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ellecdc · 2 months

Note

Part two of feisty slytherin reader where it’s just the boys being like kinda in love with reader and everything you can pick how reader responds

this ended up taking me way longer to complete than I thought it would! it also ended up way longer than usual. here's the lead up to our infamous poly!marauders x feisty!slytherin reader!!! 🫶

poly!marauders x feisty, fem slytherin!reader CW: head injury - not graphic or detailed but mentions blood.

“Okay Moony, if you’re going to help us win over Y/N, you should know she does not like dramatic public displays of appreciation.” James said sagely as he walked into their shared dorm room.

Remus spared Sirius a confused look from his seat in the chair, but from the way James was currently rubbing his arm Sirius had a pretty good idea of what just took place.

“Yeah, erm, I don’t think you have to worry about that with me, bubs. Thanks for the heads up though.” Remus added bemusedly.

“Let me guess.” Sirius taunted, rolling over onto his stomach so that he faced James. “The charmed roses following her around the halls wasn’t a hit?”

“No, but she did...” He sulked, pulling his uniform shirt off to expose a small albeit quite red welt on his upper arm.

“Awe, poor Jamie. Come here bubs.” Remus cooed at him, opening his arms to invite the boy into his lap.

James obliged all too willingly and snuggled up to the werewolf like he was a small toddler and not a giant beefy man-baby.

“Don’t mollify him when he’s out here botching our grand plans to woo the girl of our dreams.” Sirius said, causing Remus to roll his eyes and James to scoff indignantly.

“Well at least I’m working on it! What are you doing to woo her?” James retaliated.

Sirius offered him a wolfish grin. “Oh, I’ve got a little trick up my sleeve.”

You had to get out of the castle. You could still feel everyone’s eyes on you, ogling you like you were some kind of freakshow.

You don’t know what kind of game those Gryffindor’s were trying to play, but you were not about to be the butt of whatever sodding joke this was.

Roses, really? Charmed to follow you around the castle as Potter smirked from the sidelines. Did he have any idea how humiliating that was?

So, yeah. You walloped him. In the arm. With your fist. Hard. But what else were you supposed to do!? You’d confronted him and demanded that he end the charm and all he said was ‘you look so cute when your nose scrunches up like that’.

He and Black have always been a bother – seemingly having taken some kind of interest in you for whatever reason. Lupin had always been more reasonable; one would think that he’d have evened those two out during their relationship, but apparently that was an impossible task. You supposed it was because he was all but one man.

But lately, even he was starting to stare at you a little too long, smile a little too softly, find too many excuses to be in your vicinity. It was infuriating.

So, you were outside.

It was nice outside.

Well, it was nice enough outside.

You packed yourself some snacks in your book bag, two blankets and an extra jumper to go sit by the Black Lake. You figured you should be able to enjoy some peace and quiet out here on your own.

You unfolded one of the blankets to lay onto the ground before sitting on it and then laid the second blanket over your lap. You could hear other students on the grounds in the distance and the soothing sound of the water lapping gently against the shore.

As luck would have it, a certain dog with long-black hair would set out to disrupt that.

“What are you doing here?” You asked the dog as it approached you calmly. You wondered for a moment if you should be scared before it stopped at the edge of your blanket to sit and tilt its head at you, his tongue falling out of his mouth haphazardly.

He didn’t look too scary, ignoring his size.

You craned your neck to look around, checking if perhaps he was here with someone, but it appeared that you were, in fact, alone on this side of the lake.

You felt something cold and wet nudge your pinkie, and you turned to see that the dog had laid down beside you with his head between his paws, nose next to your hand.

“If I pet you, are you going to bite me?” You asked him. He answered by nudging your hand again and offering it a little lick.

“You better not have fleas.” You muttered as you scratched behind the dog’s ears. You would have sworn he had furrowed his eyebrows at your comment if dogs could do such a thing. You noticed then that the dog had startling silver-blue eyes.

“Where are your people?” You asked, glad no one was around to see you conversing with a dog. He answered you by rolling over for belly rubs.

You scoffed out a laugh but acquiesced. “Fine, you can stay. But I came out here for peace and quiet, ‘kay?”

The dog seemed fine with that plan and let you read through two chapters of your book, only interrupting every paragraph or so for more pets. Eventually however, it grew too cold, and you decided to pack up.

Confirming your suspicions, the dog began to follow you towards the castle. You pretended like you hadn’t noticed or perhaps just didn’t care until you were near the greenhouses.

“For future reference, Black,” you said, turning to the dog who seemed to pause mid-step as you considered him. “I really am more of a cat person.” You smirked, turning to walk back to the castle alone.

“Here, let me get that for you.” James said, opening the door for you rather chivalrously in Sirius’ opinion.

“I’m not a delicate flower, Potter, I can open a door.” You muttered angrily, storming past him into the classroom.

James deflated a little as he followed you in, but perked up when Remus placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“I thought that was very sweet of you, Jamie.” He placated.

James gave him a half smile in response. “Thanks Moons.”

“I mean, what are we supposed to do? What bird doesn’t like dogs!?” Sirius grumbled, opting to ignore James’ whining.

“Don’t call her a bird, Sirius.” Remus chided.

“Probably didn’t help you’re a big ol’ mangy mutt.” James muttered petulantly.

“Oi!” Sirius called. “That’s not what you say when Padfoot snuggles you to sleep.”

James had the good graces to turn a little red at that.

Their conversation was interrupted (quite rudely if you asked Sirius) by Professor McGonagall as she began the instructions for today’s Transfiguration lesson: turning buttons into butterflies.

Sirius stole a concerned glance towards James to see Remus doing the same; they were horrified to see a mischievous look adorning their boyfriend’s face.

“Prongs...” Sirius warned, whilst Remus whispered a “remember what we talked about.”

But they both knew it was too late; there was no stopping him once James set his mind to something.

Sirius is quite sure it was the fourth butterfly that did you in; you seemed to consider the first a fluke, the second was annoying, the third made you suspicious, but by the fourth you’d had enough.

With little to no warning you turned and lobbed a large hard-covered tome at the group.

“I don’t know which of you tossers are behind this, but it reeks of Potter. So help me gods I will gut you and string you up to the rafters from your intestines if you don’t leave me alone!” You screeched.

“But how else will you know I’m crazy about you?” James pouted, causing you to groan exasperatedly.

“If you’re looking for some cutesy princess who will swoon at your sodding roses and butterflies, then you’ve got the wrong witch.” You spat.

Sirius smirked. “Oh, we have exactly the right witch.”

“I swear to Circe if you don’t leave me alone, I’ll sic Barty on you.” You threatened.

Sirius and James both scoffed whilst Remus smirked.

“Please dollface, you insult me. I’m not afraid of Junior.” Sirius taunted.

You narrowed your eyes at him menacingly before realization dawned on you. “Fine.” You said simply, giving Sirius a distinct uneasy feeling. “Perhaps I’ll tell Regulus.”

Sirius slammed his fist on the table and leaned forward. “You wouldn’t.” He seethed.

You smirked deviously. “Just try me, Black.” You sneered in response.

Did...did Sirius have a degradation kink?

Sirius was ashamed to admit that he had to take a very cold shower after that.

You had been sitting in the library trying to work on your Potions essay. You had felt fairly safe here seeing as the Gryffindor’s (at least the most problematic ones) had been sanctioned from using the library during quiet study hours on account of their typical foolishness.

Except one.

“Mind if I sit here?” Lupin’s lilting voice sounded from your right side before he sat down without waiting for your response.

“Why bother asking if you were just going to sit anyways?” You grumbled.

“Well, it was the polite thing to do.” He said, turning to face you. You held his gaze (his gaze, your glare) until he finally sighed. “I’ll leave if you want me to.”

You considered him for a moment. You couldn’t deny he was the least buffoonish out of the so-called Marauders though you’re not sure that amounted to much.

But he was quieter, kinder, softer around the edges. And he had been far more polite to you than his boyfriends.

“Are you going to flirt with me?”

One of Remus’ eyebrows (the one with the scar running through it, you noticed) raised expectantly as he considered you.

“Let me rephrase that.” You barked quickly, realizing your mistake perhaps a touch too late. “You may sit here, but if you flirt with me, I will stab you with my quill.” You punctuated your threat by blotting his hand which rested on the table with ink from the tip of your quill.

Remus smiled at the sight before returning his amber coloured gaze to yours. “Fair enough. I promise to try to restrain myself, but perhaps you ought to hold onto this hand for me just in case I slip up.” And he – the absolute sodding bastard – slid his left hand comfortably into your right.

You’d never seen someone make a move so assertively and smoothly before. There was nothing to say that any of this even affected Remus as he immediately turned his attention to his book. Was it hot in here? Your hand felt sweaty. Your throat felt tight. Your mouth was dry. Why didn’t you think to bring a bottle of water?!

“Erm,” you started, having to pause to clear your throat. “Just how am I supposed to get my work done with your hand in mine, Lupin?”

You had tried to sound threatening, but based off Remus’ smirk, you’d only managed to goad him further.

“You’re left-handed. Figure it out.”

These boys were going to be the death of you if you didn’t end up killing them first.

“You held her hand!?” James screeched in their dorm room that night whilst Remus smirked to himself. Sirius would make fun of James for his dramatics if he wasn’t just a pissed off about this.

“I’ve been working at this the longest out of either of you, and she lets you hold her hand?” He continued.

“She doesn’t like dogs,” Sirius grumbled, gesturing to himself, “she doesn’t like James. But the werewolf? Really. No offence Moons because I absolutely get the appeal.”

James snapped his fingers as he had a eureka moment. “I’ve got it! Remus; bite me!”

“James!” Remus scolded.

“It’s not fair.” James muttered as he fell onto his bed in defeat. “I’d be so good to her.”

Any ire from Sirius and Remus drained at that as they both moved to join their boyfriend on his bed.

“We know, bubs.” Remus conceded.

“We just...have to give her time. I’m sure she’ll come around, yeah? I mean, with Remus’ smooth moves, my undeniable charm, and your muscles? We’re unstoppable.” Sirius added, eliciting a smile from Remus and a gentle chuckle from James, though his usual light was diminished.

“We’ve just got to be patient, Jamie.” Remus concluded, causing James to groan.

“Patience.” He spat spitefully.

“A 'James ADHD Potter' special.” Sirius winked before kissing any further protests away from James’ lips.

“We’ve got Moony on our team now, bubs. We’re unstoppable.” He whispered, truly believing what he was saying.

If anyone could break through your hard candy-coating shell to reach the chocolate inside, it was certainly Remus Lupin.

You’d had the lovely idea of sitting outside on one of the few sunny days that Scotland got to see this time of year. Unfortunately, it seemed that everyone else had the same idea too.

A few Hufflepuffs were playing with a charmed muggle football, kicking it back and forth between the two of them and chasing after it when it opted to fuck off on its own. You didn’t understand the objective of the game, nor did you care to.

Remus and Peter Pettigrew sat on a bench not too far off playing a game of Wizarding Chess that, from where you were sitting, looked like Remus was winning.

You got so caught up in watching Lupin’s game with Pettigrew - in the way that the tendons in his wrist and hands flexed as he moved pieces across the board, and the way that his honey blonde curls fell in front of his eyes causing him to have to blow air upwards so he could see the board - that you noticed something flying at you far too late.

“Look out!” One of the dumb Hufflepuff’s shouted far too late as their charmed football soared into the side of your head, knocking you clean over where your head cracked painfully against a root of the tree you were sitting under.

You scrunched your eyes tight and tried to will your heart to start beating again and your lungs to cooperate, every part of your body seeming to have tensed out of instinct to protect itself.

“L/N! L/N! Come on, dove, open your eyes.” You heard a voice above you.

Why was the voice so worried? How long were your eyes closed? A gentle hand grabbed your chin and wiggled your head back and forth, causing you to hiss in pain.

“Sod...off.” You gritted through your teeth.

The voice chuckled and wiggled your chin once more. “There she is. Open your eyes for me.”

You hated being told what to do but decided to comply anyways.

You probably should have kept your eyes close because the sight made you feel dizzy for a completely different reason.

Hovering above your frame was Remus Lupin; his knees on the ground beside your elbow, one hand gripping your chin and the other gently moving hair away from your face and head.

“Atta girl.” He said with a smile.

“Get away from me.” You grumbled as you moved to sit up. Though Lupin hissed in protest, he helped you sit up nonetheless.

“Is...is she okay?” a timid voice spoke from somewhere behind Lupin’s shoulder causing his expression to darken considerably.

“You stupid wankers are so dead.” You spat as loudly as you could manage, though in your current state – that wasn’t very loud at all.

Your message was received loud and clear, however, as the two Hufflepuffs took off in fear.

“My sentiments exactly.” Lupin muttered as he turned back to you, jaw still tense.

You snorted indelicately as you brought a hand to your head. “Please, don’t tell me you actually care about me, Lupin.”

You hissed in pain as your hand came in contact with something warm and wet and slightly sticky. You pulled your hand back in front of you to inspect, only for Lupin to grab your hand rather harshly and wipe the blood away with a handkerchief.

“Is it so impossible to believe that we could actually care for you?” He muttered quietly, eyes focused on your hand, pointedly avoiding eye contact with you. You watched as his curls bounced with each wipe of his hand against yours. You thought of his gentle hands brushing hair away from your wound moments before. You thought of him begging you to open your eyes. You thought of him being the first one at your side when you were hurt.

And you thought about Black finding ways to be with you even when you staunchly refused his company. You thought of him taking time out of his day to tell you how ‘smoking hot’ you looked that day, even though he said it every day before that, too.

And you thought about Potter who always held the door for you, saved you a seat even though you never accepted it, showered you in affection even though it was public and quite embarrassing. And you thought of the way he always had a smile to give you, even when you gave him no reason to smile at all.

It wasn’t hard to imagine the three of them caring for anyone, quite frankly. Caring seemed to come second nature to those boys.

“No.” You admitted quietly. “It’s not impossible to believe that you could actually care. It’s just impossible to imagine why.”

He stopped rubbing at your hand and met your eye, seemingly contemplating what to say.

“Let’s get you to Madam Pomfrey.” He opted for. “Pete, let the boys know where I’ve gone when they’re finished with practice?” Lupin called over his shoulder.

“I can walk myself, Lupin.” You grumbled as he helped you up by your elbow.

“Yeah, yeah.” He grumbled back. “You’re not a delicate flower, we know.”

The two of you more or less muttered back and forth to each other the entire way to the infirmary, Lupin supporting more of your weight than he likely needed too but you didn’t feel the need (nor desire) to complain.

Madam Pomfrey was in the middle of looking after a first year Potions class who accidently set off an explosion of incorrectly brewed Cure for Boils which ultimately left each student (and Professor Slughorn) covered head to toe in painful boils.

“Mr. Lupin, if you could clean the wound for me. And Miss. L/N, drink the pain potion. Do not leave until I’ve had a chance to do a proper examination, okay?” She ordered as you positioned yourself more comfortably on the bed after she determined you weren’t about to die (or currently crying, as most of the first years were).

You took the pain potion dutifully and placed it back on the table beside your bed before you startled at the sudden cold wet cloth on your head.

“You are not seriously doing this right now, are you?” You spat.

Remus’ eyebrows drew together as his hands continued on in their task. “You heard the matron; I’m supposed to clean it.”

“I can clean it myself, Lupin; I’ll conjure a mirror.” You argued, causing the scarred boy to scoff.

“I do what I’m told L/N, and quite frankly, the matron scares me more than you do.”

“I must be doing something wrong then.” You sighed, thinking you hadn’t said that loud enough to be heard, but a startled laugh escaped Lupin’s lips.

“Why do you act so volatile?” He asked amusedly.

“It’s not an act.”

“I call bullshit.”

“Well, you call wrong, then, Lupin. I’m an arse and I find everyone exhausting. Deal with it.” You snarked sharply.

Lupin breathed a laugh through his nose. “Maybe we can find out what the hell your problem is over dinner sometime, then.”

Rotten bastard and his smooth talk...

“WHERE IS SHE!?” a voice echoed through the corridor just outside the entrance to the infirmary. Madame Pomfrey needn’t even look up from the boil she was currently draining of puss to know who she was about to scold.

“Mr. Potter, I will have you banned from this infirmary so fast if you raise your voice above so much as a whisper, do not try me. That goes for you too, Mr. Black.” She barked; eyes still focused on the first year’s arm in front of her.

Sure enough, a mop of curly hair, impossibly more wild than usual due to the flight on his broom, poked around the privacy curtains a second before it was joined by a fuming looking Sirius Black.

