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roosterforme · 5 months
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Wrong Number | Rooster x Reader
Summary: Bradley was planning on a quiet night at home with a beer and a basketball game on TV. When he receives a text from a wrong number, he's left looking at a beautiful photo of you. Now he just needs to persuade you to ditch the guy you meant to text and focus on him instead.
Warnings: Fluff, swearing, slight dirty talk, Bradley touching himself
Length: 4700 words
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader
This was written for Rocktober. Check out my masterlist for more. Banner made by @thedroneranger
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Bradley had endured such a long week at work, all he wanted to do was change out of his uniform, grab a beer from his fridge and lounge around on the couch in his underwear without a responsibility in sight. Nobody should have to work until ten on a Friday night, but it had taken him that long to sort through the massive stack of paperwork from Admiral Simpson. At least now he had nothing planned for the rest of his evening.
His apartment was too hot, and the cold bottle of beer pressed to his bare thigh as he reached for the TV remote left some droplets of condensation. It felt good. He took another sip as his phone vibrated next to him. With a soft grunt, he abandoned the remote in favor of the phone and unlocked it with his pass code.
There was a new text from an unknown number. And there was a photo attached. He grimaced, afraid of what he was going to find if he tapped on it. He read the phone number twice, but it didn't sound familiar beyond the San Diego area code. He let his head tip back as he recalled the time he pissed Nat off and she gave his phone number to a random sailor in retaliation. Bradley really hoped he wasn't going to have to kindly ask someone to stop sending him dick pics like last time. 
Before he lost the nerve, he tapped on the message, and his screen was suddenly filled with a photo of a woman who looked just a few years younger than him. And she was hot. He paused with his beer bottle halfway to his lips before letting it settle back down to his thigh. 
Hey, Alan. It's me. So now you have my phone number, too.
Bradley didn't know who the hell Alan was, but he wasn't mad about the mix-up. This photo was something else. It almost looked like it was taken in the bathroom at the Hard Deck. The lighting was bad, and there was a paper towel dispenser in the background, but whoever you were.... damn, you were stunning. All pretty features and smiling like you had a secret. 
It took him a moment to stop staring at the photo and return to the previous screen and your message. He was going to have to tell you that he wasn't Alan and that you had the wrong number, but he just sat there and tapped his phone case instead. He didn't even like the name Alan, but damn if he didn't want to be Alan right now. That lucky bastard had you interested in him. 
Bradley was wondering how the mix-up happened in the first place as he drafted up a text to you. Only some sort of fucking idiot wouldn't check and double check that he gave you the right number. "Amateurs," he mumbled as he typed with a little smirk on his face.
Hey, sorry to inform you, but this actually isn't Alan. However, I wouldn't mind one bit if you kept sending me the photos that are meant for him.
He hit send and tossed his phone aside, assuming you'd just block him and move on with your night. He brought his beer bottle back to his lips and enjoyed the way the drink helped cool him down while he contemplated taking a shower, but when he reached for the remote again, his phone vibrated. 
There was another message from the same number. Intrigued, Bradley unlocked his phone again, and he was pleased to see another text and another photo.
Hi, Not-Alan. Sorry about that! I hope you have a great night.
This photo was similar to the first one, except that you were flipping him the peace sign and winking which made Bradley laugh. You seemed fun, even through this limited interaction. And he was sure that was the ladies' bathroom at the Hard Deck, which pissed him off, because he got out of work so late he didn't feel like going out tonight. Maybe if he had been there, you wouldn't have been talking to Alan in the first place.
"Damn it." He was intrigued. He wanted to know more about this.
My night is substantially better now that I have two photos of you. So where did Alan get off to anyway? And why is he trying to steal my phone number?
This time Bradley was dying for another response. But it didn't come. He stared at his phone for a solid minute before returning to his beer and downing the rest of the bottle. Still nothing. He stood and made his way into the kitchen, tossing his empty into the recycling bin before getting another one from the fridge and eyeing up the food situation. He should probably eat something, but he swore he heard his phone vibrating. When he looked over to the couch, the screen was lit up. 
He slammed the fridge door and opened the new bottle before heading back to his phone. There was no photo this time, but there was a new message.
I actually lost Alan in the crowd, so really, the man could be just about anywhere. And I don't think he was trying to steal your number at all, Not-Alan. He wrote it on my palm, and it smeared before I could add it to my phone.
"Okay," Bradley said out loud. "Now we're getting somewhere." He sat down on the couch with his beer on the coffee table and started a new message. 
Alan should learn how to write neater in the future, because he's missing out here. You have to double check that someone who looks like you got the number right. Everyone knows that.
Bradley decided that he was going to have no shame for the night. Not as long as you kept writing back to him. He was contemplating how to save your number in his phone when another selfie with a message came through. You were out by the bar at the Hard Deck with a smile on your face, and you were holding up your palm complete with Bradley's smeared phone number.
Does this number look familiar, Not-Alan? Still no actual Alan in sight, by the way. 
Bradley supposed that the 7 could have been mistaken for a 1. Or maybe Alan's phone number had a 5 that got smeared into a 6. It didn't really matter. Bradley was going to shoot his shot and hope Alan didn't resurface. 
Good, Alan can just stay lost. What's your name, pretty girl?
Then he saved your number as Pretty Girl, and this time he did manage to turn the TV on while he waited with his phone in his hand. He muted the Clippers game and picked up his beer before promptly setting it back down again.
Pretty Girl: Not so fast, Not-Alan. You tell me your name first. And how old you are. And your blood type and the last four of your social security number. 
Bradley laughed and started typing. He realized he hadn't stopped smiling for the last twenty minutes as he hit send.
I'm Bradley. I'm 34. O positive. 2305.
On a regular night, the basketball game would have held his attention, but tonight he couldn't stop looking at his phone. "Come on, Pretty Girl," he muttered, running his beer bottle along his thigh before taking a sip. 
Pretty Girl: Okay, Bradley. You have my attention. Send me a selfie exactly where you are, and I'll think about telling you my name. No changing into something nicer. No fixing your hair. Just a selfie. Right now.
Bradley looked down at himself in just his black boxer briefs and mumbled, "If you say so." When he set his phone camera to selfie mode, he looked at the screen and realized his hair still looked pretty decent from work. So he went ahead and took a picture where he was wearing a bit of a skeptical smirk, and he sent it before he could think twice. 
And now his heart was beating a little faster. This was probably where you'd stop responding. Oh hell, at least he went for it, but a few minutes later, you still hadn't sent anything back to him. Maybe he could have tried to hide the scars on his neck and cheek, but what was the point? Clearly you were sending him actual selfies you'd taken tonight, and he did exactly what you'd told him to. Then his phone vibrated.
Pretty Girl: Do you really expect me to believe that you're not just googling "hot shirtless guy with a mustache", downloading a photo, and trying to pass it off as yourself?
He tipped his head back and laughed. There was just something about you. He didn't even know your name or what your voice sounded like, but he could already tell he was going to like both of those things. If you ever told him or let him hear you.
That's really me. Promise. Will you tell me your name now? Or do I have to keep calling you Pretty Girl?
He was wondering if you were still at the bar, surrounded by guys like Alan who would love to take you home while you were chatting with him. And he hoped the next text would contain your name. But you just ignored him when you wrote back a few minutes later. 
Pretty Girl: Prove you're not just sending some photos of a random hot dude. Go stand by your open refrigerator and take a selfie. Then take another one with your toothbrush. 
"She's a handful," Bradley murmured as he stood with a smile. He carried his beer into the kitchen, opened his refrigerator and snapped a selfie where the fridge light somehow accentuated his features nicely. Then he left his beer on the counter while he went into his bathroom. He was actively trying not to smile for this one where he had his red toothbrush hanging out of the side of his mouth, but he was on the verge of laughing at how ridiculous his night turned out to be. 
He typed up a message and attached both photos and then sent them off while he finished his beer at the kitchen counter, Clippers game forgotten. 
What is this, Pretty Girl? A hostage negotiation? I already told you, that's really me.
It didn't take too long for you to respond this time, and Bradley wasn't even letting his screen dim long enough to need to unlock it now.
Pretty Girl: Are you naked in these photos?
"Jesus," he muttered. Of course he wasn't. Did you want him to be? Shit, he needed to stop thinking about that.
No! I'm wearing underwear. You told me not to get changed or anything.
He felt flushed and too warm as he set his phone down on the counter and went to open some windows. Then he walked a few laps around his apartment in an effort to chill the fuck out. He wasn't even with you, and you were under his skin. 
When he returned to his phone, there was a selfie and a message waiting for him. In the photo, you were sipping a drink, and the way the straw pressed to your perfect lips had him practically moaning. 
Pretty Girl: My friend thinks there's something wrong with me. I'm at a Navy bar in San Diego at the moment. There are hot guys galore, and yet I'm glued to my phone. 
"Shit, shit, shit." Bradley thought about getting dressed and heading out to the bar himself. Then maybe he could hear you tell him your name in person right before he pulled the straw away from your mouth and kissed you.
How much longer are you going to be at the Hard Deck, Pretty Girl?
Bradley started heading for his bedroom closet when his phone vibrated in his hand.
Pretty Girl: How do you know I'm at the Hard Deck? Do I need to smash my phone to bits and go into hiding?
"Fuck," he grunted, typing so quickly he had to go back and fix several spelling errors before he could send it. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable, so he paused before getting any clothing out of his closet.
Because I'm in the Navy, and I live in San Diego. And I recognized the inside of the bathroom from the first photo you sent me. I swear I'm not creepy. You can ask Penny, the bartender and owner of that fine establishment. I spend enough time there. Show her my photo.
Bradley collapsed onto his bed with his forearm over his eyes and his phone clutched to his chest. He didn't have to check the time to know it had been a while since he texted you. He also didn't have to look at his phone to know it was after midnight now and that you and he had been chatting for almost two hours. Bradley jolted when the phone vibrated against his chest.
Pretty Girl: Okay. Alright. Penny is a sweetheart, and your story checks out. Also, she told me your call sign and then told me to have you verify what it is for my own peace of mind. So what is it, Bradley? And how do you know what the ladies' restroom here looks like?
Oh, he was going to owe Penny big time. He typed away as he lay sprawled out on his bed.
My call sign is Rooster. And as for your bathroom question.... are you really going to make me answer that?
Bradley closed his eyes and thought about the girl who had taken him into the bathroom with her last year. He was pretty sure she had brown hair, but other than that, he couldn't really recall. But he did remember looking at that paper towel holder on the wall and the framed photo of an F/A-14 that was hanging over it while he was in there with her. 
He wouldn't mind taking a trip there with you, that was for sure. Or maybe you and he could skip the scandalous bar hookup and just go right to dinner or a movie. For some reason, he thought he might actually prefer that.
Pretty Girl: Be back soon. I'm getting a ride home.
Bradley mused out loud, "It better not be from Alan." Shit, he could have offered to go pick you up and make sure you got home safely. He'd only had those two beers all night, and now he was picturing some faceless guy named Alan driving you home and pawing at you.
He texted you back.
Let me know when you get home, okay? And you can always just call me.
With a sigh, he got out of bed and plugged his phone in, not sure what to expect at this point. He went back into the bathroom and used his red toothbrush. And then he went back to the living room and closed all the windows. When he was in his room again, he had no new notifications as he climbed in bed. He was about to text you again and check in when his phone rang.
CALL FROM Pretty Girl
Bradley was smiling as he answered. "Hey, Pretty Girl."
A soft laugh preceded your voice, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek as you said, "Hi, Bradley with the O positive blood. Are you trying to tell me that you were in that bar bathroom with a girl?"
He found himself laughing. "Can I plead the fifth?"
When you moaned softly, he dropped his phone onto the pillow and had to scramble to get it. "Oh, my god. Even your voice is sexy."
Okay. He should not be on the verge of touching himself after you spoke three whole sentences to him. "You make it home safely?" he asked, trying to play it cool as he thought about those photos you sent him. 
"Mmhmm. A very nice man named Alan drove me home. He's right here next to me as I get changed for bed."
Bradley thought for a beat that he had met his match in you. "You better be lying. You know what, put Alan on the phone."
Your laughter filled him up as you said, "He's not really here. I had to ditch him, because he doesn't even have a mustache. Apparently that's a deal breaker for me now?"
Holy shit. Bradley was in trouble. He was getting turned on, and you weren't even really saying anything dirty. "You're killing me. You gonna tell me your name, Pretty Girl?"
"No. I think I'm going to hold onto it a little longer."
"Fine. But please explain to me how I've never seen you at the Hard Deck before. I'm certain I would remember your face."
Your voice sounded a little softer now as you said, "I just moved to Coronado. It was my first time at the bar."
If he hadn't worked so late today, Bradley would have probably been there tonight as well. "You had fun? You think you'll go back again?"
"Probably," you replied casually. "When do you think you'll be there?"
Bradley was so warm he was starting to sweat. "Pretty Girl, you just say the word, and I'll clear my whole damn calendar."
Your little sighs and soft giggles were going to be the death of him. "You know, I still have Alan's, or rather your phone number on my hand."
He imagined himself kissing your palm and rewriting his phone number. "Should be in my handwriting. I'll make sure I always bring a pen with me to the bar."
You cleared your throat softly, and Bradley imagined you climbing into bed. "Penny told me to watch out for some of the other guys. But she said you're okay."
"Just okay?"
"Actually, she called you a big, brown eyed puppy dog."
Bradley laughed. "I've been called worse."
"I'm sure you have," you replied quickly. "You deserve some sort of punishment for daring to look good with a mustache."
"It's a blessing and a curse. Now, are you going to send me another photo? Or are you going to just agree to meet me tomorrow night?"
He heard a rustling noise and then you softly said, "Alan is not going to like this one bit." And then another photo arrived, and this one had Bradley's mouth hanging open. 
"Now it's my turn to ask if you're naked in this picture." He was taking in every inch of your exposed skin and your bedding tucked up to your collar bones. You took your makeup off for bed, and you looked cozy and intimate. And you were talking to him. You were letting him see this. Bradley had to actively think about not touching himself. 
"Totally naked."
"Fuck."
"Send me another one?"
"Yeah," he grunted, swallowing hard as he tried to pose for another selfie just how he was, sprawled out on his pillow with his left arm bent and tucked back behind his head. But his cheeks looked flushed, and his eyes looked darker than usual. He was turned on. 
Fuck it. He snapped the photo and sent it. And about ten seconds later, he was greeted with the strangled sound you made.
"It should be illegal for someone with that mustache to look so good. It's rude, honestly. Bradley, you're kind of rude, because now I want to know...."
He was hanging on your every word. "Know what, Pretty Girl?"
The call went completely silent before you said softly and sweetly, "What your mustache feels like...everywhere."
A soft, startled laugh escaped his lips. You were on the verge of some dirty talk now, he could just tell. And his cock was hard as he replied with, "I'd love to let you find out. But before you respond, I need to know how much you've had to drink tonight. I don't want to take advantage of anything here."
You whimpered on the other end of the call. "A mustache, brown eyes, and a gentleman? All Alan did for me was buy me those two Long Island iced teas."
Bradley grunted and said, "That's enough about Alan. Why don't you go ahead and tell me where you'd like to feel my mustache first, Pretty Girl."
You squeaked and said, "I want to feel it rough along my skin right below my ear while you whisper to me. Oh my god, I can't believe I said that out loud. I should just go to bed."
"Don't hang up," Bradley said, panting with need now. "Tell me more."
"Okay," you sighed with another little squeak. "I want to feel it on my lips. While I'm sitting in your lap, licking the taste of that beer you drank from your mouth."
"Holy shit," he groaned, palming himself through his boxer briefs.
"I know," you whined with need. "And I want to feel it on the back of my neck while you do filthy things to me. And I don't even know you!"
"You will," he guaranteed. "Please, tell me what time I can meet you tomorrow."
Bradley listened to the rustle of your sheets as he waited. Then you finally said, "Seven o'clock? At the Hard Deck?"
"I'll be there, Pretty Girl. I can't wait to see you."
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It was barely even 6:30, but you were already at the bar all made up and wearing a cute dress. Penny recognized you right away, which was kind of nice and kind of embarrassing. When she asked if you wanted another Long Island, you waved her off and said, "Nothing yet. I'm meeting someone."
