feel him squeeze the cheeks of your ass, forcing you onto the hot muscle and encouraging you to continue.
He seems to be breathing just fine, you realize- which of course he is, he’s Satoru fucking Gojo- he could handle just about anything. It gives you the confidence to rut your hips forward, moaning louder when his lips wrap around your overstimulated nerve and suck hard. You earn a playful smack on your ass when his name slips out of your mouth, and the stinging sends you further into your frenzy for pleasure as you start to build up a pace. It’s addicting, really, the way he’s lapping and sucking at your aching cunt like it’s his favorite dessert, and you’re suddenly thankful that he has the appetite that he does. He breaks away for a second to spit into your heat, spreading your slick folds wide with those deft fingers of his, and that only has you rocking harder along his mouth when he reattaches himself. To him, you are so much better than any sweet he’s had.
You don’t even realize you’re doing it, but you’re tugging Gojo’s snowy tresses in shallow efforts to further bury his face in your cunt as you ride it, and he’s all too happy that you’re using him in this way. As his tongue prods up into your tight entrance, he feels his cock throb again at the prospect of how it would feel inside of you. He groans at the thought, and you feel it all the way up in your ribcage. He’s already picked up on the fact that you’re close, judging by how your frantic movements have sped up and the way you’re babbling incoherent praises that only make him ache more.
“Fuck, Satoru, feels so- good- please…”
When Gojo lets out a little laugh at that, you feel your slick dribble messily down your thighs. That hot, blinding pressure grows stronger under your navel when you grind harder on his tongue, threatening to spill over when he starts to flick it along your clit to match your pace. It all feels so deliciously good that you pay no mind to his nails digging into your flesh, his own way of ensuring he’s leaving a mark- as if he hasn’t decorated your neck in shades of blotchy fuchsia already.
“I’m-so-close….”
He gives your ass another smack with your breathy cry, looking up at you with eyes that nearly beam. You look down while your hips continue to drag along his tongue, finding him just so damn pretty while he’s eating you so good, and you ease your fingers in his hair. That impending sensation grows stronger, and he quickly parts from your lips to murmur confidently:
“I know, princess, I got you. Lemme have it.”
His choice of words and the way he immediately goes back to lapping at your heat are both more than enough to have you coming apart around his tongue in mere seconds. There is nothing in your mind’s eye but Gojo as your high overtakes you, fizzling through your being and prompting you to cry out his name as if it’s a chant. He soaks it all in, helping you ride out your release before slowing to kiss his way back up your body. You’ve never come that hard- and somehow, he senses this too. Your legs feel like jelly when he’s finally face-to-face with you, and his is glistening with your arousal. If he wasn’t desperate to be inside of you right now he could do that for hours, he thinks.
You lean in, capturing your lips with Gojo’s and wrapping your arms around his neck to kiss him deeply. Your own taste on your lips does little to dissuade you from him, and for the next few moments, you both feverishly rip off whatever clothing is still unfortunately on your bodies. He, as gracefully as he can given the annoyingly small hotel bed, maneuvers you onto the pillow so you’re lying on your back, and you feel his heavy cock hit your stomach. He pauses for a second to study your features, finding that every inch of you is worth burning to memory. You’re stunning like this, all sticky and flushed and needy, and it’s all because of his efforts. He’s only more gratified when your mouth flies open at his impressive size.
“You're kidding. That's not gonna fit,” You sputter, still in your post-orgasm daze, but you feel your hole clench around nothing when you notice the filmy drops of pre beading around his thick tip.
His laugh is genuine, almost melodic as he pumps himself a few times. “Such a downer. We’ll make it fit, ‘kay?” Gojo promises with a goofy grin, letting his hand wander along your bare nipples and stomach before eventually revisiting your now sore cunt. You hiss in delight when he slides one of his long fingers in, and your legs spread automatically at the intrusion. Even in the most cramped bed ever, you’d realize you’d make room for him anywhere. You reach out, dragging your hand along his chiseled stomach, nearly in awe at how firm the muscles are there. He’s like if art was living, breathing, unrestricted from a canvas or frame.
Your hand slides further, silently encouraging his own to move so you can take over stroking his hardened cock as his finger curls along your hot walls. You moan quietly, watching his breath hitch in his broad chest- he’s not sure whether to watch your face or your movements, and there’s an eagerness within him that amplifies when he sees how tightly you’re sucking in just a digit of his. His hips jut forward slightly when your thumb brushes his sensitive tip, and he finally decides to look into your eyes. You stare back, wanting to say so much about how his are the perfect shade of blue.
“Y’know why I harass you so much?” He asks in a tone that reaches a new level of softness for him, and you entertain his question as he slowly introduces a second finger. The stretch is delicious, though you think it’s doing little to prep for the monstrosity that awaits you.
“‘Cause you’re Satoru Gojo?” You reply before letting out a hiss at a particularly sensitive spot he hits within you.
He snorts. “Well, yeah, and ‘cause I think you’re pretty. Inside and out. Gorgeous, actually.”
You blush a little at how he turns a silly banter into a very real confession, and you watch his eyelids flutter again. Actually, you feel kind of bad for being so lighthearted while he was being serious- that was his thing, anyway. Times like these were what made his bluntness endearing, and he continues, beginning to align his length with your dripping entrance after slowly removing his fingers.
“So, lemme prove it.”
Feeling all kinds of giddy you nod, angling your thighs so his hips can fit between them. His spongy tip drags through your slick folds, and it’s the most you’ve ever felt another person focus so directly on you. You look up at him, bringing your hands up his stomach and to his defined shoulders as his tip sinks into you just the slightest.
“Well, you’re pretty too, like otherworldly handsome,” you admit back with a timid smile, clearly trying to regain your breath. “Just couldn’t tell you ‘cause you were too busy harassing me.” You exhale when he submerges himself a little more, and he smiles back with his pearly white teeth. “You’re fucking huge, too… oh my god…” you add, moaning a little at how his cock feels nothing like his fingers. You hate to admit it, but it’s clear he’s set to wreck you.
“Naturally.” He’s using every ounce of strength to control himself from pounding into you, responding to your praise and your criticism all at once. Gojo slowly and gently pushes in until his hips are flush with yours, and it feels as if he’s tearing you from the inside. Your face is scrunched at the intrusion, and he has to cover his own mouth to stop a moan at how tight you feel. There’s no other convincing needed by him that your pussy was practically made for him, he thinks, and he studies your features for any indication of stopping.
“Look at you,” he coos, nearly mesmerized by how your cunt has already swallowed him whole. His hand slides down his face to tweak at one of your hardened nipples. “And you said I wouldn’t fit. Takin’ it like a pro, princess.” His lighthearted motivation makes you snicker a little, and it eases some of the stinging from the stretch he’s causing. He gives you a few shallow thrusts, and his eyes practically roll to the back of his head when your hot walls grip around him. It takes a few moments for you to adjust to his size, and when finally you do, you give him the silent go-ahead by softening your expression. His grin could blind a room full of people when he thrusts deeper, not only reaching that same sensitive spot but finding another, and it makes your head loll back to the pillow.
That reminds him. He pauses for a second to slide one of the cheap hotel pillows under your tailbone, and suddenly his cock feels like it’s colliding with your guts when he continues his movements. Your mouth couldn’t fall any more open as he starts to establish a pace, filling you so masterfully yet harshly with every stroke.
“Sa-to-ru…” you pant, digging your nails into Gojo’s sculpted back, and this only motivates him more. You have a realization that could either be horrible or amazing: How could you ever fuck anyone else again? Again and again he’s thrusting into that magical spot till the sounds of your wetness fill the otherwise lackluster room, spoiling you for any other and reassuring you that yes, he really is the strongest. Part of him knows how skilled he is, and he has to refrain from laughing- no one would ever be enough once he was done with you. Then again, he never wants to be done with you.
You feel his tactful hands roam your body aimlessly, a visible sign of his enrapture with how you receive him. He wants to focus on watching his cock slam into your cunt over and over, but he also wants to watch your face as you writhe and cry out his name- he’s clearly conflicted.
The little breathy noises slipping out of him aren’t helping your cause, and the way he abruptly throws one of your legs over his broad shoulder doesn’t either. He’s now rutting into your tight heat relentlessly, a stark contrast from how delicately he’s kissing up the thigh that’s pressed into his chest.
“Your pussy is...perfect,” you hear Gojo groan, drawing the words out, and his kisses along your thigh become animalistic as they turn into bites. You whimper, back arching with all the sensations filling your system, and that heady feeling in your tummy begins to strengthen again. “Wanna-fuck you- forever…”
“Please,” you agree as your ability to form sentences leaves you. “Don’t ever- stop…”
In a perfect world, he wouldn’t. As one hand holds your thigh to his chest and the other travels to your overstimulated clit, his shiny blue eyes watch your contorting face, smiling proudly when you moan at how his fingers rub tight circles along your nerves. He can feel his release approaching alongside yours, and your slick walls flutter around his cock as he pummels into you.
“Want another one, princess,” Gojo pants, making your skin smack against his as your orgasm builds up in your tummy. “Go on, come on- my cock…”
His wish is your command. You quickly lean forward, mashing your lips with his when the pleasure fizzles out of you all over again. You feel the tips of your toes burn at how powerfully your release hits you, wracking your body with an almost overwhelming amount of pleasure. You’re reduced to a heaving, shaking mess, convulsing around his length and left only able to babble his name against his mouth in your state of bliss. His hand cradles the back of your head as he fucks you through the aftershock and kisses you roughly, only to follow close behind just moments later. His movements falter before your name falls from his lips, and his hips stutter as you feel yourself start to fill with his thick seed.
Holy shit. Who would’ve guessed that this was how your evening would turn out? Just mere hours ago you wanted to claw at his throat, and instead you clawed at his back because of how good he was dicking you down. Your mind swims as Gojo slowly withdraws, slipping out of your sore cunt to collapse beside you in what little space the hotel bed offered. He’s even gorgeous like this, maybe more than ever actually. You’re observing how his ivory hair sticks to his forehead and his back glistens with the thinnest layer of sweat from his efforts, the muscles there decorated with thin red indents from your nails. It’s a sight worth recreating an infinite number of times.
Not having him envelop all your senses anymore forces you back into reality, where a mission lies just hours ahead of you and your shared hotel room isn’t any prettier. And unbelievably, those things don’t even matter anymore. All you can perceive and recognize in your afterglow is Satoru Gojo, who is already regaining his breath while you lie there like a fucked-out mess. Beautiful.
Gojo turns to face you, watching your chest rise and fall as you regulate yourself, and his delighted grin is all too perfect for someone who just obliterated you.
“So…you warm enough now?”
Your sticky body shifts to face him, vibrating with laughter as you answer “For now, yes…” and your head hits the pillow exhaustedly. That’s right- you were already tired before this “development” even happened.
His whole being is pure elation as he languidly drapes an arm over your bare figure. “Does that mean we get to do that again? I think she really likes me.” His hand brushes over your abused cunt, and your body flares at his touch yet again. It was a sick epiphany that he could destroy you and you’d still want more.
You snicker. “Yes, but she is super sore right now.” The sleepiness from earlier seeps into your brain, and you find yourself curling back into his lanky frame. He accepts you openly, resting a hand on your ass as he scoops you closer.
“I can kiss her better,” he pipes up quietly, already thinking of all the ways he could keep touching you. Even though you feel that droning buzz of want again, you tiredly shake your head, regretfully reminding him “Noooo, we’ve gotta get up in a few hours. Maybe after our mission.” You swear his eyes desaturate a shade before he sighs.
“Yeah yeah yeah. You’re gonna be tired and sore anyway.”
“Oh, and you’re not?”
“Nah.” Gojo moves to press a fresh batch of kisses all over your neck, and you shudder. He did have a point- you were already planning on shotgunning whatever energy drinks were in the dingy hotel lobby’s vending machine in the morning, as if they even had one. “I could go all night if you wanted, princess. Give you more of my cooties.”
You laugh freely, realizing he probably wasn’t exaggerating. It’s quite the offer from the one who just wrecked you so good- and you’d be silly to refuse despite your tiredness. You feeling your limbs tangle into each other’s, returning thoughts of the hazardous hotel drifting away once more, and your arousal slowly revisits you. What an incredible way to forget about your surroundings. You tug playfully on his icy tresses, you decide that this might be your new favorite kind of exhaustion. “As long as you don’t share your cooties with anyone else.”
Snickering, Gojo keenly zeroes on spreading your aching legs so he can see the aftermath from earlier, and he’s hardening again at the sight of his thick cum barely trickling out onto your thighs. With a mischievous smile, he assures you, “Never. This is just too pretty. Plus, you said you were gonna tip well.”
His hands trace you, and there’s not a more discernible indicator of your new bond with him than when you look down at his length, answering him in a familiarly cheeky tone, “Well, you already did.” He laughs, the warmest he's ever allowed himself, and it's certain he's keeping his promise.
Turns out, Shoko was right about him.
502 notes · View notes
bleuu-moon · 2 months
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no masters or kings
prologue.
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note: here she issss!!! finally after putting it off so many times because i’m a shit bag lol. me 🤝 combining my unhinged obsession with price, ghost and zombie media and making it into my dream fic <3
pairing: john price + simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader
tags: zombie apocalypse au, slow burn-ish, smut, poly relationship (price + ghost share you gahhhh). she/her pronouns used, but no physical description of reader. word count: 1.5k warnings: 18+ mdni. mentions of blood, gore, death and violence.
Everything hurts, aches and burns.
You’ve been on the move for days, constantly moving forward on a desperate search for salvation, refusing your body of any sort of rest it’s crying out for. Your exhaustion makes the rough, solid, wooden floor seem like a California King. Your rucksack like a memory foam pillow. Just grateful for the relief you feel for not being on your feet anymore.
The rain batters against the old cottage’s roof and windows. Luckily, this time, you managed to seek shelter before the incoming shower got too heavy, only leaving your clothes slightly damp in its wake.
Darkness fills the room you’ve comforted yourself in, too dark to see what occupies inside, only able to make out the silhouettes of randomly placed heavy furniture. 
You know it was stupid to just assume it was safe, it was something your father had scolded you for in the past. However, with the knowledge that the area was sparse for dead ones, and with the door being firmly bolted with a dated, rusted lock, accompanied by nothing but the smell of damp and dust in the air, you figured that the possibility of running into other survivors inside, was slim.
So, after a hard knock on the frame of the door, and no movement as a result, you claimed it your sanctuary for the night. 
You shiver into your utility coat, pulling your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself in an attempt to create any sliver of warmth. However, with the dampened fabric that sits on your skin, it only makes the chill in the air even more prominent.
A fire, even a shitty half melted candle would have been accommodating, but with your lack of resources, the function of your own body is the best option you have. 
The more your body shivers, the grip on your knife tightens, as you lie slightly next to the door, just behind where it swings open. Barely something you could call a strategy, but something that gave you somewhat more of chance at a defence. 
An advantage of some sorts, just in case someone decides to slaughter you before you have chance to wake up.
After what seems like hours of your mind being unable to forget the bitter cold that nips at your body, and the ache of hunger that rattles in your stomach, you drift towards sleep. Thinking back to the days when you would spend your evenings in front of your parents’ log fire and the hot chocolates that warmed your hands, sounds of laughter and music filling your ears.
You think about that time at the camp, the intense heat that tingled on your face as fires raged through the tents, vehicles, people. Screaming and wailing erupting into the air as you raced towards the woods—
It grips at your throat, forcing you to be unable to breath. It feels like you’re choking on your own air. Chest becoming tighter and tighter with each gasp, anxiety consuming you even in your unconsciousness. 
Images flash around your mind, those of bodies, some burned, some deceased, some both but still walking. Snapping teeth and hands make their way towards you, belonging to those who you once considered friends, family.
Your father. A face so familiar yet so unrecognisable, it’s him, but not really. Eyes glazed over with milky white, blood pooling from his mouth and nose, snarling as his frame lunges for you. You want to run, need to run, but you’re frozen with fear. Just as your feet are about to step back, his large body falls on you pinning you to the ground. You fight, and fight and fight, pushing against anywhere you can, but it’s no use.
And only thing you have the strength to do is scream—
Click.
Your body jerks awake with a gasp, eyes snapping open.
It’s a sound you’ve heard before, one that you never forget.
“She’s awake.” 
The air is knocked from your lungs as a man’s voice hits your ears before you can fully grasp your surroundings, groggy from the sleep you’ve been ripped from. You don’t see him, only the barrel of the gun that’s being held in the direction of your head.
“Don’t speak.” He spits, before you could even master up the courage to talk. His accent is heavy, Scottish. You watch as he nudges the gun slightly to the side. “Sit up.”
His orders are snappy, full of seriousness that makes a lump form in your throat. For a moment, you feel so numb you can’t move, but when he growls at you to move, it kicks your arse into gear. Obeying his orders, you gulp as you quickly rise from your place on the ground, leaning your back against the wall, pulling your knees to your chest.
Moving helps you get a better look at the man behind the gun. He seems a similar age to you, even though he’s wearing thick garments covered with a heavy packed tac-vest, his muscular build is obvious.
His blue eyes are piercing into yours, before they flicker down to the knife that still resides in your hand, nodding his head, signalling you to discard it. You hesitate, feeling uneasy about giving up the only thing you have to defend yourself, but his eyes narrow, brows pulling downwards in frustration.
Usually, you’d try to put up more of a fight, but something irks at you. The gun he easily holds in hands isn’t like one you’ve seen in person before, its bulky, long, like something from an action movie. The vest that wraps around his body is heavily layered and stocked with what you can only assume is ammunition.
He wasn’t just someone who managed to get their hands on big gun, he was someone who knew exactly what to do with it. 
And with the understanding of that, you slide your knife towards his boots.
“Look, I—"
“Check her bag.” He cuts you off, seemingly speaking to someone else. Someone you were unaware of.
Another man appears from the side of you, surprising you as he stomps his way over and grabbing your rucksack off the floor. 
Like the other, he’s similar in age, and dressed in the same intimidating attire, except he's slightly taller and sporting a very worn cap on his head.
“How'd you get in here?” He asks firmly, unzipping your bag. He sounds southern English.
“I—um, picked the lock.” 
He only hums at your response, raising his brows momentarily before beginning to dig through the contents of your sack. There’s harsh silence as he does, an overwhelming feeling of being a deer in some headlights as your eyes flicker between the two men.
“I didn’t know it belonged to anyone.” You’re finally able to look around the room, now that daylight is allowing its contents to become visible. It’s barely filled, derelict and tired, only a few pieces of tatty furniture scattered around. “I was just looking for somewhere to hold up for the night.”
They don’t reply, only a look from the man who’s searching through your belongings, as other remains still, gun still pointed towards your face.
“Are you going to kill me?”
“Only if you give us a reason to.” The man in-front of you snaps.
“There’s nothin' in here…nothin' useful anyway.”
The rucksack ends up beside you again, landing on the floor with a thud.
"Am curious.” The Scot sounds prying. “How've you manage to survive this long with a shitty knife and an empty rucksack?”
“I—” 
You stop yourself. Gulping down the lump that has seemingly formed back in your throat. You don't know these people from Adam, they're strangers, and strangers, especially in this day and age, meant fucking danger. Those who are left aren't people that you can be open and honest with, letting all of your vulnerabilities lie bare, it only gives them opportunities to use it against you, and then they take, and take, and take.
But, what do you really have to lose? The worst thing that could happen is they think you're lying and it ends with a bullet hole in through skull. And when you think about that, it's not even really the worst thing.
“I’ve only been on my own for a couple of days. I was in a camp but we—” You look down at the floor. “—it’s gone now.”
“Gone?”
You nod gently, eyes still burning into wood in-front of you.
“Another group, they came, and they just destroyed everything…murdered everyone. There's nothing left.”
“Where?” The man to your left quizzes, your eyes meeting his. His intense glare has been replaced by something that resembles sympathy and concern.
“Near Burnsall, about a mile down the river, on the golf course near it.”
The two become silent, you watch as they both turn to each other. Eyes saying more than words, a mute conversation unravelling between them. You become on edge, your mind starting to work overtime, thoughts tripping over thoughts, wondering if they were about to end your life, change it, or make you wish that they chosen the first one. And once you see the Scot shake his head at whatever the other was getting at, you become even more alert.
Suddenly, you jerk as he lunges towards you, his gloved hand wrapping harshly around your bicep and hauling you to your feet.
“Well, looks like it’s your lucky day…ya comin' with us.”
888 notes · View notes
phfenomena · 3 months
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❝state of grace.❞ || tom blyth x f!reader
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| request- state of grace by taylor!!!!
| A/N- i’m using every goddamn line of this song in it. it’s too good to be ignored. justice for state of grace it’s my fav on red 😞😞
| WARNINGS- strange men in cafes, wine, monopoly, mentions of murdering josh, mentions of robbery, two goofballs in love, and big ol’ smooches
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(divider by @v6que)
i’m walking fast through the traffic lights, busy streets and busy lives.
you’ve scrambled out of your apartment and are speed walking throughout the brooklyn streets in hopes of getting to your audition on time. being an aspiring actress in new york isn’t easy, but it’s all you wanted to do. nothing else called to you like acting, but the constant state of franticness and stress was taking a toll.
your mind begins to wander around the fact that the thousands of people you see tonight have their own lives, they’re trying to get home to their families, or their significant other, they have something to go home to.
all we know is touch and go.
after the disaster that one could call your audition, you figured you deserved a coffee. the cozy and serene café was one you frequented, on the days you had time. the chipper and almost too happy barista starts your drink the second she sees you cross the threshold of the doors. you go to take your usual seat by the window but stop upon seeing a man sitting there.
you stop and stare before ultimately deciding to just take the seat next to his, no, your usual seat. being too tired to even try to muster up the emotional strength to be upset, you plop down and place your head on the table. “you look like you really need this today.” jessie, the barista, says and places the mug of coffee next your head. you offer a small thanks and stare into the dark liquid.
we are alone with our changing minds, we fall in love till’ it hurts or bleeds.
the man occupying your space turned to look at you and he looked completely contrary to you, bright blue eyes, a smile, and he just looked content. he’s definitely attractive, but your brain couldn’t find any room for this man to move into.
“rough day, eh?” his accent makes you tilt your head towards him, he is really cute, you can’t lie. you nod your head tiredly and sip on your coffee. he stand up and takes the seat across from you and stick his hand out. “i’m tom, and you look like you could use a friend right now.” you shake his hand with a small smile and place the mug back down. “well, tom, how are you so good at reading people?” you pipe up after telling him your own name.
“it’s a talent i posses, love. can’t help it. i’m an empath.” his answer makes you laugh harder than you have in months. maybe this day wasn’t so bad after all. “there we go! you laughed, that was my whole goal. reckoned it would’ve taken longer, but i did it.” tom patted himself on the back as you shook your head with a small smile. “a woman of very few words, i see?”
you hum “i don’t know what to say to you, tom. a strange man approaches me in a cafe after i’ve had a bad day, what do i say to that?” he puts a finger on his chin to over exaggerate his thinking. “you could tell me about yourself, or i could tell you about myself. you just look lonely.” his eyes widen as he realizes he just called you lonely. he wasn’t wrong, but still hurt your feelings nonetheless.
“okay, i’m from california. everyone i know still lives there so it’s a little difficult to not be lonely here, but you don’t seem to be very not lonely. you’re sitting in a cafe by yourself and talking to strangers.” he throws his head back laughing. yeah, he’s really cute.
you come around and the armor folds, pierce the room like a cannonball.
after consistently hanging out with tom for a few months you’ve gotten into a routine. text tom good morning, tell him what you’re doing that day, and that you hope he has a good day. through him you’ve met some great friends, but you and rachel stuck together like glue instantly.
“so you’ve known tom for like seven months, and he still hasn’t come over to your apartment?” rachel asks in between sips of wine. you both sit on toms couch as the others are in the kitchen mixing drinks. “yes! i don’t know why i’m so nervous about it, it just feels too intimate for him to see it.” you and rachel giggle into eachother. it might be the wine, but you’ve never felt happier.
tom comes running into the living room, obviously drunk. “try this, i’ve perfected my concoction.” he shoves a foul smelling drink into your face. you look up at him and smile, “tom, this smells terrible. what the hell is in this?” he smells it himself and shrugs. “about a pour of everything.” you turn to rachel as if pleading for her to help. “i think i heard josh say he needs your help in the kitchen.” tom pipes up and struts back to the kitchen.