Potter’s eyes flew to where Remus’ hands were positioned on your head and your stomach lurched at what looked like tears pooling in Potter’s eyes.

“Potter...please, erm, please don’t cry?” You asked awkwardly, leaning away from Remus’ touch as you suddenly became very uncomfortable with this amount of attention.

“She’s alright, Jamie.” Remus sighed, pulling you back over to him gently by the shoulder and continuing his prodding at your wound.

“Who did it?” Sirius spat, arms crossed defensively across his chest and jaw tight as he stared hard at the wound on your head. You were horrified to admit to yourself that he was hot. You’d never really seen it before, how all the girls in your year (and other years) fawned over the long-haired boy.

But he was currently standing in front of you still adorned in his quidditch gear, hair pulled back into a low bun - though he had many fly-aways on account of his recent time in the air - his cheeks still dusted pink from the assertion, and he was currently fuming on your behalf.

Yeah...he was hot.

“Easy.” Remus warned.

“Answer me!” Sirius spat back.

“Pads. I mean it, leave it.” Remus said with finality.

Your eyes darted nervously between the two boys currently staring each other down, but Potter’s eyes were still steadfast on you.

“Let me, Rem.” He finally said gently – the most gently you’d ever heard from the rambunctious boy as he gently moved Remus aside and took over.

“I’m okay, you know.” You offered, not liking how worked up these boys were currently over you.

“I know.” He agreed. “I just hate to see you hurt.”

“Why?”

“Yeah, why.” You pressed. James looked like you just asked him to calculate the distance between the galaxy of Andromeda and our solar system using the measurement of broomsticks.

“I... I don’t want to see you hurt?”

“You want to see Snape hurt.” You countered, causing James’ face to harden.

“Snape’s a tosser.” He muttered darkly.

“I’m not any nicer than Snape.”

“See, Y/N. You’re so smart and lovely and perfect, but you are way off on that front.” James said through a laugh. “Snape is prejudiced, vindictive, and a racist blood supremist. You’re just combative.” He explained, punctuating the word combative with a gentle boop of your nose.

You wanted to break his finger.

But that would be combative, and you would rather die than prove Potter right, so you opted to roll your eyes instead.

“Did they even hang around to see if she fucking survived or did they just take off to avoid detention?” Sirius spat at Remus, not looking any calmer than he did when he arrived.

“They stayed.” You answered tiredly. “They took off afterwards, and not to avoid detention, but to avoid me.”

“And me.” Remus muttered quietly, looking dangerously close to going back out there to find them himself.

“Did you threaten them?” Sirius asked severely, though you weren’t sure who exactly he had asked.

“Yes.” You and Lupin both answered exasperatedly.

Sirius looked between the two of you before letting out a sigh. “Fine, but if I run into them, I’m hexing them into oblivion.”

“Not if I get to them first.” You growled.

Sirius’ face finally softened as he sat on the end of your bed and cautiously touched your ankle under the blankets.

“You sure you’re okay, Y/N?”

And you aren’t sure what did it.

You weren’t sure if it was the softness you saw in Sirius that you were sure you could have never even imagined possible from a person, let alone someone related to the infamous Black family. Or if it was the eyebrows of Remus Lupin that were furrowed in concern as he dutifully watched his boyfriend finish plastering a bandage to your head, or if it was the unbelievable softness of James Potter’s touch – in complete contrast to his fast, rough, bouncing personality that you were usually subjected to.

But dammit, you felt a tear slip down your cheek.

You wiped it away quickly and nodded your head in yes.

You braced yourself for the teasing, the cooing, the dramatic displays of affection. But Sirius quickly stood and disappeared behind the curtains, James began pouring you a glass of water, and Remus reached into his bag for something.

Remus returned to you first, breaking off a square of chocolate for you. “It’ll help.”

You were too embarrassed to argue and took it, popping it into your mouth dutifully.

“Here.” Sirius said as he appeared back at your bedside, handing you a vial.

“What is it?” You asked, your voice taut with emotion.

Sirius’ eyes softened again as he offered you a sad smile. “Calming draught. You can’t have any more pain potion, but this might make you feel better.”

“And if not, maybe you can convince Moony to share more of his chocolate.” James commented with a soft smile.

You grimaced at the taste of the potion and chased it with the water James had poured for you.

“Thank you.” You admitted quietly, shame colouring your tone as you looked to your lap.

“None of that.” Remus said as he handed you another piece of chocolate.

You took it skeptically. “Why do they call you Moony?”

No one said anything for a moment, but you could tell that neither James nor Sirius were moving a muscle as they watched Remus who in turn watched you.

“Because of my lycanthropy.” He said plainly.

You looked at the various scars before you started to laugh. Sirius’ face drained of all colour while James visibly tensed.

“Of course you are. Remus Lupin. Named after a man raised by wolves and the lupus, or wolf constellation. Oh gods, it was predestined, clearly.”

“Are...are you laughing at me right now?” Remus asked incredulously.

“It’s a little funny...no?” You asked back.

He looked as if he were torn between laughing and crying. “I pour my heart out to you – my deepest darkest secret, and you laugh at me?” He asked again, some amusement colouring his features.

“I told you, I’m an arse.” You said with a shrug of your shoulders.

“Does it bother you?” Sirius asked cautiously from the end of your bed, face appearing impassive for all intents and purposes.

“I don’t see why it should, it’s none of my business.”

“It could be.” Remus input.

“You don’t want me. I’m no good, Lupin.” You stressed, looking back down at your hands.

“Neither am I.” Sirius agreed.

“Me neither.” Remus added.

“I’m n-” James started.

“So what if the only one of us worthy of love and affection here is James?” Sirius said, cutting James off. “It’s not going to stop me from cherishing what I can get - deserved or not.”

You groaned and threw your head back onto the pillow, cringing at the effect the fast movement had on you and the pain that the movement elicited in your neck.

“Okay, what about this.” James conciliated. “You don’t have to agree to be with us, just give us a chance? The time of day? One Hogsmeade trip to let us fawn over you.”

You looked up at his deep brown eyes that felt so warm you wanted to make a home in them. Sirius, in all his bravado, looked pained as he waited for an answer, and Remus smiled encouragingly at you.

“Fine!” You acquiesced with a groan. “One Hogsmeade trip.”

Much to your chagrin, though not really at all, it ended up being way more than just one Hogsmeade trip.

Thank you to @unstablereader who gave us the library handholding prompt 🫶

1K notes · View notes

ponderingmoonlight · 3 months

Text

JJK men with a big-chested reader

Pairings: Nanami x reader; Geto x reader (nsfw); Yuji/Sukuna x reader; Gojo x reader

Word Count: 4,4k (she's big)

Warnings: THIS IS A FIC WITH A BIG-CHESTED READER! so if this triggers you, don't read it (especially in Sukuna's part, you might get triggered when having smaller boobs so just do me a favor and don't read it instead of leaving a sassy comment), boob play in Geto's part so nsfw, in general harassment but big old fluff from your faves, not proofread bc I have my final exam tomorrow - hope you enjoy! 🤍

Special thanks to one of my moots for letting me turn her cleavage into a cover for this fic - you look STUNNING + thank you to everyone who sent me their experiences for this!

Since I'm not big-chested myself, I'm calling all my big boobie girlies to leave me a lil review about this fic - it would literally help me so much 😭

Click here to get to the small-chested version

Nanami Kento

You sigh to yourself, too exhausted to even stand up straight anymore. Today was like a trip to hell and back. All those fucking curses, the death, the horror. You rub your tired eyes, the stinging pain in your back reminding you more than urgently that you have been up for way too long.

“You look tired, darling. Go change and get into bed with me.”

Oh, that deep voice behind you, the voice you learned to love to the moon and back. How did it even happen that a man like Nanami Kento was seeking interest in you? What was it that made a man like him even look your way? You’ve known each other for quite some time, seeing each other on missions from time to time. But when you began to work at Jujutsu High, everything changed so fast that you couldn’t keep up. And now you’re sitting here in his bedroom, watching in awe as he crawls into bed with nothing but his boxer shorts on.

You would love to get out of your uniform right now, But most importantly, you urge to take off that soaking wet bra that has been bugging you since afternoon. You have no choice, though. With a large chest like yours, it simply isn’t possible to leave the house for missions without extra support. You glance at him while he reads in his book, your gaze falling to your chest.

This isn’t exclusively about missions and you know it. Even though you’ve been together for a few months now, you were never brave enough to show Kento your breasts. Not without a bra, let alone completely naked. Just the thought of him seeing how your big breasts fall down when they slip out of their bra shells, the look on his face when he realizes that you don’t look like those large-chested models with their boobs standing like mountains. Yours definitely don’t. And you fucking hate it.

“I know that look on your face. You are uncomfortable, aren’t you?”

His soft voice rips you out of your pondering immediately. Fuck, he caught you again.

“No…I mean…Yes, kinda…”

You can’t lie into his gorgeous face, not even when the truth makes you feel so uncomfortable. Oh, how much you wished you look the way he deserves it with delicious female curves that suit his flawless appearance. But as soon as you look down, you just know how awful your boobs will look when set free. So you’ll do what you do every night: wait until Kento is asleep to finally take off your bra only to set an alarm in the morning to get up before him and put it back on.

“I always wondered why you are waiting until I sleep to take off your bra and put it back on before my alarm goes off.”

You can’t help but stare at him, mind racing while your palms start to get sweaty. Fuck, how did he even notice? No, why did you ever think he wouldn’t? Kento cares about you like none other, never pushed you to take off your shirt, never failed to ask you how you’re feeling.

“Listen, darling.”

He gets off the bed and kneels down in front of the chair you are sitting on, gently taking your hand into his.

“I just want to make sure you feel comfortable around me. Am I the reason that you don’t want to take your bra off? I can see clearly how uncomfortable it makes you feel.”

“No!”, you blurt out immediately.

Calm down your tingling nerves, this is ridiculous. You stare blankly at your hands intertwined with his.

“I mean…It has nothing to do with you, it’s me.”

“How is this about you, love? There is no reason for you to feel uncomfort-“

“I’m afraid.”

You swallow hard. Are you oversharing? Will he laugh at you for something so ridiculous? But what if he sees you naked at some point, his gaze dropping to your chest only to be greeted by your large hanging chest? You can imagine the look of disgust on his face, how he turns away from you, how-

“Hey, look at me darling. Look at me and tell me what’s wrong”

He cups your cheek gently, forces your haunted eyes to look at him, to stare into his orbs filled with sincerity. There is no way out of this, you can’t lie into his gorgeous face.

“When I take my bra of my breasts just…hang. It’s even visible through my t-shirt…”, you mumble, cheeks redder than the devil.

Thick silence hangs between both of you, his gaze still as soft as before. What is going on inside his head? Is he secretly laughing at you, does he even care about what you have to say?

“Let me make a few things clear.”

He lifts himself off the ground and pulls you up. You squint your eyes, mind racing over why on earth he made you stand up. Is he going to leave, to laugh?

“First of all: I love you just the way you are. I love your gorgeous smile, the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you carry yourself. And I love your breasts-“

“You didn’t even see them yet.”

“I don’t have to in order to know that”, he continues.

“Nothing makes me sadder than seeing you uncomfortable each and every night before going to bed. Of course, I don’t know for sure, but I imagine it to be really painful after some time. Isn’t it digging into your skin?”

Oh, you think about the countless times the sweat underneath your bra made you almost go insane, the red streaks that visibly show where the wire cut into your skin all day.

“It kinda is…”, you confirm with low voice.

“Don’t do this to yourself. I adore you just the way you are and I am dying to see you laying comfortably in your t-shirt next to me. So please, would you allow me to take it off for you?”

Your eyes widen in pure shock. Is this a bad joke, is he just teasing you? No, this is Nanami Kento. And the way he gazes at you with nothing but affection gleaming in his eyes tells you that he’s telling the true, that this is what he wants right now. But are you ready to expose yourself like this? What if he’s still disgusted after saying all those nice words?

You let your head fall against his chest, breathe in his delicious scent. A voice deep inside you tells you to stop, to just relax inside his arms. This is the man who chose you out of all people, who stood by your side no matter what. Kento proved more than once that he loves you dearly, never made you feel the slightest bit bad about yourself.

“Go ahead…”, you mutter against his chest.

His hands wander up your back gently, make shivers run down your spine until he reaches the clasp of your bra. Your heart simply stops when he unclips it through the fabric of your shirt. You fade into darkness as soon as his hands wander up to your shoulders, slide down the thick straps and pull down your bra until he finally lands on the floor.

Slowly, he takes a step back and picks it off the ground.

“You will never have to wear this again when you are home with me, okay? Not when it makes you feel so uncomfortable”, he gently speaks out.

You stare in awe while he carefully places your big bra over the chair and returns in an instant to pull you close against his chest.

“Come on, let’s go to sleep.”

“Yeah”, you mumble, body slowly but surely getting flooded by warmth.

“Going to bed sounds good…”

Geto Suguru

You feel hot but at the same time cold, turned on but at the same time scared. This is it, the moment you’ve been waiting for. At this very moment, none other than Suguru Geto is laying on top of you, kissing you so passionately that you forget how to breathe.

What an overwhelming feeling it is to call him your boyfriend for a few months now. Such a kind and loving man, always looking out for you, giving you the time you needed for this to finally happen. You couldn’t believe your own ears when whimpering that you want him, that you are ready.

But are you really ready for showing him that part of your body? The part that began too grow way too early in your life, the part you’ve always got picked on by all the other girls.

“Look, there she is! She looks like a cow ready to milk!”

“That cleavage…She’s literally begging for it, what a bitch.”

“Ew, are those pimples on your tits?”

You know you are better than that, that your big breasts just belong to you and that you should love yourself just the way you are. But with none other than Suguru laying on top of you, his hands slowly but surely coming dangerously close to your breasts…

“Wait”, you breathe out, haunted eyes making Suguru stop in his tracks in an instant.

“Did I do something wrong? If you don’t want to, we don’t-“

“No, this is great. I- … I waited so long for this. But I just wanted to let you know that…”

You swallow hard. Are you acting ridiculous, destroying the moment with your behaviour? Suguru’s chocolate brown orbs don’t show a hint of annoyance. Instead, he gently strokes your hair while waiting for you to move on.

He deserves to know it

“I might not have the nicest boobs. They are big, but not well formed like the ones of those models. I tend to sweat a lot underneath them, my skin breaks out from time to time and my nipples might be-“

“Stop that right now, (y/n).”, Suguru gently interrupts you with a grin.

But it doesn’t look like the grin of the girls who picked on you for years. No, this grin is filled with warmth and loves, fills you with what feels like confidence. After all, he said that he loves you just the way you are over and over, right? Still, he didn’t even see your boobs. What if he changes his mind?

“There is absolutely nothing, and I mean NOTHING about you that isn’t ‘nice’. I don’t care about what the chest of random models looks like, to be honest I don’t care about anyone but you. And you are everything I want, you are everything I see, you are everything I love.”

His words make you tear up in an instant, send your whole body into space. As long as you can remember, no one ever said really nice things about your breasts and therefore you. You were either insulted or sexualized. But that force of a man on top of you…He just looks into your eyes that are filled with nothing but warmth. This man means every word he says.

“Well, that’s cool”, you mutter without even thinking about your words, lost in the sheer sight of his sincere eyes.

There is no one in the world you want to show your boobs more. Like in trance, you pull up the hem of your shirt and let it fall to the floor mindlessly.

“Are you okay with me touching them?”, he purrs against your ear.

A silent whimper escapes your lips while you simply nod, whole body on fire where it touches his. Painfully slow, he lets his hands wander down your hair onto your shoulders, trace the line of your collarbones until he reaches…

Your breasts.

What an unknown feeling. But oh, what a sensation as well. You arch your back out of instinct while he massages your breasts, the feeling of his fingertips against your still skin alone simply driving you insane.

God, who would have thought you’d ever hear Geto Suguru moan against your ear by just looking, touching, squeezing your boobs? His eyes are darkened by lust, the way his heart pounds against his ribcage echoes through your very own body.

“You look absolutely gorgeous. I can’t stop looking at you, (y/n).”

You feel like flying, fainting, losing your balance. There is no doubt in the fact that this man adores you the way you are, that your constant fear of him not liking your large chest was more than unfounded.

“So…you don’t mind the way my breasts look?”, you whimper underneath his bittersweet touch.

“More than that, I adore you”, he replies in an instant. “And now, let me see you in your full glory.”