Her eyes lit up as she asked, "Is it Rooster?"
You'd barely slept all night, preferring to look at the four selfies he'd sent you after you ended the call around two. There was a little more dirty talk, sure, but you and he also learned a bit more about each other. And now you were going to meet this naval aviator who was originally from Virginia but loved the Los Angeles Clippers face to face. 
"Yeah. It's Rooster."
Penny looked truly delighted. "You have nothing to worry about. He's very sweet."
"Tell that to the butterflies," you muttered as you placed one hand on your stomach for a beat, willing the nerves to dissipate as you walked away. You'd told Bradley you wanted his mustache on your body. In several places. And then he told you he thought you were so pretty and fun that he wanted to kiss you everywhere. And right now you were just mystified as to how this could have possibly happened only a week after you moved to this neighborhood. And you still didn't know what happened to Alan after you went to the ladies' bathroom and saved the wrong number in your phone.
You laughed when you thought about it, and then you ran your hands along the fabric of your dress. You were so antsy, your palms were sweaty. You looked down at yourself and just got more nervous. Bradley hadn't seen much of your body in the photos you'd sent to him. You'd seen plenty of his though, and he looked tall and muscular even next to his damn refrigerator. And his face was gorgeous, right down to that sinful looking mustache. 
And you were just... you. Alan was really more your speed with his nerdy glasses and messy hairstyle and his lack of ability to even grow any sort of facial hair at all. You just hoped that Bradley wouldn't take one look at you in person and walk right back out of the bar. 
You were about to tell Penny that you thought you needed a drink after all when the door caught your eye, and Bradley strolled into the bar like he owned the place. "Oh...fuck," you whispered, gaping at him as he ran his fingers through his hair. The photos hadn't even done him justice. He had to be over six feet tall, and he was so broad and muscular, he looked like he could pick you up and toss you around a little bit. "Shit." He was wearing some snug fitting jeans and a tropical print shirt like he just knew he could pull off the most ridiculous look. "Damn." He was glancing around, trying to find you while you started scouring the room unsuccessfully for another exit. 
You were trapped in here, and he was walking further into the bar now. And you didn't think you could hide halfway behind this couple who was making out for very much longer.  
As Bradley's eyes scanned the crowd again, he looked a little apprehensive. His brow was scrunched, and he checked the time on his watch. You knew it was almost seven. So you took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and then you scooted one step to your left. When his gaze came your way again, his eyes landed on you. And then his face softened. The apprehension melted away, and he smiled a cute and somehow sexy little grin that made you whimper.
Now he was heading your way, his gait sure and steady. And then he was just a few feet away and you could see the scars on his face that you'd studied all night in the photos. And you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes that somehow the selfies didn't capture. And then he was talking, and his voice was even better in person.
"Pretty Girl."
Okay, so he'd seen you up close, and he wasn't running away. That had to be a good sign, right? You managed to say just one slightly breathless word. "Hi." And then his smile grew, and he was closing the space between your body and his. He was reaching for your face and running one rough thumb along your cheek. And then he kissed you.
And the soft scrape of his mustache was even better than all of the ways you'd spent your night imagining it might feel. You couldn't help but return his kiss, and somehow your hands ended up pressed to the front of him, sliding up to his chest. 
When he broke the kiss, he stayed close, his lips not far from your face. He covered your hands with his, keeping them on his body. And then he leaned close to your ear, his mustache scraping along your soft skin there as he whispered, "Tell me your name, Pretty Girl. I'm dying here."
Soft laughter bubbled out of you as he pulled away from you a bit, and those butterflies were going wild. His eyes were fixed on your face, begging for an answer this time as he stroked your hands with his thumbs. And then you told him, and he tried your name out on his tongue a few times with that grin that you liked so much. He kept saying it softly until you kissed him this time, and then he guided your arms around his neck. 
"Listen," he said in that raspy voice that you'd love to focus on all night. "I have no problem staying here for a while if you want to. I bet you could even persuade me to join you in the ladies' room."
"Sounds tempting," you told him with a smirk.
"It really does. But we could also just ditch the bar and grab dinner instead? Maybe watch the Clippers game and have a drink at my place? I'm a little worried Alan might show up here and try to lure you away, if I'm being honest."
You practically snorted with laughter. "I can't even really remember what Alan looks like. He was totally gone from my mind after the first selfie you sent me. Let's get out of here."
He took you by the hand. "Anything you want, Pretty Girl."
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I love dreamy loverboy Bradley, and I love Pretty Girl too. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls
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3K notes · View notes
killlerfang1 · 9 months
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So apparently Across the Spider-Verse has MULTIPLE different versions of the movie out in theaters right now???
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This reddit thread by Hohoho-you goes into the details but so far all the differences between the versions include
During the opening of the film one version has a "cough" text before the Sony logo appears and added comic frames during Gwen's monologue
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Lyla either takes a bunny selfie of Miguel or offers a fist bump after he calls for backup
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When Gwen asks who Miguel is he either says "that’s classified” or “isn’t it obvious”
Miguel either says "that's funny" or "No" when Gwen calls him the blue panther
The build up from when Miguel was going to bite the Vulture is cut
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When Jefferson fell through one of Spot's spots he either groans and looks around, or has a quick frame reaction of his face
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When the Spot is going to put his finger in the mini collider he either says "-which would... not be good" or "oh what the heck."
In the chai tea scene Miles either says "no! no." Or "sorry! im sorry" after getting called out by Pavitr
When Hobie first comes on screen and miles says "Hobie" a little text saying "Hobie" popping up above Hobie's head may or may not appear
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One version has Gwen's lines when she's looking for Miles in the rubble removed
At the spider society, when Jessica asks if "anybody else got jokes" the text boxes that show up can either be yellow or blue in color
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During the canon event scene Hobie has different coloring and lighting depending on the version
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When Ben Reilly grabs Miles during the chase scene he either says “I’ve got you trapped in my well defined musculature so don't even-“ or “This one’s called the sleeper hold, I’m using my bicep to constrict your-"
During the chase scene Miles rides Web-Slingers horse through the villain prison and receives cheers from said villains all while the other spiders get boo’d. This scene is cut in an alternate version
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In the same chase scene when the spiders cross the tightrope they either fall or get launched in the air, with the falling scene being a slightly extended version
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When Miles venom strikes Miguel the line where he says "sorry man I'm goin' home" is cut
When Peter B. Parker returns home MJ either says "Hi" or "How was work" upon his return
during the Prowler!Miles reveal one version has him with more lines and details on his face (thank you @cannibalgal for pointing this one out to me)
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I've only seen the film once so far but based on other people's comments online the changes seem to be mixed and matched depending on when and where you go to see the movie
(edit: added more changes)
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starrystevie · 9 months
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it was all supposed to be a dumb joke.
the boys had been sitting around after rehearsal one night passing a bowl and more than a few beers, laughing about how unsuccessful the newest music based social media app would be. mere seconds of songs looping over and over with other songs mixed in would never work, especially for corroded coffin where the story, the buildup of their songs was part of the reason to listen.
it all started with jeff, grinning slowly ear to ear. "what if were to get in there and take some celebrity's name for a user name? like paris hilton or something."
then it moved to gareth, who paused with a scrunched up face. "dude, paris hilton? what the fuck kind of reference is that..."
then it was over to greg, choking on a smoke-laced laugh. "yeah, it'd be funnier if it was eddie's pop prince loverboy instead."
that got everyone's attention. eddie had protested to ears that didn't want to hear it as they cackled in their studio that they rented by the hour, bent over in their rolling chairs, leaning against the side of the mixing board for support.
"loverboy?! you know i can't stand steve harrington and his bullshit lyrics, what the fuck kind of suggestion is that..."
but come the next day, when the weed had left his system and his veins were alcohol-free, eddie stared at the mixr app home screen and the blinking red circle over his inbox with disdain after successfully acquiring a user name he never would have picked for himself.
'steveharrington', eddie's account says, along with an icon of himself and his tongue out.
if it hadn't been for being less than sober when the app dropped. if it hadn't been for his best friends egging him on with taunts and jeers and kissy noises and less than sincere dreamy calls of 'oh steve' in the background. if it hadn't been for the way that eddie secretly did think about a certain head of floppy hair and soft brown eyes and shoulders littered with constellations.
if it hadn't been for all of that he wouldn't have had the chance to have his celebrity crush, the steve harrington, in his inbox at 8am on a random tuesday morning.
"good morning!" the message says simply enough. eddie stares at the words, trying to process what they mean, looking at the verified username of 'steveharrington1' next to an icon of his most recent album along with it. his inbox is flooded with people all asking him random things, thinking he's the real steve harrington, but this one verified account has him shaking.
for all that eddie is, all big hair and black jeans and skull rings and leather, he's still a man. a man who can look at a pop star, annoying as their music may be, and see charm. he can see attractiveness. he can see that smile that steve harrington has perfected behind his eyelids and he can see them strolling off into the sunset together hand in hand and he can see steve all flushed and breathing heavily underneath him on a mountain of plush pillows and he can see-
the message pings again with a new addition. "i know this seems weird and my team advised against it but i'd really like your user name of... well, my name."
eddie blinks slowly. he pictures steve maybe laying in bed, maybe sitting at the breakfast table with a cup of coffee, with his phone in his hand as he types out a message to him. to think that steve has any idea about him existing on any sort of level is doing his head in. his heartbeat races a little faster as he types back with shaky hands and a pit in his stomach.
"is this real?" is all he can type out, leaning against the kitchen counter as he waits for his coffee to brew.
three dots pull up on the app screen before disappearing and eddie pulls his lip in between his teeth to focus his energy elsewhere. he tears his eyes away from his phone and looks out the window to watch the people out for their morning walks. he's just about to the point where he thinks about maybe taking up walking if nothing else to get all the pent up energy out of him when the app dings again. as he looks back, his heart sinks to the bottom of his stomach.
it's a photo of steve that can't have been released before. he's sitting outside in bright sunshine with sunglasses on, tousled hair and grin on his face. he's holding his hand up in a thumbs up and eddie can see the remnants of cream cheese on the side of his index finger.
he sucks in a stuttering breath through his teeth, trying to force his lungs to breath again. the dots pop up on screen once more and the message that comes through is instantaneous.
"real enough for you?" it reads. and then an additional message is tacked on. "need me to hold up a newspaper with the date on it?"
there's a winky face that follows and it feels fake even though it's very real. this whole morning feels wrong, unreal. he's just eddie munson, some singer in some halfway popular band in some kind of shitty neighborhood in los angeles that just happens to have not just some pop star in his dms. this doesn't happen to him.
"why did your team tell you not to message me? does my reputation precede me?"
eddie pulls his hand up to his mouth to bite at the side of his fingernail, watching the screen with rapt attention and waiting for the typing dots to disappear.
"according to this account your name is steve harrington and yes, i'd say his reputation does precede him."
eddie barks out a laugh, not exactly expecting that.
he didn't know what he was expecting out of any of this. he thought that it might help get the corroded coffin name out more if he got tangled up somehow with the steve harrington name. spark a little bit of drama to boost their visibility. but now here he is, talking to the man himself, cracking jokes and trying not to hyperventilate.
"how were you able to get this name so fast anyway? my team was on it right when the app dropped last night."
"i had the power of bandmates and weed on my side," he types back, side of his mouth quirking up into a smile.
"oh so you're a musician? maybe i should be looking into your reputation then, mystery person."
eddie pauses and thinks about every option. he is semi-known in the metal scene, his outlandish stunts on stage and political speeches at shows that garner them becoming an almost brand for him. if he tells steve who he is, would he know? care? run away from the scary guy who may or may not use stage blood in every music video?
but the thing is, he's not a scary guy and he never has been. he might be a little intimidating and he guesses that's the armor he puts on everyday after being bullied in school but it's not an accurate showing of who he is. eddie is sweet, funny, kind of smart in that has random fun facts about dungeons and dragons kind of way.
and he wants the steve harrington to know that guy.
eddie flips over at his middle so his head is nearly touching the floor and ruffles his hair, giving it volume and calming down the frizz that comes from sleep. he shakes it out of his face once he's upright and grabs his garfield coffee mug if only to have something to do with his hands. grabbing his phone off the counter, he opens the camera option in their message thread and snaps a quick picture of himself grinning, mug next to his face with a matching cat-like smirk. he nervously presses send before he can even think about all the flaws with it.
"eddie munson at your service," is what he types out with a saluting emoji and a muttered prayer to whoever would listen to him that things don't end horribly.
it's not like he's expecting to sweep steve off his feet. he knows that steve has picture perfect partners, he sees enough internet news to know that gruff and dark isn't the kind of guy he normally goes for. but he looks back at the photo he sent and hopes that steve sees the kindness in his eyes, the scruff on his jawline that makes it look just the smallest bit chiseled, the whimsy and life that he embodies that comes from a tacky coffee cup.
there isn't an automatic answer and it makes whatever hope eddie has floating around his system falter. ''at this point you've probably searched me and i can reassure you, i'm not actually a vampire like google seems to think i am."
"holy shit."
it's short, two words followed by typing dots that disappear, reappear, disappear once more before reappearing for the last time.
"would you believe me if i told you that i am huge fan??"
choking on coffee hurts, eddie finds out. he coughs as the hot liquid goes down the wrong pipe and concentrates on the messages once he gets his bearings back. steve, the steve harrington, a fan of his? it's a prank, it has to be, there is no way that steve harrington-
"one of my exes took me to your show at the bowl and it quite possibly changed my life. you gave that speech about the pipeline before the encore and i went home and bought every single one of your albums that same night."
he's dead. the papers will read 'eddie munson found dead in his home in a ratty metallica shirt holding onto a garfield coffee mug and cellphone open to a chat where steve harrington tells him he's a fan of his work'. it's the only way that this is possibly happening. he's died and gone to whatever fucked up version of heaven has him still living in his shitty la apartment.
"are you fucking kidding me?" is what he types back, slamming his coffee mug onto the counter to have access to both hands. "you've heard my stuff?"
and then it happens, like out of a shitty teenage rom-com, his phone is lighting up with an in-app call from steve harrington. the steve harrington. careful not to drop his phone in his hurried movements, he presses accept faster than he thinks his fingers have every worked.
"hello?" he questions into the phone and there's no hello back, just steve apparently freaking out as much as he is.
"i hope this is okay," he says and god, does his voice sound wonderful over the phone like this. "but it's faster and i have too many things to say that typing it all out would be stupid."
eddie grins and his feet tap against the ground like an excited kid. "it's fine, i uhm... i get it. god, this is weird."
steve hums in agreement before laughing. and oh, that laugh. it has eddie floating up to cloud nine, heart thumping painfully in his chest, butterflies beating their wings wildly in his stomach.
"yeah, it's definitely not how i expected this morning to go. talking to eddie munson, wow."
"sure," eddie snorts, "you talk to celebrities all the time, i'm sure this is small fish for you."
he hears steve laugh again, soft and gentle, like it's meant just for eddie. "i might talk to celebrities all the times but not ones that i have posters on my wall of like a pre-teen. i'm properly geeking out right now."
eddie short circuits. that's the only way to explain the way his body shuts down as he slumps into an armchair in the living room.
"you, steve harrington, have posters of me on your bedroom wall?" eddie's mouth feels dry as he talks and regrets making coffee at all because he's wide awake now and feels jittery.
"well okay, to be fair, it's of the whole band and it's in my studio but you are shirtless so i contemplated putting it in my bedroom." something shifts on the other end of the line and it sounds like steve sitting down. there's birds chirping in the background and eddie closes his eyes to picture himself sitting with steve on a patio instead of in his dingy apartment.
"you're gonna give me big head, pretty boy." the pet name slips out before he can stop it and the pitch of his voice lowering is out of his control. eddie can't be held responsible for his actions at 8am especially when he's flirting over the phone with his celebrity crush.
"pretty boy, hmm?" steve murmurs back. "so does that mean you have posters of me too?"
the timbre of his voice shoots from eddie's ears all the way down to his toes, lighting his veins on fire as it travels down his body. the hopeful part of his brain supplies an image of steve smirking, relaxing in a pool chair outside of what must be a mansion, phone in one hand and cup of coffee in the other. it could be domestic, if eddie thinks about it hard enough. if he wants it enough.
and god, does he want that. domestic bliss with steve harrington.