“someone needs to cut him off, he’s gonna be so sick tomorrow.” you manage to squeeze out in between your laughs. rachel wiggles her eyebrows at you “and you’ll be the one taking care of him.” you turn your head away from her with a pained expression. “i’m going to the kitchen to see what the hell they’re doing.”
so you were never a saint, and i loved in shades of wrong.
you lay flat on toms floor while he sits next to you, you’re talking about how you were as teenagers and before you met eachother. “no i was literally evil, i would ghost any girl that liked me.” toms cheeks are blushed from all the laughing. “i was the same way! i just never loved anyone right, and i was just really mean.” tom brushes a stray piece of hair out of your face that was stuck on your eyelashes. you stare up and him and swallow, you jet up to your feet. “i’m hungry, let’s go grab something.”
this is a state of grace, this is the worthwhile fight. love is a ruthless game.
josh, rachel, tom and you sit circled around your coffee table. monopoly laying on the table and wine in all of your hands. “that’s not fair! i’m in jail and josh gets to buy my properties?” you yell out as josh wheezes next to you. your eyes meet toms and you glance down at his wine stained lips. “you’re the bank, tom! tell him no and that i’m still a citizen!” “afraid you’ve dug your own grave, love. robbery does land you in jail.” he knowingly points his finger at you. “who said i committed robbery?! this is a corrupt world.”
rachel decided it might be best to put the game away before you actually do end up in jail for killing josh. the four of you sit on the couch watching some marvel movie. you turn your head to tom and whisper “so how did i commit robbery? what did i steal?” obviously still stuck on how you never won the game. he smirked down at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “my heart, love.” you pull away from him and pretend to gag onto rachel, who is sound asleep.
this is the golden age of something good and right and real. and i never saw you coming.
you wake up blearily and sit up. then a wall of pain shoots into your head as you look to your surroundings. tom is in your bed next to you. oh my god. tom is in your bed. he groans and grabs his head “what time is it? and how much wine did we drink?” he asks, acting like this is just a normal situation. “i have no idea where my phone is and apparently a lot because i feel like i got hit by a train.” you croak out laying back down.
toms arm finds its home around your waist and he cuddles into your back. “let’s just go back to sleep.” you nod and try to push down the sheer panic rising throughout your form. when you awake a few hours later, tom is gone. almost disappointed you walk out into your living room and find rachel and josh sitting there looking quite grumpy. “are you guys oka-” josh shushes you and goes back to rubbing his temples. you mutter a small sorry and walk into your kitchen, seeing tom making coffee. his bed head and sleep ridden eyes make your stomach feel warm and fuzzy.
“good morning.” you grumble and he laughs. “it’s three o’clock in the afternoon.” you laugh with him and rest your head on the counter waiting for the coffee. “i didn’t think we drank that much last night, i don’t even remember most of it.” you confess with furrowed eyebrows trying to rake back through your memories.
tom looks almost solemn at your confession and nods. “yeah, me too. it’s all blurry.” he remembered everything. last nights escapades slowly come back as you think and you excuse yourself to the bathroom. thinking of what happened last night.
you and tom sat on your bedroom floor as you showed him all the books you’ve collected and his smile was so wide it made your heart jump at the sight. you rambled on and on about how you read the ballad of songbirds when it came out and how he channeled coriolanus so well but he was just staring at you, the wine coursing through both of your bloods. he lunged forward and captured your lips with his causing you to drop your book and wrap your arms around him.
you quickly brush your teeth and comb through your hair, trying to look somewhat decent. you slowly tread back into the kitchen and stare at tom. “i remember last night.” you quickly confessed. biting the inside of your cheek as tom turns to look at you. “do you regret it?” he quietly asks before you shake your head and step closer to him. “no, i don’t. i’ve liked you since i met you.” he smiles and wraps his arm around you while pouring your coffee into your favorite mug.
these are the hands of fate, you’re my achilles heel.
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artiststarme · 4 months
Text
Part 1 of a new thing I’m working on. It only gets juicier from here! I hope you guys enjoy it and if you have any name ideas, please send them my way.
~*~*~*~
Steve was confused most of the time, everyone knew it. Especially since his run-ins with the Upside Down, he never had any idea what was happening. From not sensing the obvious when everyone else grabbed a flashlight to missing blatant social cues, it wasn’t unusual for something to go over his head. And yet, sitting on the little Byers’ floor of his bedroom while Will paced around in front of him, ranting to the air, was the most befuddled Steve had ever been.
Of all of the kids, Steve was never very close to Will. He was the shyest of all the kids and he didn’t seem to need an older role model like Dustin or Max did. He already had Jonathan and his mom, two people that would risk their lives to save him so he never really needed Steve. Don’t get him wrong, Steve loved the kid. He just didn’t have a bond with him the same way he did with the other kids. Nonetheless, when Will asked him for a quick word as Mrs. Byers spoke to El and Jonathan said his goodbyes to Nancy, Steve followed him to his bare room without complaint. He didn’t know what he expected, maybe some advice about girls or hobbies or maybe just Will asking him to look out for the other kids. Something expected, something mundane. But that’s not what Steve received.
Will stopped stalking back and forth, took a deep breath and said, “I’m gay.”
He cringed as he said the words, immediately losing his confidence and breaking eye contact with Steve. And Steve just blinked.
“Okay… Is that all?”
He didn’t really know how to answer that. It didn’t really matter to him if Will liked other dudes and it certainly didn’t change the way he saw the kid. It was still confusing that Will was choosing to tell HIM of all people, he had no idea what about him made everyone want to come out to him with Will being the second person to do so in as many days. But regardless, there was nothing that the kids could do that would make Steve turn on him.
It may not have been the most tactful way of voicing his acceptance but Will felt a weight lifted despite it. He knelt down to give a thankful hug to Steve who returned his hug awkwardly.
“Thanks Steve, I knew out of everyone that you would understand.” Steve was about to ask why he of all people would understand but Will continued, “No one else knows yet, not even Mike and uh… I really like him, Steve.”
All thoughts left Steve’s mind as he automatically started insulting Will’s taste. “Mike? Mike Wheeler? What the hell, dude. I have no problem with you liking guys but Mike? Jesus Christ, he’s like the worst person you could choose. His attitude sucks, he’s got beady little eyes full of anger, and he’s kind of a douche.”
Will looked stuck somewhere between amused and offended. “But… he’s my best friend? He’s always been there and I, I think I love him a little bit. What do I do?”
Steve sighed and put a heavy hand on his shoulder, his bruised face grimacing in sympathy. “You’re young so you have plenty of time to fall for other guys. Move on. Trust me, you do not want to date a Wheeler. Especially Mike. My god, kid, have a little taste. I can understand Nancy but Mike? No way.”
“But, but you’re sure you’re okay with me… being gay. I like boys, not girls,” Will prodded.
“I know what it means, Byers. It doesn’t change anything. Liking boys doesn’t make you any different and you’re still another one of the runts to me, alright?” He ducked his head to meet Will’s eyes and only when he nodded did he put space between him. “Good. You have nothing to worry about when it comes to me. I’ll always be here if you need me.”
“Can I call you? After we move to California?” Will asked with trepidation.
“Hell yeah, I’ll be around. You can call me, El can call me, hell even Jonathan can call me if he wants.”
That last part got him a weird look in response. “... you want Jonathan to call you?”
“I mean, sure, if he wants to. He probably won’t because I’m no Nancy and we’re not really friends but it would be nice to have people calling,” Steve shrugged and ignored Will’s look of appall.
“I thought you wouldn’t like Jonathan because he stole your girlfriend.”
He frowned, “nah, there were other things wrong between Nance and I long before your brother came around. He’s pretty cool and he’s got an awesome little brother too, what’s not to like?”
Will smiled and they sat in silence for a few moments before Steve cleared his throat, said his last goodbyes, and made his way home. He slunk back to bed to sleep off the oncoming migraine and pain in his beaten face. Steve didn’t think much more about Will’s admission or their emotional conversation. Instead, he focused on the warm feeling in his chest that came with two people trusting him enough to be honest to him, to be themselves without fear around him. Robin and Will were the first people who trusted him with something important beyond reputation or popularity. It made him feel like he was finally doing something right, like he had finally moved past all of the King Steve bullshit and he’d never felt better about it.
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steddieas-shegoes · 3 months
Text
Wayne and Eddie are convinced Annie’s got herself a secret boyfriend.
She’s coming up with excuses why she comes home late nearly every night, says she was asked to stay on and couldn’t say no to the money, says she had to stop at the store but never has bags, says she broke down but was able to fix it herself.
They suspect it’s the new full-time clerk at the grocery store, Jerry, the one who started filling in for Joyce when Will went missing and then ended up taking over entirely when the Byers’ moved to California. He was nice enough, always gave Wayne and Eddie his employee discount when they had to get some groceries.
They just don’t know why she’s hiding it.
And then Vecna happens, Eddie’s comatose for nearly a week before he wakes up to his mama and Wayne and Steve and Jerry all by his bedside.
Jerry’s the first to speak: “Oh thank God.”
Annie lets out a sob and crumbles against Jerry’s side.
Wayne rolls his eyes and pats Eddie on the head, like this isn’t the first time he’s dealt with the dramatics today.
Steve smiles at him, waves his fingers, and says: “Not sure we should thank God or Metallica.”
Eddie falls in love in that moment.
Maybe it’s the morphine.
Maybe it’s the fact that Steve was by his side and knew Metallica.
Maybe it’s because whatever love was between Jerry and his mama was rubbing off on the entire room.
She came clean about it the next day when Jerry was volunteering at the school handing out some marked out food from the store.
“He’s great. You’ll like ‘im. Wayne likes him and Steve likes him-“
“Why would it matter if Steve likes him?”
Annie just raises a brow at him, he cowers as much as physically possible being held together by thread and bandages.
“You’ll like him just fine. He’s bringin’ cookies later, asked what your favorite was so he could get it right. Really wants to impress ya.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re the most important person to me and he knows if ya don’t like him, he’s gotta beat it.”
“Mama, I’m not the one who has to date him.”
“But if we got married-“
“Woah. Married?!”
Annie at least has the wherewithal to look nervous.
“We’ve been seein’ each other for nearly two years.”
Eddie’s jaw drops, and he immediately regrets it when the stitches in the bite across his cheek pull.
“Two years?!”
“Well, I had to make sure he was decent!”
“It took two years to figure that out? How decent can he be?”
Annie rolled her eyes just as Jerry walked in the room holding a container of cookies.
“I know your mama said gingerbread was your favorite, but they were out, so I brought snickerdoodles. Hope that’s okay.”
Eddie snatched the container from his hand, ignoring the glare from his mama.
He took a bite and melted into the bed.
“Are they okay?”
He opened his eyes to see Jerry wringing his hands in front of himself.
“They’re perfectly decent, Jer. You like Metallica? Ozzy? Judas Priest?”
Jerry gulped.
“I like Joan Jett?”
Eddie sighed.
“Decent enough.” He looked at his mama, who was smirking. She knew he didn’t actually expect everyone to love his favorite bands. “He’ll do. Now let me nap, the nurse said I should sleep at least 18 hours a day like a koala or something.”
When he woke up from his nap, the cookies were on his bedside table, but Steve was sitting in the chair nibbling on one while he listened to a Walkman.
“Whatcha listening to?” Eddie asked loud enough for him to hear.
“Judas Priest. He’s kinda cool.”
Eddie felt his stomach dip, his heart skip.
“You’re decent, Stevie. Real decent.”
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heavenlyvision · 4 months
Text
Just Friends
Word count: 13.7k
Pairing: Johnny Cage x F!Reader
A/N: Wowee, I am pretty proud of this one ngl! I hope you all enjoy it!!! This idea has been rotating in my brain for a couple weeks now, so I’m pretty stoked to have finished it <33
Summary: When your one-year anniversary raises red flags about your boyfriend you missed, Johnny helps you deal with the fall out in a delicious way, and then he ghosts you. When you find out why, you think his reason sucks but he makes it up to you… kind of.
Warnings: 18+ only, smut, angst (only little bit), virgin!Reader, age gap, reader is in her 20s, fingering, grinding, cum eating, spit swallowing (once), stalking (not by Johnny or reader), minor violence, name calling (not by Johnny or reader), no use of y/n
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This isn’t where you would ideally be spending your time, in general you don’t club often but especially not for special occasions, which you classify this as one. You’re meant to be celebrating your one-year anniversary with your boyfriend, he had promised you a romantic evening but instead he surprised you with clubbing. Which, naturally you had no idea was happening, so not only are you not dressed for clubbing but you also are not in the mood to be here.
He's gone off to the dance floor and you’re just sat here by the bar watching him dance and get drunk. It’s uncomfortable for you, you’re dressed up in a nicer dress than what this place warrants and it’s getting the attention of the men around you, attention you really don’t want.
Unfortunately, it looks like your boyfriend is enjoying the attention of the other girls around him, he’s just now engaged in a bump and grind with a girl you both don’t know. This is ridiculous, he knows you can see him right? You’re getting huffy, but when he leans down and whispers in her ear is when you get pissed.
Getting up, you stomp over to him and grab him to get his attention, when he looks at you, he’s none too pleased. Like you weren’t the one watching him flirt with another girl on your one-year anniversary. A whole year with this man and he can’t give you the courtesy of paying you attention and not flirting with other girls. Ridiculous.
Your expression is twisted in anger, “What the hell are you doing?”
“What’s your problem?” He asks, his own expression irritated.
Your eyes become large, shaking your head at him, “My problem is you; you’re flirting with other girls right in front of me! On our anniversary!”
He blows you off and deflects the blame back on you, “Like you care, you have that weird relationship with that old actor dude!”
Of course, he brings up Johnny right now, you roll your eyes at him, “Johnny is just a friend! You know that.”
And he does, you’ve known Johnny for years, or at least your family has, you got closer to him a few years ago when you moved to California. He’s been really kind to you and was the only friend you had here for a while, even though he’s all famous and busy.
He gets in your face and yells at you, “Yeah right, you’re probably fucking him! You won’t fuck me but you’ll fuck him! Is that it?! GOD you are such a whore!” You can smell the alcohol on his breath with how close he is.
This is the first time he’s explicitly said what he’s been implying for months, he’s been so weird about this for a long time, you haven’t had sex with him, or anyone for that matter. And it upsets you when he implies otherwise. His blunt accusation has your eyes welling up with tears.
His shoulders drop and his eyes roll, groaning as he says, “Oh, don’t start that! You are such a gaslighter!”
“We are over, don’t call me, don’t come to my apartment, we are broken up,” you spit it out with as much venom as you can muster.
Turning from him, you get out of there as quickly as possible, hearing him continue to berate you faintly as you leave. The tears from earlier start to fall down your cheeks as you hail a cab, tonight is not what you wanted it to be at all.
This has been an awful experience, and if you were honest with yourself, you’d recognise your relationship had red flags the whole time. You had mostly overlooked it because you wanted it to work so badly but he was mean, pushy, didn’t respect you or your boundaries, he was even prone to violent outbursts, he never hit you but you have a sizable hole in your bedroom wall from the one time he got especially annoyed at you.
These are all things you had kept from Johnny and even then, Johnny had expressed concerns about your now ex-boyfriend, he never overstepped but he very gently told you that he thought he was a freak.
You won’t deny that you like Johnny, you’re attracted to him but it’s not like it’s something you could actively pursue or have even thought about pursuing. He’s older than you and probably wouldn’t look at you the same way you look at him. And even if he did, you can’t think of anything worse than a cheater, you would never want to be cheated on, so you would never cheat on someone. Even if they suck.
Sitting in the cab, you’re forced to reflect on all of this. You wish you’d had a few drinks; a buzz would probably make it easier to sleep tonight. The shock of it all has you most upset because when you search deep down you aren’t even sad about losing him, you’re sad about all the time you wasted on him. All the time you spent trying to make it work with a man who, frankly, didn’t and doesn’t deserve you.  
When you get back home, you’re immediately showering the club off of your skin and crawling into bed. What you want most right now is for this awful night to be over, so you curl up in a little ball and hug your pillow to your chest for comfort.
✰ ✰ ✰
A heavy-handed banging at your door frightens you awake; you shoot up in your spot. It’s your ex banging on your door and yelling at you, grabbing your phone you quickly look at the time. It’s currently nine in the morning, he cannot be sober yet.
You walk through your apartment and drop your phone on your kitchen counter before tentatively walking towards the door. His loud banging stops and he knocks again gently, calling your name softly. You don’t want to open the door but you’re worried about your neighbours, one thing about him is that he is as stubborn as a mule.
Opening the door only a bit, you ask him, “What do you want?”
“Fucking finally, let me in,” his voice is angry and he’s pushing the door open more.
You try to keep him back, “You can’t come in.”
He keeps pushing at the door, eventually swinging it open the whole way, “I can do what I want,” his voice raises.
He goes to move inside your apartment and you push him back, his eyes glower at you, he’s scaring you.
“We are broken up, and I don’t want you in my house,” you say, standing your ground.
“We are not broken up; I didn’t agree to that!” he argues, voice getting louder in his anger.
His demeanour is scaring you, the last time he looked like this was when he punched that hole in your wall.
But you are not caving on this, “That isn’t how it works, we are over!”
He puts his hands on you and his grip digs into your skin, hurting you, but you move automatically and punch him square in the nose. His head flies back, he’s groaning out in pain and grabbing his nose. You take advantage of his balance being thrown off and push him out of the threshold of your apartment, he stumbles back and you’re slamming the door shut, locking it again.
“What the fuck! You stupid bitch! Let ME IN!!” His banging gets more forceful, it sounds like he might be kicking the door too.
You’re shaking at what just happened, you’ve never had to punch someone before. Sadly, it didn’t do enough damage to have him leaving, he’s still there and you have a feeling he isn’t going away.
There’s a sudden ringing from behind you, it makes you jump on the spot. Your heart racing as you realise it’s just your phone from the kitchen, you walk over to it, behind you the banging has slowed a bit but you can tell he’s still out there.
Checking your phone screen, you see it’s Johnny is calling, just your luck. If you don’t pick up now, he’ll just keep calling you. He knows you were meant to go on your date last night and you didn’t message him when you got home. He’s always checking in on you, making sure you’re safe but you don’t really want him hearing what’s happening, so you walk into the hallway and answer. Thankful for the moment of quiet outside your door.
“Hello?” You ask.
“Good morning, doll,” he sounds chipper.
“…Good morning,” your voice is wavering despite your efforts to sound normal.
You can practically feel his frown through the phone, “Are you okay?”
“Yup,” you’re trying to keep your answers short.
The banging on your door picks up again, he’s getting louder and yelling, because of course he is.
“What is that?” Johnny questions.
“…Nothing?”
He pauses, you imagine listening to the background noises, “It sounds like someone’s trying to break in.”
“No, it doesn’t,” you deny.
The banging continues at your door, your exes voice yelling, “Let me the fuck in!! God you’re such a fucking bit–”
“–I’m coming over.” He states, hanging up hastily, leaving no room for arguments.
Great, now you have to face the embarrassment of telling Johnny how awful your ex is and is apparently unwilling to let go of you even though he was flirting with and grinding into another girl right in front of you. You’d rather deal with the cops. Sighing, you grab your bat by the front door and crouch next to it, waiting for Johnny to get here. At least your ex will go away when he gets here.
It doesn’t take Johnny long to arrive at all, which is suspicious, he probably sped. You only know he’s here because you can hear the way your ex gets angry at him.
“Cage, Of course she called you,” he says to Johnny, disdain clear in his voice.
It’s the last thing you hear clearly, whatever Johnny says to him is low but apparently threatening enough to have your ex leaving, not before he yells at you one last time though.
“THIS ISNT OVER!” He yells out for you to hear.
“Yes it is, get the fuck outta here,” you hear Johnny clearer this time, he’d raised his voice at him slightly.
Johnny doesn’t knock, instead using the key you gave him to unlock your door. When he walks inside, he looks around quickly for you, not seeing you until he turns around to lock the door. His eyes widen at your small, crouched form in the corner by the front door, holding a bat with a sock on it.
“Jesus, sugar, what are you doing there?” His hand lands on his chest in mild shock.
“In case he got the door down,” you murmur at him.
He locks the door properly before giving you his hand, helping you up.
His brow raises, “What’s the sock for?”
“In case he tried grabbing it, he’d pull the sock off and I’d still have a bat,” you move the sock up and down the bat, demonstrating the slide.
He reaches out and you hand the bat to him, “Sit over there.” He points at your breakfast barstools.
You do as he says and shuffle over to the stool, sitting down on it. He puts the bat in your umbrella stand by the front door. Walking back over to you, he stands between your legs and holds either side of your face, checking you over.
“You okay?” He asks very softly; concern clear on his face.
You nod at him, “Yeah, Mm okay.”
His eyes are still looking you over, “I saw his nose was bleeding, you hit him?”
You nod again and he smiles at you, “Nice, you square your shoulders?”
“I think so,” you’re not sure, it happened pretty quick, the reaction more of a survival thing than a planned attack.
He hums and looks to your upper arms, “He grabbed you?” His hands gently run down your arms.
“Yeah, then I hit him,” you tell him, looking at your arms where he was looking. The skin where your ex had grabbed is irritated, it might bruise.
Johnny’s face is pulled into a scowl, “I should’ve hit him too, fucken dick.”
You shake your head at him, “I just wanted him gone.”
“I never liked him,” he continues.
“I know.”
“If he shows up again, I am hitting him,” his face still scowling.
You shake your head at him again, “Don’t do that.”
“Why not?” He looks into your eyes again; his hands leave you.
“Johnny, you’re not just some guy, you’re famous, if it got out that you hit someone it’d be a whole thing. It could ruin your reputation.”
He rolls his eyes at your concern, “Don’t really care about all that, doll.”
Your expression is doubtful, “Yes you do.”
“It’d be worth it, that guy sucks,” he maintains.
“Johnny?”
He hums at you in response.
“Can you… stay for a bit?” You ask softly, cringing at how pathetic you sound.
“Of course, you aren’t getting rid of me that quickly,” his smile is soft and you give him your own in return.
Getting up off the stool, you walk around into the kitchen, grabbing two mugs out for some coffee.
“You can go sit on the couch while I make some coffee,” you tell him with your back facing him.
He hums a little mindlessly before wandering over to your living room and getting comfortable.
After the coffee is made, you carefully walk to him, you’re watching the mugs and your feet as you walk. Carrying full cups has always stressed you out, you always manage to spill and you’d really rather not have to clean up a mess right now.
Thankfully, you successfully make it to Johnny without spilling anything, “Here you go,” you smile and hand him his mug.
“Thanks, sugar,” he takes it from you, sips at it and places it on the coffee table in front of him.
You sit beside him and silently sip at your coffee, enjoying the warmth of it, the flavour. You think a good cup of coffee could fix just about anything for you.
Johnny watches you sip at your mug, “What exactly happened, doll and why didn’t you call me?”
Yeah, you were expecting him to ask sooner or later, you were just hoping it’d be later.
Sighing, you place your mug next to his, “I didn’t call you because it’s embarrassing, you were right about him and I wanted to handle it on my own, I don’t need everything fixed for me.” You don’t look at him as you speak.
“I know that, you’re an adult but this was an angry, grown man, trying to beat down your door. And sometimes you might not need my help but you can always have me next to you, if it makes it easier.” His words are spoken soothingly, he’s always so gentle with you.
You can’t lie, you did have a crush on him for a long time, but then you met your ex and you didn’t let those feelings cloud your mind, you pushed them away. But just like how you push them away, Johnny’s actions and words push them back. He’s a difficult man to dislike.
“Thank you,” you mumble.
He asks again, “What exactly happened, it was supposed to be your anniversary wasn’t it?”
“He ‘surprised’ me by taking me out clubbing, which was already bad but I was uncomfortable and left at the bar alone while he danced and flirted with other girls.” You recount.
“What the fuck?” His voice is filled with displeasure.
“Mhm and then he was whispering to this one girl and I got annoyed, so I went over to confront him but he brought up y– … he said some mean things to me and about me… he – he made me cry and I broke up with him on the spot.” You leave out what he brought up about Johnny, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.
“How’d you get home?” He asks.
“Took a cab.” You state simply.
“And he just let you? Let you leave and get in a cab, crying, by yourself, in the middle of the night?” He clarifies.
You nod your head at him.
Groaning as he says, “I really should’ve hit him.” He pauses, “Why didn’t you call me?”
You look back to him again, “It was late and I didn’t want to bother you, or explain what happened, I just wanted to get home and get into bed.”
“You never bother me, sugar,” his eyes are compassionate as he looks at you.
Looking at him is intense for you, like if you look at him for too long, you’ll get hypnotised by him. So, you look away, back to your mug on the table.