Yuji/Sukuna

You’re back feels like it might break every minute, shirt dripping in sweat in the sheer heat of the summer sun. You just want to get out of here, away from those disgusting people, back into your dorm. How stupid it was to leave Jujutsu High on your own for a little stroll through the city. Without the protection of Maki or Nobara, without any good friend who shields you from all the unwanted looks your large chest attracts. While most people think it must be a blessing, it definitely is a curse to you 80% of the time.

Just like right now.

“Come on, I just asked for one grab!”, a guy shouts after you.

Out of instinct, you pick up your pace, not even daring to turn around. What did you even do to catch his attention? You gaze down at your breasts that uncomfortably bounce up and down in the way too tight bra you are wearing today. No, you did absolutely nothing wrong. It’s just these disgusting people who seem to see nothing but the size of your chest.

“Why would you want to touch her? She looks like a cow”, the girl next to him comments along with an ugly laugh, making your heart sting in an instant.

“What a slut”, another voice mutters.

“Oh, I didn’t know you are out today! How are you, (y/n)?”

Your heart almost stops inside of your chest, hands beginning to tremble in an instant. No, not him. Not right here when these people are chasing you. If there’s someone you don’t want to hear those things about you, it’s Yuji Itadori.

“J-just…l-leave”, you stutter.

“Huh? But I just met you! Would you like to watch a movie with me?”

“Look, the cow brought her friends!”

“Do you think he’ll get in her pants today?”

“What a lucky bastard, I’d love to touch them just once…”

Yuji’s face drops in an instant when realizing their words are directed towards you.

“Hey, there’s no need to be rude”, he begins but gets stopped by uncontrollable laughter immediately.

You want to die right here on the spot, disappear from the surface of earth. As if being treated like this wasn’t enough, why does it have to be Yuji who witnesses it all?

“Step aside, loser. Let me handle that.”

Sukuna leans forward in his throne, thick anger rising inside of his chest. You, the one who caught his eye when he first saw you. You, with the immense powers. You, with a dangerous mind that could end wars. Who are these people to talk to you in this manner?

“Are you crazy? I definitely won’t let you out right now”, Yuji replies in an instant.

“You aren’t able to help her brat, now get lost!”

“I won’t let you-“

Enough.

“Now who exactly do you losers think you are, huh?”

That voice, that aura? Your mouth feels dry like the desert in an instant, eyes widen in pure shock. No, this is impossible, Yuji is in control over his body, this can’t be-

“With tits like yours, I would be jealous of someone gorgeous like her as well”, he spits at one of the girls following you.

“And you.”

With a swift motion, he grabs on of the guy’s wrists roughly. Just a little more pressure and it will snap.

“P-please. Don’t!”, you shout after him.

Urgh, why does your begging voice make his grip loosen in an instant, what is it about you that made him switch with this brat anyway?

“Were you really just trying to touch her chest? Thinking just because she has a big chest, you are allowed to touch her, to sexualize her, huh? You humans disgust me with your simple desires”, Sukuna continues.

“If it wasn’t for her unshakable character, I would kill every single one of you right on the spot. But for now-“

In the matter of seconds, all their arms hang in unhealthy directions, visibly broken by the sheer force of none other than Ryomen Sukuna.

You want to scream at him, want to run away, want to get away from this place. But on the other hand, a warmth fills your chest. Did the king of curses just stand up for you, protect you from their rude comments?

“Get going”, he barks at you.

“This was unnecessary”, you mumble.

“And give Yuji back.”

“You should be thankful, (y/n). They will worship you for the rest of your life.”

“No, they will be scared of you for the rest of their lives”, you clarify, hands still trembling.

“So what? Nobody gets away with insulting you over your perfect body. Especially not over the size of your chest. How ridiculous…”

You can’t believe your ears, eyes darting towards him in an instant while you turn redder than a tomato. Did he just say that you are…perfect?

“You didn’t mean that”, you breathe out.

“Oh god I’m so sorry (y/n). Did he hurt you?”, the familiar voice of Yuji cries out.

Calm down your tingling nerves, your pounding heart. Sukuna’s gone. Sukuna…stood up for you. Sukuna said you have a perfect body.

What?

“N-No”, you stumble.

How are you supposed to get over this?

Gojo Satoru

Finally. You sit in front of the bar, excited by the smell of alcohol and cheap perfume that hangs in the air. After working your ass off for what felt like an eternity, you decided to use your day off right. You put on the dress that fits you best, packed your purse and went into the first bar you’ve seen.

Damn, when was the last time you were out on your own? With all your friends being out of town for vacation, this definitely is new.

“Not bad”, you mutter to yourself, eyes roaming around people making out, heartfelt laughter and a group of women sipping on their cocktails.

A cocktail, exactly what you need today.

“Hey, I’d love to order something”, you speak out when the waiter finally comes cross you.

What a lucky day, they even have your favourite cocktail in store. You’re usually not the type of girl to go out on yourself, but these last months, you truly learnt how enjoyable time can be with yourself as your only company. You smile to yourself. Yeah, this is definitely something you could get used to.

“There you go”, the friendly male announces and places the glass filled with joy in front of your hungry eyes.

You gift him the sweetest smile you have before taking a sip. Oh, this tastes absolutely amazing.

“I’ve never seen a woman like you alone in a place like this.”

Your heart drops to the floor in an instant, hands holding onto your glass tightly. Ew, a man is certainly the last thing you want to hear right now with the bartender being the only exception. Instead of even looking his way, you just take another sip of your well-mixed cocktail, the music blasting out of the boxes might make him think you can’t hear him and leave.

Honestly, there aren’t many things that creep you out more than men approaching you. Since you’ve reached puberty and your breasts starting to grow bigger and bigger, it almost felt as if you weren’t a person anymore. With rare exceptions here and there, most of them only talked to you because of one thing:

Your boobs.

Is the man sitting next to you one of them?

“Hey, I’m talking to you, gorgeous.”

Your whole body tenses up in an instant, eyes darting towards him by the sound of his harsh voice.

“Excuse me, I’m not up for a talk”, you bite back.

While you did meet genuinely nice men and have some male friends, the one sitting next to you certainly is one of the other categories. God, how much you hate it, being looked down at and reduced to the size of your breasts. You can’t even count how many times you’ve got commented on them, how many men and women just shamelessly stared at your bust instead of your face while talking to you. It’s safe to say you have enough of all of this.

“A woman who presents what she has like that is up for a talk and far more than that. Why would you come here dressed like a slut if you don’t want me to talk to you?”

Your breath gets stuck in your throat, all thoughts vanish into thick air. This disgusting guy with his beard filled with crumbs and breath stinking like the cheapest beer is definitely up for no good. You, dressed like a slut? You wear a basic black dress, the only one your boobs didn’t fall out when trying it on. What the hell is this creep talking about?

“Just because my boobs are big doesn’t mean I’m a slut. Watch how you talk to me”, you bite back.

“I talk however I want to a bitch like you. Are you up to go somewhere more…private?”

The scene that lays itself out in front of Gojo’s eyes is hard to bear. He doesn’t even know the woman in the black dress sitting in front of the bar, let alone the guy sitting next to her. But just one look into your disgusted face is enough to know that something isn’t right. How you cross your arms in front of your chest, your eyes filled with horror, the way you scoop backwards with every word this man says. Are you okay? He shouldn’t let other people’s business bother him. Fuck, wasn’t he here to get his mind off saving everyone all the time? Nah, he should enjoy his evening, drink that new whiskey they offer, just relax and-

You aren’t even able to comprehend what is happening next to you. He stretches out his hand, ready to touch your breasts without consent when another pair of hands stops him mid-air.

“I think the lady said no. Don’t ya think it’s a little over the top to go into a bar and touch a woman’s boobs?”

His voice might sound playful, but your blood freezes inside of your veins by the power he radiates. Just one glance into his face tells you he is like no men you’ve ever met.

“I…She…She said she wanted it to!”, the crumble beard tries to defend himself.

“I said what? Are you out of your fucking mind!? I told you to leave me alone and you harassed me!”, you clarify in harsh tone.

Oh, how much you’d love to break his nose right now, to give him a taste of his own medicine. But the white-haired man seems to have the same plans.

“A guy like you wouldn’t end up with her anyway. That lady has class. And you, my friend, are just a disgusting pervert. Are you touching other women too without consent? Isn’t your first time, huh?”

With a swift motion, he begins to twist the man’s hand around itself. He whines out in pain in an instant, face twisted just like yours before when he talked you down.

“Let me go!”, he cries out in visible discomfort.

“This is what you get for treating a lady so badly. You can be glad she even looked your way.”

When he gifts you a sly grin, you can’t help but blush. What is it about this man that feels so different, so damn inviting? He seems like no other men you’ve met before. And the fact that he just called you lady…Why do your knees suddenly feel weak?

“Now repeat after me: I.am.sorry.for.disrespecting.you.”

“I will not apologize to a girl who’s dressed like a slut!”

A loud crack makes the already muted room go completely silent, the violent scream coming out of this man’s mouth when his wrist breaks like spaghetti echoing through the room.

“Wrong answer”, the white-haired man purrs.

“Hey, would you mind just taking the trash out?”, the barkeeper questions.

“Did you hear that, dirty boy? Let me show you the way!”

“Are you alright? I didn’t even notice he was harassing you. I’m so sorry”, the bartender speaks out towards you.

“Oh, it’s okay.”

You aren’t even able to give him a real answer, eyes glued on the white-haired man who carries your harasser out like trash.

Like in trance you get back on your feet and follow him out into the cool air of the night.

“Have a nice evening!”, he friendly shouts after the man who sprints down the streets like a coward, as fast away as possible.

“You definitely scared the shit out of him”, you comment.

“He definitely deserved it. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m used to shit like that”, you reply with a huff.

“But normally, they aren’t this disgusting.”

“I hate to hear that. You seem like a genuinely badass and nice person. You didn’t deserve his words.”

“Not as nice as my knight in shining armour who stopped him from touching my boobs.”

He lets out a heartfelt laughter, bright blue orbs set on you.

“Hey, what about me escorting you back home? I’m totally in the mood to beat up any other men who gets in your way.”

“Only if you let me join, though”, you challenge him.

“Definitely a deal. Hey, what’s your name?”

“(y/n)”

“(y/n), huh? Cool name, suits you right? My name’s Gojo Satoru. Nice to meet you.”

He stretches out his hand in front of you, inviting you to take it. You can’t help but smile at his sheer excitement. No, you just have to take his warm hand into yours and shake it.

“Let’s get you home, okay?”

Tags: @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @hellkaiserinphoenix @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee @lovelyluna1 @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain @risuola @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr @kayleegomez @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world @oikawarz@darkstarlight82 @satoreo @luwumii @kentocalls @cheesemachine44 @maya-maya-56 @jinririz @getou0309 @ieathairs

Dividers by @saradika 🤍

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eilidh-eternal · 4 months

Text

You go to dinner

Merry Christmas if that’s your thing! @luminousbeings-crudematter My gift to you and all the rest of the SingleDad!Johnny lovers today is fluff and a lil’ something extra I was originally gonna wait to include, but it just felt right in this chapter. Happy Holidays and Enjoy 🥰🎄🎁

SingleDad!Johnny x f!reader | 18+ MDNI | Part 1 | Masterlist

Today is Friday and you’re having dinner with Johnny.

Johnny and Isobel, you remind yourself. Not a date. Even if the man next door seems hellbent on seeing you squirm in his presence, stunned into silence while fire creeps in licking tendrils up your spine and sucks the breath out of you.

It’s not a date. But you still pull that one pretty dress out of your closet anyway, the one you told yourself you’re saving for a special occasion. Still don a few simple pieces of jewelry and go to the extent of styling your hair, swipe mascara onto your lashes and put something other than lip balm on for once. A few strategic spritzes of perfume at the base of your throat and wrists and you decide that anything more is too much. Trying too hard.

Trying too hard to impress someone who’s got it all. Someone who once had it all. Beautiful wife, adorable daughter. Did they live somewhere with a white picket fence? Did Isobel spend her days as a toddler going to parks and tromping through rain puddles, mum and dad at her side? Did Johnny smile at her the way he smiles at Isobel–like she hung the stars in the sky just for him? Could he ever smile at you like that? Could he ever love you–love anyone–the way he loved her again?

It’s hard not to compare yourself to the woman who’s had it all. The woman who had him. Hard not to feel doubt slithering in amongst the hope, to be reminded of everything you aren't even when he gives you no reason to. No, those feelings, that reservation, lies somewhere between yourself and the photo of the woman on his living room wall. Is there room in his heart for another woman when she’s still there to remind him of what he had? You’ll never find out if you don’t find your shoes and coat and get going.

It snowed again last night, and the pavement is dusted in a fine layer of glittering ice that swirls and scatters in the wind, trailing in lazy eddies behind you like the tail of a comet as you make the short walk next door, stepping carefully up onto their front stoop. Light from inside makes the windows glow a warm hue, and the sound of a children's show filters through along with Isobels excited voice when she hears your knock at the door.

“I’ll get it!” Isobel is darting towards the door before Johnny can dissuade her or scoop her up into his arms and task her with keeping an eye on the oven while he gets the door. He hates how tall she’s getting. Wishes her mother was here to see her stretching up on her tip-toes to peer out the window. “She’s here, she’s here!” The front door swings open, nearly taking out a vase on the entry table with it, short little arms just long enough to reach the doorknob and throw it open haphazardly. “Hi miss neighbor!”

“Hello Isobel. May I come in?” Johnny nearly drops the serving dish in his hands when he hears your voice, has to remind himself to breathe when Isobel clears the way for you and he catches a glimpse of you from the kitchen. This is just dinner, he reminds himself. Dinner with the gorgeous fucking neighbor that bakes and dotes on Isobel like she’s your daughter.

And Christ that dress… He’s glad he wore more than jeans and a t-shirt, found a dress shirt shoved in the back of his closet that isn't part of his parade dress or uniform. Isobel insisted that they ‘dress up’ for dinner, and Johnny was happy to go along with it if it meant she would take a bath and let him help with detangling her hair after. But standing here now, seeing you… he’s doing everything in his power to keep his hammering pulse in check and keep all his blood from rushing south. What a fucking sight that would be.

“Hi, Johnny.” Yeah, that’s certainly not helping. You look fucking adorable looking up at him like that, hands clasped together in front of you, toying with a delicate ring, tentative smile pulling your features into a face he wants to burn into his memory, tattoo on the back of his eyelids so he never forgets it. Soft and sweet and fucking perfect. His hands twitch at his sides, body reacting to your presence with the need to touch, to have his hand pressed to your back, curled around your waist, wrapped around your shoulder. He shoves them in his pockets instead and braces his shoulder against the wall beside him, crossing one ankle over the other and swallows down the desire to pull you into him.

“Look at ye, Bonnie. Give us a whirl, eh?” Isobel, at some point while he was too busy making moon eyes at you to notice, had taken up her usual spot beside him, arm wrapped around his leg to lean into him.

“Twirl! Twirl!” She bounces on her feet, jostling Johnny, and he feels like he could do the same. Might just join her if it would convince you. It seems he doesn’t have to though, and he watches with rapt attention as you give them a little spin, hands held out to your sides, and when you face them again you look a little less reserved, timid smile blooming into something easy and comfortable as Isobel surges forward. “Ye’re like the girls on the telly!”

Your eyes flick from Isobel’s gaze of wonderment to Johnny, and when he catches the question behind the subtle uptick of a brow, the way your eyes widen a fraction, he explains. “Wean’s been watchin’ those princess movies all week. The one with the, um… what’s ‘er friends name, Bell?”

Isobel scoffs, offended that he doesn’t remember the name of the comical sidekick. “It’s Mushu, and he’s not her friend. He’s her spirit guide. Like the wisps,” she corrects, little hands on her hips and scowling up at him. Johnny puts his hands up in front of him in surrender.

“I’ll get it right one of these days, leannan. How about ye go pause yer movie and we’ll get cleaned up for dinner?” She gives him an enthusiastic nod, all offense forgotten, and trots off to the living room to do just that. With Isobel momentarily occupied his attention returns to you, lingering on all the places your dress clings to your body, to the delicious figure he’s sure you’re hiding beneath it. “She’s right.” Your head tilts to the side, that same brow inching upwards in confusion.

“About what?”

“About ye lookin’ like royalty.” He revels in the way you stall in front of him, body seemingly frozen as your mind works to process his words, and then your eyes are looking anywhere but his face, fingers twisting your ring between them and searching for a response.

“It’s just a dress, nothing special,” you try to dismiss, and he openly appraises you now. Lets his eyes rake down your form before they meet yours again.