"well i wouldn't exactly call picturing you in my dreams every night posters, but it's close enough i guess."
it's gutsy, it's brash, it's too forward for a tuesday morning but steve started it. he hears a shaky exhale on the other end of the line and lets out a chuckle. it feels like they're playing chess and there's no clear cut winner quite yet but if the match ends in a tie, eddie can't exactly say he'd be upset about it.
"i tell you what," steve says in an almost airy voice. "in exchange for giving me my user name, i'll give you my number and you can use it to see me in something other than your dreams tonight."
"...are you bribing me, harrington?"
"is it working?"
eddie takes in a deep breath and thinks about what possible plans he could have with the username 'steveharrington' that would amount to something better than taking the man himself out on a date with his phone number saved as a contact in his phone. he'd put a heart next to it and everything.
"of course it is."
the call drops away and it's quick enough for eddie to think everything that happened in the last 30 minutes could have been a fever dream but then there's three dots on the message thread and his hopeful heart starts to kick back into gear.
"213-555-5469. let me know when you've given up that username and i'll let you know when to pick me up. it's a win-win all around. turns out we each get to go a date with our celebrity crushes, how lucky is that?"
it's signed with a kissing face emoji and eddie's glad that he's sitting down when the last picture steve sends comes through. he's grinning in a way eddie's never seen before, blush high on his cheeks, sweaty shoulders and collarbones and pecs glinting in the early morning sun, and eddie thinks it's probably too early to be in love with someone but he's well on his way.
he texts the number he's sent without hesitation and without shaking hands this time. he signs the message with a black heart like it's a signature of it's own.
"lucky indeed."
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marvelfilth · 2 months
Text
The mustache
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x f!reader
Warnings: none
Summary: Natasha crashes your date
Masterlist
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You let a fake laugh bubble out of your mouth for what feels like a hundredth time this evening. Your date looks smug, her eyes trailing over your form, almost leering. She takes a sip of her wine and licks her lips slowly, daring you to look.
You don't.
You can almost hear Natasha say I told you so.
You clear your throat and take another bite of a perfectly made steak - the only saving grace of this disastrous date.
You mentally cringe, closing your eyes briefly. Objectively, the date is going well - she showed up on time, held the door for you, helped you to your seat and made perfect small talk, occasionally throwing in a joke or two. You can excuse her wandering eyes, knowing you've been throwing mixed signals all evening.
You nod along to whatever story she's telling, smiling and chuckling when it's appropriate. You barely resist the urge to excuse yourself. You chew on your lower lip, wondering how you allowed yourself to get in such a mess.
Your phone chimes once, screen lightning up with a new notification.
Natasha.
Yep. Here's your answer.
You look at your date, hating how different her smile is from your best friends. It's too large, too open and not even half as genuine. Natasha's smiles are small, barely noticeable, but they're enough to make your breath come short.
You sigh. You need to stop comparing your every date to Natasha.
“Do you mind if I take a look? It might be important,” you ask, reaching for your phone. She nods happily, waving the waiter over for another glass of wine.
How bad is it?
You snort, coughing immediately to cover up the sound and reaching for your glass.
Another message appears right in front of your eyes.
That bad?
You choke on your wine, discreetly looking around, but coming up short.
Six o'clock, dumbass.
You wait a moment and look right behind you, mouth falling open when you finally see her.
She's sitting three tables down, wearing your favorite hoodie and a black cap. With sunglasses covering her eyes. In a dimly lit restaurant. What makes you let out a strangled laugh, though, is a perfect old fashioned mustache glued right under her nose. She twirls both ends around her fingers, curling them up, before lowering her glasses and sending you an exaggerated wink.
The best spy in the world, the woman who made entire governments collapse, is sitting right behind you, looking like a child playing dress up.
You whip around, your face red, and wave off your date's concerned look. “I'm alright.”
She nods, all too happy to continue talking about all of the famous people she's met through her job.
You hide your phone under the table and shoot your best friend a text.
You're ridiculous
Her reply comes instantly.
And yet you love me.
Her words hit a little too close to home.
You are hopelessly in love with your best friend.
Another message comes through.
What's wrong?
You frown, eyes darting around. You didn't even do anything to warrant the question.
And don't even try to lie. I can tell something's wrong.
You sigh, tell Natasha everything is fine, and place your phone face down on the table, your date still recounting a story of how she met some actress.
The next half an hour is tense. You can feel Natasha's eyes on you. You can hear her plotting a way to get you out of here, but you know you have to at least try to make it work, if not with… Connie? Courtney? Then with someone else, before you go completely mad.
Your phone rings. You can't stop yourself from picking it up.
“Sorry, it’s an emergency.” Your excuse sounds bad even to your own ears, and you wince when your date pointedly looks away with pursed lips.
“Do you want me to throw her out of the window?” She starts without a preamble. “If not, I have a knife in my boot and you know how good I am with knives.”
“Can't you handle it without me?” You ask, knowing Natasha will play along. Your date reaches for her purse, dejected. Guilt swirls in your chest, and you contemplate your next words. Maybe you should stay and-
“Don't feel bad, she's been looking at the blonde to your right since she came in,” Natasha drawls, “and no, I can't handle it without you. I need you back home.”
You blush, biting on your lower lip.
“I'm sorry, but there's been an-”
“Just go,” your date cuts you off, “I'll handle the bill.” Her eyes are on the blonde girl before she's done speaking, and you leave with your conscience clear.
Natasha catches up to you outside and leads you to her corvette - her sunglasses and cap are gone, but that ridiculous mustache is still in place.
“What do you think?” She asks as she opens the door for you before going around the car and taking a seat behind the wheel. “I like the look.”
You snort and shake your head, amused with your best friend's antics. “It's… something.”
She rolls her eyes, starting the engine. “I know you love it.”
You hum, relaxing against the soft leather, your worries stoved away by Natasha's calming presence.
“Why do you keep going on dates if you hate it so much?” She asks when you reach Compound gates.
You sigh, think of an answer that would get her off your back without making her suspicious.
“I just… I-” you stutter, wincing.
Great.
She raises an eyebrow, looking absolutely ridiculous, but so, so beautiful, it makes your entire chest ache.
The car comes to a stop, and Natasha focuses all of her attention on you.
“I need to get over someone.”
There, you've said it.
“Who?” She asks, and for the first time in all the years you've known her you can't read her at all.
“You don't know them.”
She looks ahead, her jaw clenched tight. “How long?”
You blink away the tears. “A few years.”
She looks down at her lap, her fingers tapping against her thigh. “Who?” She asks again.
“Natasha…”
“Is it Carol?” Her voice is tight, her eyes dart around the street.
“God no,” you chuckle, thinking about your blond friend. Valkyrie would kill you on the spot if you even looked at her the wrong way, not that you're interested anyway. They need to get over themselves and finally admit their feelings to each other. Anyone can see their pining from a mile away.
“Kate?”
You shake your head. “You don't know them.”
“Then tell me. What would it matter?”
“Nat, can we just-”
“Tell me.”
You groan, and turn to open the door, but Natasha’s hand landing on your thigh stops you. You swallow, freezing on the spot.
“Please.”
You close your eyes, bracing yourself for the inevitable. “It's you,” you whisper.
The hand on your thigh clumps tight. “What?”
“It's you,” you repeat, feeling braver after the admission. “Always you.”
She lets out a deep, shaky breath, before reaching for your face with her other hand. “Look at me, please.”
You face her, eyes still closed, a few tears sliding down your cheeks. They're wiped away a moment later, and your face gets enveloped in the softest warmth.
“Open your eyes.”
You swallow, and do as she asked. She looks at you like you're the most precious thing in the world.
“I love you.”
Your heart skips a beat at her words, lips falling open. “What?”
She smiles, her thumb tracing patterns on your wet cheek. “I love you.”
You look at her for a long moment, taking in her features - her forest green eyes, tender and soft, the slope of her nose, so kissable. Your eyes trail lower and then suddenly a loud laugh makes its way out of your chest. You bend, clutching your stomach, happy tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.
Natasha looks delightfully confused.
“I'm sorry, it's just…” you giggle, pointing at her face, “the mustache.”
She groans, tearing it away. “I've been going crazy all this time, you know.”
“Yeah?” You grin, head spinning.
“Yeah,” she says before claiming your lips. She's soft, so soft it makes your toes curl and your chest get warm and fuzzy. The kiss is gentle, loving. You mewl against her, opening your mouth and welcoming her tongue.
The kiss grows heated.
“I,” you gasp between the kisses, “I love you. So much.”
You can feel her blinding smile in the next kiss, and the one that comes after.
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jisungsdaydreamer · 7 months
Text
황현진 BOYFRIEND HYUNJIN WHO...
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bf! hyunjin who likes to squish your face and take pictures of you, so he can blackmail you by threatening to send them to everyone unless you give him a kiss.
bf! hyunjin who spams your instagram comment section whenever you post. "woah do you have a bf?" "all mine 😘"
bf! hyunjin who likes to copy your outfits and act like they're all his ideas
bf! hyunjin who makes spotify playlists to romanticize every moment he spends with you, whether its a road trip compilation or a midnight baking mix
bf! hyunjin who likes to send you red roses when he's far from home and adds fancy little handwritten notes for you to find
bf! hyunjin who brags about you to his friends and feels more proud than jealous when other boys admire you.
bf! hyunjin who changes your lock screen to a selfie of him when you're not looking, so you'll have a constant reminder of him
bf! hyunjin who complains about you stealing his sweatshirts but secretly loves to see you in his clothing
bf! hyunjin who sends you real love letters written on paper, instead of just text messages or emails
bf! hyunjin who pulls you outside so you can slow dance in the pouring rain
bf! hyunjin who likes to sketch you in his notebook whenever you aren't looking; when you're cooking, sleeping, or tapping away on your computer
bf! hyunjin who lets you try out new hairstyles on him and loves to post selfies of him all dolled-up, even if he has sparkly pink bows in his hair
bf! hyunjin who buys your perfume and sprays it on his pillow when you're not with him and he misses you
bf! hyunjin who buys a ring only a few months into dating and hides it in his closet for when he thinks you're ready, because that's just how much he loves you.
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winkwonkwankwenk · 2 months
Text
Nanami Head-Cannons!! (SFW & NSFW)
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SFW
Works like a dog to provide for you, definitely works overtime and stacks vacation days like change in a jar. Some weeks you only ever feel him peck your cheek in the morning and the next time you see him with be the weekend- if you're lucky.
He misses you constantly, so much that he'll often accidently type your email along with his usual ones and you end up knowing all the company's trade secrets. Oops.
He sends you gifts every day he's away, from flowers to cakes to flights to your favorite places- he gifts you so often you've got a closet just for all the teddy-bears and a greenhouse to preserve your bouquets.
The two of you stay in a massive house so it's very lonely when he's gone. He makes sure to call you at least twice a day, morning and night.
He knows what time you wake up and time you go to sleep because he's memorized your sleeping pattern. He knows when to send chocolates and shopping money because he has your period app on his phone too and pays close attention to the notifications.
He came home to you crying in bed one night and called out of work for a month to make up for loss time. Ever since then, even during busy seasons, he makes sure to at least spend a week with you.
During his days off, he treats you to expensive dates cute strolls through gardens. He wants to impress and please you daily, and worries if you don't seem to be enjoying yourself. "Do you want a different dish?" and "Honey, we can go somewhere else if you'd prefer to" are phrases you've often heard when he's getting into his head.
He has a photo of you in his wallet and several in his office. Your wedding photos decorate his desk, along with vacation photos and cute pictures he snuck of you when you weren't looking. You're his Lock screen, home screen, and background on all of his computers.
He's never raised his voice at you and he never will. Even when the two of you fight, he can't help but dote on you and promise you the world. Whatever has you upset, he'll fix, even if it costs him an arm and a leg. "I like when you express yourself, Honey." He'll apologize for anything he's done to upset you and when you struggle to communicate he patiently waits and praises you for every word you manage to say. "Tell me what's on your mind and I'll do everything I can to make things better"
He's a funny man, his humor a mix of sarcasm and corny jokes. He'll tell you knock-knock jokes when you're sad and awful dad jokes when the two of you have calmed down from an argument but you can't help but laugh when he pulls you into a warm hug. How are you supposed to stay mad at such a charmer?
He'll feel guilty when he comes home to see you cooked dinner days ago and he never got to eat it. To make up for it, he'll cook you breakfast and leave it out for you before he heads off to work- even if he's exhausted. It's the least he can do.
NSFW (Kinky stuff ahead per usual hehe)
He has...scandalous pictures of you locked in a drawer of his desk. They come in handy during late shifts when he needs to let off steam and doesn't want to wake you. He'll bite down on his tie and groan as he jerks off under his oval desk.
He gets so turned on when you pull his tie. One night, he came home tense to see you having a late night spa session in the bath. You asked him to join and he insisted on showering to get off the grime of the office but then you pulled his tie with those dainty little hands and pulled him into the water. You thought he would be mad, but then he stripped out of his clothes before you could blink and fucked you senseless. Something about the pressure around his neck really gets his blood flowing.
Nanami caught you listening to him working out once and made sure to invite you to join him. He pinned you under him as he did push-ups, making sure you heard every grunt and groan. "You like that?" He whispered into your ear as you squeezed your thighs together under him. "I'll make sure to be extra vocal from now on."
Phone sex- the two of you have it at least once a week. Sometimes the pictures in his desk aren't enough and he has to wake you. His breaths are heavy, voice husky as he shows you his boner. "Look what you do to me, Y/N..." He'll whisper as your groggy eyes struggle to focus, "Help me fix it, okay Honey?"
He found your toys in the closet one day when he came home and was pissed. Not because you were using them but because he wasn't there to watch. He asked if you'd be okay with him having a camera in the bedroom to watch you and was so excited when you said yes. From then on, you've made sure to give him his own special liveshow- always sending him a text before you masturbate.
One day, he had left his lunch at home, so you brought it to him only to accidently interrupt a meeting. Before you could apologize he had you in his lap in his big office chair, secretly fingering you. You buried your face into his thick neck to stay quiet and squeezed his shoulders for relief. The moment the meeting was over he bent you over his desk and rammed into you.
His voice is so soft and sweet during sex, especially when he coos and praises you while talking you through your orgasms. "Y/N, look at me, Honey." and "Such a good girl...keep clenching like that, okay?" along with "What a pretty woman you are...I'm so lucky to have you."
His favorite positions are Mating-press and Nelson because he gets so deep inside of you he can feel your womb eagerly opening for his release.
He's got a monster. It's not eight inches, not nine, not even ten- 12 girthy inches casually hangs between his legs. He always makes sure to prep you well before even pulling it out.
Your pleasure over his- always. Even if he can barely keep his eyes open he'll put his back into it to make you orgasm.
Vacations are always romantic trips to one of his beach houses. He'll feed you chocolate-covered strawberries and expensive wines, then lay you down on the beach and eat you out until your toes curl in the sand.
He's going to put a baby in you. Period. The two of you have already discussed expanding the family and the moment you were on board he made sure to empty his balls every time the two of you had sex. He made sure not a drop of his cum spilled out, sometimes plugging it in with one of those toys you would play with in the livestreams.
You're his priority, in and out of bed. He treats aftercare like his biggest responsibility. He'll run a warm bath, carry you to it, wash you, dry you, comb and brush your hair- the list goes on and on. He'll order your favorite food and feed it to you, then soothe you until you fall asleep in his arms. He likes your body, but he loves you.
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oharaslover · 4 months
Note
reader being obsessed with Miguel's biceps but never admitting and thinking he'd never find out. Miguel decided to tease reader about it when he found out 🤭
obsession
pairing: miguel o’hara x fem reader
contents: bicep obsession, masturbation (f), headlock, and doggy (?)
a/n: sorry it’s a bit of a short one 🧍🏻 i hope you enjoy it though :)
word count: 1063
"Hey, you wanna join me at the gym?"
At the time, it had seemed like a good idea to agree to go with him but now you were squeezing your thighs together as you looked at him working on his biceps. To be fair, you really did try not to look too hard at him and even went on your phone to try to distract yourself, but eventually you were overtaken by temptation. Your eyes kept drifting over to his arms as he curled the weight, his muscles practically straining out of the stupid compression shirt he'd chosen to wear.