He moves closer to you and puts a hand on your cheek, pulling your face to look at him, “If anything happens to upset you, and I mean anything, call me, okay?” He stresses on the anything, making sure you understand.
You avert his gaze, “I will call you, if something bad happens.”
He moves his face so he can catch your eyes with his, making you look at him again, “Say again.”
“I will call you, next time.” You reconfirm.
“Very good,” his praise does things to you that you wish it didn’t.
He still holds your face, looking at you, his thumb strokes your cheekbone softly. As his hand slips away from your face, his thumb pulls your lip down with it, before he pulls his hand away completely. His eyes locked onto your lips, gaze seemingly far away.
“Johnny?”
He hums, coming back to himself and looking you in the eyes, “Your pjs are very cute.” He changes the topic.
You grow bashful, you’re wearing a matching set, they’re frilly and have bows, and you like them because not only are they really cute, they’re also comfy. Johnny mentioning them throws you off, you completely forgot you were wearing pyjamas.
His smile is cheeky as he watches you grow shy, “What’s wrong?” He asks, taunting.
“You know what you did,” you pout.
He enjoys flirting with you because of how nervous it makes you. He finds it endearing but you find it annoying, which is another reason as to why he keeps doing it.
He hums happily, pleased with himself, “Cute.” It’s all he says in response.
You scowl at him.
He pinches your cheek, pulling at it.
You slap his hand away, “Stop it, that hurts.”
He smiles innocently at you; he goes to say something but his phone rings in his pocket. He pulls it out and looks at it, and then he rolls his eyes, he doesn’t pick it up though.
“Aren’t you gonna answer?” You ask.
“Nah, gonna let it ring out, I do have to go though, I’m late,” his reply nonchalant.
Expression concerned you say, “Johnny! Leave if you’re late, you didn’t need to be wasting time here.”
“I didn’t waste my time, you’re important.” His face firm as he speaks.
You huff at him, “Get out, right now.” Your tone is urgent.
“You’re pretty when you’re bossy,” he teases.
Eyes widening at him, “Johnny!” You exasperate.
“Okay, okay, I’m going,” he placates.
You walk him over to the door. Both of you standing there, you’re waiting for him to open it and leave but he turns around to look at you and pulls you in for a hug. You return it, appreciating the familiarity of him, you nuzzle your face into the fabric of his shirt and he holds you firmly.
His mouth rests against the crown of your head and speaks into your hair, “If he comes back, call me, okay?”
“Okay,” you mumble into his chest.
He pulls you away by your shoulders and then he leans down to kiss your cheek affectionately. The action makes your skin warm; he doesn’t pull away though, lips skating across your face and ghosting your lips, the minimal contact makes you gasp and your heart skip a beat.
He pulls away suddenly, “I’ll talk to you later.” He says hurriedly, opening your door.
“Have a good day,” you manage to say, almost normally.
He hums a noise of agreeance and then he’s gone.
After he leaves, you lock the door, and then your fingers skate over your lips, thinking about how he almost kissed you. The thought makes your heartbeat faster, he’s never showed interest in you before, at least, you don’t think he has.
Why did he do that? Did it mean anything? Was it an accident? You have so many questions that will undoubtably linger in the back of your head for the whole day, if not life.
✰ ✰ ✰
The rest of your day is spent cleaning up your messes made during the week, tomorrow you have a shift at work so today is really the only day you have to be able to pick up after yourself properly. It feels so incredibly mundane compared to what you went through last night and this morning. The fear of you ex coming back loiters in the back of your head the whole time you’re shuffling around your apartment.
It's earlier in the evening when you finally get to sit down, having completed your list of chores, along with showering and eating dinner. You feel quite proud of yourself for doing so much, you didn’t go grocery shopping like you had planned but you think for now, what you have done is more than enough. Leaving your apartment right now is a scary thought, he could be waiting for you outside the building, or around the street corner. You’re overthinking it but it is also very possible, he was terrifying this morning. It shocks you thinking about how he was in your life for so long and you hadn’t noticed anything bad enough to break up with him sooner.
A knock on your door brings you back from your thoughts, you’re apprehensive about answering the door, you aren’t expecting anyone. The person knocks again and your stomach drops, it’s him.
“Go away,” you call out.
“Just let me in, Jesus – talk to me,” your ex is irritable.
You get up and move closer to the door before saying, “You lost your right to talk to me last night.”
“You’re being such a bitch,” he says.
“I’ll call Johnny,” you try threatening.
“Oooo, I’m so scared of some old guy,” he feigns fear, but you know better, he is scared of Johnny.
You walk into the lounge room and pick up your phone, calling him.
His phone only rings a couple times before he picks up, “Hey, doll. You okay?”
From the door you can hear your ex call out to you, “Are you actually calling him?”
Johnny hears him too, “Is he back already?”
“Yeah… Sorry,” you feel bad calling him again so soon.
“Don’t apologise, I told you to call if he came back, you did good by calling me,” he says, his praise making you feel some type of way.
“I’ll be there soon, don’t talk to him,” he directs.
“I’ll see you soon,” you tell him before hanging up.
You grab your bat and hang out in the kitchen, hiding below the counters and watching the front door. Your ex doesn’t speak again, he doesn’t even knock and you briefly wonder if he left.
The wait doesn’t take long, and you know it’s Johnny when you hear the key turn in the lock. He enters the apartment and you pop up from behind the kitchen counters, still holding your bat. He shakes his head at you, amused at the sight of you appearing from nowhere.
Turning around he makes sure to lock the door and walks to you in the kitchen, “You okay, sugar?”
“You’re always asking me that,” you comment.
“I always want you to be okay,” he retorts.
You smile at him, “I’m okay.”
“Good,” he nods his head to the door, “He wasn’t out there.”
“I thought so, I think he heard me on the phone to you.” Your ex must’ve been too scared to face Johnny again, whatever threat he gave working, for now.
“Pussy,” Johnny insults him, it has you laughing lightly. “He really doesn’t like me, do you know why, doll? He ever tell you?” He’s curious.
You hum and look away from him, “No idea.”
“You’re lying.”
“How insulting, I have never lied to you,” you’re looking back at him, trying your best to look innocent.
Both his brows raise at you, “Not from lack of trying.”
You squint your eyes at him, “I am a good girl, I don’t lie, smoke, drink, party… so on and so forth,” you’re being facetious.
“Yes, you are a very good girl, so tell me the truth, mmm?” He practically purrs at you, with the way he spoke to you and how he’s looking at you right now, you’d tell him anything he wanted to know.
“Okay, so maybe I do know why he dislikes you,” you cave but can you be blamed?
He raises a single brow at you, encouraging you to continue.
Fiddling with your hands, you’re hesitant to tell him, “Mmm, so maybe he thinks that we’ve been… hooking up.”
“What?” His eyes are wide.
“He accused me of sleeping with you… which I assured him was not the case and that we’re just friends… but he didn’t believe me, and maybe he called me a whore for sleeping with you and not him…” you can’t look him in the eyes right now.
“I don’t even know where to start,” his expression is confused. “I want to injure him… badly, for calling you a whore,” he starts, his eyes burning.
“I just want him to leave me alone,” you murmur.
“If I break his legs he’ll have to leave you alone for three… to six months, depending on where I break him,” he remarks.
You shake your head at him, sighing.
He continues, “He’s a dumbass for accusing you of sleeping with me,” he pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Are you done?” You ask.
“I have one more question, and since you’re such a good girl, you’re going to answer it without tip toeing around it,” his tone only a little bit teasing.
You look sceptical, trying to save face you say, “Maybe.”
“Why would he think you’re sleeping with me and not him,” he asks.
You avert his gaze quickly, “Well… you see, that’s a bit more complicated.”
“How?” He’s direct.
“So…” You trail off.
“No, don’t do that, don’t skirt around your answer… and look at me,” his tone absolute.
You look back to him, your eyes worried, “I’ve not slept with him… or anyone for that matter… as for why he thinks I’m sleeping with you, probably insecurity,” you shrug your shoulders at him.
Johnny looks surprised by your confession, whatever he was expecting you to say, it wasn’t that.
“You’re a virgin?” He clarifies.
You nod your head at him, “Yes…”
“Well shit, sugar, I didn’t mean to make you tell me something that private.” He feels bad.
“It’s not private, I’m not ashamed or anything, I just haven’t wanted to sleep with the men I’ve dated.” Which is true, you’ve been attracted to them, you just haven’t desired them enough to let them have you completely.
“I just feel like whoever I do sleep with, I should crave their touch, and I haven’t… felt that way about the men I’ve dated,” you’ve only wanted one person that way and he’s standing in front of you. Much to your dismay.
“So, your idiot little ex, has somehow got it in his head that you want me?” He asks, big smile on his face.
Frowning, you say, “Don’t look so proud of yourself.”
“Sorry doll, trying not to be but it’s a bit of an ego boost,” he chuckles.
“Like you need one,” you quip. Undeniably though, his confidence is something that makes you feel hot and bothered.
He smiles at you devilishly, going to say something before there’s a knock on your door.
Johnny groans, “Does he not give up or what?”
Another, harsher knock.
“That’s it, I’m kicking his ass,” he starts walking to the front door.
You jog to get in front of him, “No, Johnny, you can’t.”
“I’m fairly certain I can,” he huffs but he stops walking.
You give him a pointed look, “your career?”
“Didn’t I tell you earlier today that I don’t care?”
“I care,” you give him your softest eyes, begging with him not to resort to violence.
He groans in annoyance at how well it works on him, “Arghh, fine.”
“Thank–”
“–But, you should moan so he thinks we’re fucking,” he says, smiling like he’s come up with some master plan.
It’s embarrassing to admit to him but, “I don’t… know what I’d sound like.”
“Never even touched yourself, doll?” His question makes your face feel hot. His bluntness a lot for you, it makes you feel fuzzy.
“I have… I just never really made any noises,” you answer him hesitantly.
Looking at Johnny, he has a very serious look on his face, eyes dark. You only see it for a second before he’s smiling sweetly at you, “Bet you make the cutest sounds,” he teases.
He stalks towards you and you walk backwards, you end up with your back against the wall by the door. Johnny has caged you in against it, one of his hands resting on the wall beside your head.
His voice is low, “Wanna find out?”
You look up at him, “Find out what?”
More loud knocking comes out from beside you, your ex still there, still refusing to leave, “I am not going anywhere!” He calls out.
You turn your head to look at the door, but Johnny’s hand pulls your face back to his, “Keep your eyes on me and answer my question, sugar.”
“What was your question?” You don’t remember.
His fingers play with the strap of your pyjama shirt, “Wanna find out how you sound?”
“What?”
He tuts, “Simple yes or no, sweetness.”
The skin of his fingers brushing against your shoulder has a shudder threatening to run down your spine, he’s arousing you and you don’t feel sure in a lot of things but you feel pretty damn sure in yourself as you say.
“Yes.”
He grins, pleased with your answer, “Can’t hold back, gotta let yourself make noise, okay?”
Nodding your head, you agree.
“Perfect.”
His hand that was playing with your shirt slips down to your hip, holding you there before asking, “Are you wet?”
Your thighs involuntarily clench at his question, “Yeah.”
“What from,” he presses you for more answers.
His hand slips under your sleep shorts but not into your panties, his two middle fingers massage your pussy over your underwear, he can feel the wet patch on the front of them that had formed. Your mind drifts, losing yourself in his light touch.
“Gotta answer, sugar.” He reminds you.
You bring your focus back to his words, “From you…”
“What about me?” His pointer and ring fingers spread your folds through your panties, wet noises resulting from the action, “Fffuck, listen to how wet you are.”
You want to shrink in on yourself, his brazen words embarrassingly hot. His middle finger pets at your clit gently, the stimulation makes you gasp and one of your hands grabs at the wrist of the hand he has on the wall beside your head, the other resting flat against the wall.
“C’mon doll, pay attention,” he chastises.
“The way you – ngh – talk to me,” you confess maybe a little too easily.
“What specifically?” He’s too curious for someone touching you in a way that makes it difficult for coherent thought.
His middle finger is still gently grazing your clit, never straying, the stimulation making you so wet. Your panties no doubt ruined under his ministrations.
“Your voice, your praise, nicknames – hah, jus like the way you talk to me,” you feel breathless.
“Mmm, like being praised? Told what to do?” He asks in a mocking manner.
You’re lacking any critical thinking skills right now though, because you normally wouldn’t feed his ego so much, “By you, yes.”
“Fuck sugar,” he curses, your honesty getting to him.
His finger still stroking you over your underwear, your hips twitching in response to it. He hums at you, enjoying how much you’re squirming below him.
“Johnny,” you call to him, his name coming out whiny.
His response is far away, “Mmm?” he doesn’t look up to you, instead he pulls your shorts all the way down, wanting to watch the way he plays with your clit over your panties.
He adds more pressure to the finger stroking you, the feeling making you gasp, an almost moan slipping from you. Without realising, you hold it back and it comes out strangled.
“Not supposed to hold back, doll.” He reminds you quickly.
But you’re still conscious of your ex lingering in your hallway, something that Johnny is also aware of, which is why he wants you to be louder. He decides to pulls your panties down, removing his fingers from your pussy to do so.
The loss of contact has a whimper exiting you and Johnny chuckles at the sound.
“Needy aren’t ya?” He hums at you, amused.
You huff at him, not really appreciating the teasing.
His fingers move back to your pussy, sliding through your very wet cunt, spreading your slick around, his chest rumbling with a growl at how wet you are. Your thighs are wet and your whole lower half is slippery. The teasing he’s put you through too much, you’re beyond horny and you really just need him to touch you.
You look up at him, eyes big and wet, pleading with him to touch you properly without asking aloud.
The hand by your head moves to cup the side of your face, his smile is large as he looks at you. Enjoying the way you’re falling apart in the palm of his hand. He shows you pity though, and his finger slips to your pussy hole, gently pushing into you. Your cunt spasms lightly around it and he sighs a groan at the feeling.   
“Damn sugar, you’re… fucken soaked,” he comments.
You don’t reply to him, you can’t, too lost in the feeling of his large finger carefully pushing into you. The hand he has on your face still holding you, making you look at him. His thumb pulls your bottom lip down, his eyes mesmerised by your expression. You have a soft and needy look on your face, eyelids low, your breaths whiny. He’s enamoured by you, getting lost for a moment.
But he remembers himself and removes his hand from your face, instead holding your hip, your back arching off the wall slightly. He pushes his finger in the rest of the way, stroking against your walls, his thumb rubbing circles into your clit.
Your breaths turn into whimpers and as he pulls his finger in and out, you moan in response, the feeling overwhelming. Your hips are writhing in his grip, and your head is thrown back on the wall, moans growing louder.
He holds your hips steady, gaze flicking between the way your cunt is sucking his finger in and the fucked-out expression you’re wearing on your face. Your chest rising and falling quickly with your breaths.
For the first time in a while, he’s lost for words, he doesn’t even want to say anything. Just wants to push you over the edge, have you moaning and writhing against the wall for him. He’s painfully hard and ignoring it, but his dick twitches every time your cunt tightens or moans get louder.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Your ex pounds on the door, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”
You had forgotten about him, too lost in your own pleasure. You squeak at his yelling and bite your lip.
“Don’t you fucken dare, need you to keep making those noises, sugar,” Johnny’s thumb tugs your lip free of your teeth.
The pounding beside your head gets louder, your ex yelling belligerently at the two of you, cursing Johnny out.
“She has the tightest little cunt!” Johnny calls out to your ex, just to piss him off further.
“Johnny,” you try admonishing him but his name borders on a whimper. The feeling of his finger moving in and out of you affecting you. Your moans are barely contained.
Your ex smacks the door harshly once before yelling at the two of you, “I FUCKING KNEW IT!”
He murmurs curses, calling you names and yelling about how he was right the whole time, before you hear his stomping feet walk away. Seemingly leaving.
Briefly you wonder if Johnny will stop touching you now that your ex has left but if anything, his pace increases, his finger fucking into you quickly, thumb circling your clit firmly. Your moans spill from you, breaking off into whimpers. Johnny has a feral look on his face as he watches his finger fuck into you.
The wet sounds of your pussy getting louder with his increase in speed. His hand on your hip again, keeping you still. His forehead leans forward and rests against yours, you can’t help but watch his lips, wanting him to kiss you.
He’s busy watching your cunt, “Fuck, sugar, really do have the tightest pussy.” You shudder at his words and he continues talking, “Fucken, messy too.”
Your hands claw at the wall behind you, trying to brace yourself against something sturdy.
“Can I add another?” He asks, wanting to stuff you full of his fingers.
“Please,” it’s a desperate sound that escapes you.
His middle finger pulls out to add his ring finger alongside it, both pressing into you gently, not getting far with how tight you are. The width of them stretching you open, burning slightly. His thumb keeps rubbing at your clit, trying to ease the stretch.
“Relax, doll,” he directs.
Taking a deep breath in, you relax slightly and Johnny takes advantage of it, slipping his fingers into you completely.
A keening whine pulls from you at being full of his large fingers.
“Thas it, such a good girl for me,” he groans out at you.
Your pussy clenches down on his fingers at his praise and a soft moan escapes from him, his composure slipping for a moment. If you had your wits about you, you’d notice how his own eyes look a little fucked out, that he’s worked himself up so much just from finger fucking you.
His hand on your hip grips you tighter, grounding himself. Both his fingers fucking into you in earnest, determined to have you cumming on them. His pace picking up to what it was previously, your walls clinging to him desperately. His own breathing is coming quick.
You’re teetering on the edge of something beautiful, “Feels like too much,” you whine at him.
“It’s meant to feel like that,” he coos at you, pity in his voice.
His fingers are persistent and so big and your cunt is fluttering around him with how close you are. Your eyes close, eyebrows knitting together against the pleasure. You feel something brush against your lips, so softly, that you think you imagine it.
Johnny removes his hand on your hip, grabbing your face again. Thumb coming up to your mouth and pushing inside it, you take it, wrapping your lips around it and sucking. He groans at the sight and feel of your warm, wet mouth. He pushes his thumb down onto your tongue, you’re salivating against it, drooling slightly.
The pleasure he’s giving you is so much, from never being touched by someone like this to being touched by someone whose touch feels like he’s attempting to pull you apart from the very depths of your being, is an insane jump. His presence alone crushes you; this is a completely new experience.
Your cunt pulses around his fingers, your moans muffled around his thumb. Johnny’s eyes drop from your face and look down between you both, watching your pussy, again. Infatuated with how you’re taking his fingers.
“C’mon doll, can feel you, you’re so fucken close,” his voice is strained as he talks.
But his voice is devastating to you, the gruffness of it sends you over the edge, your hands paw at his chest, needing something to hold onto. His thumb removes itself from your mouth, grabbing one of your hands instead and interlocking fingers with you.
Your hips grind down into his hand, riding out your high, moans tumbling from your lips as you throw your head back, his name mixed in with your moans. Distantly, you can hear Johnny moan at your orgasm, delighted by the state of you. Your breathing is harsh, chest moving quickly, you feel far away from your body. Hearing poor with how the blood is rushing through your head.
Johnny pulls his fingers from you carefully, you’re watching him through dazed eyes, slumped against the wall. His own eyes looking at his fingers and the way they’re soaked in your slick and cum. He shocks you when he licks them clean before putting them in his mouth, sucking you off them. He hums around his own fingers at the taste of you.
The display is obscene and has a small whimper being pulled from your chest. He pulls his fingers out of his mouth, keeping eye contact with you. His heated look making you squirm a bit.
He shoots you a charming smile, “I was right, you do make cute sounds.”
You cover your face with your hands, wanting to escape his penetrating gaze.
Johnny locates your shorts and helps put them back on you, he kisses the top of your head, “I got carried away, doll. I’m sorry.”
Pulling your hands away, you look at him. He’s wearing a troubled expression, disappointed in himself, seemingly, out of nowhere.
“It’s okay.” You assure him.
He shakes his head, “No it’s not, I should’ve known better, I’m older than you. Shouldn’t have done this.”
You’re getting a bit annoyed, you’re an adult and you told him yes when he asked, “Johnny, I agreed.” You try reminding him.
“Doesn’t matter, should’ve controlled myself.” He’s getting hung up on his morals, frustrated in his actions tonight.
“I could’ve stopped you if I didn’t want it,” you push.
He looks at you dubiously, something telling you that his internal struggle is deeper than what he’s sharing with you.
“I should go, doll. I am so sorry.” He apologises again, but there isn’t anything he needs to apologise for.
He doesn’t touch you as he leaves, he looks like he wants to, but he doesn’t. Instead, he rushes out the door, not letting you argue with him any further. You hear him lock the door with his key as he leaves.
You’re left leaning against the wall, shell shocked as to what the hell just happened. He gave you your first and best orgasm and then left suddenly. Acting like he’s committed some kind of crime.
Calling him doesn’t work, he won’t pick up and he hasn’t replied to any of your texts. You don’t think he realises that he hadn’t fucked up before but he certainly has now, because what the fuck???
✰ ✰ ✰
By the next morning, Johnny still hasn’t replied and you have to go to work. You’re extra cautious as you leave your apartment, anxious about your ex possibly approaching you. Luckily he isn’t anywhere to be seen and you make it to work with no issues. Though, you did feel like somebody was watching you for a bit, you chalk it up to your nerves. The past few days not really doing great things for your psyche.
Your shift is a long one, gruelling. The whole day you’re thinking about your ex harassing you all day yesterday and when you finally think about something else, it’s about how Johnny is ghosting you.
On your break you try messaging him again, telling him it’s fine and if he regrets it that much to just forget about it. You aren’t going to be clingy and make him marry you or something now, if you knew how this would end, you wouldn’t have said yes. You don’t regret what happened but you will if you lose him as a friend over it. You want to convey that to him but you aren’t the best at communicating your feelings, things come out wrong and weird in your desperation to explain your thoughts.
So, you settle for sending him a text that boils down to ‘if you regret it, we can just forget it. I’m not mad at you’. Though, you feel like that might bite you in the ass later.
When your shift is finally over, you don’t want to go home. A bad feeling consuming your whole body, worried about what you might come face to face with. Worried you might run into your ex on the way back. You’d appreciate having one of your work friends walk you back but you don’t know any of them well enough to ask, and you don’t wanna call Johnny right now, not that he’d pick up anyways.  
The walk back is tense, you’re on edge and when you get to your apartment, you realise you were right to be so. Your apartment door has a hole in it where it’s been kicked in, picking up your phone, you call Johnny but of course he’s still avoiding you. So, you leave a message for him and instead call the cops.
You wait for them to arrive; it doesn’t take them long but they weren’t quick about it either. They check it out for you, making sure it’s empty and when they confirm that it is, they tell you so. You walk into your apartment and they ask you a few questions.
You tell them, “I know who did it, it was my ex, he harassed me all day yesterday.”
“Did you report him?” One of them asks.
“Not at the time, but I didn’t think he’d do this,” you raise your hands, gesturing to your ransacked apartment.
“We can’t do much without actual proof, next time you’ll just have to hope to catch him in the act.” The other says.
“We will keep record of this, but yeah, unless you get actual evidence, we can’t do anything about him,” The first one adds.
You could definitely question him, you think.
This is why you didn’t want to deal with the cops in the first place, they never give a shit about things like this until someone is dead.
“Yeah thanks, I’ll be sure to prioritise that next time,” you tone is facetious but you can’t help it, your home has been broken into and possibly robbed and they couldn’t give less of a fuck.
They ignore your attitude, “If you find that some of your items are missing, report it, we’ve got another call to go on, stay safe.” And then they’re both leaving you there, in your messed up apartment.
The place you’re meant to feel safe has been broken into by someone you had dated for a year, someone you used to trust and now you’re just left here. Knowing that he’s still out there and could come back whenever he wants, they didn’t even ask for his name. What are you meant to do? Where are you meant to go? Cause there is no way in hell that you’re staying here.
You’ll have to look for hotels in the area, you’ve only made a few friends here and most of them are campus living. Also, you’d prefer people didn’t know about this. You’re feeling incredibly vulnerable and alone at the moment.
Looking around the room, you see that heaps of your breakables have been chucked around, he broke your tv, some of your favourite mugs, a framed picture of you and Johnny. He’s made holes in some of the walls and flipped over furniture.
Sighing, you go to check your room, and sadly, it didn’t fare any better, it looks like he cut open your mattress and tore up some of your clothes. A lamp broken and on the floor. Right after you just cleaned up the day before too, ironic.
You hear the sound of shuffling in the entryway, stuff being walked into, it makes you freeze in your spot. The footsteps become frantic, walking quickly around your apartment before heading towards where you are at the end of the hall in your bedroom. There isn’t anything you can grab as self-defence, but it’s okay because you see when he enters the room that it’s just Johnny. He was the one stomping around quickly, worried about you.