“‘S a dress I’d get on muh knees for, bonnie. If royalty isnae the right word for that, then maybe I should-” He doesn’t get to finish, interrupted by Isobel darting out of the living room and tugging on his arm, pulling him backwards towards the kitchen.

“Come on, bubby. Ye said we’d wash up,” she whines and continues pulling on his arm, throwing all of her weight into her efforts to move him.

“Aye, that I did,” he finally relents and lets her pull him back a step. “Go on and have a seat.” He gestures to the table, dinner and place settings all laid out already. “We’ll be right behind ye.”

In the washroom Johnny helps Isobel clamber up onto her step stool to wash her hands. “She’s pretty,” she remarks as she takes the soap from him.

“Aye, she is,” he agrees, helping her to lather her hands.

“D’ye think she’ll bake for us?”

“I dunno leannan. Ye’ll have to ask ‘er after dinner.”

She does, and she’s ecstatic when you agree with a little encouragement from Johnny. He doesn’t know much about baking but he knows you need flour and sugar and eggs and all that, and he’d made sure they have all those things from the shops when they’d gone yesterday to prepare for dinner. Wasn’t at all joking several days earlier when he said he couldn’t stop thinking about you and Isobel bopping about the kitchen together, though he can think of several things other than your spoon that he’d like to lick right now. Watching you bend over to retrieve the pan from the oven has him shifting in his seat and readjusting himself while you and Isobel have your backs turned.

“Bubby, look!” Isobel is nearly jumping with joy as you set the pan down on top of the stove. “We made cookies!” The smile you give her, the adoration pouring off of you in waves, is something he wishes he could bottle and keep all to himself. Something he never dreamed he could have. Someone who loves Isobel just as much as he does. He thinks if Isobel can win you over, make you fall in love with her, then maybe he stands a chance. Maybe you can love him too.

He just wishes she could be here to see it. That was all she’d ever wanted for him—to see him in love, settle down and start a family. Now a piece of her will always be a part of whatever family he chooses to make.

Next>>>

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ichorai · 5 months

Text

weave ; coriolanus snow.

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; there was a rose in his hand, you realized. white, just like the one he gave to you when he first met your parents. but it wasn’t for you, since he had yet to hand it over— you figured it was for lucy gray. you would’ve thought it was sweet of him, if only you hadn’t been aware of his motivations to gain her trust. still, you’d be a hypocrite if you criticized him for it. you’d also brought something for your tribute.

words ; 6.8k

themes ; mild fluff/angst, action

warnings / includes ; themes of classism, violence/injury, lucky flickerman is a close family friend of reader's, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

a/n ; there will be a fourth part loosely following the events of the movie (obv tweaked for the fic!)

series masterlist. main masterlist.

It was humiliating, how nervous he was. Reaping day. The Plinth prize was just a whisper away—he could nearly taste it: phantom traces of rich chocolate and edible gold on his dry tongue.

The day before the exams, you’d pulled him into the library for one last study session. You whispered that you would botch one of your papers for him—he certainly needed the Plinth prize more than you. And though he knew that you’d be far more deserving of it (your grades were near impeccable, and impossible for him to try and compete with), he also knew that his pride wouldn’t ever recover from such a blow.

Because how could he face you after that? Knowing that he was… inferior?

And so he told you not to squander your own achievements for him—that he’d figure something out. You spared him a hesitant look, before turning back to your books.

Now that the exams were over and done with, Coriolanus briefly wondered if you went ahead and botched it anyway. An irrational sort of anger flared within his chest. Did you think you were better than him? That he was your charity case?

But all those terrible thoughts—the nastiness sweltering in his chest for days after the exams—dissolved almost immediately after seeing you.

You met him in front of the academy, your dress a lovely shade of crimson, angular at your shoulders but tapering down into flowing ripples below your waist. Like fire, almost. You were glowing, he was sure of it, with the way the sun illuminated only the best of your features—the slope of your nose, the curling of your lips, the glimmer in your eyes.

“Coriolanus,” you greeted with faux formality, tilting your head to the side. He was wearing his dress shirt again—the very one you watched Tigris mend and sew and tinker many, many times. Pinned to his waistcoat was another red rose, matching the shade of your own attire.

He mirrored you, sweeping into a low bow and brandishing another rose out of seemingly nowhere. “For you, darling. Grandma’am said she could spare it—special occasion and all.”

“Oh, don’t call me that,” you said, rolling your eyes at the ridiculous pet name. It was what your parents called each other when they thought nobody was around to hear it—it made you feel old. “And tell Grandma’am thank you. It’s beautiful.”

He smiled, stepping forward to slot the rose behind your ear. “Ready for your Plinth prize?” he asked, fingers lingering by your face, thumb stroking down your jaw.

You sucked in a breath. “I don’t think it’s going to be what either of us expect.”

There was a brief pause. Coriolanus’ eyes narrowed. Had you botched your exams for him?

With a pointed glance to the academy halls, you nudged him forward. “Come on. Everyone’s already inside. Clemmie keeps asking for you.”

The two of you made your way in, weaving between red-uniformed academy students (the ones who weren’t at the very top) and professors. Behind another set of double doors were where all the top-ranking students were mingling. Sipping on bubbling glasses of colorful drinks, picking off delicate foods from ceramic plates.

While Snow was stolen away from you by a few other classmate acquaintances, Sejanus was the first to greet you, shaking your hand enthusiastically. His palms were sweating. You didn’t quite mind. “Congratulations on finishing exams, Y/N. I know how hard you’ve been studying.”

You flashed him a genuine smile. “Congrats to you, too. I’m surprised you’re here at all, actually. I know how you feel about the reaping.”

His expression faltered. “Ma made me come. Moral support for my friends, and all.”

Ma. The word sounded foreign and heavy on the tongue. Unfamiliar… but rather inviting. Homely, in a way. Despite your initial silence, you managed to recover just fine. In a lowered voice, you whispered to him, “Well, my mother thinks it’s a rather dreadful affair. A waste of potential talent, sending children to their deaths, she says. I can’t help but agree with her. Father thinks it’s necessary, though.”

Sejanus pursed his lips. No doubt questioning the necessity of watching the people he knew from his childhood in the district getting brutally murdered. It looked like he was going to say something else, but before he could, Arachne’s high-pitched voice cut through the two of you. You grimaced, catching Coriolanus’ eyes as he stood right behind her. Judging by his mildly annoyed countenance, he wasn’t having a very good time chatting to her, either.

“Spill it, Sejanus,” she demanded in a prissy tone. “Who won the prize?”

The dark curls on Sejanus’ head shook as he silently scoffed. “Oh, no, I’m not going to ruin my father’s big day. No one here actually likes him but they do love his money… you know what that’s like, don’t you, Arachne?”

Her nose wrinkled in part-contempt, part-disgust. “Funny,” she deadpanned.

Coriolanus stepped around her so he could curl an arm over your waist. “We all know who’s going to win it, anyway.” His grip squeezed over the smooth fabric of your dress.

Arachne rolled her eyes and marched away, off to find someone else to bother.

Left with just the two of you, Sejanus dipped his head and muttered, “Look, I know you guys have had high hopes for this but… there’s no prize. Not anymore.”

There was a terse pause. Your head reared back incredulously, searching Sejanus’ expression for any signs of fibbing. Then you looked to Coriolanus, eyes wide.

“What?” he asked, words sharp, looking almost offended.

“I’m so sorry—”

Before Sejanus could finish his sentence, loud trumpets echoed throughout the hall and all the students began making their way to the plush velvet seats laid out in front of the podium. Coriolanus’ hand slipped away from you, balling into a tight, pale fist. You sat down first, Sejanus going on your right, Coriolanus to your left. Clemensia was on his other side, flashing you an attractive smile. You couldn’t find it in you to smile back.

If there was no prize, what were they going to dole out instead? A free holiday, all expenses paid? A new television? A pair of fuzzy socks?

Your rather prickly thoughts were interrupted when a woman stepped up behind the podium. She was dressed in lavish plum robes, intricate beige patterns weaving through the threads. From afar, it looked like there was flesh stitched onto the fabric. Her hair was greyed and a calculated sort of haphazard. One of her eyes was beady and blue, the other dark and large, almost eclipsing any of the white bits.

She tapped the microphone once, earning herself a buzz of feedback, and tittered with unnerving laughter. Volumnia Gaul was what she introduced herself as. Her voice was low and gravelly. When she went on to say that she was the head gamemaker, your and Coriolanus' heads both snapped to Sejanus, but his gaze was fixed onto the ground, face grim.

After a bit more faddering about the future, Dr. Gaul introduced the creator of the games and dean of the academy—Casca Highbottom. He sauntered forward from somewhere within the seats, mind very clearly addled with a drug of some sorts. Morphling, you’d wager.

“I can’t believe they still allow him to speak in public,” Clemensia said to Coriolanus amusedly. He didn’t spare her a response.

He dragged on his little speech, as if he took pleasure in dangling the golden carrot in front of the donkey. Your hands twitched in an antsy fashion, and you neatly folded them over your lap.

“My own twenty-four top prospects. All waiting to hear the results of your hard studying in this prestigious institution, eager to know who’s won that Plinth prize, no doubt. And a golden future, with it.” He catered forward with a slurred laugh. “However… I’m here to tell you all that there’s been a change this year.”

Murmurs rippled throughout the crowd. Coriolanus’ chin lifted higher, back straightening.

“One last assignment to prove your worth,” Highbottom continued on. He began to pace back and forth, reminiscent to that of a caged tiger. “The esteemed citizens of the Capitol simply aren’t watching anymore. And if the games are to continue at all, there must be an audience, no?”

More murmuring. Your eyes narrowed. Twenty-four top students… twenty-four tributes…

Oh, no.

You sucked in a quiet, barely noticeable inhale with the realization. It was enough for Coriolanus’ eyes to land on you, but you were staring at Sejanus, as if trying to get him to hear your thoughts.

Tell me it isn’t true. Tell me we won’t have to play a hand in such a barbaric game.

“Head gamemaker Dr. Gaul has stepped in to… incentivize patriotic values with her own unique flair, starting with you. The Plinth prize will no longer be determined by who has the best grades.”

For a moment, Highbottom’s gaze drifted over to you. Somewhere behind you, you could hear Arachne’s affronted, “Excuse me?”

You weren’t quite sure why she was upset. It’s not like she had a chance with the prize if it were grade-based.

“Instead, it will be decided by who is the best mentor in the hunger games.”

Your jaw clenched. Clemensia appeared bewildered. Coriolanus looked shaken. Sejanus was visibly distraught.

“As the reaping begins, I will allocate each one of the top twenty-four Capitol students a district tribute. A figure behind the scenes—one who must persuade them to perform for the cameras.”

This was met by a barrage of questions and protests from the students. Highbottom waved most of them away.

“Your role is to turn these children into spectacles. Not survivors… victory in the games is only one of the considerations. Your entire future rests on this last project.”

It was a terrible thing to imagine. Two dozen district lives in exchange for a bit of cruel entertainment for the Capitol. You were never fond of it, but you kept quiet on the matter because you had the luxury of turning your head away. Turning the television off and straying away from such brutalities.

But now that you were being forced to look—no, more than that—you were being forced to pull strings, it was altogether a nauseating thought.

“Oh, and I must warn you… anyone caught cheating to give their tributes an unfair advantage…” Highbottom’s spectacled eyes swept over the lot of students. “Well, they’d just have no future at all.”

More trumpets rang throughout the hall.

The Dean clapped his hands together. “Here we go! Let the reaping ceremony begin!”

Two large screens hanging over the podium lit up for the first district—a tall boy on the left, a sallow-faced girl on the right. Dean Highbottom began to list off student names as mentors.

To none of your surprise, Sejanus got the male tribute from district two. Coriolanus shot him a thinly-veiled, wry smile over your shoulder. “You got the pick of the litter.”

Sejanus refused to meet his gaze. “You forget… I’m part of the litter.”

On the names rattled—districts three, four, five, six, and seven all passing by in a blur.

Juno Phipps was called out for district eight’s male tribute. She sat somewhere behind you, and you could hear her puff a sigh of disappointment.

Then your name came straight after.

Your head snapped from Highbottom to the screen, eyes widening.

Wovey, her name was. She was a small little thing—you could see her frail, skeletal figure even through a grainy screen from afar. The striped dress she wore was patchy and frayed, darkened with soot and dirt. How old was she? She was probably one of the youngest tributes yet—you’d guess that she was barely thirteen, maybe even twelve. Something in your stomach jolted. Momentarily, you’d forgotten that this little girl was meant to be your school project.

District eight. The textiles sector. You blinked at the screen and shifted uncomfortably in your expensive-tailored dress—a dress that very likely came from the very same district.

Highbottom called out names for the next district. Clemensia was pleased with her large, burly tribute from the eleventh district. Coriolanus was yet to be mentioned. You glanced over at him, before reaching out to take his hand. He didn’t look at you, but squeezed your palm in what you read to be silent gratitude.

And finally—with only one tribute left, Highbottom coughed out what sounded to be a laugh. “The runt girl from district twelve… she belongs to Coriolanus Snow.”

The grip he had on your hand tightened until it was bordering on painful. You said nothing about it. Highbottom had always been a grouchy man, but he seemed to have a fixation on making Coriolanus’ life as tormentable as possible.

Lucy Gray Baird.

You watched the screen in fascination when a woman sauntered out from the ranks. Her hair was dark and curly, unruly in a way that suited her perfectly. Upon further scrutiny, you noticed small wildflowers woven through the strands, limp with time. She wore makeup, which wasn’t something you often saw in tributes. A deep blue eyeshadow and slightly-smudged rouge on her cheeks and lips. But what really caught your attention, however, was the dress she was wearing. It was a startling contrast to her name—with its bright, colorful ruffles on her skirt, the front of her corset bearing lovely details of flowers and vines.

She was beautiful.

“What is that dress?” sneered Arachne, in an obvious attempt to rile Coriolanus up. “Is she some sort of clown?”

But suddenly, Lucy Gray stepped out of her path towards the stage and grabbed a girl to her right. Or, more accurately, the girl’s collar. She promptly dropped something down her dress and hurried off. Screams erupted from the screen as the girl writhed with terror, screaming for someone to, “Get it out! Get it out!”

Coriolanus stood abruptly, letting your hand go. You hadn’t noticed just how much feeling you’d lost in your arm, and gingerly shook it back to life.

The grainy screen showed a small snake skitter out of the bottom of her dress.

When Lucy Gray finally made it up on the stage, she was harshly struck across the face by district twelve’s mayor. The blow made her head crack to the side and she went tumbling down. You frowned, but couldn’t take your eyes away.

It took two peacekeepers to haul the furious mayor away. You mutely realized that the girl was the mayor’s daughter.

Lucy Gray laid there, face aching.

And then—singing. A small voice from within the crowd. Five seconds later, another joined. And another, and another. Even through the screen, when Lucy Gray tilted her bruised face up and struggled back onto her feet, you could see the pain in her eyes. Was that her family singing for her?

The woman made her way to the microphone. She began to sing with a quivering lip. Her voice was soft and smooth, silken to your ears.

“She’s singing?” Arachne commented in a pinched tone. “Is she out of her mind?”

“Shut up, Arachne,” you turned to snap at her. She made a strangled noise in the back of her throat, but didn’t say anything else, to your relief.

Coriolanus watched the screen with unsettled eyes. A million thoughts rushed through his mind at once. Most unpleasant, many rageful, some curious.

And to bring her singing to a sudden halt, Lucy Gray screamed into the microphone.

“YOU CAN KISS MY ASS!”

The students burst into laughter, incredulous gasps, and scandalized murmurs. Coriolanus glanced around. He met your eyes, and you gave him half an amused smile. His tribute knew how to put on a show, that was for sure.

He smiled back, and turned to the screen once more.

Lucy Gray lowered herself into a deep bow for the audience. District and Capitol alike.

What an intriguing girl, you thought.

“She’s mentally ill,” Arachne buzzed.

It took every bit of your willpower not to turn around and strike her across the face. But you thought back to the furious mayor, and of the little girl you were supposed to mentor, and kept your hands folded neatly over your lap.

You found yourself at the Snow penthouse that night. There was nothing to study, not anymore, so you lounged on a rickety chair and watched Tigris sew together pieces of blue fabric. She wanted to make you a dress, and though you had more than enough of your own, you couldn’t ever say no to her. Being around her took your mind off of the games, even for just a few minutes.