You'd zoned off while watching Miguel, fingers snapping in front of your face before you were brought back to the moment. "Are you okay?" He asked, rubbing a towel across his forehead as he wiped away the sweat. "Mhm," you responded, your eyes drifting over to his arms flexing while he brought the towel up. He shrugged, not wanting to push the subject too far and the two of you left to go back home.
Miguel got in the shower as soon as the two of you got back and you took the opportunity to catch up on your reading while you waited. You looked up when you heard the door open, blissfully unaware of how much time had passed by and looked over to see Miguel coming out with a towel wrapped around his waist. He stood in front of the bed with his back turned to you as he grabbed his clothes from the dresser, water droplets trailing down his arms.
He laid down on his stomach as he looked up at you, his head resting on his hands. "What's that book about?" He inquired, glancing over at the cover of the book. “A mix of romance and fantasy, really. I just started reading it, so I can't really say that much about the plot," you responded with a small shrug, shutting your book to hand it to him so he'd be able to read the synopsis. As he read the book synopsis, you let yourself admire his arms as they flexed with every movement that they made.
He handed the book to you, starting to give you some recommendations for books. You really tried to listen to him but you couldn't help but get distracted the longer you looked at him. "Yeah, that sounds good," you murmured after he finished speaking, looking back up at his face to see his brows scrunched up. "You seem distracted. Are you sure you're doing okay?" He asked you, his head now resting on your leg.
"I'm okay, Miguel. There's nothing going on."
"You're sure you're okay? You know that you're free to tell me anything, right?"
"I've told you that I'm okay. I promise."
Miguel left the subject alone, leaving you feeling like you were walking on eggshells after. He'd started taking longer hours at work and you were spending more time alone. You were currently home alone late at night, laying down on your bed as you scrolled through your phone. You looked through Miguel’s page, seeing that he'd released a workout video for this week. He tended to make those after he'd gotten some requests for his workout routine, posting them weekly. You dragged your fingers down to your panties, gently rubbing yourself through the fabric.
Unbeknownst to you, Miguel was listening to your little sounds as you buried your fingers in your cunt. He watched you through the house camera system he'd set up and took a look at your screen, realizing why'd you been so distant. His cock strained underneath his holographic suit, precum starting to leak onto his leg while he heard your light moans coming through the earpiece he had on. He was about to deactivate his suit when one of the spider variants came in, his mood instantly souring for the rest of the night.
You were still awake when Miguel came in through the door, his arms wrapping behind your waist while you were in the kitchen. "How was work, Miguelito?" You asked, looking back at him as he buried his head into the crook of your neck. "I've had a long day at work today, but it was okay," he mumbled, his words coming out a bit incoherent. "You need a de-stressor?" you asked him, turning to look back at him as you wrapped your arms around his neck.
Miguel took the initiative, leading you to the bedroom and took your clothes off quickly. You got on your hands and knees, your back arching as your stomach was pressed against the bed. He pushed a finger in, stretching you out before he pushed his cock inside you. You felt the stretch from Miguel’s cock as he thrusted inside you, your walls clamping around him. He waited for you to adjust, his hands coming down to your hips as he pulled his cock out, establishing a slow pace to help you ease to it.
Miguel pulled you up after a while, your back hitting his chest while he sped up the pace. Your eyes widen as Miguel brings his bicep towards your neck, trapping your head between his arm while his cock thrusted into you. You turned to look back at him, surprised by the way that he held you and he let out a small chuckle as his eyes met yours. "Don't look at me like that, I've seen how you look at my arms," he told you, his cock thrusting deeper inside of you. "Don't worry, mama. I found it kind of endearing. Especially the way you came just looking at them."
You were gonna try to deny the accusations but you couldn't deny the arousal leaking out of you as it dripped down your thighs every time he pulled his cock out. "Love your arms Mig," you babbled as he thrust into you once more, the hold he had on your head tightening the slightest bit. "Do you really? I don't think you've shown me just how much you've been thinking about this," he responded, a teasing grin on his face while your eyes rolled back. His hips snapped against yours, his other arm coming down your stomach, feeling a bulge forming on your lower tummy.
"Don't worry, we have plenty of time just to find out how deep this adoration goes."
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mcondance · 9 months
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hobie 🕷️🎸: 1 video
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the video's dark. looks like it was shot somewhere that definitely reeks. but with your brightness all the way up, what's going on in the video.. is crystal fucking clear.
"i tried to wait, swear i did love, but i couldn't. couldn't stop thinkin' about you, and your pretty cunt." he’s not shy. even needy, he’s cocky and unashamed of what he’s doing. he’s got his hand wrapped around his cock, spider suit unzipped and pants unbuttoned, only hanging onto his waist because of his studded belt. his slim frame looks beautiful.
he's jerking himself off in a busted back alley, camera propped up on a window sill. his pretty tip is already leaking pre-cum, lithe fingers coming up to swipe it down, to make the slide easier.
"got hard thinkin' about you, had to dip off n' take care of it." he flashes a wicked smile, throwing his head back, exposing his neck. his hips cant into his fist, fucking the little circle he makes knowing he wishes he was fucking you instead.
"god, 'm just a fuckin' perv, ain i? pants pulled down in an alley, fuckin' my fist for you?" he chuckles, bringing his eyes down to gaze at the camera, and then down at his cock.
"shit, wish it was you, doll." he speeds up, moaning shakily. "'s not wet enough, need your pretty pussy," he groans. his hand leaves his cock, coming up to his mouth, and he spits, trying the best he can to simulate the wet warmth of your cunt. he looks so gorgeous, with his pretty dick with it’s pretty upward curve held tight in his hand.
he starts his pace again, fucking his fist with visions of you on your knees doing it for him instead flying through his mind, the sound of his own hand moving against his dick loud and unmistakable. he’s desperate, whiney, broken moans falling from his lips. he looks so good, happy trail just barely visible. his taut stomach flexes with his every thrust, the expanse of pretty brown skin looking beautiful even with the darkness of the video.
lips parted and slick with spit, dick hard and leaking for you, he looks the image of a god. your god. and yet, he’s pleading to you, begging for salvation that he knows he won’t receive until he gets back home. his fist’ll have to do for now.
and it does, as long as he keeps you in the forefront of his mind. and he does.
“‘m close already,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on where his cock disappears into his hand and comes out on the other side, swiping his thumb over his pretty brown tip. “shit, you’d make me cum so hard, know you would. jerk me so good i’d be shootin’ blanks.” he can’t help but laugh again, breathless and wanting.
“cum with me, yeah? know you’ve been touchin’ yourself to this— fuck, wish it was me instead. should be me, with my hands all over you.” his thrusts pick up, his hand speeds up too.
“‘m g’na cum, please cum with me, love, don’t w’na cum alone,” he whines, deep and sincere. “fuckfuckfuck,” he spills into his hand, moaning loud, throwing his head back again. he rambles mixed together letters of your name and wishes that you were here, that you were the one making him bust.
he comes down with a heaving chest, hand still stroking slowly at his cock. laughs start to rack through him, his eyes focusing back on his camera. wiping his hand off on a tattered piece of fabric with a blissed out look on his face, he pulls his suit back up and fixes his pants.
“hope you liked it, love,” is all he says before he ends the video, pretty face frozen on your phone screen.
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theemporium · 1 month
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[3.6k] your life comes crumbling down when photos are leaked of your boyfriend making out with another girl. it doesn't help that your other boyfriend seems to be handling it worse than you are by ignoring the world, including you. well, the everyone except his rival.
series masterlist
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It felt like a nightmare. 
A sick, twisted nightmare that you were waiting to wake up from any minute now. You could imagine it so clearly, shooting up in your bed with the sheets sticking to your sweaty skin and blood roaring in your ears before soft, comforting French words washed over you. You imagined a pair of arms wrapping around you, holding you tight and a pair of lips pressed against the top of your head until you found the courage to speak.
Every cell in your body craved for that to be your reality, but it wasn’t. 
Instead, you were sitting on your bed in the comfort of your father’s home with the distant sound of music playing from the kitchen and the curtains pulled back to let the sunshine come through and—well, a series of photos on your screen that made you feel like you were about to vomit, if you even had anything in your stomach from last night’s dinner to bring up.
It wasn’t often you visited your father’s home in Switzerland. But sometimes you craved the normalcy and seclusion of the farmhouse. You craved a few days to just relax, to pretend you were a normal girl with a normal father with a normal life. You liked to play pretend for a few days, and Sebastian always entertained the whole concept because he liked having you around. 
That was what this trip was supposed to be. 
With the boys over in the states for the Miami Grand Prix, you had decided against flying out with them. It had been a few months since you had seen your father and, with no great urge to fuck up your body clock with jet lag, you had decided to fly up to Switzerland instead before the boys inevitably returned for Imola. 
It had been nice. It had been exactly what you needed. It had been the few days you needed to ground yourself, to remember life beyond the constant work and travel. It had been the perfect getaway. Even as a young girl, your life revolved around the paddock with your father racing every other weekend, it was easy to forget a life outside of it all. 
But right now? Yeah, you really fucking wish the outside world didn’t exist at all. 
Your relationship with your boys was complicated and intertwined and unconventional, but it was yours. You loved each other, you cared for each other, you would do anything for each other. Or at least, that was what you assumed. The day Charles Leclerc and Pierre Gasly entered your life, you thought everything made sense.
Even if it took a few years of beating around the bush and your own feelings to reach that conclusion. 
You thought your relationship with your boys was one of the key things that made your life so perfect, that made you happy to be the one living it. 
Until you woke up this morning, rolling over and reaching for your phone to find a flurry of notification banners filling up your screen. It was a mix of messages and mixed calls and mentions from almost every social media app you owned. It was a mess, undistinguishable and baffling to your barely-awake brain. You honestly just expected it to be another fluke, another stupid scandal blossoming out of nothing. It made you want to roll over and fall back asleep before your PR manager inevitably called you. 
God, you would have preferred a stupid scandal to this.
Instead, you found countless photos and videos of Pierre. He was in a club, most likely celebrating ending up in the points after the race. He was in that white linen shirt you loved on him, the one he always left a little too unbuttoned because he knew it drove you and Charles crazy. But instead of his friends or even Charles by his side, it was some random girl. 
His hands were all over her. She was pressed up against his front, starry eyed and grinning up at him. His lips were on her lips, her neck, any inch of skin he could kiss. She was laughing and dragging him out of the club. He was smiling and happily following her.
And you felt fucking sick. 
Not even in your worst nightmares had you imagined something like this, something as horrific and despicable and public as this. Never had you thought Pierre—one of the men you loved—could be capable of this. You never thought he could do this to you, to Charles. 
Charles. 
Charles who was nowhere to be seen in the videos. Charles who had messaged about having an early night sleep before he flew out to Maranello for Imola prep. Charles who was either asleep, on a plane or sitting in his hotel room in a similar state to you. 
Fuck, you wished you were with him right now. 
But you couldn’t stop reading the comments, reading the countless articles and tweets and posts about the whole situation. You couldn’t bring yourself to ignore the comments from strangers on the internet saying it was about time, that they were glad he got away from you. The ones showing sympathy were even worse because it made this real, it made the whole fucking thing so real.
You hadn’t even heard the music from the kitchen stop or the footsteps approaching your bedroom. You hadn’t heard the knock or the door slowly creaking open. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the screen until you felt a warm arm wrapping around your shoulders. 
“Shhh, honigbienchen, it’s okay. Let it out, I’ve got you,” Sebastian murmured, his voice soft and sweet and comforting and the exact thing you needed to break down the last of your crumbling walls. 
You pressed yourself into your father’s side as you sobbed, as you mourned the loss of what you believed was a loving and trusting relationship. You let yourself melt into his embrace as he held you close, as he held you together. 
You didn’t fight as he pulled your phone from your grasp, locking it and throwing it somewhere on the bed behind him. You didn’t fight as he pulled you closer, your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck as you let the familiar smell of your father’s cologne—the same one he has used since you were a child—wash over you. You didn’t fight as he murmured comforting words in German because a part of you hoped he was right, wanted nothing more than your father to be right. 
You just let yourself break because you knew your father would keep you together.
...
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The apartment felt like a mockery of the life you once lived. 
You remember the day the three of you signed the lease, it was one of the happiest days of your life. There were always concerns about moving too fast, about hitting a milestone as big as moving in together so early on in the relationship. But, in all honesty, you didn’t see the issues. Call it rose-tinted glasses or call it the truth, but it never felt too soon.
Not for you and your boys. 
Because the relationship was still new when you moved in, just under a year old, but you had known these boys for years. Your life had been intertwined with racing from the day you were born because of your father, you had seen these boys grow up alongside you. You had been there to see them both enter Formula one. You had been there to see Charles as your father’s teammate. 
You had been there for it all. 
You had been friends long before you were a couple. You had grown close to Charles in the days your father wore the Ferrari emblem. You had found yourself attached to the boy, bonding with him in a way you never had in previous years. And where Charles was, Pierre was close behind. They were the package deal you thought you had lucked out on. 
So, moving in together seemed like a baby step in the future the three of you had planned together, a simple necessity as you continued to grow and love and care for each other. 
Now, it was a painful reminder that the place you called your home was tainted with the memories of a man you once loved. Maybe still loved. You hadn’t wanted to delve into those feelings too much yet.
It was empty. 
You had expected as much, or maybe you didn’t. You weren’t sure anymore. 
A small part of you assumed for this to be the moment you woke up from your nightmare. That you would wake up in your bed, slowly blinking your eyes open as you heard the boys laughing away in the kitchen at whatever they were attempting to cook before you woke. 
Another part of you expected to find Charles here, looking like a mirror reflection of you as you finally fell into his arms, as you received the touch you had been craving from him and him only in the last forty-eight hours. 
Another part of you expected to find Pierre standing in front of you, despite the reassurance you had received from a few friends at Alpine that the boy hadn’t left Miami. You thought maybe he would be here to beg for forgiveness or explain himself. You thought maybe he would at least have the decency to look half as worried as you were about Charles’ disappearance off the face of the Earth. 
You didn’t know if you were disappointed or relieved that he wasn’t here.
With your messages and calls receiving no answer from Charles, you had packed your bags and hopped on the first flight out of Switzerland. Your father had his reservations of you leaving so soon, of you being alone. To be completely honest, you wished you could have stayed in his arms forever and ignore everything.
But you needed to see Charles. 
You had to see him with your own two eyes because he was the only person in the world who understood what you were going through. 
To the world, it was just you and Pierre. And you were all okay with that for right now, you were okay with keeping the details and complications of your relationship private until the moment was right. 
But right now, you fucking despised it. Because the world was so focused on you and on Pierre and on the random girl from the club, but nobody was looking at Charles. Nobody cared about Charles. And despite your relationship being an open secret to the paddock, it seemed not even the people closest to him—his own fucking team—knew where he was.
And it fucking terrified you.
Monaco had been your last hope. Your apartment had been a fucking last resort. You were grasping at straws and you were losing your mind and there were a million different things running through your head but you just wanted Charles. 
There was still a voice in the back of your head reassuring you that he would show up, that he would walk through that door and fall into your arms until you both felt something other than pain right now. 
You wanted nothing more than for him to come home, to come to you. 
But forty-eight hours of emotions were wracking through you and you didn’t even realise you were falling asleep on the living room couch until your body was too tired to even try sitting up.
...
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“Where did you find him?” 
“Well, hello to you too.” 
You flashed the Dutchman a sheepish smile as a wave of embarrassment washed over you. Your brain had been on a one-track mentality since you received his message, the bleary-eyed sleepiness long gone the second he mentioned Charles. You hadn’t even bothered to drive over, far too jittery and worked up to get behind the wheel. You needed the cold air to calm you down.
“Sorry, hello,” you greeted as you stepped into his apartment, trying to push down the urge to just grab Max’s shoulders and shake him until he told you where Charles was. “I just—”
“I know, you’re worried,” he said, his voice softer than you expected. “C’mon, I left him on the couch because he looked comfortable and I didn’t want to disturb him.”
You silently followed the boy through the long entrance corridor, your hands clenched into fists at your side to stop yourself from picking at the skin around your nail beds until they were raw and bleeding. 
You tried to prepare yourself for the sight you were going to see, to prepare for the worst just in case. 
You hadn’t expected him to look so…peaceful. 