“Oh my God, why didn’t you pick up the phone, been calling you.” He stresses as he walks up to you, pulling you into his embrace.
You don’t hug him back, annoyed at him, but he doesn’t stop hugging you anyways.
“I put my phone down in the lounge room, didn’t think you were gonna call.” You weren’t expecting him to come, you weren’t even expecting him to check his texts from you, let alone a voicemail.
He huffs, agitated with himself, because yeah this is on him, “I’m sorry, I’ll always come when you call.”
“I called you first,” your voice shakes, tears threatening to fall.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats.
A tear slips down your cheek, “Don’t want you to be sorry, wanted you to be here.”
“I know, doll, I–” You think he was going to apologise again but cuts himself off, “What happened?” He still hasn’t let you go, and you still won’t hug him back.
“Came home from work, saw my door had been kicked in so I called you, you didn’t answer, so I called the cops.” You detail.
He asks, “What did they say?”
“They can’t do anything to him without proof,” you’re crying now, remembering just how unhelpful they were.
He pulls back to look at you, his thumb wiping away your tears, his hands holding your face gently, “What do you mean?”
“That’s what they said, they can’t do anything without evidence. This will be kept on record but because I have no proof, they can’t do anything about him.” You sigh out.
Johnny looks unbelievably pissed.
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do, he broke so many of my things, I don’t know where to go,” you’re almost sobbing now, working yourself up.
“Calm down,” he shushes you, “You’ll be staying with me.” Your expression is doubtful, “What’s that look for?” He questions.
“You literally just ghosted me out of nowhere, over an imaginary problem that you created,” you remind him.
His hands let go of your face and land on your shoulders, “That was me being stupid about me being stupid, I fucked up, but I am here for you and you will stay with me.” He cements, not really leaving you any room to disagree.
Tears are still falling down your cheeks, you wipe at them with the back of your hand, “Okay.”
“Good, now pack a bag,” he lets go of your shoulders.
Locating one of your suitcases, you pack as many clothes as you think you’ll need, as quickly as you need, not wanting to stay here any longer than necessary. You also grab some of your basic necessities and memorabilia.
On your way to the front door Johnny carries your bag, “Wait a sec,” you call out to him.
He stops where he is and you walk over to the lounge room, picking through the glass on the floor.
“Be careful,” he warns.
Humming at him in response, mostly ignoring him, you fish out the photo of the two of you. It’s one of your favourites and you’d hate to lose it.
Johnny’s expression is curious, “What is it?”
“Us,” you turn the photo around to show him, “It’s my favourite.”
He smiles at the photo before he frowns, “What a freak, real insecure guy,” he says in reference to your ex.
You smile a bit, because yeah your ex is very insecure and a huge freak but, “You literally fingered me within earshot of him.”
Johnny pouts and looks away, “Still…”
“Let’s leave,” you save him from whatever he was going to say in protest.
He nods at you, “Sounds good, sugar.”
✰ ✰ ✰
Walking through the lobby of Johnny’s apartment is always a bit of a shock, his apartment is nicer and has actual front desk security. You can already tell that you’ll feel safer here, even if you were left alone. You can’t help but feel a little bad for him though, he loved his mansion and he had to sell it.
The ride up the elevator is quiet, which you’re thankful for right now, you’re not really in a conversational mood. Just wanting to shower and get out of your work clothes, wash off the day in general.
Inside his apartment, he shows you to the guest room and drops your bag onto the bed.
Turning to him, you ask, “Can I have a shower?”
“I dunno, can you?”
You scowl at him, “May I have a shower?”
“You may,” he smiles cheekily.
He shows you to the bathroom, you’ve been here before but he’s a thorough man, double checking that you’re comfortable and know where everything is. When you affirm that you will be okay and have everything under control, he’s leaving you to your own devices, wandering off into the living area.
Grabbing your toiletries first before you’re immediately getting inside the shower. All too ready for the comfort the warm water will give you. You let the water run over you, allowing yourself a moment to lose your composure, letting yourself cry under the water. Things could be worse but they could also be better and in this private moment in the shower, you let yourself feel like the world is ending.
After you’ve finished in the shower, you towel yourself off quickly, walking to the guest room with the towel wrapped around you, having left your clothes in there. But as you shuffle the clothes around in your suitcase, you notice you’ve not packed any pyjamas, and now you want to cry again. Because how are you so stupid as to forget pyjamas.
Stopping yourself from spiralling, you take a few deep breaths and go looking for Johnny, you’ll just have to borrow a shirt of his. You find him in the kitchen, sipping on a drink.
“Johnny?” You call out to him; his back is facing you.
He hums as he turns around, eyes growing wide as he realises you’re only wearing a towel.
“What’s up, sugar?” He’s straining himself to keep looking into your eyes and not anywhere else.
Rocking on the balls of your feet a bit, you tell him, “I forgot pjs, do you have a shirt I can borrow or something?”
His gaze is distant for a second, you walk closer to him and wave a hand in front of his face. He catches you by the wrist, “Sure I do, gimmie a sec,” he smiles at you, his eye twitching the slightest bit as he talks.
He wanders away for a few moments, when he reappears, he’s holding a shirt of his. It’s long sleeved and has different coloured sleeves to the rest of the shirt, you gratefully accept it.
“Thank you,” you say, walking away hastily to change.
You hear him hum out a response to you as you waddle away quickly.
When you slip it over your head, you first note how soft and warm it is, and second you note how large it is on you. It covers your lower half fairly well, but you didn’t ask for bottoms and he didn’t give you any so you pick out a pair of boy short underwear, they aren’t anything special but they do have little stars all over them.
Anyways, they’ll do as more conservative bottoms for the night, you’ll go to get some of your pyjamas tomorrow. For now, these will pass as shorts, kind of, it’s unlikely they’ll even be seen anyways. Are you overthinking this? You feel like you’re overthinking this.
Exiting the room, you go back to the kitchen and notice that Johnny isn’t there anymore, nor is he in the lounge room. Shuffling around his kitchen, you look at his ingredients, wanting to cook him something as a thank you for taking you in temporarily.
He hasn’t got heaps but you can make a carbonara, he has the basics for it, pasta, cream, bacon, etc. You think this will do nicely, though mostly you’ve just talked yourself into wanting pasta.
When Johnny comes back into the kitchen, you’re standing by the stove making the cream. Quickly glancing to him, you realise he’s also showered. He looks good, domestic. In a casual t shirt and sweatpants, your eyes linger for a bit longer than what’s appropriate. Swiftly snapping your head back to the stove when you notice you’re staring for too long.
“What’s cookin’ good lookin’,” he sing songs to you, coming up to stand by your side.
You can’t help but roll your eyes at him, “Creamy carbonara.”
“Smells good,” he comments.
“That would be the bacon,” you nod your head to the bacon bits you had previously cooked.
When you look up to him, he’s already looking down at you. His eyes are filled with a kind of affection for you that you’ve never taken any notice of. His eyes flit from your eyes to your lips, his hand coming up and grabbing the side of your face, thumb stroking high on your cheek bone.
You lean into his hand and he’s dipping down to you, “You look good in my shirt,” he whispers to you, lips almost touching.
Just as he’s about to take your lips in his, there’s a bubbling sounds coming from the stove.
“Ah, the pasta!” You move out of his grasp quickly, lowering the heat on the stove. It had almost boiled over in your distraction, “Go away! You’ll make me ruin something!”
“Wanna ruin you,” he mutters as he walks away, though you don’t hear him.
“What?” You ask him as he walks away.
He calls out, “Nothing!”
His restraint is wearing thin around you and he wonders briefly, if having you here is going to end well. He almost folded just from you wearing his shirt and cooking for him, he has to find a grip and hold it.
Seemingly, you are completely unaware of his own internal conflict, happily humming to yourself in his kitchen, cooking a meal for the both of you. Johnny watches you from the breakfast bar, enjoying the sight of you flitting around his kitchen.
“Where are your plates?” You ask him.
“Bottom cupboards, by the stove,” he answers.
Bending down you open the cupboards but there’s only baking trays and other miscellaneous oven trays in here. He watches as you bend over, enjoying the sight of his t shirt riding up, seeing your small ‘shorts’ as it does.
You huff, standing up, “No they aren’t.” You turn around to look at him.
“I know, I lied,” he smiles innocently at you.
Scowling at him you ask, “Why?”
He avoids the question, “Just cause,” he shrugs at you, “they’re actually in the bottom cupboards on the other side.”
You look at him sceptically, walking closer to him and looking in the cupboards again, and this time he told you the truth. Grabbing two plates, you place them on the bench top.
Choosing to ignore him, you continue humming a mindless tune as you dish out the pasta. When you’re finished, you slide the plate over to him. Walking yourself around the counter so you’re next to him, you sit beside him and reach forward, dragging your plate to yourself, ready to feast.
“Thanks, doll,” he says.
“Mmm, thank me when you’ve tried it,” you remark.
You both sit in a comfortable silence whilst you eat, which you are grateful for. You’re hungry and want to eat without having to stop to talk. The food tastes good, probably one of the better ones you’ve made, it’s an easy recipe, one of your go to’s and it never fails to fill a hole in your heart where pasta lives.
After you’ve finished, you get up to clean up but Johnny stops you, “Ah, you cooked, I’ll clean.”
“But I’m the one that made the mess,” you contend.
He looks at you with a brow raised, expression reading as ‘really?’ You sigh and allow him to take your plate. As he bends over your shoulder to take it, he kisses your cheek, “It was very good, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” your face feels hot all of a sudden.
He stands at the sink, rinsing the plates off before putting them in the dishwasher, “What made you cook?”
“A thank you, for letting me stay,” you smile watching him clean up, “I’m being a good house guest.”
“Ah, can I expect a cooked meal every night then?” He teases.
Your face pulls up in a joking scowl, “Absolutely not! You can cook tomorrow… and the day after and the day after.”
“I see, so it was a one-time deal,” he nods in understanding.
“Can’t give it away for free, you gotta want it,” you joke.
A quiet falls over the both of you for a moment, neither of you sure what to say next.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” You ask him.
He’s moved away from the sink and is back at the bench, arms holding himself up on it as he looks at you deviously, “What movie?”
You know what he wants, “Not one of yours.”
“That’s not very nice, doll,” he groans out in complaint.
Arguing with him, you say, “I have already seen all of your films, we are not watching one tonight.”
“Whoever gets the remote picks the movie,” he states quickly before making a run for the lounge room.
You aren’t as quick as him, scrabbling out of your chair to chase after him, “Johnny, not fair!” You don’t even know where his tv remote is.
When you make it into the lounge, he’s already holding the remote, wiggling it back and forth, taunting you. Groaning, you trudge up to him.
“That was not fair,” you complain.
He has a large victorious smile on his face, “Wasn’t trying to be fair, sugar. I was trying to win.”
Trying to be sneaky, you move closer to him, but he holds a hand up as you approach, “Ah ah, stay where you are, I won,” he informs.
“I’m not doing anything,” you shrug.
He keeps moving away from you, you’ve successfully rounded him so that his back is facing the couch now. Moving closer to him, he has no where else to go. It doesn’t bother him though, he squares his posture, holding his ground.
“I wouldn’t recommend whatever you’re about to do, doll.” He warns you.
You repeat again, “I’m not doing anything.”
Standing right up against him now, you go to quickly grab the remote but he moves it up and away hurriedly. You grab onto his forearm and try to pull it down as you jump for it, he’s laughing at you. His evasion of your attempts at grabbing the remote are effortless, you’re still trying to pull his arm down to you but you think he’d sooner be able to hold all your weight on one of his arms, than you bringing it down to you.
This isn’t working, you need a new plan. Pulling back, you look up at him.
“That won’t work on me,” he says.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” comes your reply.
“That,” he gestures towards your face, “Looking at me all cute like, won’t work, not tonight.”
You smile sweetly at him, “But another night, it would work?”
He squints at you, unsure of what you’re planning, “Maybe…”
Your plan wasn’t anything along these lines, but it’s fun to know that apparently you could get him to bend to your will in different circumstances with just a sweet look.
Stretching up, you go for the remote again, he steadily holds it out of reach, “C’mon sugar, you know this isn’t working–”
You take the chance while he’s talking to jump up on him, legs wrapping around his hips, your hands making a move for the remote. He’s shocked, his free arm automatically coming to rest under you to hold you steady. The only thing he can think to do, is drop the remote onto the floor and kick it across the room, away from the both of you.
“No!” You protest, moving to unwrap yourself from him and go after the remote.
Johnny holds you to him though, before using his grip on you to chuck you down onto the couch, you’re laughing and struggling against him, still protesting. You don’t stop wiggling, even though he’s straddled you and is holding your wrists down to the couch.
“Stop squirming so much,” he chuckles at you. The shirt you’re wearing has ridden up your hips, exposing your underwear completely to him, “Those are really cute, doll,” he teases you.
“You can’t distract me, we are not watching one of your movies,” your wrists struggle against his grasp.
“I can hold you here all night, sweetness,” his smile devilish.
You scowl at him, “If it means we don’t watch your movie, then go right ahead.”
His threat isn’t much of a threat to you, in this moment you feel yourself growing wet at his harsh hold on you. The way he effortlessly overpowered you making you feel some kind of way, you find yourself wishing he’d fuck you into the couch. You’re working yourself up the longer he holds you here. Your thighs lightly clenching at the thought of being opened up on his cock, the first man you’d ever be with.
“What are you thinking bout, sugar?” He asks, catching the faraway look in your eyes.
You blink once and shake the thoughts out of your head, “thinking about how much I don’t wanna watch your movie,” you retort.
“Aww you’re hurting my feelings here, doll.” His expression faux sadness.
Both of you looking into each other’s eyes, neither of you planning to cave, at least not anytime soon. Johnny has enough of it and decides to play dirty, his hands leaving your wrists and instead come up to tickle at your sides and ribcage.
Laughs fall from your lips, along with pleas trying to ask him to stop. The feeling making it harder to breathe, you’re taking in big breaths in between gasping laughs. Your body tries wiggling away from him, you manage to flip onto your stomach and try to crawl away from him but his thighs keep you locked in place, if anything you’re more immobile now. His tickling is unrelenting and you feel like you might pass out.
Tapping the couch as you say, “Okay, okay! I concede, just please stop!”
He hums and leans down from above you, whispering into your ear, “Good girl.”
You hide your face in the couch, skin hot and pussy aching, he isn’t being very nice to you tonight. Working you up, leaving you high and dry. He hops off you and grabs the remote, lifting your legs and sitting back down, resting them in his lap.
He slaps your leg lightly, “C’mon, you have to watch it now.”
Grumbling to yourself as you move up in a sitting position next to him, expression none too pleased. He’s smiling brilliantly at you though, overjoyed with his victory.
Sighing as you sink back into the couch, “I dislike you right now.”
“Well, I like you a whole lot right now,” He counters.
He flicks the movie on and you get about a third of the way into it when your eyelids start slipping shut, tired from the very difficult last couple days.
Thankfully, your dreams are pleasant, though they are filled with Johnny, mostly memories of last night, when you were stuffed full of his fingers, the sounds he was making, the words he spoke to you.
Your mind conjures images of him fucking you, how he would look above you, grabbing your hips as he rocked his dick in and out of you. The dream is pleasant, the feelings it offers you divine.
Suddenly, you’re being pulled back to your body, you awaken with a jolt.
“You fell asleep! That’s really rude of you, y’know. Hurting my feelings here, doll,” he criticizes you.
Based on the last scene you remember watching and where you are now, he either let you sleep for a while, or didn’t realise you were asleep.
You wipe at your eyes, “Mm sorry,” you mumble, stretching out a little.
He’s got an evil smile on his face when you look him in the eyes, “You were moaning.”
“Was not!” You don’t believe him.
“You definitely were, and I’d know,” his smile large as he teases you, “It was cute, what were you dreaming about, mmm?” he hums in delight.
You wonder for a moment what his end goal is here, he teases you but never follows through, aside from the other night but then he seemingly regretted that right after it happened. You decide to try something outside of your comfort zone.
You look at him, “And if I told you I was dreaming of you?”
He goes to shut you down, “I don’t–”
“–If I told you how wet I am right now, from thinking of you?”
“Don’t.”
“Why not?” You press.
“You know damn well ‘why not’,” He argues, “I’m older than you, and you’re a virgin!” He tells you these things like you don’t already know.
“…I want you, making my panties all wet,” you’re squirming in your seat lightly.
He groans out at your words, “Doll…” his expression is pained.
Feeling insecure you ask, “Do you not want me?”
“Are you kidding?” Dubious expression on his face, “You get me so hard, doll.”
“Then why won’t you even kiss me?”
“I want to, all the time,” he confesses.
You crawl across the couch and straddle his lap, his hands come up to your hips straight away. Grip digging into your skin, restraining his desire, wanting nothing more than to fuck into you how he wants.
“Why don’t you,” you press him for answers.
“Don’t trust myself around you, can’t help but tease you, touch you,” his grip on your hips tightens for a second, “The last thing I wanna do is take advantage of you.”
“I want you to take advantage of me,” the statement is true, you’ve never wanted to be with a man more than you do him.
He’s using every fibre of his being to control himself right now, refusing to do any more than hold you, his hands are holding you away from his lap. Knowing if he feels the warmth of your cunt through your panties, he’s going to lose his mind and all self-control.
Bringing your hands up, you place them on his shoulders, and then you lean forwards. Pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, moving to the other and placing a kiss there, his breaths become laboured. Your lips travel across his cheek, pecking him as you go, kissing the corner of his mouth, and then a light kiss to his full lips, he sighs against you and kisses you back.
It’s quick, because you’re continuing to peck kisses on his face, a kiss to the other corner of his mouth, and his other cheek again. As you travel back, kiss on the corner of his mouth again, and as you kiss him lightly on his lips, he kisses you back harshly, hands coming up and grabbing your face. He angles you and deepens the kiss, his kiss is desperate for you, fuelled by need.
Without his hands on your hips, you can drop to his lap properly, you sigh at the hardness of his dick against you, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into the kiss. You moan against his mouth in response and he groans.
Tentatively, you grind down into him lightly, needing some kind of friction. He distracts himself with kissing you, trying not to lose himself in the feel of your pussy grinding into his very hard dick. You’re so horny and this isn’t nearly enough for you.
Pulling away from his mouth you complain, “Want more.”
“You really are needy, aren’t ya, doll?” He teases.
But you roll your hips into his and he grunts in response, his hands gripping your hips again, without your lips on his, he’s hyper focused on the way you rut into his dick. You pull his sweats down, his cock bare, he’s not wearing anything under his pants and it has you moaning.
You sit down again; your panties are soaked and the feel of the slippery fabric rubbing up and down his cock has Johnny whimpering. You keep grinding into him, groaning in frustration, wanting more.
His hand grabs onto your panties and rips them from you, just straight up tearing them off your body, the display of strength makes you whimper.
“You gotta do this my way, sugar.” He tells you.
You nod your head at him, you’d probably agree to arson right about now.
“God, so fucken eager.” He chuckles at you, sliding you against him again.
The bare contact has you keening, rutting down onto him with more urgency. Wet squelching noises are filling the room as you slide against his cock, you want him inside you so badly. The thought of having him inside you making your cunt drool on his dick.
“You’re so fucken wet, ffffuck,” Johnny is groaning out, his control of the situation hanging on by a thread.
“I want you inside,” you tell him.
“No,” his voice is stern, it’s a line he refuses to cross.
You huff at him, “Johnny please–”
“ – You can plead all you want, Mm not fucking you, your first time isn’t –nghff– going to be on my damn couch,” his voice is strained.
“Want it,” you tell him, eyes teary with how needy you feel.
“And you think I don’t?” He snaps at you. His reaction makes your heart flutter and your pussy throb, “God, you are sooo –ngh– feel so good, sugar.”
His grip is guiding you now, taking control of the pace, of the pressure. He holds you tightly to him, slipping his cock through your slick folds, the head of his cock bumping your clit. Lewd wet sounds are coming from you and if you weren’t so horny you might’ve been embarrassed at how aroused you are.
The head of his cock catches on your pussy hole and you flutter around the very tip of him, a loud grunt coming from Johnny, his chest rumbling with the force of it.
“Please?” You try again, while he’s weak.
He shakes his head at you, his own expression dazed, “No…” he grits out, cock twitching against you.
You push down a bit on him, his eyes shoot to yours, a restrained kind of anger residing inside them, “I said no.” He scolds.
His chastising makes your cunt flutter against him again and his eyes roll back, he pulls you away from him. He manhandles you onto your back so you’re laying against the couch, he pulls off his shirt before spreading your legs open for him, his hips fitting between them.
Resting his cock between your folds again, slipping against you, “You take what I give you, or you get nothing, doll.”
You hum out a moan, letting him do whatever he wants to you. He tugs his shirt up your chest, exposing your upper half to him, mouth immediately going for one of your nipples, sucking and licking at it. The feeling making you whine, chest rising up into him, hips chasing his.
When he pulls away, he nips at you a bit, a shudder running down your spine. As he looks you in your eyes again he says, “Jesus, you have no idea how fucked out you look right now, pretty little girl, so fucken wet, so goddamn needy.”
He grinds down into you, leaning his body against yours, his weight resting on his forearms beside your head. Your hands grip his bare back, his head rests beside your ear, lips whispering filth to you.
“Want me to fuck you so badly hmm? Won’t fuck any of your little boyfriends –ngh– but you’re beggin’ me for my cock,” his words are disrupted by the moans he lets out at the feeling of your slippery cunt.
“Mhmm,” you agree because, yeah pretty much, “I’d let you do almost –hah–  anything to me,” you tell him.
He curses, “Fucken filthy, you’re making me lose my goddamn mind, doll.”
You wrap your legs around his hips, locking them behind him, his movements grow more urgent, desperately humping into you. He pulls his head from your ear to kiss you deeply, tongue exploring your mouth, it has you moaning into him.
Pulling back, he checks, “Let me do anything?”
You nod your head at him in confirmation.
“Open your mouth,” his thumb tugs your lip down.
You open your mouth for him and he spits into your mouth, onto your tongue, the action makes you gasp, face hot.
“Swallow,” he says, eyelids low.
His voice makes you shudder and you swallow his spit down, the sight of it makes him curse. He kisses you again, taking your breath away. Your fingernails dig into his back.
His hips are rutting into you, pace growing quicker, the wet noises sounding slicker, the way he glides over your clit has your eyes crossing behind closed lids. Your moans turn into whimpers, right on the precipice of cumming.
Johnny pulls his lips back, forehead resting against yours, his brows knit together, moans falling from his lips. His tongue flicks over his lip quickly, you’re gasping under him.
“Look so fucken perfect, doll. Should I keep you like this under me? Play with you how I like, mmm?”
His words and deep voice are what send you over the edge, the idea of him teasing you how he pleases has you cumming. You’re sputtering out nonsensical words, whimpers ruining any words you try to create.
Johnny groans at the sight of you cumming, he looks down between the two of you, enamoured by how he’s sliding through your folds. His cock wet and shiny from your slick and cum, it has a shudder running down his spine.
“Wan you to – nghfffuck me nex time, wan – hah – na be fill with you, –mm–  with your – ngh – cum,” you’re babbling to him, barely making sense to yourself, you aren’t even convinced you’re talking right now.
But Johnny knows you are, your words have him cumming violently, dick jerking against your cunt, his cum spilling all over your pussy and lower stomach. His groans turn into moans, and then he’s whimpering as he keeps rutting against you.
He looks at your lower half and the way his cum has gotten all over you, he uses two fingers to scoop it up and shoves them in your mouth. The taste bitter but you suck his fingers clean, swallowing around them. His gaze is captivated by you, groaning at you eating his cum.
Johnny gets up from you and tugs on his sweats, walking away momentarily and coming back not long later with a washcloth, wiping the rest of his cum off of you. When he’s cleaned it off you, he tugs your shirt back down, giving you back some of your modesty. Wandering off again, he disposes of the cloth and comes back with a glass of water.
“Drink this, sweetness,” he instructs, handing the cup to you.
Sitting up on the couch, you accept the cup and drink it down, appreciating the kindness. He sits beside you and strokes his hands up and down your thighs.
He takes the cup from you and places it out of the way, you’re a little dazed still, lost for words at what just happened.
“This can’t happen again,” he tells you gently.
Your expression is confused, “Why not?”
“I won’t be able to control myself next time.”
“I didn’t want you to this time,” you retort.
“Sugar, it’s not just a couple years between us, it’s a decade,” he stresses, “This is inappropriate.”