Coriolanus, however, was pacing back and forth in front of the two of you. Muttering angrily under his breath, nose twitching with disdain.

“He’s sabotaging us. That girl’s never going to win the games,” he hissed, plucking the rose off of his waistcoat and tugging at its petals. They fluttered down to the floor. “You saw her, didn’t you? She’s underfed. Unstable.”

Pot, meet kettle.

You pursed your lips. “Highbottom said you’re meant to make a performance out of them. It isn’t just about winning.”

“Everything is about winning!” he asserted, carding a frustrated hand through his flaxen tresses. “If not the games, then the crowd. And Lucy Gray won’t survive a minute inside that arena.”

You sighed. Little Wovey didn’t seem too likely to survive, either. She wasn’t a fighter by any means. Maybe she was a fast runner?

“So that means we have to make every second before then count.” Coriolanus reached out to cup your face, and you leaned into his touch, kissing his palm. Tigris shot the two of you a side glance and smiled to herself.

“What’re you planning?” you asked.

“I’ll make her sing again,” he said, sounding so sure of himself.

This made Tigris’ brows cinch together. “I wouldn’t sing a note for you if I was her. I wouldn’t do anything at all… not unless I knew I could trust you.”

Coriolanus regarded his cousin with a cynical stare. “She’s district, Tigris. She knows we hate her and she wants us dead. How am I supposed to get her to trust me?”

“We?” you echoed, shaking your head. “I don’t hate her. I don’t even know her. Do you?”

“I—”

You lifted up a hand, effectively cutting him off. “Do you know her, Coriolanus?”

His jaw set with a click. You had your answer.

“How can you hate someone you don’t know? Look, you don’t have to like her. Just convince her that you do.” You crossed your arms, thinking of the little girl you were meant to mentor. It was going to be hard to like her, anyway, knowing that she was going to die soon. You wouldn’t let yourself get attached.

Tigris nodded emphatically. She paused her needlework and looked up at her cousin. “Imagine it was your name they pulled, and you were ripped from your home. I’d just want to know if somebody still cared about me out here. Don’t discount her just because she’s district, Coryo. You might have more in common with her than you think.”

Coriolanus plucked the last rose petal from the stem. You watched him with soft eyes, before drawing yourself up to your feet.

“I think it’s time I head home. My family’s got dinner with the Flickermans tomorrow.” You placed a limp hand on his jaw and kissed his cheek, then drifted down to kiss his shoulder. He smelled distinctly of roses—a fresh sort of musk.

Just as you were about to pull away, he rested his hands on your forearms, rooting you to the same spot. “We should greet them at the station. Show them that they can trust us.”

You searched his face for genuinity. It wasn’t an entirely terrible idea.

“You sure?” you asked. It wasn’t a secret just how uncomfortable Coriolanus was around district folk.

“Yeah. We can… get ahead of the other students. You’re way more approachable than me, anyway. Maybe they’ll like you more,” Snow offered. A part of you wondered what he’d do if you said no.

The thought of meeting your assigned tribute made your stomach do somersaults. Finally, you nodded. “Okay. I’ll meet you at the station, then?”

Snow smiled in a charming manner. He dipped forward to slant his lips over yours, and you melted into his touch, almost forgetting that Tigris was there—until she made a noise of disgust and told the two of you, “Eugh! Do that somewhere else, please!”

Coriolanus was there before you, sticking out like a sore thumb in his academy red against the cold, rusted metals of the train cars. You wore a dark coat over your uniform, trying to look a little more discreet.

“Are they here yet?” you asked, steps quickening to him. He took your hand and squeezed.

“Anytime now.”

The two of you stood shoulder-to-shoulder as you waited, exchanging light conversation. There was a rose in his hand, you realized. White, just like the one he gave to you when he first met your parents. But it wasn’t for you, since he had yet to hand it over— you figured it was for Lucy Gray. You would’ve thought it was sweet of him, if only you hadn’t been aware of his motivations to gain her trust. Still, you’d be a hypocrite if you criticized him for it. You’d also brought something for your tribute.

A juice box. Grape. Still cold, beading with condensation.

You wondered if they had juice boxes out in district eight.

Another train rolled to a grueling halt to the track on your left. The cars were due for a good scrubbing, you thought. They were absurdly filthy—you weren’t even sure what its original color was meant to be.

Peacekeepers stepped up, disregarding the two of you, and began yanking the doors open. There were disgruntled noises coming from inside, and a few minutes later, the grey soldiers were pulling out the tributes.

You searched through the small crowd frantically. The boy from 11th—Reaper, you recalled his name was—caught your eye and just about snarled. You tried your best to ignore him.

When you found the little girl, little Wovey, you slipped away from Coriolanus and stepped forward. In your peripheral vision, you spotted him moving towards Lucy Gray.

Wovey was staring at a particularly uninteresting spot on the ground. She had her skinny arms wound around her midriff as if she was cold, despite the warm temperature that morning. When your shadow fell over her, her large, tearful eyes slid up to meet yours.

“Hello, Wovey,” you whispered in what you hoped was a welcoming, not-at-all-intimidating voice. You told her your name, making sure to enunciate the syllables slowly, so she’d have no problem repeating it back. She didn’t, but perhaps she would later. “I’m your mentor.”

“Mender?” Her voice quaked.

“Mentor. I’ll be helping you in the arena, during the game. Here, I have something for you.” You reached inside your coat, eyeing the peacekeepers warily. Either they didn’t notice, or they were just pretending not to. You wondered how many of them knew your father. “Do you guys have juice boxes back where you live?”

You held out the cold little box for her to take. She blinked at it warily.

“It’s grape,” you said.

She reached out and took it from you. You offered her a gentle smile, and she mirrored you with a shy grin.

“Can I share it?” she croaked. Wovey looked back at the male tribute from the same district—Bobbin. Were they friends?

“Of course, sweetheart,” you said warmly.

Sweetheart? Where’d that come from?

The peacekeepers began rounding up the tributes, shoving them in the direction of a truck. You dipped your head at one of the grey soldiers as he took Wovey’s arm.

“Be gentle with her,” you told the peacekeeper. He met you with a stoic expression, but nodded once, before urging Wovey onward.

It was hard to tear your eyes away from her, but you forced yourself to do so, bounding towards Coriolanus and—

“Lucy Gray,” you greeted, just before saying your own name as you moved to stand beside Snow. Her dress looked even brighter in person, even if it was caked in filth. “I hope Coriolanus hasn’t scared you off yet.”

“Who’s this?” she asked, her dark eyes flitting from Snow to you. “Another mentor?”

“Mmh. Not yours though. I’m dedicated to the little girl from district eight,” you replied.

There was something in her eyes that softened.

“You’ll take care of her?” she asked.

You exchanged an uncertain glance with Coriolanus. “I’ll try my best to. Just like my boyfriend here for you.”

“Boyfriend, huh? Y’all make an attractive couple, that’s for sure.” Lucy Gray smiled, wide and genuine. It faded instantaneously once she spotted a peacekeeper approaching. She plucked the rose from Coriolanus’ unsuspecting hands. “Well… good luck with that.”

The soldier grabbed her by the arm and shoved her into the direction of the car.

Coriolanus stepped forward. “Wait, no—I, hey, I’d like to escort my tribute—”

They all ignored him. You pursed your lips, before following behind two of the soldiers, peeking around the bend. The truck’s doors were wide open for you to slip into. Snow met your eyes when you beckoned him over.

“We can sneak in,” you whispered. “When they’re not looking.”

“Are you insane? We don’t know where they’re going!” he responded in a lowered voice, taking your arm, not unsimilar to how the peacekeepers grabbed the tributes. “I don’t want you getting hurt because of me.”

“They won’t hurt me,” you told him. It didn’t dawn on you that Coriolanus was referring to the district tributes, not the peacekeepers. Quick and chaste, you pressed a kiss to his lips. “You coming?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. He blew out a frustrated breath, before letting you go and giving you the green light by motioning for you to get a move on. Nerves peaking with adrenaline, you glanced around again, satisfied that no peacekeepers were looking, and rushed into the truck. You felt Coriolanus’ chest brush against your back as he hurried in after you.

You hid in the shadows of the trucks’ slants just as the peacekeepers slammed it shut. A victorious smile stretched your lips thin. You made it.

Oh, your father was going to murder you. Snow first, maybe, and then you. Your mother would probably find the situation all too funny. Though, as you found all the tributes’ eyes locked on you and Coriolanus, you realized that it probably wasn’t funny at all, not in the slightest.

“Hello,” you said in an awfully wavering voice. Coriolanus echoed your sentiment, looking as if he’d seen a ghost.

“What’s the matter, pretty boy?” Reaper asked him with a scowl. “You in the wrong cage?”

“No,” he responded with a minute shrug. “This cage is delightful.”

The truck practically swayed as Reaper stormed closer to him. You instinctively grabbed his forearm, pulling him back. But clearly not quick enough, seeing as Reaper grabbed the lapels of Snow’s academy uniform, shoving him up against the wall with a loud thud. Coriolanus let out an oomf with the impact, blinking sudden white stars out of his vision.

“I’ll kill you right now!” Reaper hissed.

“He’ll do it, too,” warned Dill. The girl from his same district. “Reaper killed a peacekeeper back in eleven.”

“I say we kill them both!” another tribute from somewhere behind sneered.

“I’m in. Nothing left to lose now.”

You stood frozen, afraid that one wrong move would send Reaper into a frenzy. Instead, you spoke calm and clear, “We’re here to help.” Your eyes found Lucy Gray’s, then traveled over to Wovey, squeezed in the corner. “We want to help you.”

Crossing her arms, Lucy Gray said, “Y’all got family back home? They’ll kill them if you hurt a hair on their pretty Capitol heads. Then you. ‘Sides… the blonde one’s my mentor. I might need him.”

One of the tributes from district four curled her lip in contempt. “How come you get one?”

“You all get one!” Snow told her, which earned him another enraged shove by Reaper.

She guffawed—Coral, yes, that was her name—with incredulity. “What, and we’re just supposed to believe you?”

“Why else would we get in here with you?” you said, exasperated. “We don’t even know where they’re taking you guys.”

Coral cocked a brow so high it nearly disappeared behind her choppy bangs. “Whose mentor are you?”

You limply waved your fingers at Wovey. “District eight’s girl.”

“So how come Skinny and Rainbow get special treatment? Why aren’t my mentors here?” Coral leaned down towards Lucy Gray in a taunting fashion, barely glancing over at Wovey.

Lucy Gray smiled, all toothy. “They just got inspired, I guess.”

A moment later, a loud rumbling came from outside the truck. Had they already arrived? There was a whir, and the whole truck began to tilt downward. The doors swung open and shocked gasps echoed throughout the metal cavern.

Reaper relinquished his grip on Snow to grab hold of Dill, and you launched yourself at Coriolanus, trying your best to grapple onto the grooves in the walls so you wouldn’t slip. Lucy Gray yelled as her foot slipped and she went toppling down—

You grabbed her hand, grunting with the combined weight of two people. Coriolanus’ grip on the wall slipped, and he bumped into you, causing your fingers to fumble.

The three of you went rolling down, out of the truck, back into the blinding sunlight. Your shoulder hit the ground hard, another sharp rock digging painfully into your back. That’d definitely bruise later. Disoriented, you dragged yourself up from the ground, frowning at the stinging sensation in your legs. Coriolanus was next to you the next second, grabbing at your face and arms, asking if you were alright. You nodded a few times, before pushing him away to see if the tributes were okay.

All of them were dizzy and aching, but other than that—seemed just fine. Or, as fine as they could be, given the circumstances.

Only then did you look around your surroundings. Metal fencing, dirt pen, discarded tires—Capitol citizens watching with wide, curious eyes. You caught sight of the Capitol Zoo’s insignia on an ice cream stand just past the fencing.

“Ugh,” Coriolanus muttered, pale blonde hair properly tousled over his forehead. “What are all these people doing, staring at us? Don’t they have anything better to do? Don’t they have jobs? The children should be in school. It’s no wonder this country is in shambles.”

“The kids are on summer break, Coryo,” you deadpanned, shirking off your dark coat to give it a good dusting.

Then, a familiar voice made your head snap towards the crowd.

Cameras. Mustache. Coin flip.

“We’ll just give them a chance to stand up and catch their breath—I do have to admit I’m jealous of that big entrance! I’m Lucretius “Lucky” Flickerman, a man who needs no introduction.”

Oh, he certainly didn’t. He and your mother were tight-knit buddies when they went to school together, making the Flickermans good family friends. This was beyond embarrassing.

“Guess where I am today, folks! That’s right, the Capitol Zoo, where this year’s tributes will be held here, on display behind these bars for your viewing pleasure! That’s right, all twenty-four of them—” That was when he turned to point, and his eyes landed on you and Coriolanus. His words faltered. “What in Panem—is that academy rouge I see?”

You stiffly waved at the camera. Absent-mindedly, you passed a hand over your head to fix your hair.

“Hey, Mr. Flickerman,” you called out with a grimace.

Lucky’s eyes bugged out of his head. He exclaimed your name in part-confusion, part-shock. “Hey, what’re you doing in there, kiddo? Who’s that dashing young man with you? We’re live!” He jutted a thumb back at the camera, its lens facing straight at you.

You spared him a stiff smile, eye twitching. Oh, your father was going to pop a blood vessel, you were sure.

“Uhm… well, uh—” The words caught in your throat and you lowered your voice so only Coriolanus could hear you. You had to ignore Lucky’s constant calls for your attention. “What do we do?”

His blue eyes, even paler in the bright sunlight, roamed over the onlookers. “We do what Highbottom told us to do,” he said, rolling his shoulders. He nudged you in the direction of Wovey, and began setting off for Lucy Gray. “We put on a show.”

You watched as the two, mentor and tribute, made their way to the fencing. As if there was a flip of a switch inside him, Coriolanus began to charm the onlookers and children, showing off his pearly whites, introducing himself and his rambunctious tribute. The children were enamoured with Lucy Gray, it seemed, judging by the way they bubbled over with questions about the snake, her colorful dress, her singing.

Lucky was having the time of his life interviewing them. If not for the current situation at hand—that being you trapped in a zoo enclosure—you would’ve laughed at his earnest excitement. Being a weatherman, a reporter, and an amateur-magician was apparently growing far too monotonous for someone with as large a personality as Lucretius Flickerman.

After much deliberation and cheek-biting, you turned and made your way toward Wovey, who was sitting down next to Bobbin on a tree stump. You noted the purple juice box, now crumpled and empty, discarded on the ground between them.

“Hey, guys,” you said, lowering down to one knee to speak to Wovey. “Do you want to go introduce yourself, sweetheart? Win over the Capitol citizens’ hearts?”

The young girl screwed up her face. Whether it was from shyness or distaste, you weren’t quite sure. Perhaps both.

“I’ll be there with you. I promise,” you told her, holding your palm out for her to take.

Tentative, Wovey slipped off of the stump and clutched onto your hand. The two of you approached the barriers, with her nearly hiding behind you, clutching onto your coat.

Lucy Gray told the growing audience about her Covey family, a group of traveling musicians, and how she wasn’t actually from district twelve. Snow watched her with a somewhat proud, victorious expression.

Lucky noticed you approaching, beckoning for the cameras to follow him as he made his way over to you.

Quickly, he covered the top of the mic to lean forward and whisper, “Is the academy aware of what you’re doing?”

“No. Nobody told us not to, though.”

Lucky regarded you knowingly. “And does your father know about this little escapade of yours?”

“No,” you replied, frown-smiling.

“Ooh. Good luck with that.” He spared you an amused wince. Then, he uncovered the microphone and gave the cameras another brilliant smile, introducing you with a flourish of his hands. “I’m here with a close personal friend of mine, Y/N L/N. And here we have their tribute, yes? Who might you be, young lady?”

You tried your best to encourage Wovey out of her shyness, going so far as to pat her shoulder and to gently push back the thin strands of hair falling in front of her face. She croaked out her name and her district, and Lucky asked her another myriad of overwhelming questions.

Whilst the crowd around the ever-charming Lucy Gray was watching her with curiosity and awe, the audience you were gathering looked upon Wovey with pity and something mildly akin to empathy.

There were perks to getting the youngest tribute, maybe.

She was telling them about how she liked to climb trees back in district eight. Yes, that’d be useful in the games.

You looked over to see Coriolanus observing you with your tribute. He gave you a nod, perhaps a second too late. The man found himself wondering if he could somehow garner the crowd’s sympathy using Lucy Gray, too. How’d you manage to do that?