He was sprawled on Max’s couch like the boy had said, his clothes rumpled and his hair messy but—at first glance, at least—he looked okay. But you could see the signs that he was no better than you were. His cheeks were red, like he had been crying a lot, and so was the tip of his nose, like he had been wiping it excessively. He looked worn down, and heavier than usual. Like there was a weight on his shoulders beyond the usual season stress. 
He looked like he was half as put together as you.
“I found him outside a bar,” Max’s voice startled you out of your thoughts as he stepped into the space beside you at the bottom of the couch. “I was on a late night run—you know, jet lag and stuff—and he was there. He was…” 
You frowned a little, turning to look at the Dutchman. “He was what?” 
“He wasn’t okay,” Max whispered with his own frown. “He could barely string a sentence together, let alone stand up. I think he had been kicked out of the bar, I don’t know. I promised him I would call you if he came back with me. I…I couldn’t just leave him there, you know?” 
You swallowed the lump in the back of your throat. “Thank you, Max.”
“It’s no problem, really,” he assured you and the silence fell between you two once more. And Max watched as your attention shifted back to Charles. He waited a few moments, a mental debate playing in his head, back and forth like a tennis match before he spoke up again. “I’m sorry. About everything. It…uh, it really sucks.”
You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. “Thanks.” 
Max took the hint and quickly shifted the conversation. “It doesn’t look like he is waking up anytime soon,” he said. “You can stay the night. The spare room is free. Or I can bring some blankets out here if you don’t want to leave him.”
You turned to him, a strained smile on your face. “You don’t have to—”
“It’s okay,” he assured you, and something in you felt relieved that you wouldn’t have to return home to that bed, the bed you shared with him. “It’s late anyways. You look like you need some rest.”
You chose to omit the fact that you hadn’t slept more than a few hours in the last few days, and even that was after crying yourself to exhaustion. 
“Thank you, Max. Really.” 
The Dutchman smiled. “Like I said, it’s no problem.”
...
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When Charles woke up the next morning, his head was killing him.
There was a bright light on his face, his mouth felt desert dry and he could have sworn there was a heavy weight on his chest. Not the metaphorical kind he had been lugging around for the last few days, but something actually weighing down on his chest and making it a little hard to breathe.
He gave himself a moment, tried to ground himself and hype himself up to open his eyes when he knew the light would only be more irritating than it was now. He tried to prepare himself for the killer hangover he was going to have to nurse all day, along with the countless calls to his team to apologise for not showing up to any of the meetings. 
To eventually reply to you too. 
However, when Charles finally gained the courage to open his eyes, the last thing he expected was to see a cat staring down at him. 
“What the—” He startled as he quickly sat up. 
The cat let out a noise of surprise before meowing, glaring at him before it padded off. Charles watched it for a few moments before blinking, taking in the unfamiliar setting around him. He knew he wasn’t in his apartment, or his mother’s, or either of his brothers’. 
He had no fucking idea where he was. 
But before the overwhelming fear took over his body and made him throw up everything he drank the previous night, you wandered into the room with a mug in hand. 
“You’re awake,” you breathed out, stopping mid-walk like you couldn’t quite believe he was there. 
Charles opened his mouth to say something but you reacted faster. The mug was abandoned on the coffee table he had failed to notice and you were throwing yourself in his arms, clinging onto him like you hadn’t seen him in years. 
It had felt like it had been years.
Charles let himself wind his arms around you, to pull you onto his lap and nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck until the familiar scent of your shampoo completely engulfed him. He let himself enjoy the feeling of you in his arms after almost two weeks of not seeing you in person. He let himself enjoy the one person in this world that didn’t make him feel like questioning everything in his life. 
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I’m so sorry—”
“Shhh, it’s fine,” you whispered back, sniffling back your own tears. “It’s fine. You’re here now, that’s what matters.” 
“But—”
“I just need you, Charles, no matter how long you take,” you murmured, your words slightly muffled but his arms tightened around you in understanding. 
Neither of you said anything for a few minutes, just soaking in the presence after so long apart. And, if he was being honest, he was in no rush to speak about everything. It had been playing on his mind like a broken record since he saw the videos, he didn’t want to give it any more brain space. He knew it was inevitable, but right now he just wanted to enjoy you. 
“Where are we?” He asked eventually when the curiosity and the cat glaring at him became too much. 
“Max’s house,” you murmured, feeling the boy tense beneath you. You pulled back, keeping yourself close as you flashed the boy a sheepish expression. “He found you last night and brought you here before something happened to you.”
“Oh.” Charles blinked. “That was kind of him.” 
“Very,” you nodded in agreement. You watched him for a few moments as he stared around the living room before you continued talking. “My team messaged me.”
Charles swallowed. “Yeah?”
“They want to know what our plan is,” you whispered. You didn’t need to say more than that, Charles understood. 
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
“Val thinks it will backfire,” you murmured, looking down at your hands instead of his face. “If we are seen together too much.” 
Charles tensed. 
“The media might spin a story about me moving on from—” You paused, his name unable to pass your lips. 
“Can we just…not talk about this right now?” Charles whispered, his voice uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I just…it’s too much.”
“Okay,” you whispered with a nod. 
“We will handle it,” Charles assured you as he reached for your hand. Because he knew you, he knew the whole thing was eating  you up and it didn’t help pushing the conversation away. But he needed to be in the right state for it—not half-drunk from the night before. “Together. I promise.”
You sniffled, squeezing his hand. “Together.” 
“You two want pancakes for breakfast?” 
Both of your heads snapped around to find Max by the door, a kind smile on his face. He paused when he took a look at the both of you, probably noticing the solemn faces and red eyes and instantly looking embarrassed. 
“I’m sorry, did I just ruin a moment?” 
You shook your head. “No—”
“We would love pancakes,” Charles finished for you, trying to focus on your hand in his rather than the fact he was sitting on the couch of the man he had been competing with for a majority of his life. “Coffee is on us. As a thank you.” 
Max waved him off. “It’s fine—”
“We insist,” you said firmly. 
Max glanced between you before nodding. “Okay,” he said. “But I’m only saying yes because you two seem very stubborn and I’m not awake enough to deal with that.” 
And for the first time in over forty-eight hours, you had the oddest urge to laugh.
“Wanna order the coffee together?”
“Together.”
You weren’t sure what would happen next. You didn’t know what you were going to tell Val or the rest of your team. You didn’t know what Charles’ team would say. You didn’t know what the fuck you were going to do when you eventually saw Pierre again, when you had to sort out the fact you technically shared a flat with him.
But right now, your biggest issue was figuring out which coffee Max Verstappen liked and it was a kind distraction to your messy life.
Especially with the assurance that Charles was by your side.
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asterias-record-shop · 10 months
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╭════• ೋ•✧๑♡๑✧•ೋ •═══╮
— fuck his brains out
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In which you pretend not to know your boyfriend is Kick-Ass. maybe OOC characters, I got a little carried away, and maybe mixed timeline, I haven't watched the movies in a while... Also, Dave x Mean! reader because who doesn't love that?
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𓆩[main masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪
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“I think Kick-Ass is hotter,” you look over at Dave, licking your ice cream almost teasingly. “If I had the chance, I’d fuck his brains out.”
Dave blushed madly, rubbing his cheeks before you stand and tug on his arm. “Dave, I think we should start heading out. You’re walking me home, right?”
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Dave nodded quickly, as you thought that it was best because you had been taking care of him since his injury or said that because it had been a while. “Y-Yeah! I will, I’m coming.”
He waved at his friends as you tugged him out, throwing away the napkin that previously held your ice cream cone away. “I mean it,” you said abruptly, smiling over as you held his hand. “I would fuck him so hard he wouldn’t be able to talk.”
“W-Would you?” Dave finally speaks, looking over at you as you smiled.
“Hell yeah I would.”
Later that night, Mindy stared at him as he fixed his mask. “This isn’t a good idea, Dave."
In all seriousness, he really thought she would fight him to make him stay. What he was doing was stupid, but he was about to get laid. By you. The most beautiful girl in the world.
"This," he grinned back at her. "Is an amazing idea. I'm going to get laid so fucking hard."
"What if she wants to take off your mask?"
"She won't."
"What if she recognizes your voice?"
He paused, then smiled. "When I'm nervous, my voice gets higher. She won't recognize it. I'll see you later!"
He ran out, quickly going to your home. How was he going to get in? Would he sneak in through the window you always had unlocked that was right next to your dresser? Or would he throw rocks at your window, begging for you to let him up so you could fuck him?
He started to panic, how the hell would he sneak into your house?
In nervousness, he paced in the back alleyway behind your house before his phone buzzed, your name blaring on the screen.
Y/N 8:57PM come in through the window ;)
It made him pause before he looked at your window, gasping as you stared at him with your body lit in light of your bedside lamp. He could see your bright smile as you gave him a small wave, a gulp echoing through the alley as you opened up the window a bit and leave it open with a hairbrush.
He inhaled deeply as he slowly jumped over the fence, climbing up the tree that led up to the window, easily slipping through after pushing it up before carefully pushing it down. He gasped as he looked back, staring at his reflection through the mirror from where you sat in front of your vanity.
"It's slightly... perverted to sneak into a woman's house, right?" Your fingers rubbed moisturizer into your face like he had seen you do in the nights he slept over. "Dave knows that, but I'm assuming Kick-Ass doesn't."
Dave cleared his throat, pushing his hands to cover the front of his suit, specifically over his crotch. He loved it when you said his name. "I-I uhm... you know Dave as well? I know Dave too."
He watched as you giggled. "I do know Dave, very well. But something's telling me you know him a little better than I do."
He swallowed, humming before making his voice deeper. “I-I’ve known Dave a long time… Y/N.”
“Have you now?” You stood, slowly walking over and swaying your beautiful hips before you stood in front of him. “How long?”
“M-My whole life.”
You giggled as he slowly stepped forward to meet you in the middle, your fingers trailing down his chest as you pressed firm kisses wherever your fingers went and you slowly got down on your knees, your skimpy lingerie-like pajamas. "Did Dave ever tell you what I want to do to you, Kick-Ass? Hm?"
He whimpers, his false persona of confidence never even giving the chance to rise as you kissed over the bulge that he tried to hide. "H-He did... oh fuck, he did."
"Oh, well he didn't have to tell you, right? You knew it because you are Dave, right?" You licked over the material of his suit.
His head lulled back as he nodded, groaning. "R-Right, fucking hell, please! Please, please don't stop."
You scoffed as you stood, pressing your finger to his chest. "I knew it! I knew it, you bastard, why would you keep that from me?! Did you like me gushing over your alter ego?!"
He gasped as you shoved him, a groan falling from your lips. "What? No! No, of course not!"
"For fuck's sake, Dave! What, you're such a virgin that you loved the thought of some girl talking about her fantasies with your alter ego?! Fuck you!" You groaned as you sat on your bed, covering your face to hold back your smile. This had to work.
"No! No, of course not, of course not! I'm sorry, I am so sorry," he whined as he kneeled in front of you, holding your knees. "Please, you have to understand..." He takes off his mask, whimpering as he stared up at you. "I did it to keep you safe. I didn't... I don't want you to be a target."
You inhale deeply as you pulled your hands away from your face, glaring down at him. "You promise?"
"I promise."
He inhaled deeply as you squeezed his face, raising a brow. "Well then, what are you going to do to make it up to me?"
He paused, clearing his throat as you ran your fingers through his hair. "Wh-Whatever you want me to," he whispers, swallowing loudly. "Whatever you want me to do."
Oh, you knew it would work.
Maybe that's how Dave got here, laying on his back as he sobbed underneath your touch, the vibrating cock ring settled right at his base and your tongue licking at his tip, lapping and sucking teasingly. You giggled as he squirmed underneath your touch, your hand pumping him slowly. "I don't know if you've done enough to cum, Dave. I don't think... you've made it up to me."
He whined, shaking his head as he covered his mouth. "No, no please! I'll do anything you want, just please! I need- I need to cum inside of you."
You hummed teasingly, pursing your lips. "Inside of me? You want to ask that much of me? Do you think that you've done enough to get the pleasure of cumming inside of me?"
"Yes!" He whined loudly, groaning. "Yes! Yes, I'll make you feel good, I promise!"
You hummed, pumping him even harder. "No... I don't think you can. A virgin like you? Please."
"I promise! I promise I will, I promise." He whimpered, his hips bucking into the air.
He probably could, to be honest. His cock was bigger than you could ever imagine, his girth barely able to fit into your mouth without making your jaw ache and could barely go down your throat without choking. He had the prettiest dick you'd ever seen, definitely the biggest and girthiest too, just because the last few guys you saw were fucking assholes.
"Maybe I will let you cum inside of me," you mused, humming as you sucked on his tip to make loud popping sound echo across the room. "Maybe, if I'm feeling... nice."
He whined, nodding desperately. "Fuck, please! Please, I'll do anything!"
"Where do you want to cum inside of me, baby? Dave knows I'm on birth control, but does Kick-Ass?" You giggle, rubbing his thighs as you gagged on his cock.
"C-Can I cum i-in your... in your-?"
"You can't even say it, can you?" You giggled as you switched the ring into the highest power, humming. "You want to cum... inside of me, right? That narrows things down a little bit... you want to cum inside my mouth? Or... my ass, that's going to take a minute though. Maybe my pussy? Hm? It's already stretched out for you, Dave. Inside my pussy, inside of my cunt?"
"Y-Your cunt! I want... I want to cum inside of your cunt."
You giggled. "Just don't cum as soon as I take this ring off, alright?"
He let out a loud whimper, nodding as you slowly slip it off, putting it into your mouth to suck loudly, groaning as his taste filled your mouth. He groaned as you take it from your mouth, straddling his hips and holding his cock up. You could feel your eyes roll back, humming as he whimpered. "I-I'm close, I'm so close!"
You giggled as you sunk down onto him, yelling out as he screamed out, groaning with a strong buck of his hips to bottom out inside of you and his cum filling up your stomach. You gasped loudly, whimpering as you held onto his chest, your nails digging into his skin. "H-How are you still cumming?!"
"I-I can't stop," he groaned flipping you over to hold your thighs as he pressed his face into your neck, thrusting his hips. Your eyes rolled back, groaning loudly as the loud slaps of skin against skin filled your room. "Fuck, you feel so fucking good! Better than I could ever imagine, fuck!"
You whined as your nails dug into his back, Dave pulling away for just a second with a grin. "Who's fucking who's brains out now?"
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© asterias-record-shop
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charliemwrites · 3 months
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Sniff, sniff…. Woof.
“Johnny? Johnny, baby, come here!”
Your big wolf boy comes bounding in from the living room as you shut the front door, immediately rearing up to sniff at your neck and face and hands. Satisfied, he licks your cheek and drops down again.
“Alright, listen up, handsome.” You grab his cheeks, scritching along his jaw and grinning as his big blue eyes go dopey. “My sister and her husband are going to stay the night. You are going to be a polite boy because you love me and don’t want to give my sister anything to talk shit about. Yes?”
A sneeze that he (for once) aims away from you. You laugh, drop a kiss between his eyes.
“Good talk.”
As usual, he follows you through the house as you shed clothes and shoes and bags. You ramble about the grocery store and your day, mostly just to get it out so your headspace can be clear for the evening. Helps to have a little (relatively) listener following at your heels.
He camps out in the bathroom while you shower, licking the glass door until you scold him - per usual. And again when he tries to lick the clean water off your leg. Only starts getting restless and grumpy when he sees you change into “outside” clothes rather than pjs.
You groan as he tries to herd you away from your own closet. Must be mixed with a shepherding dog because he’s a damn pushy jerk.
“Enough, bud,” you sigh. “Look, I don’t wanna go much either. But it’ll be worse if I don’t.”
He mouths off at you, a new thing he’s started up that reminds you of a husky. Maybe you should get one of those doggy DNA tests.
“I know I know,” you coo, shimmying into a pair of pants that your sister won’t be able to tease makes your ass look flat. “I’d rather snuggle up and watch 90s vampire movies too. But I already said I’d go and this means I’ll be able to skip seeing her on her birthday.”
More grumbles, but at least he climbs up on the bed to pout. You finish dressing and head for the vanity - no way you can go out with your sister without makeup.