“Johnny, I appreciate your concern but I am an adult and I can choose who I sleep with.”
“I don’t want to defile you,” he’s terrified of ruining you somehow, of taking advantage.
“If you don’t want to ‘defile’ me, I’ll go fuck someone else and then it won’t be like I lost my virginity to you.” You’re just teasing him.
“Do not fuck someone else,” the look he gives you is even and serious, not even considering the idea of you having sex with someone else. He doesn’t find your comment funny.
You ask him eagerly, “Does that mean you will have sex with me?”
The look on his face is one of a good man trying so hard to stick to his morals. You smile at him sweetly and he practically melts for you, he grabs you and pulls you to him for a hug. Laying back on the couch with you resting on top of him.
He sighs, “Maybe one day.”
You can work with that for now, you smile to yourself, proud of your small win.
✰ ✰ ✰
A/N: Thank you for reading it all!!! I hope you enjoyed it; I wrote a 1k outline for this fic and I wasn’t expecting it to get this long but I’m not mad about it :)) Hopefully you aren’t either! I have a part two planned for this, I’ll probably only write it if people ask for it just cause this one took me a few days to write heheh. As always, requests are open, but don’t hesitate to reach out if you have questions about me, my blog, or specific fics, I love interacting with everyone and answering questions <33 I LITERALLY LOVE YOU ALL
˗ˏˋPart twoˎˊ˗
700 notes · View notes
justlemmeadoreyou · 4 months
Text
Temporary Fix*
In which you meet a stranger at a bar, and he becomes your good night
Word Count: 3.3k of pure filth
Warnings: Smut, 18+ content, cursing, spanking, hair pulling, p in v sex(use of protection), aftercare
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There he is again.
The devilishly handsome stranger, sitting at the bar two stools away from where you are seated.
He had been here every night you had been, and always looked at you from across the room, or gripped your waist on the dance floor when you were really drunk. But whenever you thought he would make a move, he disappeared.
Maybe tonight was the same too.
So, you decide to ignore him this time. You turned towards the dance floor, holding a classic gin martini in your hands, and stared at the sweaty bodies , moving rhythmically to the pulsating beat. The smooth notes of the gin martini matched the electrifying atmosphere.
Taking a few more sips, you got down and walked to the dance floor, and just then, an upbeat song started to play.
You saw one of your girlfriends there, and she pulled you with her to dance.
You had no idea how to dance. You did when you were drunk, somehow, but right now, the alcohol hadn’t kicked in.
Yet.
As you began to move, swirl your waist, awkward moves ensued, but hey, at least the enthusiasm was there.
A few moments later, you felt the oh-so-familiar hand gripping your waist, and before you could blink, the man had pulled you into him.
Your body collided with his, his grip on your waist tightening. Your mouth dropped open, eyes droopy as you looked up into his hazy emerald eyes.
They were dark, pupils blown out in lust.
Maybe today was the day.
You sneaked your arms from beside your body, and gripped his arms. His muscular biceps that looked so hot, and you immediately imagined him on top of you, his biceps bulging as he fucked you into oblivion.
You blinked your eyes rapidly to remove that image from your mind, and focused on his face.
You both stared into each other’s eyes as you moved to the beat. A few moments later, he leaned in to whisper in your ear, “Y'look really hot tonight”
You smirk, before replying, “Thought you wouldn't notice.”
“Can I buy you a drink?” he offers, sliding his hands downwards towards your hips.
“Sure” you reply.
Soon enough, he’s leading you towards the bar. His hand on your waist, pulling you closer with each step.
You both reach the bar , the dim lights casting a warm glow on the polished counter. The faint hum of conversation and clinking glasses fills the air as you take a seat on the cushioned stools.
The bartender, approaches. "What can I get you two?" he asks with a knowing smile.
He turns to you, his eyes meeting yours. "What would you like?" he inquires, a subtle yet inviting grin playing on his lips.
As you ponder the menu, the atmosphere around you seems to buzz with anticipation
“A rum, neat”
“Same for me”
“Sure”
The bartender turns around, and begins to prepare the drink for you both.
“I’m Harry, by the way”
You smile, his name, laced with an accent, falling beautifully from his perfectly pink lips.
“I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you, Harry”
“Y/n. That’s a beautiful name. So, you from around here?”
“Nope, moved from California, about 6 months ago. Completed my degree, and then landed a job. How about you?”
“Oh, California? Wow, I guess you left the sun for... well, this place. Brave move! And a job? That's like, responsible and stuff. I'm just a regular dude, you know, not as fancy as someone who completed a whole degree. I’m a musician. Came from England.”
“England, huh? That's, um, across the ocean, right? So, like, you're pretty far from home. And a musician, you say? That's cool. I mean, I played the kazoo once in elementary school, does that count?”
He chuckled, making you blush. His dimples were on show, and he looked so pretty.
“Yeah, that’s actually a really uncommon instrument. It’s cool you learned it, though.”
“Yeah, I don’t really remember anything about that now. How about you? What do you play?”
“The big ol’ guitar. And a bit of a piano, that I learned recently.”
The bartender slides the drink on to you, and you both grab it, before continuing the conversation.
“That’s really impressive. So, where do you live?”
“I own my own Residence. A bungalow, if you will. I’ll be glad to show it to you sometime.”
You like where this is headed.
You take a sip of your drink, and it’s really good. Something strong. Exactly what you needed at a Friday night out.
He brings his glass up to his mouth, and that’s when you see his tattoo-a cross on the back of his hand, near the thumb.
“You-you have tattoos?”
“Mhm, many. Would you like to see them?”
You’re surprisingly intrigued. You stare down to his chest, and you could see he had two tats near his collarbones, both sides. Another one was on the middle of his chest, which was only partially visible due to his unbuttoned shirt.
You gulp down hard. Damn, was he hot.
“yeah…”
Your voice trails off, and you hear him keep the empty glass on the table. You look up at him, as he is sliding off his bar stool.
“So, where shall we go?”
“Oh…how about your place? You wanted to show me, right?”
He smirks, “Great idea. Can we get our check here, please?”
He pays for your drinks, before offering you his hand. You gladly hold it, and he leads you out of the bar, to find a taxi.
“Is it too far? I forgot my jacket!” you say, feeling the coldness of the night once you reached out. You rub your palms on your arms, hoping to get some warmth.
“No, just about a 15-minute ride. You cold?”
You stare up at him, and he starts taking off his jacket.
“Right. Here” he wraps it around you, and it instantly makes you feel at ease.
“Thanks, Harry”
“No problem, love”
As the taxi arrives, you both get in, and he gives the directions. The driver starts to drive, and you can't help but notice the subtle, intoxicating aroma that fills up the car. It's Harry's cologne and it smells so fucking amazing.
You gulp down, and turn towards him. Holding on to the backrest for stability, you grab the hem of his shirt, pulling him in for a kiss.
It is unexpected, but he likes it. He immediately gives in, kissing you back with the same frevor.
Your lips are cold, but the kiss is hot.
You try to shift on the seat, and get on top of him. But, he pulls back and holds you back down.
“Hey, slow down, bunny. We’ll reach home and then I’m all yours”
He pulls your face back, uttering those words in your ear. You feel a bit embarrassed, but a kiss was definitely better than awkward silence during the whole drive.
“I know…it’s just, you’re so hot, Harry” you control yourself from releasing a moan at the end of your sentence, knowing that the driver was probably hearing everythong.
“I know, baby” he smirks, and pushes you back down on the seat, turning your face up front. You are about to frown and pout at that, but suddenly you feel his cold hands between your legs, pushing them apart.
You quickly turn your face, looking into his eyes with urgency. He stares back into yours, and gives you a questioning look. You realize he’s asking for permission, and you silently nod.
His hand spreads your thighs wider, the dress riding up. You pull out is jacket from your back, where it had fallen messily when you had jumped him. You put it over your thighs to cover yourself.
He reaches your panties, and gently pulls the crotch aside. You spread them wider, giving him more access, you are so desperate. His cold hand touches your clit, and you almost moan in pleasure.
“Shh” he whispers near your ear, before continuing the task in his hands.
His fingers find your clit, and he lightly grazes them on it. You swallow down a whimper, and pull your lower lip between your teeth.
His fingers travel downward, finding your labia and pussy lips. Without warning, he spreads them apart, and starts to rub your arousal throughout your folds. You close your thighs around his hand, and look up at him again. He gives you a look of warning, and you spread them open again.
His finger pushes in, feeling intrusion. He retracts it, and slowly starts to rub circles at your clit again. It makes you wetter, and makes it so much more hard to be completely quiet. He gradually increases his pace, feeling more arousal seeping through your folds. Spreading it all around, making a complete mess of your dress and thighs.
You throw your head back, and he pushes one finger in. It goes in with ease, and he starts to finger-fuck you.
You look down at his hands, his sleeves rolled up and prominent veins protruiding up. The said cross earlier is between your thighs, drenched in your wetness, making it more sinful.
You are getting close, the alcohol making your high approach faster. His long fnger hitting your g-spot, making your eyes roll into the back of your head. Your stomach starts to ache, the rush of the approaching orgasm coming faster and faster. You just need a bit more, a little push, just a little bit more and…
“We’re here”
He immediately retracts his hand, and you blink open your eyes, mouth falling open. You take a few moments to realize that you’re in the back of a taxi, and you need to get out soon.
The car comes to a halt, and you pull your dress back down. Pushing your legs closed together, your wet, drenched panties get rolled up messily, making it more uncomfortable.
With Harry’s jacket in your hands, you try to pull yourself out gracefully, but your legs are wobbly, and your cheeks are flushed red.
You look so fucked out.
You stand by the car as Harry pays him, and he leaves.
As soon as he leaves, he puts his left hand into his mouth, licking off the remnants of your arousal.
That bastard.
You hurry behind him, as he walks across the road and opens the gate. He unlocks it, and then another one. Almost 2 minutes, and you’re finally in.
As soon as the door is locked, you throw away the jacket, and climb up on him again. He catches you, and you wrap your legs around his waist. He pulls your dress back up, grabbing the panties harshly and tearing them apart, and pulling them off from between your legs.
If you were not so desperate to get fucked, you would’ve fought him over them. But right now, you are desperate to get fucked by him.
He walks you to his living room, and to the sofa where he puts your down on the armrest. You both start making out again, tongues sliding messily into each other’s mouths. You can taste the rum in his mouth, and his intoxicating smell makes you whimper into his mouth.
“So desperate…” he remarks, and you grab his hair, getting his mouth back on yours.
A few moments later, you both pull back, desperate for some oxygen. Your hairs are disheveled, lipstick smudged. But to Harry, you look so beautiful.
“Y’gonna let me taste you? Have my tongue between those pretty thighs?”
On another day, you would. Spread open your legs and have him eat you out for hours. But right now, you just want to feel him inide you.
“No, I-I want to feel you, Harry. I wanna feel your cock inside me” you stare into his eyes.
“Fuck, you’re so damn hot. Where do you want to have me? Here? In my bedroom?”
“Here. Please?”
“Yeah? Want me to bend you over this couch and fuck that pretty little pussy of yours?”
“Yes, please?”
You look up at him with doe eyes, and he pulls you back down. Grabbing your waist, he quickly flips you over, and pushes you on the couch, so that you are nicely bent over in front of him. He spreads your legs using his, and your drenched pussy comes into view.
He unbuttons his pants, and quickly pulls them down, along with his boxers. He reaches the pocket for a condom, and tears the foil with his teeth.
Using one hand, he rolls it down on himself, and the other goes back between your thighs.
“Fuck, darling, you’re so wet”
He collects you wetness on his fingers, swiping his fingers between your folds. You push your head into the couch, his fingers diving deeper.
“So, so wet. Bet you drenched the car seat too, didn’t you? Dripping all over it. Bet the driver knew too. Your face was so red, cheeks blushed, lips bitten into your mouth. And your eyes, so full of lust and hunger.”
He pushed two fingers in, and started to finger you, while simultaneously stroking his cock. You moan out into the couch, grabbing into the backrest, anything to pull on. He pushes them to the hilt, and stills his movements, gently twisting them so you would feel his cold rings.
“Fuck. Jesus Chrust”
You whimper and moan, his fingers expertly fucking you back to an orgasm. Your legs clamp close around his hand, and you let out a wild shriek of his name, as you cum hard around his two digits.
“Fuck, fuck me”
Your breathing becomes ragged, and you turn your face, so that your cheek is on the sofa. After a few moments of letting you catch your breath, he speaks up.
“You okay, love?”
“Yeah, yes, I’m okay”
“Good. Want me to fuck you?”
“Yes. Yes, Harry please?”
He pulls out his fingers, and you whimper again, feeling empty. But that is gone soon, as you feel his cock line up with your swollen folds.
“Ready, love?”
You nod, and he finally pushes in.
You gasp loudly, his tip pushing its way in. His length follows, and you realize that he is a lot bigger than you had expected.
“Fuck, Harry-I-Fuck”
You curse into the couch, and he gently and slowly pushes his way into your tight cunt. You take in deep breaths, as you adjust to his massive girth spreading you open wide.
“Can I continue?” he asks.
“Yea-yes”
He pulls back, before gently pusing back in, till he is fully in. He repeats the same motion a few times, till you’re fully adjusted to his size.
Your mouth falls open, warm and heavy breaths passing through your mouth. He is going really slow, and it’s for your own good. But, you want it faster.
Harder.
“Harder, Harry-I-I want it harder”
He groans, before pushing back in, but with more fervor. A broken moan falls past your lips, and you gulp down, your mouth going dry.
“Is that good? Or you want it harder?”
“Harder”
“Oh, baby, you have no idea what you just asked for”
He pushes your legs wide, and grabs your hair, holding them in a makeshift ponytail for leverage to plunge himself inside you. You arch your back, and he pushes back in.
This time, there was nothing slow. He was going hard and fast from the beginning, making your legs shake and your eys to roll into the back of your head. You are impossibly wet, your wetness drenching his cock, making it easier to fuck you.
“Such a tight little pussy, fuck”
He curses, his cock fucking you into oblivion. His thrusts are rough and hard, making your toes curl. You feel his hand rest on your bum, and you want him to spank you.
“Har-Harry- I want you to-I-”
“What, baby? You want me to?”
“I want you to spank me-Harry-”
He quickly lifts his hand off, and strikes you with impact, making you moan filthy, and your pussy to clamp down on his cock.
“You liked that?”
“Mhm, yes, more please”
He spanks you again, and establishes a smooth rhythm of spanking you with each thrust inside your sopping wet cunt.
You feel so fucking good, on the cloud nine of pure pleasure. His cock fucking you so good and deep, one hand pulling your hair while the other spanks your bum red, you feel so fucking good.
“Harry-I'm close-” you mutter out, before falling back limp, your pussy clenching desperately around his length.
“I know. baby. Your pussy's getting tighter with each thrust. You gonna cum for me? Cum around my cock?”
“Yes, please, Har-”
You scream out his name, your eyes falling shut as you feel your orgasm take over. Black and white dots dancing behing your closed eyelids, a beautiful kadeidoscope of pleasure. Your legs begin to shake as his cock fucks you though your euphoric high.
After you're done cumming, he doesn't stop, chasing his own high.
“I'm close too, baby. Gonna cum inside this perfect cunt.”
He grabs your waist harshly thrusts, shallowing and slowing down as his orgasm approaches.
“Fuck, Mhm, Jesus-So fucking good, Christ-”
He rambles as his orgasm takes over, and you feel his warm cum inside your pussy, filling up the condom. Your tight cunt milks him off all he has, and he continues to fuck you till he is completely empty.
He stills inside, his cock throbbing and making you close your legs shut, wanting to keep him inside for longer. He catches his breath, gasping for air as he tries to pull out slowly.
“No, don't- I wanna feel you inside for longer”
You manage to say it in one breath, hoping he won't take you to be desperate and needy, even though it is what you were mere minutes ago.
“As you wish, darling” he stills back, holding you and pulling you back up. You both scoot awkwardly, and fall down on the sofa, you on top of him.
You could feel his chest on your back, rising and felling with each breath. You carefully turn around, keeping your legs on either side of his waist, and you face him.
He looks so beautiful, his post-orgasm face making you feel so warm and giddy. You lean down, and sweetly kiss him on his pink lips.
There’s comfortable silence between you two, the post-orgasmic glow taking over and making you feel so good and droopy.
“That was-really really good. Like, the best I've had in a long time.” you blush while admitting that, and he holds you close, making you feel safe.
“Glad you liked it. It was incredible for me too”
You both smile fondly, feeling so much connected in that moment.
“You okay? Want something to eat? Water?”
“Yeah, but afterwards. Wanna hold you for a while.”
“Sure, baby. You can hold me for as long as you like.” you grip your arms around him tightly, not wanting to let go.
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chronically-ghosted · 4 months
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i crawl home to her
rating: 18+ explicit
pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader
word count: 8.2K
summary: you bring dieter home to meet your family over the holidays.
warnings/tags: discussions of food, mentions of weight gain, brief biphobia, bad family dynamics, hiding parts of yourself to make yourself more palatable, dom!Dieter when his type-A girlfriend needs him to, smut in places it shouldn’t be, a family can be two people, bad jokes, mentions of marriage and kids, one light booty smack, peep the super obvious bob's burgers reference, minimal edited, you can pry the image of dieter in ugg's from my cold dead hands
a/n: i've caved and finally added to the evergrowing pile of "Pedro boy fucks you in your childhood home". @sp00kymulderr i told you i'd get it out today -- it might be tomorrow for you, but it's not yet midnight! i present to you part 2 of merry thanksgiving nonsense2023!
🤍Masterlist
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You nearly miss the exit off the gray-slushy highway because you’re trying to remember Aunt Gayle’s food allergies. 
And Uncle Rick’s preferred way of taking his coffee in the morning.
And the right detergent to use when washing your niece’s clothes, or else your sister will come after you with a hatchet. 
“Baby, you’re gnawing your fingernails bloody.” 
You blink, surprised to find your hand anywhere near your mouth, the other white-knuckling the steering wheel, and to your enormous embarrassment, he was right – you’d pulled up several hangnails, leaving tiny pink gouges, right under your immaculate holiday nails you got for the express purpose of looking presentable in all the inevitable Insta photos your sister demands every year. 
“Fuck,” you mutter and curl your fingers into your fist as if to hide temptation. From the passenger’s seat, Dieter frowns.
“Twizzler to make it better?” He spins the red, bendy candy enticingly. Your mind suddenly flashes back to the time you both got way too high on his new bong and he made the exact same motions with his dick. You had never laughed so hard in your life. 
The red candy whipping around in a circle, you groan into the steering wheel. 
“I’m turning around. This was a terrible idea.”
“What are you so nervous about?” Dieter half-way laughs. He pulls his Ugg-stuffed feet off the dashboard and sits up. Crumbs from the Starbucks Christmas sugar cookie spill off his “Kris Kingle My Jingle” sweater and onto the seat, but it’s those fucking earnest, curious eyes that always seem to rock your world. You occasionally don’t like to be touched when you’re stressed, so out of the corner of your eye, you see his hand waver before falling back in his lap. “It’s just dinner.” 
“Yeah, but it’s holiday dinner with my family. They’re all so judgy and mean and every time I come home for more than twenty-four hours, I’m reminded exactly why I fucked off to California.”
“Maybe they’re jealous you’re a hot shot director,” Dieter suggests. “Or that you have a ruggedly handsome movie star boyfriend.” Eyebrow raised, he twirls the Twizzler again and manages to bite it out of the air. You half-way expected it to smack him in the face. “They know I’m coming, right?”
You bite your lip, the last phone call with your mother still achingly heavy in your chest.
“You know what she asked when I told her I was bringing home the one and only Dieter Bravo as my boyfriend to meet my family?” You don’t need to look at him to see the furrow in his brow, the slight curve in his shoulders. You prop your elbow up against the window, rubbing your forehead with your fingers. “She asked if it was a career move. If I was dating you to get ahead in the industry . . . like I’m trying to sleep my way to the top.”
There’s a fraught silence. You listen to the wheels churn dirty black snow so you don’t have to look at him. 
“Then why in the world would you start with my dumb ass?”
Despite yourself and despite what’s coming, you smile. But you fight it, wrapping your lip up between your teeth. So he continues:
“If you really want to make it big, you gotta date someone at least forty years older than you. So, what? We’re talking seventy. But, wow, think of the money. Bet he has his dick dripped in gold just to keep it hard–,”
“Dieter!” You swat at him, smile too big to contain, and he grins, grabbing you by the wrist. “That’s terrible!”
“But I made you laugh, didn’t I?”
You smirk. “Barely. More like ha ha than a big chuckle.” 
He nips your palm, the rough hair on his chin scraping the soft skin. 
By some minor miracle and a forcible act of God, your mother is allowing you two to share a bedroom. Not out of respect for your relationship, of course, but there is simply not enough room to spare. You watch those perfect lips imprint themselves in the cup of your hand and you’ve never been more thrilled to have to share a double bed. God, you cannot be this wet before you have to look your mother in the eye. You retract your hand with a breathy exhale. 
“We don’t have to stay long,” Dieter says, a weight to his gaze that proves he hasn’t completely blown off your concern. He twists his body in the seat and crosses his arms, his shoulder pressed into the seat. He watches you with his head against the headrest. “I hate seeing you like this.” 
“I’m already on thin ice because we’re just staying two days.” You shake your head. “My sister and her family have already been there since Monday and plan to stay the rest of the week.” You inhale, hold, and exhale until you can feel your shoulders drop. “It’s just . . . I’ve worked so hard to make something of my life, to be someone I can be proud of, and it just doesn’t matter to them. They want me to marry a banker or something, and quit my job to do cutesy family blogging on Instagram. They’ve never, ever liked the real me.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you see something come over Dieter’s face. Not annoyance, or irritation, but as if someone kick started his brain. But it passes and he brushes the back of your hand resting over the gearshift with his fingers. 
“I like the real you,” he says quietly. “In fact, I really, really, really like the real you. I gotta keep you around. Who else is gonna remember the name of the best Chinese food place when I’m high?” 
Dieter is sweet, knows the wonders his smile can accomplish, with a twinkle in his eyes. A bit crude, a little distractible, but ultimately, well-meaning. However, he seemed physically incapable of maintaining sincerity. Which in the beginning, was also cute, but now, in a moment of crisis, it was boyish in a way that made you worried. A little scared. Like too much pressure and he’d break.
Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on? 
History says no. 
So, maybe you’d just carry everything. 
You smile at him and return your hand to the steering wheel.
“I’m not going anywhere.” 
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The car squeals as it stops in the driveway, wheels crunching the cold ice. You look up at your childhood home with the same unease and trepidation that’s been there since childhood.
“Go let ‘em know we’re here,” Dieter says as he unbuckles his belt. There’s still crumbs in the knit of his sweater. At least his sweatpants are clean. But there’s nothing you can do about those Uggs right now– 
His hand squeezes yours, centering the universe that’s spinning like the inside of a martini shaker. You can feel the weight of his gaze press into your chest – heavy, warm, forgiving. He smiles, then slides into a smirk.
“Chillax, bro. Your vibes are not gnarly.”
You huff, trying to offer a smile that’s not a grimace. This was such a bad idea. Maybe it’s not too late to go pay for one of those mail-order boyfriends and keep Dieter in his nice California, hippie plastic wrap. 
You hear your name being called from the porch and that smile fully plummets into a grimace. Gathering from that reserve of confidence that makes you look at male writers, directors, and (yes) actors and tell them they’re idiots and get the fuck off your set, you open the door and head around the corner to the front of the house. 
Yeah, in the face of your mother, that reserve is basically a trickle.
She’s waiting for you on the porch, red dish towel in hand. 
“I thought that might be you, darling! I’d recognize that squeak from that rust bucket anywhere.” She smiles, arms wide, as you bend down to give her a hug. You've had to bend down to hug your mother for years now and you still feel about two feet tall. “How are you? You’ve been good? You look pale, but you’ve definitely been eating, haven’t you?”
She pinches your cheek as if to show you all the extra fat you have on your face. 
“Where’s Dad?” You try not to look like you’re tearing your face out of her grip and glance into the surprisingly quiet house over her shoulder. “Aren’t Emma and Dan supposed to be here?”
“Your father is out finishing his latest woodworking piece. He’s been at it for days, no matter how much I beg him to help with the food or the house. It’s all on me again to save the holidays.” 
As it is every year.
“Your sister and her family went out to get more sweet potatoes. They eat sweet potatoes in California, don’t they?”
Here it comes.
“Yes, Mom, they eat sweet potatoes.”