Before he could spare another thought on the matter, there was a dim buzzing coming from across the enclosure. A door opened, and four peacekeepers marched in.

“Looks like you’re going to get whisked away, kiddo,” Lucky told you, nodding behind. “Tell your mother I said hello. And make sure to take a nice, long shower before dinner tonight. Don’t want the smell of zoo hovering over my steak.”

You rolled your eyes as Lucky chuckled at his own quips, then looked down at Wovey with a far softer expression.

“I’ll be back. I’ll come back with more for you. Just hold on for me, okay?”

The frail girl nodded. She didn’t seem to want to let go of you, even when the peacekeepers began to semi-forcefully lead you away, out of the enclosure. Coriolanus wasn’t far behind, being manhandled far more aggressively than you were.

The soldiers shoved you out the door and shut it with a heavy click of a lock, before marching off to the sides.

Coriolanus reached out for you, hands resting on your elbows. “How was it?”

“Could’ve gone worse.” You studied his features. There was a faint trace of dirt smudged across his jaw—no doubt acquired somewhere in the truck or when everyone came tumbling out.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment longer, until you shook your head and broke into a smile, accompanied by a breathy laugh.

“Lucky called you a dashing young man.”

“He’s ridiculous,” he scoffed, and tugged you along to start walking. “Do you think either of us have a chance? At winning?”

The smile melted off your expression, and you grew somber once more. “Well… anything can happen in the arena. We just need to be smart about it. Neither of our tributes are fighters.”

Coriolanus stared off into the distance, brows cinched, heavy with thought.

“They’ll need to be,” he said. “Surviving isn’t enough. Not in these games.”

Your lips parted, wondering what in Panem he could mean by that. Did he really expect Lucy Gray to become a killer overnight? Or was he planning for her to do something else? He didn’t seem to notice your perturbed disposition, and kissed the side of your head.

Just as Coriolanus walked you to your doorstep, you gripped his hands, and your tone suddenly became very serious.

“I just wanted to tell you—before Highbottom announced the mentoring change, I was sure one of us would win the Plinth prize. And, well, I was going to give you the money if it came to me because I definitely wouldn’t need it. But now, since there’s a good chance neither of us are getting it…”

Snow’s features twisted with evident dismay.

You squeezed his hands with yours. “I can get my parents to pay your university tuition, if neither of us get that Plinth prize. Please, Coryo, don’t take this as charity. Take it because I care about you. I don’t want you to get caught up in… winning these games. Whatever you’re planning for Lucy Gray… I can’t see it being anything she’d be willing to do.”

It might’ve been a trick of light, but you could’ve sworn you saw an irksome glint flash across his eyes. He bitterly came to the conclusion that you probably did botch one of your exams for him—not that that mattered now. Besides, it was you offering money, not him begging for it. The placating thought made it easier for his features to slip into a reassuring, easy softness.

“I appreciate the offer, I really do,” Snow said, cradling your face as if you were a fragile piece of china. Yet his touch felt bruising all the same. “But you shouldn’t worry. I don’t think Lucy Gray is going to win. Not on her own, at least. So I’m going to help her—and Highbottom is going to regret ever trying to make an enemy of me.”

He dipped forward, brushed a whisper of a kiss along your cheek, and swiped his thumb over your bottom lip.

And then he was gone.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow x you #hunger games fanfiction #coriolanus snow drabbles #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #young!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow angst

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manmuncher777 · 8 months

Text

How You Deserve | JOHN PRICE

words - 5k

warnings - smut, unprotected, p in v, fingering, oral fem!recieving, slight degradation, cheating?

a/n: huge thankyou so much to @sky-is-the-limit for allowing me to use her idea, it's helped kickstart my writing again on a fresh account. I do plan on writing more, definitely. I am just a very slow paced writer. But I put a lot of effort into this and hope it lived up to what you imagined. This is the idea she had.

MDNI!!!

Apartment 138 b

Your apartment. 139 b was John's.

He told you to call him John when you first met, and you couldn’t think of another name since. You had lived there for just under 5 months now and seeing your neighbour every now and then was a blessing.

God the man was attractive, you always loved an older man, and my god does he pull it off well. When you first met he offered to help you move the rest of your things, and who were you to decline such an offer, watching his muscles flex and he picked up boxes. He even told you to call if you had an issue - giving you his number for ‘emergencies’. The little graze of his hand against your made you wonder if you could use it for more than that.

And of course you did call, one day when your sink wouldn’t stop dripping. you knew just the man to call, and when he came over you made sure to take great care of him.

You may have spent the afternoon cleaning your whole apartment before getting dressed up, but not to the point where it would have been noticeable. Just enough that you hoped you might catch his attention.

“Thank you so much once again John” you said as you moved about your kitchen, past the man under your sink. Your eyes not being able to resist travelling over that part of his exposed torso as he was under you sink. His shirt riding up with every movement of his arms, just enough to tease you. You bit your lip at the sight.

“sweetheart, you don’t have to thank me so much, it’s fine honestly. I'm happy to help, gets me out of the house” he joked, tinkering about with all sorts of tools, you leaned over the counter, watching as his forearms flexed with each twist of the wrench.

Fuck... those pet names he gave you always left you fangirling. He made you blush like a little school girl.

“wow, and here’s me thinking you had a wild night life”

he chuckles as you can’t help but smile at the sound, god even his laugh was sexy, and you wish you could see the smile on his face.

“Not me, the wildest I get is staying up past 10 on a weekday.”

“I'm shocked, I thought you would be a man of the night, getting up to all kinds of mischief, bringing women home and going down to the pub.” You fake shock, secretly you were just doing this to find out more about him. Find out if he had a girlfriend that was lucky enough to have him.

“Nope” he laughed once more “no wild women of the night for me”

‘awh dammit, that’s my chance blown then”

“well I do believe in second chances love." he says after a moments silence. He gets up from under the sink, standing with you counter top in between you both. His aftershave wafting towards you with his movements, drawing you in.

"lucky me then..." You say just above a whisper as you stare up at the man in front of you. God.

What you wouldn't do to jump over the counter and drag him to bed with you, wrapping your arms over his broad shoulders and dragging your hands over his muscular back. You felt jealous of your sink pipes for a second, realising that they got to feel his hands and you didn't.

But sadly he bid you a good night, letting you know he was just a call away if you needed help with anything. You watched after him as he walked out of your door and into his own.

You planned on breaking lots of stuff around the house to get him back round.

You saw him all the time, you would sometimes go out and plan to arrive the same time that he did, you soon figured out he was some kind of military man, and watching him walk by you in his uniform was a sight to behold, you would 'accidentally' drop your keys in order to prolong the time you could see him. You would exchange pleasantries and smiles whenever you saw each other, but you always noticed his stare lingering on you, and you never minded. To be fair, you practically undressed the man with your eyes whenever he returned home in his uniform. The sound of his boots against the stairs up your complex would leave you skin tingling.

In the mornings when he was due to leave for work you would be outside if your house in skimpy nightwear, getting your mail and wishing him a good day at work.

He was convinced that he actually had a better day at work on those mornings that he saw you. God he wouldn't even let you out of the apartment looking like that, he would keep you wrapped up in his arms in bed, risking being late to work for a few more minutes. He had to practically force himself to keep walking past and not stand and stare. But you were so sweet, practically inviting him in.

You were also so pleasant to him, he remembers having to correct you every time you called him 'Mr Price' and act like it didnt turn him on. You always dressed so nicely whenever he was round, wearing tops with necklines that complimented your breasts, or tight fitting skirts. And the smell of your perfume whenever he some over is almost intoxicating, its as if you sprayed some right before he came through the door (you did).

He was tempted to break something each time he was round so he had another reason to come back, he liked having you fawn over him. Asking him about his job, making him tea, giving him cookies to take back with him. And the way you would look up at him and rub his arm as he told you to call him if there was any thing you needed. And as he looked down at you, his mind couldnt help but wander.

Holding your stare he wondered if you would keep the same eye contact with him whilst you were sucking his cock, or he imagined if those pretty eyes would screw shut if he was eating you pussy. He had to shake himself out of it, walking away with lusty eyes and pants that felt significantly tighter than before.

Now you did have a boyfriend. kind of. a weird relationship with a guy you met a few months ago, he was a friend of a friend. You didn’t mind him, he filled the void and while you felt bad that it wasn’t a true relationship, you knew he felt a similar way. You could see his eyes wander and he’s always been rather secretive. A few times you have suspected cheating, but honestly couldn’t bother yourself with the drama. You didnt love him, and he didnt love you. simple. He served a purpose, or he did. He's started to not do so well in serving that purpose recently.

So there you lay, wishing you had spent the evening calling John over to fix the shower, instead you had your boyfriend rather aggressively trying to rub your clit, and failing rather miserably.

He had never been great at sex, but as of recently you kept having to question why you would invite him round, he never got better.

"you like that? yeah? you like my huge cock. It's big right?" okay. overstatement.

He thrust in and out of you hard and fast, clearly focused on chasing his own pleasure, his average - not huge - cock was not doing much for you. "so big inside you huh?" he questioned again, his rubbing not slowing down, neither his thrusts. You let out a lacklustre moan, hoping the quiz about the size of his penis would stop. You tried to be in the moment, but it wasn't really working. He had you in missionary, he wasn't even looking at you and to be honest, you were almost bored. He wasn't here for you, he was here for himself.

It left you questioning why you even let him come over "a bit to the left" you tried to ask him, guiding his hand with your own, but he wasn't really interested. Hardly paying attention. a few seconds later his thumb moving back to where it was before. no where near you clit.

"oh fuck- gonna cum" he splutters out, pushing all his weight onto you

God why didnt you call John. Of course he was on your mind right now.

Suddenly you felt embarrassed, he could probably hear this absolute shit show. You had days where you could hear his tv through your shared wall, and you realised he could probably hear this.

That embarrassment was soon replaced with another feeling when you got a little idea in your head.

"oh FUCK" you let out a nearly pornographic moan that even had your boyfriend snapping his head to look at you. You were fully aware that your bedroom wall was the shared wall between you and John.

"that feel good, feel it deep inside you?" oh god you were encouraging him. You just hoped John could hear this, because otherwise you would be boosting your boyfriends ego for no reason.

"soo good, fuck yes. right there. oh my god" you kept on, moaning loader and louder, practically squealing and screaming. "Sooo big!" God you actually had to try not to laugh at yourself.

This clearly excited your boyfriend as his thrusts sped up even more, a few seconds later and he was cumming with a load noise. You of course pretended you had cum too, putting on your best performance yet.

"oh fuck, yes yes yes gonna cum, OH, oh fuck" you squealed. Having to slap your hand over you mouth to stop a laugh following. John couldnt have not heard that. In fact you think the whole apartment building heard it.

Your boyfriend practically crushing you under you weight now, feeling rather proud of himself. He then leaves nothing but a few minutes later, of course. Not bothering to check on you. God you really needed to break up with him.

After cleaning yourself up and getting into some comfy clothes you decided you needed some fresh air, to try and get the captain out of your mind. You swear the say he told that he was a captain you almost exploded, got to love an authority figure as well. He just kept getting better and better.

As you lean on the railing just outside your front door, you heard movement from you neighbour, and as if it was a sign from the universe to tell you that he would forever be stuck in your mind, John comes out. Rather hurriedly zipping up his coat and locking his door.

"in a rush?" you ask as you watch him, a small smile on your face as you watch him freeze at your voice. As he turns to you, you can see his pink tinted face, as you hope its because of your little act earlier.

"uh, yeah, just needed some things" he says, clearing his throat as he glances at you, not looking at you for more than a few seconds before looking away.

"hmm, have fun" you nod at him, and he rushes off. You almost giggle to yourself as you made him squirm. Your hoping that your little plan worked.

And you think it did, Johns stares at you in the hallways became more intense, and when you did get him round to fix the shower, its as if he didnt want to leave, always finding new ways to continue a conversation or different things he needed to fix. You could basically feel the tension when you two got close. You wanted him, badly.

Just to make him squirm even more, you wanted to make him snap. You needed him to react, to do something, so you tried you little boyfriend trick once more. Calling over you disappointing boyfriend, who clearly enjoyed himself more than you, and then faking it louder than before. Something truly turned you on about the fact he could hear. And minutes after it finished you boyfriend left again.

You were prancing about your apartment, rather pleased with yourself once more. I mean, maybe not pleased as you just had incredibly shit sex, but it was worth it you hoped. After a quick shower to wash the evening disappointment off of you, you chucked on some panties and an oversized shit, preparing to wrap yourself up and watch a movie of some kind. Your wet hair tickling your back as you reached to grab some fluffy socks. Then without warning your whole apartment goes dark, you body jumps slightly as you search for your drawers, finding the flashlight you keep. Great just what you needed after trying to make a bad night good.

You rush about you apartment lighting some candles in each room, but you didnt have many.

This is an emergency, you thought to yourself.

Seeing as you didnt have your phone on you, it made sense to go and knock on his door, it was the evening, but not late enough for him to be asleep. You rush to your own door, opening only to find the man you were just about to go and get. huh, maybe you summoned him or something.

"John, I was just about to come get you, is your power out as well, what did you need?" you ask, curious as to why this huge man was standing outside your door, basically blocking and of the night sky from being seen behind him.

"I'm here to finish what that stupid little boy you fuck around with cant" He says, and you can feel your insides flip at his deep voice.

"Mr price-" You start, shocked to see the burly man practically oozing with lust, his heavy breathing and unbreaking stare made you feel timid as your legs turn to jelly, taking a few steps back.

"John." he corrects, stepping forward into you dimly lit apartment "Every fucking time I see his car pull up, I have to stop myself from beating the living shit out of him. How could a man not spoil something as precious as you" He says, his huge hands now gripping at your waist, you go to speak but he cuts you off. "and don't even try and lie, I know your faking it. I know you haven't cum a single time you've been with him, but still you want to tease me, you know exactly what you've been doing to me you fucking minx"

You don't even know what to say, you've been caught red handed. You lean into his grasp on your waist, his hands feeling even better than you could have imagined.

"not so noisy now love are you?" he coos at you, he can see you resolve slowly failing as you become putty in his hands "how about this? I give us what we both want and treat you like you deserve." A small smirk resides on his face as he watches your eyes light up.

He was cocky, but you loved it.

"yes John please, I'm sorry." You practically whine at the man as he quickly shuts your door behind him, the loss of his hands feels like a sin, but soon he grabbing you by the hand and taking you to your bedroom, you chuckle internally at the fact he knows his way around you apartment so easily.

"oh no darling, I'm sorry. I should've seen what a desperate slut you were sooner." He's whispering in your ear at this point, telling you filthy things, getting you as desperate for him as he's been for you. Gently placing you down on the bed before positioning himself between you legs, kissing at your thighs "Poor thing, you've been begging for it for months now, how cruel am I for not giving it to you"

Honestly you don't know how to react. Your brain has gone to mush while this gorgeous man is muttering filth to you and he's about to eat you out, but his stare is full of innocence. Those gorgeous eyes not breaking eye contact with you, even as he kisses you over your panties. You try your best not to cry out at the sight, but that is just a promise of what is to come

"let me show you what you've been missing out on, please?" there's that fake innocence again, it may seem like he's asking you to be sure, but he already knows your answer. He just wants to hear you say it.

"Please John, I want it so bad, want you." you beg him. I t felt good to finally tell him, all of that tension finally being released. And all you saw was the cocky smirk on his face again before he was removing your panties.

"shit sweetheart, Your practically soaked and I haven't even touched you yet. Did he ever do this for you?" John asked, running a finger through you soaked folds, to be honest you didnt even know you could get this wet before the sex even started. You shook your head, of course he didn't, he never thought to be that generous.

"dickhead" you could hear price mutter to himself as he continued to tease your dripping hole with his fingers. "what a waste" Without warning he then plunges two fingers deep inside of your, letting out a low groan at how wet you are.

You couldnt help but break the shared eye contact with him as your hands gripped as you bedsheets and your eyes screwed shut. Finally you were getting what you had been deprived of for so long. His fingers starting pumping in and out of you slowly, building a consistent pace. This time, instead of forced the moans you were so used to the moan let out was completely involuntary and you hands fisted as your sheets. John cant help but let out a small chuckle at the noises you make when he finally gets his hand on you.

"shh, that's it sweetheart, just relax f'me" he rumbled as his other hand finds it way to stroking you thigh, trying to calm your tense state. Your eyes snapped open, trying to get a glimpse of John. Each thrust of his fingers sending you mind further and further into mush. Your hips chasing his ever move, bucking with every brush against your g-spot.