As you pass, you roll him over to scratch his belly - politely ignoring his reaction. God, you really need to get him in for a neutering. If you catch him humping one more pillow—
When it’s time to go, you drop down to give him one last hug.
“Be good, baby. I’ll be home soon with some new friends. I love you.”
After dinner, your sister’s husband suggests a bar. And, of course, it’s a sports bar. Man can’t go more than an hour or two without.
You and your sister chat while his eyes stayed glued to the screens. Well, she chats. You mostly just provide the audience she constantly craves, the validation she always needs.
At some point your excuse yourself to order another drink, weaving between the patrons and sighing at a chance to let your face rest for a moment. While you’re waiting, someone brushes up close behind you, startles you.
“Och, sorry, hen. Madhouse in here.”
You blink, tilt your head back to see a gorgeous pair of blue eyes shining down at you. Takes your breath away.
“Oh! Um, no problem, I get it.”
You try to scoot as much as you can - but it really is packed, especially at the bar - and the man takes the opportunity to occupy any free space you have.
Not that you’re complaining. He’s got the type of face they put on magazines with hooks like “sexiest man alive.” A killer grin as he winks down at you, arm bracing on the bar.
“Buy ya a drink for bein’ so rude?”
You’ve barely gotten the start of, “oh it’s alright,” out before he’s signaling the bartender. His stature and presence gets him instant service though, so you let it go, fidgeting restlessly.
Even his voice sounds like a sin worth committing. He’s too attractive. Too handsome to not know it; and definitely too handsome to be chatting you up and ordering you a drink.
“You here with anyone?” he asks with an edge that makes your spine prickle. Yet you almost feel like you imagine it. His tone is normal, his expression hasn’t changed and yet. Something subsonic in the timbre of his voice, maybe.
“My sister and her husband,” you reply.
“No husband of your own?”
You try to laugh, it comes out strained and awkward. “Ah, the only man in my life has four legs.”
Instead of looking annoyed by the brush off, his eyes spark.
“Dog?”
“Yup!” And okay, alarms in your head aside, you’re always happy to talk about Johnny. He’s a safe topic. You fish your phone out of your back pocket and show him your lock screen.
The man takes a quick look at the screen, an odd, private smile flicking across his face. There and then gone, before those intense eyes are locked on you again.
“He friendly?”
You laugh a bit, perk up as the bartender returns with your drink. “Not with men. Thanks for buying!”
as you turn to go, he grabs your hip. Not hard, or even too low. But you gasp quietly, the heat of his palm searing through your clothes.
“Name’s soap, by the way.”
Infinitely more nervous now, you stutter out your own and then retreat to your sister and her husband.
Spend the rest of the night pretending not to watch Soap. He doesn’t return the courtesy, eyes trained on you, lurking around the bar. So visible it seems to only you. Something about the way the light catches his eyes reminds you of when Johnny senses a threat. When he gets low and growly, hair standing on end, eyes focused.
Soap looks like he’s hunting you.
Thankfully, your sister complains about the noise after an hour or so and the three of you leave. You’re relieved to be going home.
As you step inside, you call for Johnny again.
“Wait, who the hell is Johnny?” your sister’s husband asks, an odd look on his face. “You’re living with someone?”
You snort a bit. Does he seriously not remember you talking about your dog?
“Yeah,” you joke, “he’s the love of my life, my one and only—”
You hear the clack of the doggy door and call out again. Johnny trots in panting.
“Did you just come in from a run?” you chuckle, putting a hand out in greeting.
He comes right up to you, presses his nose to the spot where “Soap” grabbed you and snuffles.
“I know, I smell wrong,” you soothe.
He grumbles and licks at your shirt, but you gently nudge him away, turning as your sister scoffs.
“You still do that thing where you talk to them like people?” She asks. “Don’t you think that’s… childish?”
“Johnny’s basically a person in a human body,” you reply, laughing. “You’ll see.”
“Dogs shouldn’t have human names,” her husband pipes up, reaching for Johnny.
“No, wait—”
Johnny snaps just shy of his fingers and puts himself bodily between you two.
“Easy!” you yelp, hooking your hand in his collar. “Sorry, I meant to warn you - Johnny’s shy with men.”
“He almost took my bloody hand off!”
“He’s just protective. Johnny, heel.”
He stops snarling, but plants himself at your feet right there, eyes sharply trained on your brother in law. Your sister snorts.
“How are you supposed to get men back here, then?”
You jump as Johnny barks, a full deep one that your rarely ever hear. Your sister startles too, then scowls.
“I don’t,” you answer, shaking your head. “Anyway, let me just get the sheets for the spare room and we can call it a night.”
Johnny stays close at your heels the entire time, though you swear he throws a nasty glance back at your sister’s husband.
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woojoongstreasure · 1 month
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Little Love Notes | Bang Chan 
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Pairing: Bang Chan x Fem!Reader  
Summary: Chan's girlfriend likes to leave him little notes.  
Warnings: It just fluffy. I have written a little drabble similar to this but wanted to switch it around so it's reader leaving him little love notes. This is a repost from my now deactivated blog. More of an explanation in my pinned post.
Word Count: 482 
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Chan's heart swelled with warmth as he read the little note once again. The words are written on a bright yellow post-it note which was stuck to his laptop lid. It was a simple sentence, but it meant so much to him.  
"Have a great day, my love. Don’t be too hard on yourself."   
The last couple day’s he’d been a little hard on himself because he couldn’t get a part of the latest song they’ve been working on right. No matter how he mixed it, with and without Changbin and Jisung’s help, he couldn’t seem to get it sounding like he envisioned in his mind.   
Taking a moment before he goes back to the song that’s becoming a headache, he remembers back to when Y/N left him the first note she ever left him. They had just moved in together when he found a post-it note stuck to the screen of his phone, with ‘I love you’ written on it. From that day on, Y/N made it her mission to leave him little love notes around their apartment. Some days they just said I love you and other days they’d be a small paragraph reminding him how loved he is, or how lucky she is to have him. Sometimes they would be sweet little reminders for him to take breaks, or to go easy on the guys and stuff like that. When he went away, whether it be in South Korea or overseas, the little notes would continue. He’d find them on in his bag, in the pocket of a random hoodie or pair of pants, and on his electronics. He even found one wrapped around his toothbrush, one time.   
The guys often tease him about the notes, but he doesn't care. He loves these notes more than anything because they are a physical representation of her love for him. It’s his and Y/N’s little thing they have that doesn’t involve anyone else. He loves it and would be sad if she ever stopped writing them.  
As he opens his laptop, he chuckles to himself when he finds another note in his girlfriend's handwriting. ‘Can we please have McDonald’s for dinner?’  
He puts the notes somewhere safe so he can add them to the growing collection, filling his desk drawer at him. Grabbing his phone, he pulls up his messages with Y/N, and types out his reply to her notes.  
‘You have a good day too. I’ll pick up McDonald’s on my way home tonight. I love you so much x.’  
He puts his phone to the side and boots up his laptop to get started working on the newest 3racha song.  
It doesn’t take long before his phone buzzes, notifying him that he has a new message. When he checks it, he smiles, seeing it’s from Y/N.   
‘I’ll message you my order later. I love you so much too, baby xxxxx.’ 
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thexsilentxwordsmith · 4 months
Text
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Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader
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Fandom: Call of Duty
Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader
Summary: Simon is out at a stag party for Prices upcoming wedding when he comes how early with something important on his mind that he needs to see you to say. Is he just drunk or is it something more?
Word Count: 3.8 k
Warnings:
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Author's Note: I just needed a little more fluff smut, so here is this. I have some other things planned for variety coming soon soon.
***
The ringing vibration of the front door opening and shutting with a bit of force caught you by surprise as you lay in bed, the phone in your hand the only light in the room as you bundled yourself under the covers to shield out the cold of that winter night. Eyes flitted up to the clock in the corner of your screen; you hadn't expected him to be home yet as you were sure there would be no sign of Simon until at least sunrise if past experience when he went out with the team was any indication.
Heavy stumbling footsteps sounded throughout the small apartment, getting closer with each passing second, before two distinct thuds of something weighted falling to the floor followed from Simon removing his shoes. The footsteps continued on a bit quieter now until they stopped just right outside the door to your bedroom. With a click the door was opened to reveal your boyfriend standing there, eyes searching for your form in the darkened room as he blocked out the light in the hallway from taking up the majority of the door frame.
Reaching up you flicked on the bedside lamp to illuminate everything in a soft yellow glow. Even with the dim light, brown eyes had to blink a few times to adjust as he propped himself up against the door frame until he could see properly. Setting your phone down on the bedside tabletop you gave him the once over as you untangled yourself from your sheet burrito.
“Is there any booze left out there or did you sorry lot clean out the entire stock?” you chuckled as you rolled over onto your back, eyes trailing him as he crossed into the room to stand at the foot of the bed. “Didn't think you'd be back so soon. Aren't stag nights supposed to go till the sun rises? I seriously doubt the boys were done yet.”
“Had to call it quits early,” he drunkenly strung his words together, accent thick and slightly slurred as the whiskey ran through his veins. 
Odd. “Why? Something happen?” you questioned curiously as you watched him throw off his overcoat and rip off his thin balaclava, short, dirty blonde hair springing back up from being crushed under the fabric as he reached to the back of his neck and gripped the collar of his t-shirt to pull it up and over his head, tossing it to the floor so that he stood before you bare-chested in his dark wash jeans that clung to his sizeable thighs. 
That bulky, broad chest was flushed pink in the center to match the staining through his cheeks, a product of his drinking mixed with the stifling warmth inside the string of bars the 141 found themselves venturing to in celebration of Price’s upcoming wedding. A playful grin crossed his pale lips as he stalked over to the bed and grabbed at the bottom edge of the bedding, pulling the sheets and comforter out from their place tucked under the mattress up so that he could climb in, letting them fall over him as he crawled underneath up towards you.
Parched lips weathered by the frozen air outside caressed your ankles and calves as that giant mass of man traveled up through the covers, taking his sweet time. Over your knees, thighs, and hips he peppered sloppy kisses along the skin as he went until you felt Simon’s rough fingertips brushing against the panties covering your pelvis as he tugged at the hem of your oversized sleep shirt, pulling it up so that he could shove himself inside it as far as he could go. Warmer kisses now made your stomach flutter where they were placed along your torso as his nose nuzzled into your abdomen until your warmth covered his face and heated his cold features.
“Nah, nothin’ like that. Fuckin’ needed to get home to ya is all,” he breathed those need-filled words into your skin under your clothes as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Had a fuckin’ ridiculous cravin’ to see my beautiful girl, so I made up an excuse and told the boys I had ta go.” 
A large hand ran up and down the length of your right hip tracing pathways that he knew by heart, tempting smooth skin with his touch while his padded torso pressed itself over your thighs. He held on tight as if it had been days since he had last seen you in person. Over the years you’d been together you came to notice that whenever those arms were around your body you could pinpoint the exact moment when all the tension he always held in his shoulders would ease and his entire form would relax into you as if he had been holding his breath until the moment he touched you.  
You shook your head with another chuckle; it was always a delightful surprise just how he was even more affectionate when he was drunk. “You weren’t even gone that long. Miss me that much?” you questioned playfully as Simon kissed in delicate circles around your navel, lips eventually trailing upwards over temperate skin towards your ribcage to caress the delicate underside of your breasts with his mouth. 
“Always,” he returned, voice muffled by lips against your body. 
Everywhere he went your skin lit up, reacting to the prickly stubble on his cheeks as his face glided over your body until you were entranced by the feeling of him. Your hands kneaded at the muscles in his shoulder as you writhed beneath him and he would have continued to turn you into a puddle, but there was something he needed to do first; the real reason he had rushed home.  
Slipping out of your shirt he emerged from the top of the sheets, cropped hair tousled and cheeks even more pink. The scent of whiskey was on his breath, accentuated by the sting of tobacco and the frosty winter night. He moved up onto his knees between your legs, kneeling over top of you, sunset eyes drifting down your form from your face to your torso. 
“What?” you questioned as he sat there, taking you all in with gentle eyes that softened the longer he gazed. 
“It’s always been you and me, ya know,” he said as his hands wandered to find yours resting by your sides. Spreading them open with his fingers, he slipped his palms up against your own so that he could interlace those long digits between the empty spaces. “Through all the bullshit, all the long deployments and late nights, all the nightmares and the bad days. You’ve always been a fuckin’ rock for me through it all.”
Simon lifted your hands still wrapped in his and moved them up over your head as he laid himself over top of you until his face was mere inches from your own. 
“Well yeah, I love you ya know,” you agreed, unsure of why he was saying such things now. “But where is this coming from, baby?”
“Conversations tonight got me thinkin’ things again,” he admitted.
You raised an eyebrow. “What kind of things, hmm?” 
“Things I’ve been thinkin’ for a while now, just didn’t think I could make ‘em happen… or that maybe I shouldn’t. But maybe I can…maybe we can…” his words tripped over themselves with the quickening pounding of his heart.
“Simon, what are you trying to say?” 
He paused with a smile on his lips, sighing contentedly. His inebriated mind had nothing but the truth to give him as a response and so he spoke the words he never thought he’d get to say to anyone, but he was surprised how easily they rolled off his tongue now. “I’m tryin’ to say that I’ve been thinkin’ about how I wanna fuckin' marry ya, luv,” he stumbled out, copper gaze lingering on your eyes shimmering in the low light. “Don't want no one else to get a fuckin' chance to snatch ya up before I come to my senses and make sure your mine foreva’.”
You laughed it off, caught completely off-guard by his words. They say that drunk words are sober thoughts, but this was more than you had ever expected from him tonight. It wasn't that you hadn't thought about the possibility of such a future with Simon, you'd been together for long enough now that it was something you had hoped for, yet whenever the subject was approached the few times it was before it was met with hesitation on his part. There was no question that you knew he loved you, that you loved him, but taking that next huge step had never seemed like a priority and you were fine with that. Hearing him say it aloud so assuredly made your stomach flip with anticipation.
However you also knew he wasn't in a state to be thinking clearly and you didn't want to get ahead of yourself just yet. Tomorrow he could wake up, head pounding, and not even remember you had had this conversation in the first place. Best to wait until he could sober up before discussing such heavy things in any more detail. 
“You're drunk, baby,” you chuckled as your hand cupped against him and lingered on his face, thumb tenderly stroking his cheek. “We can talk about this later, okay?”
Closing his eyes he melted into your touch, so soft and silky against his rough face; it was like magic how you were his comfort. It was effortless, your love, and that was something he had never known. Everything had always been a struggle, an uphill battle that he had to sacrifice for, but being with you was the first time he had ever understood when people would talk about someone being their other half because you truly were his. 
“Maybe I’m a little fuckin’ sloshed,” he conceded, “but I ain't gotta be sober ta know that I’m tired of pretendin’ I’m some kind of cold-hearted monster that doesn’t want ta have some type a life outside of my work; like I haven’t been wantin’ ta give ya the title of missus, maybe start a family with ya and all that. Things I didn’t think I’d be able ta have till ya came along and fuckin’ changed everythin’.” 
Fluttering open his eyes they locked onto yours and there was not an ounce of apprehension to be found in their depths. “You’re serious?” you asked, watching for any subtle change in his face as you struggled to find air to fill your lungs.
Again he leaned into you, capturing your mouth within a kiss that spoke volumes of love into you so that the synapses in your brain misfired the longer your lips danced and worked to make your body feel as if it was floating. “As a fuckin’ heart attack,” he breathed against your mouth. “I sat there tonight listenin’ to Price go on and on about not wantin’ to waste anymore time denying tha life he wanted and it made me realize I can’t keep bein’ afraid to take tha plunge. Ya deserve someone ta be better than that, sweetheart. And do ya know what it is that I really fuckin’ want?”
Speech failed you in that moment as his lips brushed across yours, electricity sparking over them as he took a deep breath to fill himself with your scent as his grip on your hands above your head tightened. It was so easy the way you could become consumed by him; his touch, his words, they cast their spell over you in an instant to fill your heart to nearly breaking. And yet all you wanted was more.
You swallowed to gain control of your vocal chords, finally finding your voice. “What?” the simple question barely audible under your breath.
“What I fuckin’ want is for ya ta be my wife.”