“Oh good, I thought it’d be considered a carb.” She frowns, hands on her hips as if you’re about to get a proper scolding. “Now you told me you’re going to be bringing your fancy actor boyfriend. Damian Bravado, right? I cooked for exactly seven people, darling, a single empty chair will throw the whole thing off!”
“Yes, Mom, my boyfriend, Dieter Bravo, is here. He’s just in the–,”
Someone, distinctly not your boyfriend, or at least not the boyfriend you left in the car, waltzes up the front steps.
Rings gone.
Earring gone.
Gloves that would make Ryan Gosling seethe with envy covering the tattoo on his hand.
His hair slicked back and curling deliciously around his ears, his dark jeans cover the laces of maroon Timberland boots. His black turtleneck clings to his wide chest, the leather jacket broken in enough to be soft, but not so used there’s tears in the seams. And, to top it all off, his cream-colored scarf curled around his throat looks like it came out of a Hallmark movie.
Maybe you are in a Hallmark movie. Maybe on the way up the porch, you slipped and banged your head and all of this is a bizarre, weirdly-erotic dream. Maybe someone actually did call in a mail-order boyfriend who looks exactly like Dieter and the real one is hog-tied in the trunk of your car. Maybe – 
You’d heard of quick costume changes, but this is ridiculous.
“Debbie!” He calls out, like they’ve been best friends for twenty years. He flourishes a wrapped bouquet of flowers, bright red against the white snow, and hands them to her after bouncing up the steps. His cheeks are tinged pink, as if he’d run the block, but without a drip of sweat on him, he’s simply glowing with what could be presumed as the holiday spirit. 
To your never-ending and horrific surprise, your mother squeals as she takes the flowers. 
“Poinsettias! My –,”
“Favorite, I know.” You stumble out of the way when he leans down and kisses her on her cheek. “And they’re fake, so you can reuse them next year. But you’d never know it at $300 a pop.”
Okay, yes, this is a clone of your boyfriend, a walking holiday Ken doll – Dieter never, ever brags about money. 
“I’m not a banker or anything, but I like to spoil my girls.” 
The bastard winks at you. 
Your mother has turned to gooey, drippy putty in his hands. She’s redder than the hand towel and the poinsettias combined. She flounces, flutters, eyes springing back and forth between the ruby-red flowers in her hands and Dieter’s achingly handsome face – one that hasn’t dimmed that thousand gigawatt smile since he first arrived. 
“Oh, oh my goodness – well, this is just lovely – it’s so nice to finally meet you – I can’t believe she’s been hiding you from us all this time – please, please come in, you must be freezing!”
She backs into the house, still staring at the flowers, then as if she hadn’t been living here for the past fifteen years of her life, she bounces towards the dining room, then on a quick turn, heads for the kitchen, then turns again to the hallway closet. 
“Oh gracious – where did I put – it must be – come in and shut the door behind you – you know where your room is, darling, I’ll be back in just a second, I just have to – ah, these are spectacular –”
A door down the hallway finally swings shut and muffles your mother’s insane rambling. 
So dazed, you don’t see him move until he’s pressed you up against the glass etching of the door, his hand palming your hip and the other diving to cup the back of your neck. He tugs you down into his mouth before you have time to blink.
Jesus Christ, mint? His breath smells like mint??
God, he even fucking kisses like a Hallmark Prince. His mouth pulls you into him and your brain whites out – careless of the little whimper you make, careless of the fact that literally any one of your family members could walk in right now, careless that you’re teetering into him as if on string. Your breath flutters down his throat and he huffs through his nose. The tips of his fingers are chilly enough that you shiver at his touch.
He edges the bottom of your lip with his tongue before pulling back and tightening his grip in your hair. 
And there’s that Dieter smirk you are all too intimately familiar with. 
“How’m I doing?” He mutters. His gaze flickers between your eyes, your nose, and your kissed-pink lips. “I’d say I got Mama Bear on my side.”
Maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t always like this. Between the fresh breath scent in his mouth, the fragrance of his much-too expensive cologne permeating your senses, and his thick thigh shoved under your groin, you are embarrassingly boneless in his arms. You pluck your fingers over the soft leather collar at the back of his neck, just as much to inspect the jacket, as much as to release more of that delicious smell. 
“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” You mutter, smirking, as you wind your fingers into his curls. “Spoil my girls, what the fuck was that?”
“Ah, ha, ha, ha,” he gloats as he lowers his head to your neck. You expect a warm kiss in the length of skin you’ve exposed to him, but instead his teeth lightly tease your throat above your pulse point and you feel your knees buckle as your face warms. “I can be very charming when I want to be.” He squeezes your ass as if to make a point. 
You hold back a moan, flattening it to a shudder in your chest. You can feel his grin in your neck and he shifts you, pulls you closer and compresses you deeper into the wooden door. You can feel your conscious thought melting through your fingers so you blink, lick your lips, try to wiggle out from under his teeth.
“This isn’t a Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. This is Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” You gasp his name into the foyer of your childhood home when he licks you from the curve of your shoulder up under the soft place below your ear. Your hips jerk unconsciously, baser instincts seeking out the friction of his jeans, and you push against his biceps. “Dieter, she’ll be back any minute. She can’t – can’t see us like this.”
You’ve never heard him chuckle like the way he does, so darkly pleased with himself.
“Once I’m done schmoozing her, your father, your sister and her – what did you call him – cardboard husband, we’ll fuck in front of them and they won’t say a word.”
“Dieter!” You shove him just as your mother returns from the kitchen.
She frowns and you feel the scolding coming, the scent of Dieter so obviously entangled in you. You might as well be wearing a sign that reads, hi, yes, I’ve been recently groped why do you ask?
“Did you forget where your room is? Honestly, what would you do without me? Now, follow me and I’ll remind you.”
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Schmooze he did. 
From the same magical bag of weirdly specific and perfect gifts, Dieter presents a bottle of Buffalo Trace bourbon and two very illegal, but very Cuban cigars. Your father forgets to scowl in the face of some of the most expensive bourbon in the world. 
For your sister, he somehow senses that material objects won’t go as far, so he endears himself to your niece first. Asking her questions about her doll, about her school, what she likes to play with her friends and how crazy it is that hopscotch is his favorite game too. 
In twenty minutes, he’s on his hands and knees, black sleeves pulled up over his immaculate forearms, and etching out a hopscotch board with pink chalk. He nods and interjects while your niece runs around him, demanding a dragon in the corner, or a crown in another, and suddenly your biological clock starts blaring like an air-raid siren. 
“He’s so good with kids,” your sister mutters to you from the door to the garage. A single glance tells you she’s under the same effect of watching a hot man play with a child. You’re so aroused and confused you can’t even eye her with jealousy. 
“Mhmm hmm.” 
“When are you going to have some of your own?” 
And you’re back inside before you can see the look on his face as he lifts his head.
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It would be insulting to call it eerie. 
It’s not like he’s physically incapable of smelling clean, or dressing nice, or even combing his hair. You’ve seen him do it time and time again for galas and interviews. Hell, that time he took you on a date to get sushi in the tallest building in Toronto, he didn’t look that much different from how he does right now . . . and yet . . .
You feel your face scrunch in suspicion when he remembers your aunt’s food allergies, how your Uncle Rick likes his after-dinner coffee. 
Dieter might forget to put on pants, but he’s never forgotten the important dates of your relationship. He remembers what you were wearing the first night you kissed, but can’t remember to take out the pizza before it burns in the oven. 
This, this Dieter, feels wrong. 
You watch him laugh with your father and uncle by the fireplace with brandy in his hands as you work with your mother and sister to unwrap a dozen saran-wrapped pies. He comes by later and takes the stack of plates from your mother’s hands and assures her he’ll do the dishes, as thanks for such a wonderful meal.
This Dieter Bravo needs a smoking jacket and uses words like “wonderful meal”. 
Initial surprise at his near magical transformation from the car this morning long gone, you sit with this uncomfortable feeling, as everyone around you eats pie and laughs and looks all the part of a fucking Hallmark card for “joyful festivities”, long enough to finally understand it for what it is:
Anger. 
Shame. Guilt. 
Hot embarrassment. 
You look at the man who’s invaded your boyfriend’s body as he charms the pants off your mother and father, and ugly, heavy embarrassment boils over in your chest. Washing the knife in your throat down with your fourth glass of wine all night, you excuse yourself with the last bit of breath in your lungs before ducking upstairs, then stumbling to your childhood bathroom you once shared, and share again, with your sister. 
You lock the door forcefully in lieu of slamming it shut and sit down on the tile, your head against your knees. Rationally, there’s a part of you that knows this shouldn’t affect you like it is. Women would kill for a boyfriend like this – your sister very nearly jumped him in the garage. 
But that’s just the thing – this isn’t your boyfriend. This isn’t the man you spend your days and nights with and this isn’t the man you fell in love with. This isn’t the Dieter you want to show the world. 
A soft knock comes from the other side of the door and it breaks you out of your self-deprecating spiral. 
“Just a second,” you call out as you stand. You flush the empty toilet (this night is filled with ruses after all) and twitch the faucet on for two seconds. But when you open the door, you’re immediately cowed back in. 
“Dieter, what are you–,”
“Are you okay?” Beneath the veneer of the Million Dollar Man, his eyes are soft, coaxing the anxiety out of you. “You looked pale when you left.” He tucks an escaped strand of hair over your ear, watching how his fingers brush up against your skin. He gently tangles his fingers in your hair as he pulls back. He smirks. “Mom’s dressing wasn’t that bad.” 
White-hot shame blooms again and you turn your head from him, tugging your hair out of his reach. You catch his hurt expression out of the corner of your eye. 
“I’m fine. Just needed some air.” 
“You’re not a good liar. I’ve told you that.” His voice is clipped. Not irritated, but not interested in lengthy bouts of misdirection either.
“Well, I don’t feel like bearing my problems to Mr. Perfect.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He crosses his arms, shoulders swelling in the space of the tiny bathroom, and he leans on the sink. 
“It means you’re a better liar than me so I guess you’ll have to do it for the both of us.” 
You know it’s ridiculous to try and move around him – but maybe this Dieter wouldn’t care if you left angry. Even sober, he could manhandle you without a second thought, but between the heat of the drink in your throat and he’s blurred at the edges, you know you’re fighting a losing battle.
“Dieter, please, just –,”
He stands his ground, effectively blocking the door, and you huff, pushing up against his waist with your hands, your teeth bared behind your lips. He steps back, you think you’ve won a mile, but then his hands grasp so firmly around your elbows, your entire consciousness is pulled into where his fingers curl against your skin.
He gently, but seriously, shakes you slightly.
“Stop fighting me. You tell me what I did wrong and we’ll talk about this.”
The past two weeks of dread, and fear, and worry, and shame – shame that this is your family, this is how you go to pieces around them, this is all you can offer him – slam into your chest and your breathing hitches. The fingers at his chest dig into his shirt. The fourth glass of wine makes your eyes hot and tight.
“This isn’t you.” 
You grimace in the bright light of the bathroom and your confession. But beyond your closed eyes, his demeanor hasn’t changed. 
“What’s not me?”
A tear slips out the moment you open your mouth, your throat closing and gagging on your words. You swallow and try again, eyes peeling open to stare at the curve of his shoulder. 
“You’re Dieter Bravo. You dry-clean your favorite pajamas to preserve the material. You do astrology charts of people who piss you off to find out how to best get back at them. You paint until four in the morning and sleep in our bed until I wake you up–,”
Your heart thrusts its way into your airways and cuts off your ability to speak. You know you’re not making a lot of sense, but all you can think of right now is how much you want to peel this fucking black, Steve Jobs-esque, goddamn ugly-ass turtleneck apart with your bare hands. Like freeing a mermaid from a net. He squeezes your waist, his broad palm settled in the curve of your lower back. 
“Darling, I don’t see why this has you so sad –,”
“They won’t fall in love with you like I did.” You lift your watery gaze to him, unable to stop the spilling of tears. You always got teary when you drank a bit too much, but fuck, if you didn’t love him so much, you wouldn’t be so mad . . . at yourself. “I hate that you feel like you have to do this to be accepted by my family. I hate that they can’t see what makes you so special to me. I hate . . . I hate that they don’t see the real you.” 
And out of nowhere, he smiles. 
Never one to shy away from bodily fluids, Dieter kisses your tear-soaked cheeks, his hands rising up your back, taking their time to press into the curve of your hips, the bones of your ribs, the high arch of your spine, before settling on your cheeks. He kisses your wet mouth, thumbs against the corners of your lips like a soft leather bridle. He holds you, just like that, until your heart eases, stops racing in your chest, and you lean more into the kiss, chasing instead of hiding. You wrap your fingers around his wrists as he pulls away.
“With all due respect, this is just another gig for me.” His gentle smile hides no bitterness, no anger. No disgust. “I know what people like this are like, how they think, what they want. What they value.” He smears away the cold tears from your skin with his thumbs. “It’s fun, in a way, to infiltrate their little circles. It’s all fake, it’s all bullshit, and fortunately I’m fantastic at bullshit.”
You let out a watery laugh and he reaches behind you for some toilet paper to dry your tears. He blots your eyes for you before you can even take the tissue. 
“You’re not forcing me to do anything, baby,” he murmurs. “My family was exactly the same way, so I know how the game is played.”
“Yeah, and you don’t talk to them anymore. I just wish I had your bravery to cut them out of my life like you did.” 
Dieter’s mouth twitches. “Well, that had more to do with the fact that I like to occasionally make out with boys, than dysfunctional family dynamics.”
You squeeze his forearm as he continues to clean your face, trying to catch his eyes but they’d gone hard where a moment ago they were soft. He thinks, using the silence to carefully fix your make up with his thick thumb under your eyelashes to lift off the smeared mascara. 
He didn’t talk much about his life before Hollywood, but when he did, you understood why he was so closed off about it.
“Let’s put it this way: they did the cutting off, not me. And even if we have to be completely different people, your family still talks to you. I’m not saying that to guilt you, or compare trauma scars, but . . . most times we can’t pick who we love, but sometimes we have to.” 
You nod, a sense of ease washing over you. His small, I don’t know if I should say this but I’m gonna smile widens across his mouth. 
“It’s okay if they don’t see the real me, because I know you do.” He finally pulls away the tissue, his mouth pulled up in sweet earnest. “What can I do to make you feel better?”
A physical string connected between your ribs and his could not have tugged you faster. Tripping into his wide, warm chest, you drop your head onto his collarbone as you wrap your arms around his torso tighter than his own rib cage.
“Just . . .”
His bulky arms pull you into his chest, the bristles of his beard scratching at your temple. It’s not until you sink away from your own thoughts, into the silence in the bathroom, that you realize your breathing is synced with his. 
That realization hits you particularly hard, that without trying, without meaning to, you become one with him – you turn and bury your face into the pulse of his neck. If you can get to his heartbeat, maybe that’ll calm you too. Dig through the crust of the earth and end up in China. You shift in his arms, and he does too. Dieter cups the back of your head, thumb rubbing the arch of your skull. His entire arm circles your back. 
“What do you need, hm, baby? What can I give you, huh?”
You know he doesn’t mean it like that, but the girth, the weight of his voice has your toes curling in your shoes. His rasp is so often used to light that first spark. 
“Dieter –,” the moment shifts and so do you. You squirm, itching for his face in your hands, his mouth over yours, but he holds you steady. Holds you firm. So firm, you can feel he’s half-hard in his jeans. 
Oh. 
Maybe he did mean it like that. 
You press your tongue against his pulse point, your fingers splayed across the back of his rib cage, and he shudders. You’re about to bite down, when his hands peel your fingers from his back and pinch your wrists in one single, meaty grip. Heart suddenly thundering in your chest, he steps back to allow for just enough room to turn you – barely any at all – and pushes you face down on the sink counter, your wrists clasped over your ass behind you.
Cold marble pressing up against your tits, your face turned towards the window and the towel bar where you used to hang your Barbie swimsuits when you were seven, you feel his other massive palm dip under your sweater and press flat against the ridges of your spine. He hums when you let out a small whine. Flexes his fingers when you wiggle your ass against him. You seek out the marble with your cheek, heat rising under your skin, arousal suddenly burning hot in your low belly. 
“This is what you need, hm, baby? Need me to touch you? To feel you?” He murmurs. Dieter always did like playing with his food. You nod helplessly, cheek sticky against the marble. He shifts his hips into the crack of your ass, with just enough pressure to have you bucking back against him, but not enough to find relief from the stirring between your legs. 
He strokes your hair away from your neck, fingers brushing over your collarbone, gaze languid and slow. Like he can see where he needs to pluck to unravel you. 
“Why is my baby so tense?” He muses quietly, patronizing. His hand maps your spine in a single palm, edging slowly up your back until, with two fingers, he pinches your bra open. You feel the snap of the release and you rub your nose against the edge of the counter, whimpering. “Don’t I take care of you?”
You gulp. “Y-y-yes, you treat– treat me so good. I want it.” 
He has you pressed too tightly against the counter to slip his hand down your front, the edge pinching your hips. So, instead, with your hands still pinned against your tailbone, he palms your ass and rubs a thick finger down between your legs and up over the seam of your jeans. The whine building in your throat breaks into an open moan when he presses your zipper teeth into your clit.  
“Want what? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.” 
“F-fingers – tongue – fuck – y-your cock. Anything inside me.” 
The surprised, breathless chuckle that reverberates down to the button of his jeans seared against your ass has you bending, stretching, just for a glimpse of his face in the mirror. 
His mouth open, tongue curling back and forth over his bottom lip, he’s hungry. Wants so much. Can’t satiate this need without something between his teeth. Grinning around a mouthful of incisors. Patience has never been Dieter’s strong suit. 
With a firm jerk around your wrists, your back arches up off the counter, shoulders pinched, hands caught low near his groin. You know he wants you to watch him touch you in the mirror – he’s stopped before when you close your eyes – but it’s hard to look at the woman reflected back at you, with her bleary eyes, mussed hair, heaving chest, and exposed belly button where his hand hovers between the waistband and a green sweater, and recognize yourself. 
  “No one can take you from me. Do you understand?” He dips his head, arched nose dragging up the curve of your neck, breathing hot through his teeth against the lines where your hair and your skin meet. You can’t help but arch up into his waiting mouth. “Not your family. Not mine. You’re so greedy for me – who else is gonna make you feel this good?” 
“N-no one, Dieter, no one can.”
His hand rising under your sweater, thumb first at your belly button, then up between the spread of your ribs, and finally, it catches under the wire of your bra and he tugs it down. The material rubs against your sensitive nipples – it almost stings, your body pulled taught like a bowstring – the straps falling low off your shoulders, but your sweater keeps it from falling off completely and he goes no further. You whine, eager for something other than the scratch of the bra – something warmer – and push your sensitive tits into his soft hands, but his hand drops, fingering the waistline of your jeans instead. He ignores what you want to show you what you need. 
This is a thing he did. He watched you wind yourself up with deadlines and scheduling and meetings and arguments on set and and doubt and worry and fear and then he took it upon himself to tire you out enough that all of it shattered – crashed and consumed under the white noise in your head. Dieter liked to play however you needed it.
You can feel the seam of his jeans hover just beyond your fingertips, as though his hips swing unconsciously forward while he nips and sucks on your neck. God, you’d give anything to have the weight of him between your palms. 
When he speaks again, you realize at some point you squeezed your eyes shut, forgoing sight to chase the sensation that sparks across your skin every time he touched a new bare patch of skin on you. He pulls his head up from fixating a tender purple blush just below where your sweater covers your shoulder to catch your gaze in the mirror. Panthers do not watch with such hungry eyes. 
“Arms up.” It’s not a command, a request, but the words drip from his mouth, rich and sweet. He lets go of your wrists and your arms flutter above you, his fingers already rolling up the edge of your sweater. He drags it up, snagging your loose bra with it, and peeling them both off you. The immediate heat of his chest on your bare back is so hot, it burns cold. 
“Dieter,” you cry, nipples hardening in the cold air, goosebumps spiraling out along your skin. He’s there for you in an instant. 
He bites the soft, invisible hairs at your jaw, thick paws coming up to clutch your breasts, the sudden swap in temperature making your head swim. He pulls you against his chest, a new outer skin that breathes and moans and gasps, one that has a steady heartbeat your own has synced to. 
With his eyes fixated on you in the mirror, he molds your breast to his palm, rounding your nipples with his thumbs before sliding down between the curves of them. He licks the back of your neck. 
“Face down, baby,” he says. 
“But it’s cold,” you huff, pouting. You smooth your hands over his, his angular wrists, his broad thick forearms entombed in long back sleeves, then settle with your fingers in his hair. His height over you has your torso stretched, your tits bare and ripe, and he palms your stomach to the top of your ribs in two hands. He grunts when you twist his curls, keeping his head still so every bruise and wet spot on your shoulders and throat are all too visible. “Don’t you want to see all your good work?”
He blinks, slow and purposeful, his eyelids heavy, mouth parting. You can’t be sure of his decision, of what he wants, what he’s going to give, when his hands arch up the cradle of your arms, soft enough to tickle below your elbows, then around your wrists. He’s done this enough for you to know he wants you to let go.
You do. 
Fast as venom moves from fangs to flesh, he plants your hands on the counter, forcibly gripping the edge. This is how you hold on. 
He steps up against you again, iron-hot cock pressing without hesitancy between your ass cheeks, and unbuckles your pants without preamble.
“I’d rather just show you.” 
Broad hand bending your shoulders forward, fingers pressed flat over your shoulder, you gasp when your tits make contact with the cold counter, and an instant later, he’s filling your open mouth with his fingers. He wets them against the slip of your tongue and grabs your jaw. 
Your mind fracturing like cracking ice, you don’t hear the zip of his jeans, the groan as he takes himself out – barely feel the rub along your wet slit, the arranging of his fingers around your bare hip, the widening of your stance with his ankle. 
But you do feel it when he’s suddenly hilt-deep inside of you. 
You lurch forward with the weight of it, whining as though scalded at the sudden blinding pressure of pleasure and pain, and you slap a palm against the mirror to keep yourself from shattering through it. Behind you, Dieter looks like someone dislocated his kneecaps. 
“You good, baby?” He pants, drawing his hand out of your mouth, wet spit between his fingers as he cups your hanging breast. The sensation bleeds hot, then cold. Unable to help himself, he nuzzles your shoulder blades. 
You nod, eyes shut, the magnetic north sense of you spinning wildly off-kilter as you try to gulp in as much air as you can. You know you’re about to lose it anyway. He stands upright, not so much as inching out of you, when he plants his feet and nestles your ass against his hip bones, hands wiggling you further down his cock. 
“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” 
It’s said with such wonder, a breathless reverence, that you think he might not have realized he said it out loud. You glance over your shoulder, turning your head instead of finding him in the mirror. 
The facade of the Brooklyn banker is gone. Your Dieter stares, awe-struck, at the body he’s got impaled on his cock like it’s the first time he’s seen a naked woman. Soft, pliant, eager to please, your Dieter lets you collar him, peg him, and give it to you exactly as you ask.
“How do you want it?” The phrase is so familiar, so intimate when spoken from his pink lips, you shudder, a Pavlovian response that’s got you drooling somewhere else than your mouth. He lifts his gaze and finds you staring. 
There is no one else in that moment. Not a single living soul besides you and him in this white-tiled bathroom. You can almost hear the absence of people ringing in your ears. His open, hot mouth draws your eyes away from his and you want every bit of him as stuffed up inside you as you can handle. Twisted around, you lick his bottom lip over your shoulder before offering your tongue for him to suck.
He groans, and you breathe in intimacy you’ve never experienced before. A flushed ache rises from your chest, a precursor to the aches he’ll leave you with by morning. 
You tip your head back and thumb the bristly skin against his chin.
“Hard, baby. Please.”
For all his faults, for all his forgetting, Dieter switches brain waves as fast as you do, tethered together like the gravitational spin of space rocks in the wake of a gleaming comet.
“Okay.”
He distracts you from the pain of that first rough thrust by biting down on your shoulder.
His motions are short, targeted, and right up into the cradle of your cervix, the pace driven, unrelenting and hard. You shake with the force of them, as fragile as silverware on a table near the drop of an atom bomb. 
“Oh – fuck, Dieter–,” 
He pins your arm that had touched his chin to your chest, then his chest to your back, sealing your damp skin to his shirt. The curl of that wretched black turtleneck scratches deliciously against your low back. 
Grunting in low, short bursts, Dieter sabotages his own breathing by crushing you so tight to his chest. He sucks on your neck as if to draw the oxygen straight from your blood. The fingers on your hip steady you, just for his cock wrecks your insides. 
“You wan-na – ngh – you wanna know why it doesn’t bother me?” 