He looked heavenly, his face gently lighted by the candles in the room, his hair slightly out of place while his eyes focus themselves on you completely. His hands flexing with every movement he makes.

Never taking his eyes off you, he leans down, finally tasting you. His tongue licking gently stripes, collecting your wetness.

He moans at the taste, something oh so satisfying about finally getting his mouth on you. Like his dreams come true.

His thick fingers worked magic inside you as their movements never faltered. His tongue increasing in its assault of your clit, running over the bundle of nerves over and over leaving you twitching and writhing beneath him. You could already feel you orgasm approaching yet he had hardly gotten started yet. "fuck, so good" you whimpered out, and you saw the pleased look he had on his face. Your body twisted and writhed on your bed, not used to the intense pleasure you were feeling as this man carefully and skilfully worked on your pussy.

"I know, I know. Being so good for me." he whispered, and even that drew another moan out of you. It was almost overwhelming, you hadn't had someone care for your pleasure solely before, and it almost seemed as if John was getting off on it by the quite groans he was letting out himself. Waves of pleasure flowing over you, and you wouldn.t mind being drowned in this feeling as you slip further into the lust.

Your hands released their iron grip that they held on the sheets and found their way to his hair, tugging at the dark roots. This seemed only to encourage the man lapping at your cunt. He was devoted for sure. The feeling of your hands gripping his hair, letting him know that he was doing his job right.

He could sense you were already nearing your climax, he could feel you tightening around his fingers, practically sucking him back in every time he threatened to leave. His tongue sucking your clit, focusing its movements, and that mixed with an added finger and some verbal encouragement, your orgasm grew ever closer. Every breathy moan as whimper was a signal to john that he was doing a job well done, he watched your face eagerly, watching to see what had an affect on you, trying to see what you liked the most. He wanted it just as much as you did. A desperate plea for release clear within you both

"come on darling, give it to me. Good girl." he spoke lowly, watching as you tried to force you eyes open, yet failing as your orgasm took over. You stomach tightening as his fingers carefully rode you through. You could be certain you weren't faking any of those moans as you basically sung his name like a prayer. "John, fuck, fuck-oh my god". Your legs tightened around his hand as you felt like every nerve in your body was on fire. You had finally received the pleasure you had been wishing for and it left your eyes burning with tears, tears of pleasure of course.

"There you go sweetheart, you did so well f'me" He whispers as he kisses up your body, his hands tracing over your skin as if he were trying to memorise every inch of it. He almost seemed angry that your shirt served as another layer between you both as he ridded you of both his and yours, throwing them somewhere in your room. You were too far gone to notice. You chest still heaving up and down as you came down from you climax. "Thank you" was the only thing you could mutter to him and he kissed up your chest and neck, before finally kissing you on the lips. You both moaning at the sensation, at something that had been long awaited. You had found their way to the back of his neck as he kissed you hard, his lips almost punishing yours as his tongue entered your mouth. You allowed yourself to be claimed by him, having no desire for any kind of power, you were his for him to do with as he pleased.

"can you take a bit more for me sweetheart? Got to have my cock inside you” he groans lowly in your ear, the noise practically ungodly. You whine, you cant tell if its at the loss of the contact of his lips or his filthy mouth. Or maybe its the huge hand now making its way to your breasts, playing with your nipples ever so gently, making it harder for you to form words.

"oh don't tell me I've lost you already love? First time being fucked properly and your already gone." He coos at you, smirking to himself. He is rather proud of the effect he's having on you, it had gone far better than he expected. Although your previous boyfriend didnt really leave much he had to live up to.

"please John, fuck me. I need it so bad, need your cock." Your whole body was practically screaming out for more. Your mind only being able to focus on one thing as your eyes trace over the man in front of you. The buzz of your previous orgasm still on your skin leaving you craving another. You couldnt help but be selfish as this man was offering himself to you so generously.

"oh you need it darling? well in that case..." he trails off, pulling your legs open, wide enough for him to fit in between as he lines himself up at your entrance, slowly teasing you, dragging his red tip through your folds. He had enough composure to tease himself also by doing this, being almost painfully hard. You couldnt help but watch intently, almost being mesmerised by the lewd act.

He couldn't take it anymore. H e needed to be inside you, he craved it. All those times he had imagined you bent over your kitchen counter, or him dragging you back to his room to have his way with you finally coming true.

Slowly, he pressed himself inside of you, inch by inch. He wanted you to feel him, all of him. And he certainly was big. A joint moan released by the both as you as he sinks himself inside of you fully, and he stays unmoving for a moment, basking in the closeness you now both shared.

You were absolutely fucked. You couldnt keep it together. You were so full, finally so satisfied that you couldnt even think straight, all your mind was focusing on was how you stretched so well around him. It was taking everything for you not to start moving your hips or crying out for him, trying to keep your restraint as you felt practically euphoric. You felt like you had been lit on fire, your skin feeling alive with every breath he took, the slight movement inside of you.

Finally after what seemed like centuries John moves. His forehead dropping down to rest on yours as he tries to ease a slow pace, practically torturing himself.

"Holy fuck- so perfect. You feel so fucking perfect f'me sweetheart" he groans out from above you, his whole body encasing yours as his hips speed up pace.

Your hands find his back, clawing at the skin as you lay with you mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure. Your eyes fluttering shut as you try to focus on how good you are feeling right now. That is until a firm hand grasps you jaw, not enough to hurt but enough to make your eyes open.

"You keep your eyes on me, don't you dare look away. Want you to watch me as I ruin you." he whispers to you. He wouldn't be surprised if you didnt understand what he said, you were a whimpering mess. He had just asked one of the hardest things for you to do. You had to watch this man fuck the shit out of you, it was almost too much to handle.

His deep groans echoing in your room, partnered with your moans.

What you don't realise is seeing you in this way, so vulnerable is his favourite part. The sparkle in you glossed over eyes as you cant help but be trained on him, the smudged mascara framing them perfectly. You glistening with either your spit or his, either way it turns him on. You spread out so innocently before him, for him to be the one to make you feel so good, and not be able to fake it even if you tried.

his hips were punishing, every thrust now pulling a moan out of you, music to his ears he thought as he smirked down at you. how cute he thought, watching you struggle not to close your eyes an scrunch them shut at the pleasure

"Too much for you sweetheart?" he questioned mockingly, receiving only a cry in response. You clench around him, never wanting him to leave your walls. He definitely didnt want to leave them either.

His hands coming down to brace your hips, stilling you wriggling as he pounds into you, harder and faster, he wants you to be able to feel him afterwards. He doesn't want there to ever be someone that can make you feel as good as him. You clench again, and again and John ca tell your close.

"Gonna come for me again love? Come on, on my cock, there's a good girl" Jesus this man knew exactly what to say to have you screaming for him. One of his hands releasing the bruising grip it kept on you hips to rub at your puffy clit.

With your moans and the way you fit him so perfectly, He couldn't see himself lasting much longer either, his main mission is to have you cumming before him.

"come on darlin, need it. Come all over my cock" Whispering in your ear with that gorgeous voice of his as his thumb fingers rub tight circles on your clit and his huge cock is practically splitting you open has you tumbling over the edge.

"John, oh my fucking god." Every muscle in your body tensed as he made you cum once again. God it was so good, like a coil that had finally been released. At last you had finally been satisfied. Your legs wrapping around his back, trapping him in as his hips still hammered into you, leaving you shaking from sensitivity. Like a madman possessed he chased his own orgasm, watching where you both connected intently as you soaked him completely with your release.

"Fuck sweetheart, gonna ruin this perfect little pussy" He moans, his hips now faltering in their pace, stuttering as his orgasm comes close. Your overstimulated body now quivering as you do you best to clench round the man, wanting to bring him the same pleasure that he just gave you.

"please John, i want it so bad" you whisper to him, and that sends him over the edge, spilling himself inside of you, thrusting his cu deep inside of you, continuing until he couldn't anymore. His hips stilling as he finishes, before gently pulling out of you. His eyes unmoving as he watches himself seeping out of you used hole. He wanted this moment imprinted on his brain

You lay there on the bed, completely fucked out and unmoving as he goes to grab a washcloth. It saddens him slightly to clear away this mark he had left in you. But he does it either way, gently cleaning you both off.

He soon settles next to you, a content sigh leaving his mouth. "So, who was better me or your ex?" he asks, a stupid question with an obvious answer. Laughing as you slap him playfully on the arm

"Oh my ex for sure"

#captain john price #cod x reader #cod fanfic #john price x reader #john price smut #john price cod #mw2 smut #cod smut #captain john price smut #call of duty smut

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lesservillain · 2 months

Text

borrowing.

Steve wasn't a pervert.

Sure, he's done some unsavory things in his younger years that he's not proud of. But he's never been the type to take advantage of a woman. He's not like some of his guy friends who look down women's shirts or touched someone without their permission.

Call him a pussy or a feminist, but that shit makes him sick to his stomach.

And yet...

"Fuck your pussy tastes so good."

Steve pants against the crotch of your panties. The fabric hugs his face tight as he breathes in your scent, his nose tenting the cotton fabric. His lips hold the crotch between them as he sucks and licks the damp material until your juices coat his tongue and then some.

His eyes open for a moment, looking out the leg hole to check his surroundings for bystanders. His beemer sits in the far corner of the YMCA facing the back of a gas station. It's not where he had originally parked when he arrived for his work out today. A work out he didn't even get to, all because he bumped into you.

He's noticed you ever since he got the membership with Robin. Their goal was to attend 3 days a week together per Robin's request. Something about wanting not wanting to gain the freshman fifteen when she started her semester.

But school quickly became overwhelming for her and Steve found himself going to the gym by himself.Without Robin to distract him, Steve started paying attention to some of the people at the gym.

It was just a couple passing glances at first, not wanting to be one of those guys who stares at girls while they work out. He couldn't deny you were beautiful though. And when you approached him one day after it was just you and him in the gym, he felt that there was chemistry between the two of you. You laughed at his dumb jokes, engaged him with personal questions...hell you even touched his arm with your hand.

Your friendliness expanded beyond that day, too. If he didn't say hi to you first, you were approaching him to wish him a good workout. You'd even brought him "counter productive" donuts one day because he said he loved the local shop.

It was safe to say Steve had become completely head over heels for you over the last few months. And he totally has plans to ask you out. He really does. But, after all the failed dates he had been on since high school...he was almost afraid to jinx what the two of you had going on.

Today was going to be the day though. Or...it was supposed to be.

He was running late getting to the gym this morning, bad traffic on the commute to drop Robin off to her classes put him an hour behind schedule. So as he pushed through the YMCA doors with haste, silently praying to himself that you'd not left yet, he accidentally ran full speed into a body as they were leaving.

"Woah!"

Steve recognized your voice. It pulls him out of his head, focusing on your frame before him. He's bummed to see you in your work uniform, obviously done with your work out for the day.

"Sorry I didn't mean to almost knock you down," he apologizes, looking you over to make sure you're okay.

"It's okay," you reassure him, your bright smile making his heart ache. "I thought I wasn't going to see you today, so running into me is better than nothing!"

"Ugh, yeah, I really was trying to get here earlier but traffic and--and, life! Ya know?"

You nod sweetly. "Totally!"

"Yeah..." Steve's heart thumped in his chest. He didn't need to suffer through a whole work out routine before asking you out. He could ask you out right now. And if you rejected him, he'd be able to walk away and inevitably cancel his gym membership since he'd never be able to show his face again in this establishment.

Or, you would say yes, and he could walk you to your car so you could give him your number on a napkin you keep in your glove box in case of emergencies.

"Well, I guess I'll see you on Friday," you say after a beat of silence. Steve felt the words on the tip of his tongue. But, when your hand landed on his arm with a squeeze, he froze in place. All he could muster was a weak goodbye before you were pushing out the second set of double doors and walking to your car.

He waited to make sure you got in okay before letting out the breath he had been holding. His head slumped in defeat. What happened to the crown that sat on his head when he was in high school? Was it because he wanted something real with you?

There wasn't much dwelling on the subject as a bundle of pink just a few inches away from his feet caught his eye. Steve's eyebrow quirked, and he crouched down to grab...whatever it was.

The material felt soft but wet in his hands. He cringed a bit until the material unfurled in his hands, revealing to be a pair of pink, skimpy panties. The initial shock had him almost dropping the panties, but a split second closer look had him twitching slightly in his pants.

The underwear was yours. They must have fallen out of your gym bag when he bumped into you.

He knew they were yours because he'd see them peaking out of your work out shorts when you were bending down to tie your shoe. He didn't look on purpose, you'd just happened to have stopped in front of him and he saw them. He told himself it was on purpose when he touched himself that night, but deep down he knew it wasn't.

The door almost came off its hinges with how hard he pulled it open, making a bee line to his car. He slammed the car door shut and locked it, giving a quick look around before he was ducking down just out of view.

He breathed in deeply as he inhaled the scent of your panties, exhaling with a groan as your smell infiltrated his nostrils. It felt like he took a hit from a drug. He could practically taste you on his tongue when he went in for another sniff.

Flipping the underwear so that the crotch was resting between his hands, Steve's mouth watered at the sight of the creamy white that painted the pink fabric. His tongue darted out slightly, eyes darting around again as the nerves set in. This wasn't like Steve, but he blamed the way you drive him crazy on the dirty thoughts that were running through his head.

Just as he was about to act on them, the sight of a person walking out of the building had him hesitating. He placed your panties in his passenger seat and started his car, moving to the back of the building in a far off spot that was less traveled and slamming it into park.

Once the coast was clear, Steve wasted no time bringing his tongue to your underwear and lapping at it messily. He whined as your taste hit his tongue, and suddenly his pants were way too tight on his crotch.

This wasn't like him he thought to himself. Not that he hadn't had a hook up or two out by Lover's Lake. But to do what he was considering in such a public place went against his morals...

Your panties sit between Steve's teeth as he undoes his belt. He has to scoot his seat back or else his hard cock will just bump against the steering wheel. He pumps himself a few times in his hand, squeezing some of his precum out of his tip and using is to lube himself.

Steve sucks in a breath as he starts to fist himself. He holds the panties against his face as he begins to imagine your pussy on his face. His imagination runs wild as he thinks about all the ways he would eat you out, your pussy right in his face waiting for him to run his tongue through.

"Such a pretty pussy," he says to himself.

Without much thinking, he pauses his jerking to take the panties and stretch them out, hooking under his chin and pulling them until they're taught over his face.

With his free hand, he's able to cup his sensitive balls as he jerks himself with more vigor. He doesn't know how long he's at it, too engulfed in his pleasure to care about the passing time. All he can think about is making you cum all over his face and thanking you after.

Steve's hips buck into his hands. He can feel his climax approaching, his hand focusing on his tip as he brings himself to the edge.

Just as he's about to come, Steve pulls your panties off of his face and wraps them about his cock. He does the best he can to aim for the crotch where he has completely saturated it with it with his own saliva, cumming hard into the bunched up fabric.

After a moment of coming down, Steve slumps back into his seat. Guilt begins to wash over him as he looks at the sticky mess he's turned your sweet pink panties into. How could he even face you, let alone ask you out after what he's done?

Steve shoved your underwear into his gym bag. He didn't think he could give them back, even if the thought of you wearing them after he's cum in them made him almost half hard again. He would just throw them away in a dumpster somewhere...or he could wash them and--

thanks for reading.

#steve harrington #perv!steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #steve harrington blurb

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angelwonie · 1 year

Text

HEARTS ARE WON AT PRACTICE || jung jaehyun

PAIRING: football player!jaehyun x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 21.2k

GENRE(S): smut, fluff, enemies to friends to lovers

SUMMARY: jung jaehyun is an obnoxious, way too handsome footballer whom you have no intention of getting to know. at least until a series of coincidences forces you to spend time with him, and you realize there might be more to him than what meets the eye.

WARNINGS: smut [unprotected sex, praise, degradation, fingering, locker room sex, a little dumbification], jaehyun is hot, unfortunately

Getting hit in the head with a football definitely was not on your to-do list for today.

It all happens so quickly. One minute you’re on your way home — walking down the path that coincidentally forces you to pass by the football field, side-eyeing the players whose egos have long ago surpassed whatever roof kept them in check before, and in the next a football shoots in your direction, hitting your head so hard you stumble a few steps backwards. It stings a little, but there’s no blood on your fingers when you retract them from your forehead, so you suppose it’s fine.

You hear someone shout in the distance just then, the voice all too familiar even though you can’t make out the words he’s saying. And really, it doesn’t matter that much, either. What matters is that it’s him who just hit you in the head with a football, and the second you hear his voice it makes your heart stop.