You stopped breathing completely for a moment, heart fluttering frantically as the certainty in his statement filled up all that secret yearning in your soul, the one that desperately wanted to be claimed permanently no matter how much you denied it didn’t bother you not to be. 
“Are you asking me or telling me?” you stammered out in a whisper, afraid that this was all an illusion that would break apart the moment you got too loud. 
“I am askin’ ya right now if ya want to be Mrs. Riley,” he answered with a smile. “And don’t fuckin’ say I don’t know what I’m doin’ cause I do, luv. I do.”
Releasing you from his grasp he stretched himself all the way over to the chest of drawers near the bed and pulled open the one that contained the lockbox for his pistol. Pressing the numbered buttons on the front in the correct order he opened it and grabbed something out of the inside that you could not see before he set the lockbox on the ground. Sitting back upright, he held out his hand and inside was something small and square.
You sat up straight in the bed and looked from the velvet box up into his face with a gasp as he flipped the lid open to reveal a ring. “Got it a couple months back,” he admitted, “just wanted it ta be the right time. Kept fuckin’ talkin’ myself outta it cause I thought ya deserved better than me. But I want ya, sweetheart, I wanna make ya mine so fuckin’ bad if that’s what ya want too.” 
All you could hear was the sound of your heartbeat in your ears that drowned out everything else as one of Simon’s large hands cupped around your cheek. “Will ya marry me?”
“Simon,” you said his name so sweetly that it rendered his mind numb as tears pooled in your eyes and time seemed to stand still as he waited for you to finish your answer. “There’s nothing else I want more than to be married to you. Yes, my answer is yes.”
Simon’s reaction was visceral as he hurriedly leaned back down into you with back arching and crashed his lips upon yours, greedily drawing all the love from your mouth that he could as he captured your mouth over and over again. Unconsciously the ring box was discarded on the nightstand as his hands desperately needed to be filled with the being that made up his entire world; that was all that mattered. 
“Whatever the fuck I did to deserve ya I hope I continue to do it to keep ya,” he moaned into your open mouth while he pulled you onto his lap and you wrapped your hands around the back of his neck to keep yourself steady as you sat down on him. “You’re the only thing I’ll eva want.”
You let yourself sink into his embrace as his hands kneaded at your hips and ran over the curve of your ass, overcome with so many emotions that it was impossible not to get swept up in them all. “I’m yours,” you responded in a moan. “Not going anywhere.”
The sound of your soft, breathy voice creating music out of the tender sounds as his fingers sent shivers down your spine made the collected and stoic soldier crack at the seams and any trace of the disastrous thoughts that had plagued him about how this interaction would happen fell away; a fire roared to life in his chest, spreading throughout his limbs until his fingertips prickled with desperation as he lost himself in you until nothing else existed except what lay inside the bed.  
Simon was a moth drawn to your flame and if it killed him, then he knew now that he would happily burn.
His fingers went caressing along the lines of your body over your t-shirt as if he were ravenous, as if he hasn’t touched you in years: over hips and thighs, circling over the fullness of your backside, up and around to your back where he flattened his palms to run them up the length of your spine all the way to where he ran coarse fingers through your hair at the back of your head. A tangled mess of limbs and lips, raw and wanting, as his hands descended back down into your lap.
Grabbing the hem of your sleep shirt with his exploring fingers, he released your mouth for as long as it took to rip it off over your head and toss it somewhere onto the floor. “There she is,” he breathed before mouth was diving into all that newly exposed warm flesh. Simon’s mouth left your kiss-flushed face and traveled to your jaw, adorning it with his lips as he dragged them along the length and trailed them down to your neck where they meet his fingers who took over and followed down the line of your neck to your chest and around the soft tissue of your breasts.
Securing you to him with a strong arm around your waist, bare chest against bare chest, his hand rubbed across the length of your thighs until he decided to slip it in the crevasse between them. Up against your panty-clothed pussy he pressed his hand sending chills along your skin so that you’d buck against his hand and you could feel a smile grow on his mouth that now rested at the crook of your neck.
“I fuckin’ love makin’ ya feel good baby,” he groaned. “Christ, you’re so fuckin’ perfect… so perfect, pretty girl.”
Simon pushed his fingers up through the cloth until he was sure he had your petals pressed into your clit so that he could grind into it over and over until you began to ache something fierce. Your hips mirrored the work of his fingers as you rolled them over his hand, the excitement of the moment and the giddy feelings heightening all sensations so that the slightest bit of effort had you dripping.
Suddenly you pulled away from his mouth, leaving his lips missing your touch. “Take off your pants,” you said.
“Only if ya take off these tiny things,” Simon smiled as he pawed at your pelvis.
That was a deal easily made.
It was a mad scramble to remove the rest of the clothing that kept you apart, his jeans being ripped off in a flash as you pulled off your panties, but you were quick and resituated yourselves back in that intimate position of facing one another. His cock throbbed hard, the veiny appendage swollen and aching and ready to slide into you. With a firm grip he helped you situate yourself kneeling over his cock and then held onto you as you slowly lowered yourself onto the engorged tip.
Breathing strained and muscles tensed along his abdomen as Simon slipped inside, your body taking him all in down to the base of his cock. Your arms locked around the back of his neck to keep you from falling off his lap, delicate whimpers dripping from your lips as his cock nestled securely inside to stretch you good and full to the brim. The stretch of him was heaven, only slight discomfort that immediately gave way to ecstasy as it pulsed and throbbed against your walls like a heartbeat deep in your core, its rhythm making your body tremble to the cadence of a dance that only you two had perfected.
“I love you,” the emotion-laden words left your lips.
“I love ya too, sweetheart,” he returns without missing a beat. 
There were no more words that could be said as you both devolved into beings created solely for the pleasure of the other, the sounds of grunting and moaning filling up the room. The longer you went the harder you ground your hips into his pubic bone to engage your swollen clit like you couldn’t get enough of the way it felt. Your fingertips tingled with the prickling sensation of them running over the cropped bottom of Simon’s blonde locks at the back of his neck as you rode him, every part of you from your head down to your toes in pure bliss. 
Simon let you take the lead, so worked up that he was barely hanging on by a thread the moment he was inside you, the overwhelming sensation of love being shared the catalyst that drew you both closer to the precipice of release. Tender snaps of his hips upward into you helped to engage that region inside your core that felt divine. Mixed with the rubbing of your clit against him and you were quickly being made to come undone. 
Head falling forward, your eyes closed as you moaned into his face. “Yes, mmm… yes.”
“Come with me baby,” he groaned as he leaned forward so that your foreheads were pressed tightly against one another, “I know you’re close. Come on, you and me, together.”
Your hands around his neck squeezed harder to match the feeling as his grip wrenched down on your hips, your mouth hung agape as you desperately focused on your breathing. The coil wound tightly in your abdomen pulled taunt, body vibrating with pleasure, your orgasm within reach. It wouldn’t be long now and Simon was straining to hold on till the end.
“That’s it,” he coaxed gently, keeping his movements at a steady rhythm. “Just breathe; we’re almost there.”
The coil of arousal compressed in your core finally snapped and with a shudder your orgasm rocketed through you fiery hot, making you whimper closed mouth into his face as your hips bucked harshly into his. And before you could even finish through a second of your ecstasy, Simon locked his mouth onto yours as he let go and came fast and rough, mixing his groans with yours in the space created by your mouths.
Remembering what started this all he stretched his arm over to the nightstand and reached for the ring inside the box, taking your left hand to place the delicate band around your finger. He held up your hand before you both to admire the look of it, watching the gem glint and gleam in the light as he turned it back and forth. Never in his dreams could he imagine something so perfect being his to keep.
Simon’s hands stayed locked to your hips as a natural rhythm rocked you both back and forth through your high, just breathing until you could both come back down. He didn't want to let you go and you were more than content to stay nestled in his arms for as long as possible just to feel him. Eventually his heart rate slowed enough that he could breathe normally again and as he did he eased you both down to the mattress, you resting atop his chest. Your finger drew lazy patterns through the hair along his chest as the pair of you clung to one another.
Simon brought your hand to his mouth and placed gentle lips to it. “Can’t believe I get to ‘ave her as mine for the rest of my life,” he said as he pulled you into another toe-curling kiss, as happy as one person could be.
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dcxdpdabbles · 7 months
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DC x DP: Dog Walker
Danny needs someone to walk his dog.
He had been in Gotham for about five months when it became apparent he needed companionship.
Ever since Clockwork and Frostbite came to the same decision to move Danny to a new universe for his health- his core was deteriorating due to his obsession being fulfilled as Amity Park was safe, and everyone was ready to grow up and move on.
So Danny moved to a rough city in a harsh universe so that the danger could help his core restart his obsession.
The first few weeks were fine; he even found work as a computer program designer that allowed him to work from home thanks to his universe's advanced technology, but soon, he struggled with loneliness and homesickness—that was where his dog came into the picture.
He adopted Equinox- Nox for short- from the local shelter, and while Nox was a mutt with unknown parents, Danny had no trouble taking care of him.
That was until he accepted a job offer at Wayne Enterprise, and his work hours shifted from remote work seven days a week to four days. He wasn't stimulating Equinox properly by keeping him inside the three days he was out and his poor boy was suffering from it.
This could have easily be solved with a pet sitter or just a dog walker but this is Gotham. Danny knows he picked this place for its constant danger to keep his obsession active but he just wasn't expecting Gotham to be so...much.
He had a panic attack just thinking about what would happened to Nox if he trusted just anyone to take care of him.
Nox is the only living being that is under his Protection. It went against his very Instincts to not find someone he trusted utterly to walk him.
Danny checks his phone to see Nox peaceful sleeping in his doggy bed and sighs. His boy has been sleeping more and more lately, losing his bright spark.
"Whats wrong Danny?" Karla, one of the Office interns, asks from where she is walking along side him.
"Nothing, it's just my dog needs to go for a walk, and I'm not there to give him one." He says, turning the screen. "I wish I can have some one walk hin for me-"
"Understood. I shall pick up your dog tomorrow, Fenton," a tiny voice cuts in. The two turn around only to look down at the green eyes of Damian Wayne. His bosses' son and brother. Oh boy.
"Ugh, I'm sorry?" He blinks as the youngest, Wayne thrusts a piece of paper at him. Danny has no choice but to hesitantly takes the paper. On it is a professional if short resume belonging to Damian that highlights his skillset and community service.
"Father has informed me of the family tradition started by our Pennyworth. Every Wayne gets a part-time job from twelve to grow character." The boy says, hands behind him and back straight, appearing every bit his status. Also, it is like a little kid trying to appear as an adult. Danny found it kind of cute, and it reminded him of Jazz. "I have multiple experiences with animals, as you can see from volunteering at the local shelters. My fees for my services are also meager and would surely not be difficult to cover."
Danny's core turned cold, but not in the wrong way. It was a cooling sensation he had associated with a fun day of either a snowball fight or the fresh first fall. He knew he could trust the boy.
"You know what? Yeah I love it if you walked my dog. In fact would you be interested in being a dog sitter?"
The boy's green eyes brightened with childish glee, but he tried to remain serious. Danny's heart melted at the sight. Oh, he should call Jazz soon. "That would be most acceptable."
Unknown to Danny, Karla, or Damian, Dick Grayson watched the trio as his brother handed one of the most mysterious employees a resume. Now, why would Fenton want to be close to Damian?
Over the last few months, people have been trying to take advantage of Damian because they thought his brother stupid for his mixed blood, just as they did when Bruce first took him in.
Danny doesn't mind Alfred's rule to find a part-time job to help teach them values, but he finds people aren't as kind as they should be. He'll have to keep an eye on this Danny Fenton.
Maybe he can help co-sit his dog.
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hongthoven · 20 days
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「✦Mist ✦」 ʰᵒⁿᵍʲᵒᵒⁿᵍ ˣ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ ⁽ˢᵐᵘᵗ⁾
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one-shot 𖹭 4.5k w
pairing 𖹭 kim hongjoong (ateez) x fem reader
tags 𖹭 smut; established relationship; rough sex; car sex; jealousy; possessiveness; bit of dirty talk if you squint
✏️ Hongjoong is the jealous kind - you know it, everyone around you knows it, but what was supposed to be a chill night out with your friends takes an unexpected turn when your boyfriend accidentally hears about a past fling including one of the boys sitting at the table next to you.
pls reblog & comment if you like it 𖹭
© hongthoven
“He’s gonna blow this off. You just watch”
An uneventful, typical Friday night at your local bar with your usual gang, dusting off the reminiscence of a neverending busy week of work and pretending to enjoy the company of people you wish you didn’t even have to interact with daily. With his elbows pressed against the table as he lifts himself to get a perfect view over the bar where one of your friends disappeared merely a minute ago, Seonghwa can’t contain the hysterical laughter shaking him to the bones as you all sit there watching another chaotic cry for attention from the man who’s about to use another infamous cringy pick-up line to get into the bartender’s pants. 
While you’re not always proud to introduce him as such, Wooyoung has been granted with the best-friend status ever since you were still crawling in your nappies and struggling with the concept of syllables; and even though there was a time he used to be cute enough to get out of an awkward situation, watching him make an absolute fool of himself sits inevitably at the top three things you like to do on a Friday night– having Hongjoong there by your side only sprinkles an ounce of perfection to this moment, your boyfriend primarily acting like the cherry on top of every mundane situation. And right now, with his palm tucked between your closed thighs and his forehead occasionally resting against your shoulder every time he starts to laugh a little bit too loud at your friend’s misery, Hongjoong definitely looks like the tastiest dessert to the three-courses-meal you could have used upon heading to the bar. 
Red at the cheeks, you can already feel the sheer mix of alcohol and excitement as everyone starts to chant some improvised loser anthem to welcome back Wooyoung at your table, his cocky smirk untouchable as he finds his spot right next to you with the confidence of a sore loser facing the tragic ‘game over’ screen of a video game. Looking for the support he can’t find in any of you, Wooyoung immediately reaches for the first glass in front of him — yours —  and chugs it down his throat in what you count as two painfully slow gulps. Within a second, the glass hits the table back with a loud thump.
“Can’t even get your own drink?”
“Hhhhh— chill, babe, what’s yours is mine, remember? and yes, that includes YOU, Joong!” Wooyoung smirks a little bit too proudly, your cheek pinched between two of his fingers as he manages to equally piss you and your boyfriend off with his typical provocative tone. 
Lucky for you, Hongjoong is quick to let him know he wouldn’t go near his dick even if he was about to die and the only remedy was laying in his cum– and as the topic eventually dies with Wooyoung quietly chuckling to himself, the back of his head hitting the leather of the booth you had claimed as yours over an hour ago, Seonghwa calls for another round, ready to keep the night going. 
It’s nothing close to unusual, having a bunch of friends in their twenties naturally leading the conversation towards their favorite topic: sex. More specifically, a heated debate over who’s getting some and who gets to take the “no bitches” status home for the week. Seonghwa usually gets the party started– as a photographer, the man never fails to share the crudest anecdotes about a photoshoot turned into some sort of orgy, sparing no details even though being asked to ‘get to the point’ about a thousand times throughout his stories. Then, Wooyoung would usually make his contribution by sharing some of his latest Tinder encounters, using this moment to be his favorite version – the center of attention – and turning a random story about a date in a coffee shop into a Shakespearian drama, tone and everything, to entertain the crowd. 
By the time the two single pieces of your gang are done, they typically enjoy teasing you – the happy couple – asking if sex hasn’t turned too boring yet, as you’re soon to be entering your third year as an item. But tonight, for some reason, shit unexpectedly hits the fan when a silly comment makes your boyfriend flinch into his seat, eyebrows knitted together as Wooyoung’s voice – always too loud and high-pitched – comes out with a secret you thought would be kept forever, merely a piece of information, a glitch from the past, nothing to even discuss— unless Hongjoong decides to make it an issue. 
“You two slept together?” you only realize he’s been quiet for a while when his voice surprisingly cracks under the utter shock of picturing his girlfriend hooking up with the womanizer sitting by her side. Until then, never considered a threat but now standing awfully close to the woman Hongjoong liked to claim as his, brand new information instantly breaking the perfect balance between a long-time friend and an ex-lover he didn’t see coming. 
“I wouldn’t technically call it ‘sleeping’ — I mean, there was no bed involv—”
“Shut up, Wooyoung” you cut him off immediately, rolling your eyes at the way he simply NEEDS to add useless details to his statement.