Each word is spat out from between his teeth. He’s giving you your requested punishment as much as he is sprinting after his own release.
“Tell me. Tell me please.” Your voice is scraped raw, breathless and gooey at the same time. 
“Because when you’re my wife, they won’t be able to do a fucking thing about it.” 
Around him, your cunt squeezes, his words sending shocks through your nerves. You whine as if he’d smacked your ass. 
“I fucking felt that. You like that. You want that. You want my fucking cock every day.”
Again, he plants your hands on the cold counter. 
“Push back against me, baby.” You anchor yourself, ass out, elbows and knees locked. “That’s it, that’s my fucking good girl.”
He lifts his body up right, off your sweaty neck and back, and with both hands pinching your waist, he yanks you up and down on his cock in long, rough thrusts, knees bending with enough force to send you onto your toes.  
“Gonna have to take it. Just – fucking – take – it –,”
His leaking cock drives up against that spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll back and body tense again and again, but yanks back before that hot feeling swells. It’s so close you’re dizzy from it. 
You want to fuck yourself on his cock but you can’t time your aching hips right, so you stop trying and bend forward more, exposing more of your cunt to him. 
“Dieter, please –,” 
“Baby, you gotta be quiet. I know you feel good, but you can’t let them hear us.”
The words are out of your mouth, breaking through the thick, drowning fog and through the hindbrain barrier.
“Fuck them. Let them hear.” 
Dieter’s hips slow, punch not as deeply, as if he’s curious what you’re going to say next.
“Take off your shirt. I wanna feel your skin.” 
He listens immediately, a very good boy at heart, and the first press of his soft chest against you nearly has you coming then. 
“Harder again, please.” 
Again, without a second’s hesitation, he kisses your ear before grappling your shoulder with one hand and your hip with the other and he takes up his position as owner and keeper of your sloppy cunt. 
You cry out, high and wrecked, some semblance of sanity knowing you’re being far too loud, and he bucks the words out of you.
“I wanna suck on your earring, Dieter.” He grunts as he doubles over as if trying to yank back an unrestrained and early release. He rubs his damp forehead in the patch of soft skin by your shoulder blade. 
“Say it again.” 
With every rock of his hips, you swing up higher, and higher, your thighs tensing, nails scraping the counter. 
“Wanna put it between my lips and suck until you’re cherry red. I wanna choke on your rings. So far down my throat I gag. Wanna – wanna – lick your tattoos – all of them – ‘til the ink blurs from my spit. I –,”
The noise he makes is pained, weak, a man at the end of his rope.
He pops your ass. “Shut up. You’re gonna come now.” 
His sweaty palms slip against the soft skin of your hips, and he keeps slipping with no leverage. 
“Stand on your toes.” You do and for an absurd second, you think he’s going to pick you up in a bear hug. He wraps his arms around your rib cage, his face nestled into the hot, sticky curve of your neck, in the flipped image of when he takes you after your legs get sore from riding him. Your tits spilling over his forearms, he keeps the ludicrous bend in your spine as well as the short, rough pace. You reach your fingers around the back of his head and hold on for dear life. 
The change in angle has stars blowing across your eyes, has you whimpering strings of pleas, veneration, and curses all threaded together. His own thighs shaking, he rubs the pads of three of his fingers across your clit and you’re over the edge. 
“Oh – oh, shit –,”
The electrical storm that’s been building one wiry shock at a time finally bursts and you go rigid from head to toe, turning to marble, to steel, bright and sharp. You can feel your own release dribble down your thigh, Dieter stuttering behind you.
“Wait – fuck,”
He tries to speed up, or press harder, but he’s coming so hard you feel it expand your cunt and ends up just making a leaking mess. The sensation shivers you through another minor wave. The crest goes high, then crashes, and you slump forward, cold nips be damned, and he follows you down a second later. 
The heated weight at your back and hard, cool marble squishing your tits is too much for your dazed brain to handle. Any looser and you might slip off the edge of the earth. 
Dieter seems to be in a similar state. He not so much pulls out of you as he goes weak-kneed to the floor. A single tug on your hip has you stumbling down with him.
Despite the garland around the stairs, despite the smell of cranberries in the air, despite the veneer of perfect holiday wholesomeness, it’s the slick layer of sweat, grime, and cum over your skin that has you finally smiling. 
You recognize you have been gone far too long – there’s not enough spiked hot cider in the world to ignore two missing bodies and a locked door. Dieter puts his barefoot preemptively up against the door frame and you giggle into his shoulder. 
“Oh, there’s the sound I’ve been missing!” He nuzzles you, a blissful smile breaking open his face, sunlight over storm clouds. He wiggles beneath you, trying to tug you on top of him, but with your jeans constricting your thighs, and his barely below his hips, all it really accomplishes is the two of you rolling around on the bathroom floor.
In a heap of limbs, slick skin, his knee catching the button of your jeans, you bump your nose against his chin, there’s something bright building in your chest – it’s twisting your mouth, pinching your cheeks – his fingers grab your elbow, his eyes lock into yours – 
And you’re laughing. 
You’re laughing too loud, all pretense gone. You can’t honestly care what they’re thinking downstairs.
He manages to get you under him, his damp hair clinging to his temples and tangling down in frizzy strands. 
“I’m gonna say this and I need you to actually hear me.” 
You nod, grinning up at him and lightly tracing his clavicle. 
He swats at your hand and holds it to your chest. 
“Don’t wait until it’s that bad, okay?” You chuckle and he bites the tip of your nose. “Listen to me, you little goblin, I’m trying to be serious for a second.”
You settle under him, fingers intertwining with his over your chest. Sincere Dieter is a beautiful thing to look at. 
“This holiday bullshit can be a lot. Spent a lot of them either in coke up to my eyeballs, or in the bathroom the next day. It fucking sucks that these are the people we can from, but we can’t change that. What’s important is the family we build right now–,”
Your mouth drops open, his words suddenly illuminating a future that had always seemed so blurry and distant. 
“Dieter, I –,”
“I’m gonna marry you someday, so let’s start with us.” He kisses the back of your hand. “We carry each other, okay?” 
You nod, the white light of that future searing a hole in your chest, exposing your heart to the open air, and bringing tears to your eyes. You nod, more assured, before kissing him on his bottom lip.
“Okay.” 
The next few minutes play out just like they would if you were at home: cleaning each other up, trying on clothes only to realize he grabbed your sweater instead, and bumping affectionate kisses wherever they could reach. 
At the top of the stairs, you don’t know what awaits you in the living room. What exactly you’ll be returning to. Who will catch you and who won’t.
But it doesn’t matter. His hand is around yours and he’s grinning petulantly against all the world. 
Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on? 
Your heart says yes. 
488 notes · View notes
slexenskee · 16 days
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Only Shooting Stars (Break The Mold)
The AU where Gojo is actually All Might's California kid that literally no one asked for, including me 🤦‍♀️
Satoru’s best friend just told him she hates him. Actually, she told him she wanted to go hiking, which is basically the same thing. 
There is emphatically nothing he’d like less than being dragged through the parched, dry hills around the Dish on an otherwise perfectly normal Saturday morning free of classes, but Makoto is only in town for two days and he promised her he’d do whatever she liked barring arson and/or more tequila shots. 
“Can’t you just get Captain Underpants to go with you?” He throws out as a token protest, staggering into her rental jeep with the darkest shades he owns tossed over his eyes in a desperate attempt to keep his hangover at bay.
He squints at her as she settles in the driver’s seat of her rented death contraption. And why isn’t she hungover, anyway? She had even more to drink than him last night. 
“You know his hero name is Captain Celebrity, and please don’t say that where anyone can hear you.” She rolls her eyes as she starts the car. “Until I get a more famous client he’s still my cash cow, and I’d really rather not get fired right now.”
“You couldn’t have picked a worse one.” Satoru snorts, flopping into the passenger seat. “Isn’t he still cheating on the daughter with the stepmom or something?”
“Alleged,” Makoto hisses. “Allegedly cheating. And no, obviously. I wouldn’t still be his publicist if he was that much of an idiot.”
She tries to back out of her spot and almost immediately slides several inches down the heart-palpitation-inducing San Francisco incline he’d parked her on last night. She gives him a look of pure, sheer terror over her steering wheel. 
Satoru quickly undoes his seatbelt. “Yeah, okay. Put the parking brake on and switch with me— I’ll drive.” 
He has them up and off the worst of Hyde St.’s incline with the undisturbed impassivity of a kid who’s spent his entire driving career wedging himself into tenuous and visibly improbable parking spots all across the bay area. Makoto gives a sigh of relief once they clear the worst of the soaring hills, and actually doesn’t bring up the topic he knows she’s itching to broach until he’s pulling onto the 101. 
“You know, I wouldn’t have to bother with Captain Celebrity if someone would just finally agree to be a hero.” Makoto needles him, for the umpteenth time. 
He rolls his eyes behind his glasses. “Not happening.” He shoots her down flat. 
“You can’t stay in college forever!” She protests.
“What do you mean, forever?” He protests back, offended. “I’m not even twenty-two yet!” 
And she makes it sound like he’s wasting his life away going to college or something! As if getting into Stanford isn’t the most snobbish badge of supremacy you can wave around in this damn state! 
This is what he gets for saving her all those years ago, he laments. A best friend who nags him over all his life choices. He should have let her just fall from that damned New York skyscraper. Or more realistically, just waited it out and let an actual hero swoop in and save her. It’s not as if there hadn’t been plenty around at the time. 
She’d been a twenty-one year-old intern at a prestigious marketing agency caught at the wrong end of a villain takeover, and as far as his mother was concerned he’d been a seventeen year-old ostensibly touring the city for colleges, but in reality had been touring music dive bars more than campuses. They’d immediately bonded over the fact he’d saved her life, but also the indie band shirt he’d been wearing as he’d done it. 
Growing up in LA, his only two real options were surfing or surf rock, and he’d chosen to spend more time on the route that wouldn’t lead him to immediate skin cancer. His mom had eventually moved them to San Francisco, but he’d never quite grown out of his SoCal roots. He’d loved music in his last life, and in this life, he’d decided to chill the fuck out and ignore society and all it’s problems, and music seemed as good a way as any to do it. And he was pretty damn good at it, if he did say so himself. His expansive catalog of songs from his last life and eidetic memory made most people call him a genius, even if he rejected the label. So he was a passable— if not prodigal— guitarist, and Makoto had just learned to play the bass herself, so it was really no surprise they’d not only immediately bonded, but immediately decided to make a band together. 
Makoto jumping ship and splitting her time between the US and Japan had thrown a bit of a wrench in their rockstar dreams, but they were making it work somehow. And considering he can teleport around the world at will, it’s really not that much of a hindrance. 
That does beg the question though, of why Makoto would rather him be a hero than a musician. But he imagines he actually already knows the answer to that. 
“How about you stop cleaning up after stupid celebrities, and become a celebrity yourself.” He argues, with a raised brow. 
Makoto scoffs. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to break into the music industry?” 
With the confidence of several dozen platinum hits spanning several dozen genres sitting pretty in his head, Satoru retorts; “I don’t think that will be a problem for us.” 
She laughs him off at first, but then seems to give it genuine thought. “I guess you are pretty enough to have lead singer appeal,” she concedes, uncharitably. “But we haven’t even released an album yet; you have no idea how well it will be received on the charts. Playing little dive bar shows isn’t going to get us anywhere.” 
Satoru just shrugs. “Then what’s stopping us? Let’s record an album.”
Makoto just rolls her eyes. “Yeah, sure. Come pop by Japan next weekend, and let’s do it.”
“Sure.” He agrees immediately, making her do a double take. He grins winsomely at her. “What? I’m free next weekend. Why not?” 
She just shakes her head in wonder. “Even seeing it multiple times, sometimes I really do still forget you can just… teleport across the world. And stop bullets with your eyeballs.”
“It’s telekinesis,” he corrects, but at this point it’s just rote. 
“No, I specifically remember you trying to explain it had something to do with your eyeballs, don’t try to change it up now.” Makoto pokes him in the shoulder— or tries to, but is stopped with his barrier. “And how the hell that’s supposed to even make sense, I have no idea. But you definitely said it.” 
Yeah, he probably deserves that for trying to explain his cursed techniques while he’d been several mystery drinks deep at a college frat party. Makoto probably still hasn't forgiven him for dragging her to that madhouse, but in his defense, she’d all but begged him to take her to an American college party in the first place.
“It’s… complicated.” He hedges off. “My eyes just help me understand how to use my powers; they’re not actually what creates my barrier.” 
Makoto squints at him suspiciously. “... What’s your mom’s quirk again?”
He chuckles awkwardly. “Oh, she can convert energy from the sun. Mine’s a mutation, obviously.”
“Could just be a strange combination.” Makoto muses. “What did you say your dad’s quirk was?”
“I, uh, have no idea.” Satoru coughs, keeping his eyes on the road in a vaguely panicked manner. 
“Shit, that’s right, I’m sorry.” Makoto jolts in her seat, apologetic. “You still haven’t heard anything? I thought your mom said… I mean, they’re not on bad terms, right?”
Frankly, Satoru almost wishes she would continue pestering him about becoming a hero over this particular topic. 
“They’re not on bad terms, no.” He hedges off, shifting in his seat. Why couldn’t his best friend have a normal quirk, like fire breathing or water bending? Or anything besides being a human lie detector when he has so much he needs to lie about? “But they don’t talk much. I’m not sure she even knows what his quirk is herself.”
“Well, I guess it doesn’t really matter anyway, your quirk is what it is.” Mercifully, Makoto lets the subject drop. “Even if it makes no damn sense.”
Satoru laughs that off. “Does any quirk ever really make sense, though?” 
Makoto just clicks her tongue, then launches into a spirited rant on the laws of quirk science. Satoru breathes a quiet sigh of relief as the conversation devolves into a nonsensical argument on what would be the most useless quirk in history. 
One of these days he’s going to have to cave and tell Makoto the truth, but he’d really rather not do it when he’s hungover and facing the prospect of a miserable hike for the next few hours. 
//
And to be fair, nothing he said to Makoto was a lie. 
His parents aren’t on bad terms. Or rather, they’re not on any terms at all, as he doesn’t think they’ve even spoken once in the twenty-two years he’s been alive in this world. But according to his mom, they hadn’t parted on bad terms. They’d been college sweethearts, and his father had always been honest about his intentions to return to Japan. His mother had been adamant about staying in America and pursuing her own career. They’d split up for practicalities sake, unaware he was already on the way, and his mom looks back on that time of her life fondly. 
His mom would go on to have him several months after his father had left the country, and raise him as a single-mother as she built a life for them. His father would go on to be the world’s strongest hero. 
His mother had only ever known Yagi Toshinori as All Might, unbeatable and unbreakable, with a quirk so strong it would have him going down in history as one of the strongest heroes of all time. As far as she— and the rest of the world knew— he had some kind of strengthening quirk. 
But Satoru had seen him before, on one of his trips back to Japan. It had been from a distance, as he’d taken down a villain to the delight of the cheering crowds around him, but it had been enough for Satoru’s Six Eyes to see his quirk wasn’t quite as straightforward as the strengthening ability listed on his hero profile. All Might’s core— where most humans had a swirling mass of plus alpha energy— was as empty as Satoru’s. Satoru was quirkless because his father, All Might, had been born quirkless. The quirk All Might had now must have been  given to him when he was older, growing around that empty space and spreading through his body almost like a parasite. Or a curse. Satoru honestly couldn’t tell.
Satoru honestly didn’t care. 
He has no opinion on All Might, or what choices he may or may not have made to wield the power he has. 
When he was much younger, and saw how much his mother struggled to raise him on her own without help, he would resent him a bit for leaving her on her own like this. But his adult mind could understand the logic in both his parents’ motivations. They both made their own choices, and did what they thought was right with only care and consideration for each other. 
And it’s not as if Satoru’s childhood was lacking in any capacity.  
Actually, his childhood was awesome. 
To be entirely honest, he doubts he would have wanted All Might around even if that was possible. He can’t imagine a better way to grow up than the way he did, rocking out in the garage with his mom on the weekends, surfing in the mornings (with adequate sunscreen), skating from school to the skatepark in the afternoons, and having the complete and utter autonomy only a latchkey kid could have. His mom did what she could to make sure he grew up comfortably and well-cared for, and that included putting in long hours at work that had him on his own for most of the week. It was the best. There were no rules against using quirks in America— someone finally got their act together on personal bodily autonomy and all that— so he’d use his ‘quirk’ to teleport himself all across the world in his spare time. As long as he was back by dinner time, his mom didn’t need to know if he decided to spend the afternoon wandering the streets of Seoul in search of the best hotteok. 
He tried to keep his excursions on the down low, and keep his grades up and his nose out of trouble. While he adored his freedom, he never wanted to worry his mom. She was honestly too good for this world— and for him too, if he was being honest. The least he could do is be as good of a son as possible.
Well, he can try to be as good of a son as possible. As it stands, the majority of his chaotic existence usually gets in the way of that. 
“Oh, Sacchan, you’re home already?” His mother peers out of her office, thick, horn-rimmed glasses making her purple eyes look comically large on her face as she pokes her head over the wall. “Where’s Makoto-chan?”
“Probably on the plane already, unless it got delayed.” He tosses his keys into the basket by the front door, toeing off his shoes. 
She frowns at him. “You drove her to SFO, right? Don’t tell me you let her go by herself!”
He rolls his eyes. “She had a rental car to drop off, ya know. But yeah, I drove her from the rental place to her terminal.” 
Not that she deserved the consideration, after dragging him on a hike of all damn things yesterday. They’d just stayed out the whole night drinking beforehand, what madwoman does that? 
She gets up out of her chair, stretching her arms over her head as her hapless bun spills silver-white hair over her shoulders. “She’s such a nice girl,” his mother enthuses, as she cracks her neck. “I wish you’d bring more of your friends around, Sacchan. Your poor mother worries.”
“I’m in college now, mom.” He rolls his eyes. “We don’t really bring our friends around to meet our parents.”
More to the point, he wouldn’t want to anyway. College boys are emphatically the worst, and his mom is a very pretty woman. That’s just asking for trouble. And beyond that, he doesn’t have anyone at school he’d feel close enough to introduce her to anyway. He has plenty of people in his orbit to pair up with in labs, hang around the quad with while he’s killing time between classes, or drag to various house parties, but those are superficial bonds at best. 
He’s a young, handsome boy who surfs and skateboards and is good at all sports and plays rock music and still ranks at the top of his class; suffice it to say, he’s never wanted for friends or popularity. But he’s also a full grown man living through a second life; he has very little in common with the people in his age group. It’s gotten better now that he’s a full-fledged adult again, but he still tends to find the petty struggles of his fellow undergrads to be a bit pedantic. 
“You never brought any around in highschool either.” His mother laments. “Sacchan, you’re not embarrassed over your mother, are you?”
“Not at all.” He protests, then adds, because he doesn’t want to worry her, “I just don’t want people knowing exactly where I live. They seem nice enough, but you never really know with people these days.”
He says it to assure her that he’s a perfectly well-adjusted and well-liked kid who has plenty of deep and genuine friendships (entirely untrue) but only serves to worry her even more. 
She frowns at him, eyes downcast. “Oh, Satoru,” she says, in a sad tone that automatically has him lurching forward to comfort her. “I know things with your father are… complicated, but I never wanted to make you feel like you had to hide yourself from the world. I want to keep you safe, but I want you to have fun too, you know?” 
“Yes, I know.” He rushes to reassure her. “And I do have fun— you know I do! You came to my show just last week!”
His mother gives him a watery smile. “Yes, and your bandmate Kenji nearly started a bar fight, and the crowds got so unruly that the fire department got called in.” 
“That guy deserved to be slapped around a bit.” He returns, unapologetic. “And the fire department was just there to make sure we stayed under capacity— we weren’t causing any trouble!”
“No trouble, he says, when the cops were still called by the end of the night.” She teases him. 
He rolls his eyes. He can’t control whether or not two drunks decide to get in a brawl over baby mama drama outside the venue, that was totally not his fault. And also probably not the best show to take his mom to, but it was one of the few local performances they’ve ever done, and she was always making noises about finally seeing his band play in person. Unsurprisingly having two bandmates that live across the ocean and one that hops between two countries means they rarely play shows on this side of the Pacific, and he still hasn’t found a way to admit to her that his teleportation radius is a lot larger than he’d originally told her as a five year-old manifesting his ‘quirk’. 
“Cops or not, it was still a good time.” He grins, adamantly. 
“It was indeed a good time.” She nods, grinning back. She leans up to pat his cheek. “You looked like you were really enjoying yourself up there, Satoru. I always knew you’d be a star.” 
“It was a weekday performance at a local bar, I would hardly call myself a star.” He protests, helplessly. 
Her eyes twinkle behind her glasses. “Maybe not yet.”
--
Yes the title is from All Star by Smashmouth 😂 this fic has the most millennial playlist I've ever made
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eleutherafairy · 1 month
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THE 30TH — quinn hughes
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SUMMARY! in which the the reader gets into a car accident and quinn recounts the memory of finding out while in a stand-still on the same highway. 
INVOLVED! quinn x reader! 
WARNINGS! TW // car accident, mentions of blood, mentions of hospitals
BEFORE YOU START! i don’t know how the hughes act irl! this is just an imagination!
extra! find my masterlist → here!
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The last thing you remembered that day was your phone call with Quinn. You had grown up in California, where the weather remained usually sunny all year-round. That all changed when you moved to Vancover to be with Quinn and truly was never comfortable driving in the snow.
“Drive safe, baby,” Quinn said, as you pulled out of your driveway and making your way to the highway.
You were on your way to work your morning shift at the hospital while Quinn was heading to your shared apartment after a early morning practice.
“I’ll drive as safe as ever,” you replied back, getting on the ramp to get ready to merge. 
The snow was falling and the last thing you remembered was a loud crash and everything went black.
you woke up in the ambulance
You couldn’t hear anything besides the ringing in your ears and the muffled talking around you. You could feel the panic sweeping through your body.
“You’re okay, honey,” you could hear someone say. “You’re alive and you’re stable, okay,” she continued, a light flashing on my face. 
“Quinn,” you muttered, before your eyes started to close.
“Honey, keep your eyes open. Is Quinn someone you want us to call?”
“My boyfrien-,” you whispered, before ultimately passing out again.
in a stand-still on the five, thought it was unusually early traffic… i pieced it all together 
Quinn was out of the arena earlier than usual and because of that, there shouldn’t have been this much traffic. Peering at his navigation, he could see there was a little car accident icon. Grabbing his phone from his bag, he checked your location to see if you were also stuck in this traffic.
Your location showed you not even a mile away, unmoving to which he determined was you stuck in the traffic. 
The electronic billboard flashed a radio number which was for news on the highway traffic and with nothing better to do, Quinn changed the radio channel on his car to listen to the traffic information.
“On the five, car accident with involving a white box truck collided with a light blue subaru around 5 minutes ago, causing stand-still traffic as of right now. Paramedics have already arrived on scene and a woman has been escorted–”
The rest of the words were drowned out by Quinn’s immediate panic. Light blue subaru and woman were the only words ringing in his ear.
“C’mon,” the boy panicked, ringing your phone, getting anxious with every ring that passed.
They were in standstill traffic, she would have answered by now.
When your phone went to voicemail, his worst fears had been justified and he was on the verge of breaking down.
Before he knew it, he was calling his mom.
“Quinn?” Ellen’s voice rang out.
“Mom,” the boy cried out.
“What’s wrong, Quinn,” she asked her son, knowing that he was clearly panicked and on the verge of breaking down.
“Y/n, she’s just gotten into a car accident on the same highway as me and I’m stuck in traffic right now and she’s on her way to the hospital and I’m fucking stuck in traffic,” Quinn said, freaking out.
“Okay, Quinn, take a deep breath,” Jim and I are catching they next flight to Vancover and try your best to stay calm. As soon as you can get out, safely, exit and make your way to the nearest hospital, okay.”
His mom’s voice did little to calm him down. 
“I don’t know if she’s okay Mom. I don’t know what to do if she’s not okay,” he said.
“Quinn, don’t think about that right now. You have to be strong for her, okay. You have to stay positive.”
Quinn was panicking and he couldn’t think straight. He was scared and he was terrified. The traffic was now slowly moving and within 5 minutes, he was able to see the wreck. A white truck had smashed the back of your car, the Subaru being damaged terribly. He could see glass broken everywhere and your airbags had gone off and could see hints of blood on the steering wheel.
He could tell it was your car. It was recognizable with the way you had your small stickers on the back bumper that had his and your initials and the way you had a Canucks themed lanyard hanging from your rearview mirror. 