“That was ages ago” While you feel the urge to add context, the way Hongjoong’s hand immediately stills between your thighs, matching the one holding his glass close to his lips as he tilts his head with a quick, unimpressed chuckle, says it all. He is pissed.
The rest of the evening is quite a blur as you fail to focus on any of the ongoing conversations, your attention entirely drawn to Hongjoong who's gone quiet ever since he heard about a whole section of your life you had managed to keep undercover to this day. And though you try to make eye contact every now and then, you’re a bit concerned to face his clenched jaw and a stone-cold silence, his body only reacting from primal instinct whenever Wooyoung wraps an arm around your shoulders to joke around, your boyfriend’s eyes following his every move like a predator ready to jump if he dares coming closer.
The silence between you two occurs for the rest of the night and follows you through the streets as you struggle to match your boyfriend’s pace, alcohol and stilettos as the worst combination with wet concrete from a drizzly evening. 
“Are you seriously mad at me?” You eventually dare to ask, your hand reaching for his arm to stop him in his tracks – quite honestly you’ve grown tired of staring at his back and strolling behind like a puppy who’s just wet the new carpet. 
“Take a wild guess” Hongjoong almost hisses as he finally turns to face you, one of his hands collecting a fistful of his black hair to push it back and in this moment, you hate the fact he looks so divine, droplets sparkling all over his face like skin made of a billion diamonds, thick lashes battling against a storm as he locks your gaze, trying desperately to read through your puzzled expression.
“For Christ’s sake Hongjoong, that was YEARS ago— a whole different life!”
“It’s not about ‘when’ it happened, Y/N, I’m just wondering why it never came up before. God knows he likes to talk about the places his dick has been before, we had a complete walk through a world tour— Wish I knew you were one of the stops.” 
“It never came up because it means nothing– doesn’t it prove anything at all? We were just horny college students! It was over before it was even a thing!”
“Seems like you left quite the impression” Hongjoong snaps back, his fingers fiddling with his pocket, looking for a lighter and what seems to be the only cigarette left in the packet he immediately crushes and tosses into the nearest bin – baffled. You try and recall Wooyoung’s words and the way he carelessly exposed one of your flings, letting the entire table know about how you had dragged him into the corner of a busy street following a night out in a club, begging to be fucked. Like you said, a whole different life— a life when you didn’t care much about settling with anyone, sick of the dating scene and more importantly, a life when you could still perceive Wooyoung’s sex appeal. Back then, it was easy to be charmed whenever he smiled at you, tongue poking into his gummy cheek like he was a second away from bending you over the sketchy couch of his pocket-sized student bedroom. Back then, mindless sex with your best friend seemed like a perfect compromise, especially when you two ended up too horny yet too lazy to go out and seek for a Player 2. 
Now, though? Wooyoung remained your best friend, a comfort place always willing to make you laugh through darker times— but when it came to sex? You couldn’t even recall the last time you had felt attracted to the man. How could you, when the one staring at you right now, eyebrows furrowed, lips pinched together and quite obviously dismantled by the whole situation was still, inevitably, profoundly, everything you wanted and needed from a partner?
“You know he can’t compete…” you feel the urge to insist although you can’t recall a time when you haven’t praised your boyfriend’s skills in the bedroom— or wherever he feels like having you. Truth be told, no one could ever make you drift away from Hongjoong. Even after years of dating, the man still managed to take your breath away. But you would also lie if you said you didn’t like his jealous side just a little. The way his lips turn into a natural pout as he sucks onto his cigarette, his eyes obviously avoiding yours as he frowns towards a random scene happening on the other side of the road between another couple whose fight seems way ahead of yours. You can’t help but notice the irony. Maybe something in the air?
“It’s not a competition, Y/N” Hongjoong rarely uses your name— typically prefers to give you his favorite pet names instead of some boring formality, and tonight is one of those rare exceptions when he is too mad to act like your usual caring boyfriend. You know he is probably rummaging through the most haunting thoughts— thoughts of you pinned up against the wall, clinging onto Wooyoung, both of you still half clothed as he rockets himself into you, making you call his name in the middle of the streets and for everyone to see. 
Rain has gotten you drenched by now, the fabric of your dress sticking to your shivering skin as you curse yourself for ditching a coat just because none of your warmest jackets would fit your vibe that night. Your impeccable fashion taste was actually one of the many things that had caught Hongjoong’s eye when you had first met and to this day, your boyfriend never missed a chance to praise your looks— every morning he would stare at you with a loving smile, a second before pressing his lips to your neck as you both stood in front of your bedroom’s mirror, his sweet voice whispering the most devastating compliments only to conclude with a daily “I love you”. 
“Let’s get you home, you’re gonna catch a fucking cold” Hongjoong adds, taking off his own coat to let it rest like a cape upon your shoulders. Though the fabric is just as drenched as you are, it feels comforting to smell the familiar scent of his signature fragrance, the one that never fails to get you hot and bothered, only because it is particularly crafted for your boyfriend. Rich, fancy with just enough masculinity in the undertone to make you feel like he owns you entirely. 
Although you hear him curse for parking the car so far from the bar, his hand still finds yours as you lock your fingers together, his pace now matching yours — and while you know he isn’t ready to calm down just yet, there’s a sense of comfort in the way he still manages to make you feel loved and cared about. 
The warmth of the car hits you like lava as Hongjoong immediately sets the heat above normal in hope it’ll dry your clothes faster. Though he has started the ignition, he seems to be frozen still, his eyes staring upfront, hands on the wheel as you notice just how tensed he actually is, from the sharpness of his jaw to the way his skin turns white around his knuckles from holding the wheel a little too hard. 
“I don’t want to picture you two together everytime we hang out, Y/N… Actually, I never want to picture anyone else with you, but me — do you understand? or do I sound crazy to you right now?” 
Hongjoong’s possessiveness is no news to you. Not after years of dating the man and witnessing his sudden change of mood whenever he sees a man standing a little too close, let alone having a conversation with you. It’s not a fight you never had before and you know, deep down, it won’t be the last. 
“It’s not that I don’t trust you” he adds, almost apologetic as his eyes finally find yours “but now all I can see is his hands all over you… It’s fucking killing me” you watch as he closes his eyes, growling at his own tormented thoughts while the back of his head hits the leather of his seat. By now the windows are covered with a thick, steamy layer, making it impossible for you to see the road ahead. Or to be seen. 
Taking on the opportunity of having your boyfriend still processing his own demons, you decide to let your intrusive thoughts win this round as you peel yourself off Hongjoong’s coat, letting it pool on the seat 
“How about I give you something else to think about?” you smile, wasting no time in straddling your boyfriend whose eyes suddenly open wide at the unexpected intrusion. There’s a little space for you to maneuver between the wheel and his chest but you somehow manage to make it work, your thighs pressed on each side of his while your arms lock around his neck like two pieces of a magnet smacking together at last. 
“Babe— I don’t think you should play this game right now” Hongjoong’s voice is full of warning, his tone a little deeper than it usually is, but you’re not typically the one to give up on a plan, especially when it involves fucking the anger out of your boyfriend. 
“Give me one good reason to stop” brushing your lips against his, your hips naturally start to grind over his lap, putting on an obvious show while his hands travel up your thighs, creasing the wet fabric of your dress until it crumples at the wake of your hips. 
“I could hurt you” the words vanish against your tongue as you deepen the kiss, dying for a taste of him while the sour mix of whisky and cigarette invades the back of your mouth like a drug you can’t ever get enough of.  Caged into his arms, you feel a little boneless, your own body going limp against the stiffness of his muscles as his fingers dig into your flesh, lacing your skins with thin little red ribbons as he carries your pace by pushing your pelvis back and forth against his growing bulge. 
“When did I ever ask you to go soft on me?” you tease, the tip of your tongue tracing the outline of his lips as you chuckle at the sight of him crumpling in front of your eyes. One of his hands eventually detaches from your thigh, traveling up your stomach, between your breast, palming your chest until it rests against your throat in the shape of a fist ready to choke the air out of you. 
“Want me to go rough on you, love?” Hongjoong smirks, his white pearls as a permanent threat while his grip tightens around your neck, a slight change of shade showing a bruise from a couple nights before, now a little too faded for his liking. 
“Fuck I like to see my prints all over your body— show the world you’re fucking mine.” The daunting mix of his filthy words with the growing stiffness between your thighs is enough to have you mewling like a kitten as you tilt your head back, arching perfectly against the wheel while giving your man the most breathtaking view over your breast as it escapes the thin fabric of your dress — and though it’s been a while since you gave up on wearing a bra, the sight never fails to make Hongjoong go completely feral, his lips attacking your tits like a starved animal. 
“Joongie— fuck” you almost squeal as soon as his teeth graze the sensitiveness of your erected nub, pulling at it just enough to have you lost in limbo. Halfway between excruciating pain and absolute bliss. By now, your hips are jolting at the most crazy pace, your entire body craving for his touch as you no longer fear for him to witness your utter desperation for his cock. With his mouth still tightly wrapped around your tit, Hongjoong reaches for your chin with one hand, his fingers pressed to your jaw, his thumb finding your mouth already agape as it lands flat against your tongue like a priest feeding you a wafer on Sunday Mass. 
While his finger never comes close to the absolute treat of having his junk at the very back of your throat, you still make sure to put on a show as you suck the flesh out of his thumb, taking off his silver ring only to spit it out over his lap with a content smile. Eyes filled with a darkness you know too well, Hongjoong wastes no time fumbling between your thighs, pushing your lacy panties roughly to the side and almost tearing the fabric open from lacking patience as his thumb finally finds your slit, your own saliva melting with the abundant wetness of your cunt. 
“Fuck, I’ll never get tired of this” he almost growls, his mouth attacking your neck, chest and every piece of skin coming close enough to his starving lips, devouring your flesh entirely as you instantly clench around two more of his fingers while yet not full enough. 
“Joongie please” you don’t care how begging you sound right now with your hand smashed against the window, leaving its print behind while bouncing against his palm like you’ve been cock deprived for months. There’s just something about this man that simply leaves you putty into his hands, desperate for more and constantly craving his touch. Whether you’re standing in a crowded room or alone at home, you can’t recall a moment when you don't feel the instant urge to jump his bones. 
You’re lucky the steam is covering up for the mess happening inside your car right now as if anything, everything looks absolutely obscene right now. From the way your dress isn’t doing its job at covering your dignity, all tits out and dripping inside your boyfriend’s palm as he hooks his fingers into you, hitting your special spot just right with every snap of his knuckles, to the increasing sound of your voice as you moan his name like a broken record, brain fuzzy from the upcoming orgasm taking over — yet the thought of being caught isn’t that terrible. You’ve had this conversation with Hongjoong before. When mentioning your kinks and wildest fantasies, you can perfectly recall the time you had told him about how you wouldn’t mind doing it somewhere people could see— while not entirely into the exhibitionism scene, you didn’t hate the idea of having an audience. 
Hongjoong’s hand — the one clenching around your throat until now — finds its way between your bodies, fiddling with his belt as you lift yourself up slightly to give him just enough room to unpack your favorite treat in all its veiny glory. Any other day, you would take your sweet time to give him head and have him fuck your throat until you’re sore but there’s some sort of emergency in the air as you grab his wrist, breaking contact as his fingers slip out of your gaping hole so his hand finds a new nest over your chest, covering your skin with a messy coat of arousal as you finally slide down his pole until it empales you entirely. 
Nothing ever comes close to that first stretch. No matter how many times you have fucked, Hongjoong still feels like a first everytime he pushes himself into you, tearing you apart with the girth of a cock who has definitely made you cry before. Both from pain and pleasure. But today there’s no time for adjustment as you use the car door and headboard as a lever to bounce over Hongjoong’s lap restlessly. The whole scene is messy, almost crude as you pour over his slacks, the buckle of his belt bruising your skin with every hard thrust of his hips as soon as he starts to pound himself back into you, wrecking the pace and your insides all at the same time. 
“Should have invited your little friend to watch” Hongjoong growls, eyes half shut with the veins of his neck growing twice its size from using all of his strength to pistol his hips into your groin from under. “Show him how it’s done” he adds, using both his hands as a belt around your hips to keep you still as he keeps pounding harder with each thrust. By now your brain has turned into mush as you bite into the back of your hand not to scream, completely unable to think about anything else but the insane amount of pleasure piling up into your guts as you feel yourself reaching your high at a rocket speed. 
“What happened to you, baby? Lost your tongue?” he smirks, slowing down for a bit only to go harder a second after, forcing your back against the wheel so hard the car starts to honk with each thrust, making you nervous while Hongjoong doesn’t seem to bother about the sudden attention. 
“H—hongjoong— backseat— please” you barely manage to moan, almost gasping for air with each word as your boyfriend eventually slows down until he comes to a stop, blessing you with the delightful sight of his dismantled face, sweaty and red with his black hair plastered all over his forehead, thick veins pulsating on each side of his throat, chest glowing with dampness. He couldn’t look hotter if he tried. Peeking at his underarm as he pulls you into a kiss, you refrain a moan at the sight of his tattoo as your tongue instantly melts with it, saltiness of sweat melting with your saliva as you come down from your high slightly while enjoying the complete bliss of cockwarming him for a while. 
Breaking the kiss, Hongjoong simply tilts his head to the side, motioning for the backseat, commanding as ever without actually saying the words. Obedient and climax deprived, you lift yourself up and off his lap, trying your best to crawl in the backseat with as much grace as possible while Hongjoong wiggles out of his pants just enough to give himself more room as he follows you there, visibly unpleased to find you with your back against the seat, facing him. Again, without a word, Hongjoong gives you a little twirl of his finger, ordering for you to turn around and get on all fours for him, smacking your ass as soon as it rises upfront in all its glory. 
Pushing a knee between your legs to spread them apart, Hongjoong spits into his palm, coating it with saliva as you squirms with impatience, picturing his fist around his cock as soon as the familiar sound of your boyfriend jerking himself off hits you, making you clench over nothing — luckily not for long as the comforting stretch of his cock tearing you apart steals the air out of your lungs merely a few seconds later. 
“Fuck I’ve been dying to have you like this since you put on that dress, tonight” Hongjoong grunts, one of his hands wrapping your hair into a tight ponytail while the other rests firmly at the small of your back. Although his thrusts are definitely slower this time, you can’t help but cry out everytime he bottoms out, filling you up to the brim with each snap of his vicious hips.
“What took you so long?” you moan, hands clenched around the head-rest as Hongjoong tugs at your hair a little harder, probably as a punishment for provoking him again. 
“Couldn’t wait to get you alone— although maybe I should’ve fucked you right accross the table for everyone to see? I know you’re desperate for an audience…” The filth of his words match the brutality of his hips as Hongjoong pulls out entirely, smacking his throbbing head against your clit until you whine with desperation. By now, that dress is completely ruined, crumbled around your hips like a vulgar rag and definitely covered with sweat and cum but you can definitely recall the way Hongjoong’s eyes had twinkled when giving him a little spin earlier in the privacy of your bedroom. You knew he was a goner every time you wore a dress so thin he could catch a glimpse of your tits hardening under the fabric and today wasn’t any different. If it wasn’t for the unexpected Wooyoung-gate, you knew Hongjoong would have fucked you braindead in the sketchy bathroom of the bar. Not that it would be a first. 
“H— joongie— i’m— close” you almost sob, already overstimulated as your guts suddenly tighten into a knot, your body almost collapsing under Hongjoong’s last efforts to get you exactly where he needs you. Lifting you up with one arm snaked around your chest, fist locking your throat, Hongjoong quickens the pace, the abundance of skin-on-skin mixed with the brutality of his thrusts making the car shake under your knees as you suddenly stiffens under his touch, your screams muffled into his palm as your boyfriend is quick to follow, thick white ropes filling you up to the brim as you both collapse against the seat, exhausted.
It takes you a while to come down from your high as Hongjoong helps you settle back into the seat, cradling you. Your hands filled with strands of his wet hair, pushing it back to unveil his blissful face, you cannot help but sigh with the most sincere happiness when his lips find your neck, pecking it slightly, his tongue darting against a bruise left from his fingers tightly wrapped around your throat earlier. In this moment, nothing much matters except for the two of you and the unconditional love you two share.
No more jealousy. No more fighting. 
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