He was full on having a panic attack. He merged his way towards some of the paramedics that still lingered on the scene and rolling his window down, he started to yell to get their attention.
“The girl that was hit, my girlfriend,” the boy said, tears running down his face, “What hospital was she taken to?”
“She was taken to the Vancover General Hospital,” the lady said.
“Is she okay?” The boy asked, afraid to ask.
“She’s dealing with a major blood loss, honey. The paramedics got her stable, but it’s all up to the hospital,” she finished, shooting a sad smile to the panicked boy.
Quinn probably broke many laws speeding to the hospital, definitely parking in a tow spot, and rushing his way inside the hospital.
Reaching the front desk, he impatiently waited until his turn.
“I’m looking for my girlfriend, Y/n. She was just rushed her from a car accident. I’m her emergency contact.”
“Quinn Hughes?” The lady asked.
“Yes,” he said, taking out his ID to show her. “Is she okay?”
“She’s currently undergoing surgery, sir. We’ll have the doctor talk to you as soon as they’re finished. You could go wait in the waiting room, but I’m warning you it might take around 3-6 hours.” 
All the boy felt was numbness. He couldn’t even remember, but he was able to secure a private area of the hospital for you and for him to wait. Taking out his phone, he shakily called Petey and Millsy, rambling to them about the accident and what had happened, and explaining to them that he can’t make it tonight for the game.
The two boys were worried for the young captain, comforting them and telling that it was going to be all right.
Quinn couldn’t believe them, not even after all the optimism that he had tried to build up in his mind.
Four hours had passed, his parents were now on their way to the hospital and Quinn had not moved from the same seat.
“Oh, Quinn,” he could hear his mother say.
Quinn turned to see him mom and before he knew it, he was crying into her arms.
“Mom, I don’t know what to do. I’m her only family. I need her to be okay,” he cried softly. “I don’t know how to live without her by my side.”
“Quinn it’s going to be okay,” she said, brushing his hair away from his face. Why don’t you go home and get changed and come back. We’ll stay here at the hospital and we’ll call you as soon as anything changed.”
Quinn was very hesitant in leaving. He didn’t want to leave when you were fighting for your life in the operating room. 
Ellen could sense his hesitation.
“Quinn, it’ll be another few hours before we hear anything. I promise you there’s nothing we can do but wait and hope. Plus, you can do her a huge favor and grab some clean clothes for her to wear.”
- - - 
Quinn rushed back to the hospital as soon as he finished up at home. He had multiple hoodies and sweats with him. He grabbed your favorite stuffed animal and grabbed some flowers on the way back.
Once he came rushing through the private section of the hospital, he could see the doctor walking towards his parents. He quickened his pace and stood next to his mom, eagerly waiting for the doctor to say something positive.
“Are you her family?”
“Yes,” Quinn responded. “We’re the only family she’s got,” the boy said, softly.
“The operation went smoothly. Y/n suffered a lot of blood loss and I am to tell you that she flatlined twice on the operation table.”
Quinn’s heart dropped.
“The good news is that her condition is stable, but she’s been put under a medically induced coma, just as a preventative measure to protect the brain. She’s being wheeled into the room as we speak, and you guys can enter as soon as the nurses give you the okay.”
Quinn nodded, thanking the doctor before walking over to the room, watching as the nurses hooked you up to receive IV fluids.
The boy could relax for just a second before remembering that you were in a car accident and his worries came back.
what if it happened to you on a different day? on a bridge where there wasn’t a rail in the way?
So, as the nurses gave Quinn the okay, he immediately pulled up a chair and made himself comfy, grabbing your hand and hoped you would wake up soon.
Quinn was scared. He was afraid, yet he still tried to put on a brave face for you. He started talking to you about his day and talking about all the plans you had made the day before. 
The boy was shaking as he held your hand. He wanted you to be safe and all he wanted to do was hold you in his arms and promise you that you would be safe for the rest of your life.
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WC: 1.5K
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angelicsoka · 27 days
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BLIND DATE, j. drysdale
word count | 758 words
pairings | jamie drysdale x single mother!hughes!reader
summary | you were never one for dating, especially when trevor is the one setting them up. but one date can’t hurt, right?
warnings | talk of pregnancy and terrible ex boyfriends. not proofread. one use of “y/n”. lowercase intended. this is a work of fiction, i am by no means saying this is how they act in real life.
a/n | thank you for 200 followers! i can't believe people actually enjoy my writing but here we are lmao. i’ve had this idea sitting in my drafts for a while but i finally decided to sit down and write it. its pretty short but i’m not against writing a part two :) anyway, enjoy!!
dating was never really your thing, at least not since your last boyfriend left you pregnant and alone in a city you were unfamiliar with. your ex had convinced you to move from michigan to california, something your family tried to warn you against, but you were stubborn. finding out you were pregnant was an accident, a routine checkup. what was supposed to be a wonderful thing turned terrible quick. your ex was angry, he wanted nothing to do with a kid. he gave you an ultimatum: get an abortion or we are over. but, as stated before, you were stubborn and had already to start to fall in love with the idea of being a mom. so, he left and you chose to stay in anaheim, a difficult decision but your ego was already hurt and proving your parents right was not what you wanted to do.
so, here you were, the mother of a two year old little girl who was your whole world. she was your moon and stars, the light of your life. it was you and her against the world, and you were content with that. that was until trevor zegras decided to intervene. “one date.” he begged, “he's a good guy, you’ll like him!” you had simply rolled your eyes, but after he offered to babysit for you whenever you wanted, you faltered, agreeing to the date. 
now, you were sat in a fancy restaurant awaiting the arrival of trevor’s friend. she felt out of place, her dress not nearly as elegant as the women that surrounded her. she checked her phone once more, ready to leave when a man in a suit rushed over, a hurried look on his face. “sorry, i’m sorry! trevor wouldn't stop yapping.” you stood up, smoothing out your dress before offering him your hand to shake. 
“it's all good, you must be jamie?” he nodded, shaking your hand. his smile made your heart flutter slightly, bringing a smile to grace your own lips. “y/n, it's a pleasure.” the anxious pit in your stomach began to settle as you sat, feeling comfortable in the presence of jamie. 
“trevor didn’t tell me much about you.” jamie smiled sheepishly.
“guess we’re in the same boat then.” you smiled, taking a sip from your water. “tell me, jamie, how is it that a handsome guy like you is resorting to blind dates to find a girl?” you questioned, a teasing look in your eye. jamie blushed, ducking his head slightly.
“well, hockey takes up most of my time and trevor takes up the rest of it.” you laughed at that, “it's like wrangling around a small child.”
“oh, i know that feeling all to well. my daughter is great at matching his energy.” jamie did well in hiding his shock, masking it with confusion, but you had learned to pick up on the small cues. “he didn’t tell you?” 
“no, uh, he wasn’t very forthcoming with information.” you nodded, unlocking your phone and pulling up a picture of your daughter. 
“this is my daughter, isla. she has enough energy to outdo trevor, but she’s my world and i wouldn’t change a thing about her.” jamie smiled at the photo of isla who was wearing an elsa dress, her mouth covered in chocolate. 
“she is very cute.” jamie looked to you, “just like her mom.” you blushed, laughing slightly. “how old is she?”
“just turned two, here’s her with my brothers at her frozen themed party.” you swiped to the photo of isla opening her presents with the help of your brothers. 
“is that jack wearing a… tiara?” jamie questioned, pointing to jack who had a crown, which was too small, on his head. 
you giggled, swiping to another photo, “yeah well, quinn and luke were wearing tutus but they attacked me when i tried to take a picture, but isla has them wrapped around her finger.” you showed jamie the photo of your daughter in her elsa dress, quinn and luke wearing matching tutus. “they don’t know i have this photo.” jamie laughed, a sound you were already growing to love. you closed your phone, setting it beside you. 
“anyway, tell me about you.” and he did, and you listened intently, never once losing interest. what you thought would be a boring date, had turned into one of the best dates you had ever been on. you exchanged numbers before you went your separate ways, another date already in the works. 
who knew trevor would make a decent matchmaker?
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fairlyang · 2 months
Text
Summer Lovin’ 🕷️
in which you have a little summer romance fling
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w/c: 3.9K
pairing: greaser!miguel x f!reader
tags: 18+ smut. exhibitionism, making out, sucking on tits, eating out, fingering, praise kink, blowjob. mention of face sitting, overstimulation, 69, eating pussy underwater (LMAO), spilling the tea x2
notes: reposting my precious baby, my fav, my grease au series!! might post part two after this idk but I’m writing part 3 and I’m excited :D 🤝🏼
part two — part three
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You had spent almost your entire summer in California, and being from the Midwest you took advantage of the hot weather and beaches.
You had stayed at your aunt's house along with your parents but not your older sister who apparently didn't wanna "burn to a crisp" but you didn't mind. In fact you loved feeling the sun on your skin and spent most of your days on the beach.
Your sister had teased you about a summer fling and maybe you'd meet someone but won't be able to bring them back. You called bullshit and said you weren't out searching for that kinda thing.
That was until you met him.
Miguel O'Hara.
One day you were reading a book on the beach under an umbrella when a guy came up to you and you were a little shell shocked looking at him. He was gorgeous. So handsome.
He asked what you were reading which made you laugh because he did not look like the reading type. He wore a black leather jacket and his hair slicked back, you can imagine reading is not one of his things.
And who the hell wears a leather jacket in the hot weather?
But nonetheless you still answered and he just nodded along probably pretending he knew what you were talking about.
"Well I came over because I thought you were gorgeous." He says giving you a wide smile, showing off his crooked pearly whites.
You chuckle and close your book, leaving it on your lap, "oh I bet a guy like you says that to all the girls." You say playfully rolling your eyes and he shakes his head.
"Only to the really special ones." He responds sweetly and you felt a shiver run down your spine.
And with that you were sold.
Almost too easy.
But it felt real.
Genuine.
You had spent the first three weeks of August with Miguel. Splashing around, building many sand castles, playing volleyball. Tanned while getting to know each other, had little picnic dates on the beach.
It was so surreal to you and he was such a gentleman.
But on the third week was when he was more flirty than usual, always touching you subtly like grabbing your hand or having his arm around your waist.
He would even twirl you around as you walked along the sand which just had you laughing as you tried not to fall.
One specific time he wrapped his arms around you as you watched the sun set, the waves lightly hitting your feet. He gently trailed his fingers along your waist making you turn to look at him, he was already looking at you, with a mischievous look on his face if anything.
He then leaned down, letting his forehead lean against yours, "you're so beautiful."
You smile and feel your body grow warm, "you're not too bad yourself Miggy."
He then let go of you and stood in front of you, bringing a hand up to gently cup your cheek. His eyes were sparkling and he just looked so handsome up close.
The pink, orange, and yellow rays of the sun hitting the sides of your faces as he looked down at your lips. He couldn't help himself.
And he knew he'd never see you again after this considering you'd have to fly back home so what's a little fun on your last week here?
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer which only makes him chuckle, "no patience huh?" He teased and you shrugged.
"We only live once... and we might as well while we're young.." you say and lean up, pretty eyes boring into his.
He was quite shocked that you were the one making the moves but he wanted to be the one to actually do it.
So he did.
He leaned in and kissed you gently, you instantly kissed back and you swore you could feel fireworks erupting in your stomach. It felt so right. So nice.
He nipped on your bottom lip to which you then return as you feel his hands exploring your body. You felt them snake their way down your back then staying by your lower back.
Then you felt them slowly trickling lower to which you had to pull away and shake your head, "eager hm? No patience huh?" You mock and he snickers.
"Couldn't help myself doll." He murmurs and pecks your lips softly.
You melted back into his arms and kissed back before he pulled away and then leaned in to peck your lips again. He repeated this until you burst into fits of giggles which had Miguel ignoring the effect it made on him and pulled away, grabbing you by the hand as you went back to walking on the sand.
Things only progressed throughout your last week.
He snatched more kisses from you until the sun was gone and you had to go home.
The next day he had you on his lap and making out with you while his hand was trailing around your thigh. Only testing the waters.
But also playing around with you.
You were a good girl, not ever looking for trouble like this. But it seemed to have found its way to you.
And you couldn't help but want to open yourself up more to him, maybe not just kisses.
At least those were your thoughts when you were in bed, daydreaming about him.
You met up again on the third day and decided to maybe go a little further. Just a tiny bit.
So you were on his lap again, making out when you start to slowly grind yourself on him. He moaned into your mouth and it only made you grow more excited but you didn't want to push yourself too much.
And he was okay with that.
His hands were on your waist helping you move as his tongue explored your mouth. Gotta love a man that can multitask.
You moved faster and could feel his bulge grow hard beneath you. It made your skin feel hot and deep down you wanted to take it forward but also knew you probably shouldn't.
"Miguel-" you breathed out and pulled away but he latched his lips on your neck, kissing harshly against your skin.
You bite your lip and he made you continue your movements as he hummer onto your skin. "I- I-I think- maybe we s-should st- fuck-" you stutter and moan as he sucks on your neck then pulls away peppering the hickey in kisses.
"What were you saying doll?" He asks and kisses down your chest.
That day you decided to wear a bikini top with some shorts, clearly he appreciated that right now as he kissed your cleavage, bringing a hand up to squeeze your left breast. You moan and feel your eyes flutter, already losing your train of thought.
"W-We shouldn't do this here-" you breathe out but it didn't matter, he was already pulling your bikini top up.
"Miguel!" You squealed trying to cover yourself and looking around but it was vacant.
"There's nobody out here, you know we've been having this side of the beach all to ourselves for weeks." He murmurs and gently moves your hands away.
"So beautiful." He murmurs before squeezing both tits and latching on to your left nipple.
You bit your lip and held onto his head, you couldn't even blame yourself. You knew you wanted this. And that heat going straight to your core was the proof.
He pulled away and immediately sucked on your right breast, pinching your left nipple making you shift on his lap. He moaned against you and you almost forgot he was already hard. Almost.
It was kind of hard to forget since you were directly on him.
So you began to slowly grind on him again making him groan as you moved your hips back and forth. He pulled away and breathed out, "Just like that angel."
Your face flushed and you put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as you continued your pace. "Good, good girl." He murmurs before sucking on your left breast, leaving yet another mark.
A moaned escaped your lips and you can see a smirk on his when he pulled away. He looked up at you and pecks your lips before pulling away and taking you off his lap and setting you to his right side on the shared blanket.
He then moved down your body, hands already undoing the button and zipper of your shorts. You lift your ass up and he slides your shorts off setting them to the side.
He then gets between your legs, kissing and squeezing your thighs and he neared where you so desperately needed him. He kissed your left inner thigh then moved to the right side to do the same.
He then went down and looked at the soaked spot on your panties, nearly drooling. "Look at you doll, already so wet." He murmurs looking up at you before leaning in and leaving the softest kiss on your clit.
You moaned and bucked your hips forward but his strong arms kept you in place which only made you whine. But he didn't care.
He was going to go at his own pace. Just like you did when you were on his lap.
Even if he technically was making you a move a bit.
But still.
He gently moved your panties to his right side as you squirmed, whining above him but he ignored you to pay all his undivided attention to your gorgeous sopping cunt. "Oh baby this all for me?" He murmurs and you feverishly nod.
He tuts and smirks looking up at you, "such a dirty girl. Thought you were a sweet innocent good girl?" He teases only making you grow more wet by the second.
"God you're so perfect." He coos before diving full on in to your cunt, immediately getting a taste of how sweet you are.
You moan and bring a hand down to pull his closer already. You needed him so badly and didn't want to waste more time.
And he could tell.
He didn't mind, given how he started lapping at your folds and his nose practically buried in your clit. "Miguel-“ You moan out and he hums sending a vibration of pleasure curse through your body.
You look down at him and buck your hips forward, this time he doesn't stop you, letting you grind your perfect cunt against his mouth. His mouth went up and down your slit, slurping up your juices as you continued your melody of pretty moans for him.
He looked into your ears as he came up and flicked his tongue on your clit earning himself more moans. He brought his hands up and intertwined them with yours as you bucked your hips against his face, grinding yourself against his tongue. "Shit- feels so good Miggy." You moan and he hums against your cunt.
He moans and lets go of your left hand, bringing his right hand to start teasing your hole with the tip of his finger. He pulls away, lips glistening from your slick making you smile as he licks your arousal off. "Need more doll?" He coos and you nod.
"Yes- yes please Miguel." You whimper and he nods, shoving his middle finger inside you.
You groan and your walls clench against his digits as he starts fucking you hard. "Oh fuck!" You moan and grip your right hand against his.
"Feel good angel?" He asks softly and you nod with an almost drunken smile.
"So pretty baby." He mutters and then slides in his second finger immediately pounding his digits into you.
You let out a loud moan and try to close your legs but he quickly let go of your hand and spread them open. "Too much already doll?" He mocks making you whimper.
His fingers were much thicker than yours and you haven't had any other fingers inside you besides your own. At least in a long time.
"Look at you taking them so well." He says and looking at your cunt just sucking his fingers in.
He then shuts up and brings his mouth back to your clit, tongue flicking on your nub while his mouth sucks harshly. Your body was getting hotter and your legs were shaking as you kept them wide open for him. "Fuck!"
His praises only continued and drove your mind wild, and just like that you found out you had a praise kink. And he used that to his advantage.
Mumbling as many praises to you seeing just how much more wet you'd get for him as well seeing how long it'd take for you to just cum off his praise.
And it didn't take long for you to feel your orgasm approach before quickly taking over and your climax hit as he was calling you his good girl.
You let out cries as you came and clenched on his fingers, entire body shaking as he fucked you slowly letting you ride your high.
As soon as your breathing calmed down and he slipped his fingers out of you, you sat up and got him to sit in your position. "C'mon your turn pretty boy." You coo and he chuckles but moves so anyway.
And without another word you laid down between his knees and undid his shorts as fast as you could. You slid them off his legs and left them on top of yours before slipping his cock out of his boxers. You left those on and just started stroking him.
You lean in and lick his tip, tasting his precum and swallowing every drip then spit on the tip and letting it drip down before stroking him again. He let out a shaky breath and you looked up at him with innocent eyes that drove hims absolutely insane. "You look so pretty." He murmurs making you squeeze your thighs together.   
You then took him in your mouth, slowly bringing your head down at first not thinking you'd be able to take all of him considering how thick he was but you were slowly getting there. Only took a few minutes to take half of him before he put his hands on your head and made you take him deeper.
You were gagging against him which only made him thrust his hips into your mouth making you take all of him. You closed your eyes already feeling them fill with tears but you fought through it and took him all the way feeling his happy trail hit your nose.
You pulled away and gasped, panting but then slipped him back into your mouth and letting him do it again but for a longer period of time.
Soon enough you felt him twitch in your mouth as he was deep in your throat. You closed your eyes, breathed through your nose and prayed for the best.
He groaned and his legs shook beneath you as he shoots his load down your throat. You swallowed as much as you could but it was too much so you pulled away and let it fall in his thighs. You start stroking him slowly which makes him whine as his cock twitched at the sudden contact but yet more cum continued shooting out.
"Oh fuck!" He moans as you stroke him and go down to clean it up with your tongue.
You made sure to lick off every drop before finally taking your hand off him and taking notice he was breathing heavily. "Holy shit-" he mutters and grabs your face, bringing you in for a kiss.
You kiss back and he slides his tongue into your mouth, getting a taste of himself which only made you weak in the knees.
He then pulled away and gave you a sheepish grin, "that was- do you really have to leave?" He says and you laugh.
"Sadly. But I still have a few days left!" You say and he chuckles before bringing you into his chest as you both looked up and see a few twinkling stars above you.
And you used those days up to the best of your ability.
Now you told him the one exception was you didn't want to fuck, not there at least.
So the following day he had you wear a dress and made you sit on his face. And he made sure to emphasize "sitting down" because he wanted to feel all your weight on him.
You were scared you'd crush him but he said that'd just be the most badass way to die which only made you slap his arm. But you ended up sitting on his face and it was the best thing you'd ever tried.
You ended up like that for a good few hours before your poor pussy grew tired and you were just so overstimulated.
So you ended up making out until the sun set and you gave him a handjob as well.
The next day was your second to last day before you'd leave and he wanted to try out 69-ing to which you didn't complain about. He had already grown so use to eating you out and did not grow tired of it at all. And he loved hearing your moans, feeling your body shaking.
So he couldn't complain either.
That same day he had the brilliant idea of trying to eat you out underwater, you told him he'd actually die if he did that but he claimed he could hold his breath for a while.
Well it felt weird for both parties and he nearly drowned so that wasn't worth it. But you then stroked him while hiding behind a big rock then you got down to your knees so he could cum on your face.
And finally on your last day you sat next to each other and touched each other until you both came at the same time.
Prior to that you were just spending time together for the final time. He wanted you both to cum as the sun set. How romantic.
As you both got up and got dressed you sighed, sad that your little summer fling would come to an end.
And unfortunately never getting the chance to actually have him fuck you. But nothing lasted forever.
So after the final make out session you both pulled away breathless and you felt sad. But also happy it happened at all. And that you got to meet him.
"If it's meant to be I'm sure you'll get to go all the way in the future." You joked making him laugh and smile.
"Hopefully doll, I'm sure you feel absolutely amazing." He murmurs and you slap his arm before shrugging and giving him a sly wink finally walking away to never see him again.
Or so you think.
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Your parents ended up giving you the grand surprise that you weren't actually leaving. You were moving to California.
And the reason your sister didn't come was because they actually gave her the house and her boyfriend was going to move in.
Why they didn't think of telling you before? Who knows but now you were gonna be leaving here and they made you enroll in the nearest university.
Somehow you got in just in time for classes to start to. You didn't have high hopes in seeing Miguel considering he'd told you a couple times he didn't really like university and wasn't really thinking about going back.
And you weren't sure in telling him you weren't going back after all. Especially considering you just had a couple good summer nights together.
So you didn't give it a second thought and just decided that's all it would be. A summer fling.
Not like you had much choice considering you didn't have any way of contacting him anyway.
You ended up going to your first day of uni and met two lovely girls outside who immediately helped you out. Frenchie and Sandy.
They were so sweet and led you to your classes, even having a few with both of them surprisingly.
You ended up having the same schedule layout and you all ended up going to the large dining hall to get something to eat.
You were then introduced to their other three girl friends, Rizzo, Marty, and Jan. Frenchie explained their little group were called the pink ladies which you thought was cute. They all had matching jackets as well.
Suddenly a girl named Patty comes along and the trio roll their eyes and groan. You pretend you don't notice and just take a bite out of the macaroni you got before she sat down next to you and started blabbing about who knows what.
Then Frenchie, a godsend angel, turned to you and asked you how your summer was.
"It was good! Spend most of my time at the beach. Might've met someone there..." you say and Patty beside you giggles but Rizzo just scoffs.
"Laying all your eggs in one basket? For some guy?" She asks and you shrug.
"He was... special." You say and she gives you a fake smile.
"There is no such thing hun." She says and you sigh looking at Patty. "It was so romantic."
On the other end of campus, on some bleachers, the self proclaimed 'T-Birds' were also asking Miguel how his summer went. But he had already told them that he met a girl.
But unlike your reminiscing of the romantic portion of your days together, his friends' immediate thoughts went to the more explicit portion...
"You don't wanna hear all the horny details." Miguel teases and all the guys gather around him yelling at him that they absolutely do.
So you both ended up spilling what you wanted to reveal except you kept your mouth shut on your exhibitions, not wanting to say too much about that.
On the other hand Miguel gave them every dirty detail possible. But for him he couldn't bring himself to tell his friends about the romantic side of how things went.
No way in hell was he going to admit those kinds of feelings in front of the guys. And mostly because they all just fucked around. Even though he knew he felt something besides just when things switched to the dirty side.
And thus you both reminisced on your favorite parts of your time together not knowing you were both on the same campus. Soon enough you'd both run into each other shocked but for now you stayed in your respective friend group.
As you walked out of the dining hall and to your last class Jan asked, "so what was his name?"
"Miguel O'Hara." You replied and her eyes widened as her and Marty burst into giggles but Rizzo smacks them to shut up.
"If you believe in miracles I'm sure Prince Charming will show up again some day. Somewhere unexpected." She says and gives you a smile.
"Think so?" You ask and she nods, grinning ear to ear as the other two girls follow her giggling their heads off.
"Oh you think so Frenchie?" You ask turning to the redhead and she avoids your gaze, awkwardly laughing and grabbing your arm.
She gives Sandy a look before Sandy links with your other arm, "how about we get to class yeah?" She says to you and you nod, questioning what the hell was going on.
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