Jung Jaehyun.

You could’ve recognized his voice from miles away. Not because you’re one of his pitiful fangirls, of course — there’s no way you’re associating yourself with the cheerleaders almost fainting when he enters the field to play. No, if it were up to you, you wouldn’t even know Jung Jaehyun exists. Unfortunately, though, you happen to be both his neighbor and have a best friend that fell head over heels in love with him last year. If your mom wasn’t gushing about how handsome Jaehyun was one day, Dahyun always made up for it.

His voice shoots through the air again now, and this time, you look up. He’s far away, so you can’t hear him, only catch a glimpse of his red shirt, but after a second or two you come to realize he’s not even talking to you; he’s talking to his teammates.

What an asshole, you think to yourself, almost scoffing as you look at him. Is he really so self-centered that he can’t apologize for kicking the ball into your fucking skull? Probably, if the fact that he rejected your friend without even looking in her direction is anything to go by. And though that happened almost a year ago, your friend still sometimes looks like she’s about to cry when you pass by the football field. At least you don’t have to listen to her rant about how sexy his thighs are anymore.

Shaking your head, you start walking again, now much more eager to get home than ever.

You make it approximately ten steps before you hear his voice again, much closer than before. It’s soft, but deep — the kind of voice that makes girls fall to their knees — and unfortunately, also loud enough for your head to whip around instinctively.

“Y/N, wait!”

You stop walking and look at him. He’s still in his uniform, shirt clinging to his upper body and face glistening in sweat. The sun is high up in the sky, reflecting in his eyes as he looks at you, his uneven breath a sign that he’s been practicing for a long time. Not that it’s surprising — you’re certain that boy doesn’t have anything to his personality other than being a good football player. And being objectively handsome. His lips quirk up in a small smile when he sees you’ve halted your walk, but what catches your attention are his words.

He said your name.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise since you’ve lived close to each other for many years, but you’ve never spoken to him, and he hasn’t so much as looked in your direction before. Now he’s looking, though. And as much as you hate to admit it, you can see where all of those fangirls are coming from. His eyes rest on you softly, like a cheek pressed against a fluffy pillow, but he’s nowhere near absent-minded, that much is obvious from the small hint of worry in his gaze. Whether that is worry for you or his reputation as the best player on the team, you're not sure.

You hear his breathing even out, and it makes you realize you’re still standing without moving, waiting for him to say something.

“Are you okay?” he finally asks, pushing his wet hair back in a way that looks much more attractive than it needs to. “I really didn’t mean for it to hit you.”

“Maybe you should work on your aiming skills, then,” you tell him, watching as his face contorts into an offended expression. He looks half-mad, half-confused, with his eyes blinking down on you and jaw clenched just slightly. It makes you wonder whether anyone has ever told him to work on his aim before. Probably not. “I’m fine, though.”

You begin walking again, leaving Jaehyun behind. No other sounds than the weak wind reach your ears, and you wonder if he’s going back to the football field. Not that you really care. You’re just curious.

It only takes another five seconds for you to find out.

“Are you sure?” Jaehyun’s shoulder brushes over yours as he catches up to you. Caught off guard, you jump a little, and his lips spread in a smile — a full one this time, teeth on display and eyes crinkling. It’s the same smile he wears when his team wins a game, you realize, before you can stop your thoughts from running. “That you’re fine, I mean. I kicked it pretty hard.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” you roll your eyes in annoyance. Is this guy waiting for some confirmation that yes, he did kick it hard, and yes, it did hurt? Wasn’t that much obvious from how you almost fell flat on your face in front of the whole football team? “I’m alright, so you can just go back and finish your game.”

“We finished it already,” he pushes his hair away from his face again — why is he even doing that if it just falls back either way? — and walks in front of you to block you from walking any further. You glare at him, but either he doesn’t notice, or he ignores it completely. “Are you sure you’re okay? It looks like a bruise is forming here.”

And before you can even react, he leans down so his face is on level with yours and brings his thumb to lightly trace above your brow, where the football hit you earlier. It didn’t ache at all before, but now it tingles where he touches you, like your skin setting on fire. Except it doesn’t hurt, it’s just… different. And unexpected. Really unexpected. That’s what you blame everything on as you keep on standing, not flinching away from his touch though you have no idea why.

“Does it hurt?”

His voice brings you back to reality, and you blink up at him in surprise. “No.”

Cringing internally at how meek your voice sounds, you shake your head and take a step back, that warm feeling fading away from your face the moment his skin isn’t on yours anymore.

“No, I said I’m fine already.”

You sigh, picking up the walk again and scrunching your nose up when Jaehyun walks by your side. The last thing you need right now is some overconfident footballer to ruin your day. You can already feel the headache coming along.

A few moments pass by in silence and you look over at the woods surrounding the path. Some flowers have started to bloom, filling the grass with colors. You catch a glimpse of Jaehyun looking at you, then following your gaze that rests on the flowers. Your eyebrows lift in surprise as he strays from the path and walks onto the grass, starting to pick flowers. He looks like he’s taking this very seriously, pondering for a second or two before he chooses a flower. You almost want to burst his bubble and tell him these flowers probably won’t impress the kind of girls he surrounds himself with, but you decide it’ll be funnier if he makes a fool out of himself later.

He returns to the path like nothing happened, the small bouquet of flowers dangling in his hand. It’s only now that you notice you stopped walking to watch, so you speed up again, hoping to God he didn’t notice or get the wrong idea.

“So,” he begins, and you feel like dying. This is going to be a long walk home. “You coming to the game on friday?”

You turn your head to the side and look at him. “No way. Football games are the most boring things in the world.”

It’s not a complete lie — you don’t like watching football at all, especially when all the players walk around with those looks on their face that make it obvious they think they’re better than everyone else. Like the one Jung Jaehyun is wearing right at this moment.

“Even if the players are handsome?”

You scoff at his shit-eating grin. If this is how he talks to every girl then you’ll have to take back what you said earlier — you have no idea where all those fangirls come from. Unless you only care about looks, there’s nothing to this guy at all.

“If only they were,” you sigh overly dreamily, hoping it'll make him annoyed and he’ll shut up.

Except he does the exact opposite. He starts laughing. It’s loud, strong — you suppose his confidence transfers to his laugh, too — and unfortunately for you, pleasant to listen to. But that’s just an observation, obviously.

He chuckles for a solid thirty seconds before the laughter fades into a wide smile that settles on his features, eyes glimmering in the sunlight as he pushes you lightly. “You’re funny.”

“It wasn’t a joke.”

His grin only grows wider at your annoyed expression. “Sure it wasn’t.”

You swear you would’ve punched him if it weren’t for the old lady passing by at that exact moment. Before you can nod your head in her direction, Jaehyun tells her ‘Good morning’ with a smile still plastered to his face. You turn around slightly, trying to figure out how Jaehyun knows that person, but it seems it’s only the lady living between him and your house.

Shaking your head, you think to yourself that they’re probably relatives or something. Because if they aren’t, it would mean you’re acknowledging Jaehyun’s kindness to strangers, and you’re not really dying to do that at the moment.

“Asshole,” you mumble to yourself, as if summing up the whole situation.

“By the way,” This time it’s you that starts the conversation, reminded of something you wanted to ask him. “You know Dahyun, right?”

You watch as his nose scrunches up in thought, lip pulled between his teeth. “Dahyun…”

He looks like he’s got no clue who you’re talking about, so you help him out.

“Short with blonde hair. Asked you out last year and you rejected her without even considering it. Does that ring a bell?”

He lets go of his lip and rests his gaze on you. You can’t tell what he’s thinking, but the lack of guilt in his eyes angers you. Surely he understands Dahyun is your friend from the tone of your voice, so why isn’t he saying sorry? The least he could do now is apologize for acting like a complete jerk. He owes you that much, right?

“Yeah, I guess,” he says finally, in a careless tone that annoys you even more. “What about it?”

What about it? Is he serious right now?

“You’re a total dick, you know that? Who rejects someone without even knowing them?” you blurt out without thinking twice about it.

The wind rustles Jaehyun’s hair as he raises a brow, and it falls in his eyes again. He doesn’t push it away this time. You’re looking at him intently, waiting for him to say something. Anything. You wonder if he’s going to apologize now that you confronted him, but something in his gaze tells you he’s not the type to admit he’s wrong.

“Who asks someone out without knowing them?” he says finally and you open your mouth to retaliate, but he cuts you off. “What was I supposed to do exactly? I mean, I’d never spoken to her in my life. Better to just say no instead of leading someone on, don’t you think?”

You open your mouth then close it again. You should probably say something. Argue with him. But he’s right, at least to some extent. You would’ve done the same, so you’re not exactly in any position to lecture him. He knows that — maybe he saw it in your expression — you can tell from how his lips form a smile yet again. And surprisingly, you don’t feel a strong urge to kick him when he walks closer to your side, his shoulder only a few centimeters from yours.

“You’re still a dick,” you remind him, and he presses his lips out in a pout.

“How is that fair?”

You’re nearing both your houses now, the flowers and trees replaced by the neighborhood you’ve grown up in. You half-expect Jaehyun to leave the moment he spots his local friends that are sitting by the lawn they always play football on — you only know this because you can hear their shouting from your room whenever the window is open — but he only waves in their direction before turning his attention back to you as you speak.

“How was that free kick in your last game fair?”

You regret that last comment the moment Jaehyun’s pout turns into a proud smirk. “So you do come watch us play.”

“My friend dragged me along,” you assure him quickly. A little too quickly. “And just so you know, that goal of yours was totally just luck.”

You’ve reached your house now — his is only a couple steps further. You’re not sure whether you’re supposed to say goodbye or just walk away without paying him any attention. Does he consider you friends now? Probably not. He has plenty of those. Plus, you’re friends with a girl that hates him. He’s likely to prefer for you to leave without a word. Which you don’t mind, obviously. Even if your heart jumps all the way to your throat when he pats you on the shoulder with a smile.

“Right,” he mumbles with that annoying smirk on his face, and you roll your eyes, walking up to the front door. You don’t expect him to say anything else, but then he raises his voice to shout after you so loudly you’re sure half the neighborhood can hear him. “See you tomorrow, Y/N!”

And you open the door to your house only half-annoyed.

—

“No way. There’s just no fucking way.”

“What is it?” Dahyun asks excitedly from the other end of the line. “What happened? Don’t tell me you caught your brother making out with some girl again.”

“No, it’s not that,” you blink violently, making sure that you’re seeing straight. Strings of questions are heard from where Dahyun is rambling into the phone, but you can’t focus on any of them. “I think Jung Jaehyun is talking to my mom right now.”

“What?”

You can hear she’s confused, and truthfully, so are you. But it’s true — you’re almost home now, and there he is, Jung Jaehyun standing in your driveway, chatting with your mom like it’s the most normal thing ever. It’s not normal, though. You barely know the guy, and you definitely don’t like him, so what in the world is he doing outside your door?

Dahyun asks a million questions again, and you sigh into the phone, at loss for anything to say. “I’ll call you back later, okay?”

Then you hang up without waiting for an answer. She’s probably going to give you an earful for that later, but what you’re focused on right now is running up to your mom.

Jaehyun is the one to notice you first, his pearly whites on display as he flashes you a smile. He’s not wearing his football attire, you notice, but plain jeans and a sleeveless shirt. You want to ask him why the hell he’s wearing a sleeveless shirt in the beginning of spring, but you suppose that would only urge him to imply you’re staring at his arms (which you’re not, obviously) and his ego really doesn’t need any more boosts.

“Y/N, you’re here,” Jaehyun says and only then does your mom look in your direction, clapping her hands together in glee.

“Yeah, I’m here,” you glare at the football player. “Because I’m supposed to be. May I ask what the hell you are doing on my front lawn?”

“Y/N, language!” Your mom lightly slaps your shoulder, and you almost want to throw up when you see the sickly sweet apologetic smile she sends Jaehyun. Oh God, what if she has a crush on him? Would explain why she’s scolding you for wanting to know what an almost-stranger is doing at your doorstep. And what if Jaehyun actually likes older women, and that’s why he’s rejecting every girl at school? “Jaehyun here is being a sweetheart and helping me carry these groceries inside.”

Of course he is. You raise a brow in Jaehyun’s direction, but he only shrugs with a proud smile. What is he smiling for? Is this some sort of payback for you saying his aim is bad? Is he really that petty? Honestly, he seems like the type to do that. You guess that’s what you get for bruising his fragile ego.

“Actually, Jaehyun, why don’t you come and have dinner with us? There’s more than enough food for everyone.”

“What?” you laugh nervously at your mom’s words, sending her a pleading look. Nope. There’s no way you’re about to eat dinner with this guy. “Please, mom, I’m sure Jaehyun has practice—”

“I don’t, actually.” You’ve never wanted to punch a smirk off of someone’s face so badly before, that’s for sure. He’s doing it on purpose, that fucking asshole. It’s evident in the way his eyes light up in amusement as you glare at him angrily. “I’d love to join you for dinner.”

And that’s how you find yourself wanting to cry in your own living room, sitting around the dining table with Jung Jaehyun as you wait for your mother to finish making dinner.

Your mom has the table set like it’s some kind of holiday (she probably thinks having a handsome guy in her house equals Christmas), with flowers in vases and candles and tons of side dishes that you don’t even know when she had the time to prepare. Now she’s scurrying around the kitchen, successfully rejecting Jaehyun’s every offer to help but almost kicking your brother when he takes a little too long leaving his room to clean the dishes. Double standards at their finest.

Fortunately, she’s left you alone — though you think it’s because she wants you to entertain Jaehyun, so it’s not that much of a consolation. You’re just counting on the ground to swallow you up whole before he starts talking.

“Okay, so,” Too late, you think to yourself as he opens his mouth. “What’s your favorite color?”

You scoff in laughter, looking at Jaehyun for the first time since you entered the house. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Because I’m trying to get to know you,” he shrugs. “That’s what friends do, right? Know each other.”

You narrow your eyes at him, watching as he rests his chin on his hand. The absurdity of it all makes you want to laugh. A little over 24 hours ago you hadn’t exchanged a word with Jung Jaehyun, and now he’s sitting in your living room, asking you questions about yourself. You have to admit you’re slightly taken aback — you didn’t expect him to suddenly become so interested in getting to know you, and you definitely didn’t take him for someone who puts effort into things like relations.

“Who said I want to be your friend?”

He studies you for a moment, tilting his head to the side as his eyes rake over your face. It makes you feel exposed in a way — he has that type of stare that makes you feel flustered even though he’s not doing much, just looking. It’s the attention, you decide. How it feels like all of his attention is on you, that’s what’s making you so nervous right now.

“You do,” he says finally, leaning forward so he’s all up in your face. “I can see it in your eyes.”

All you can see, though, are his eyes mere inches from yours, his hot breath landing on your lips. You see his hair fall onto his forehead, and you almost feel an urge to push it back. This only lasts a second, though, before you’re pulling away, scooting farther away from him on your seat. Geez. Doesn’t this guy know what personal space is?

You clear your throat and speak, thanking God that your voice doesn’t sound shaky. “Oh no, I think the disease is spreading. Not only is your aim bad, but your eyesight is, too.”

“My aim isn’t bad.”

You almost want to laugh at how he straightens his back, squaring his shoulders as if to prove a point.

“Really? And that’s why you managed to kick a ball into my head when I was standing twenty meters away from the goal?”

He leans forward on the table with his jaw clenched. “Look—”

He’s cut off by your mom entering the living room, two plates full of food in her hands. She asks if anyone is willing to help her carry everything to the table, and Jaehyun volunteers, his stance faltering. You watch silently as they set the table, tapping your fingers against your thigh. When they finally sit down, Jaehyun next to you and your mom across from you, they both seem to be in a good mood, so you figure Jaehyun didn’t get very mad at your comment.

Your mom urges Jaehyun to eat tons of meat, and then she rests her chin on her hand, smiling at him like he’s the most beautiful human being she’s ever seen. “So, Jaehyun, you play football, right? How long have you played for?”

“About… ten years, give or take,” he says it like it’s no big deal, but you can feel your eyes growing wide, and your mom’s gasp signalizes she’s having the same thoughts as you. All you cared about ten years ago was watching the latest show everyone was talking about. “Not that long compared to others trying to make the national team.”

National team? Your eyes find their way to his on their own, and you hold back the shocked expression that is creeping up on you. There’s no way you’re letting him see you’re impressed. Instead, you offer him a roll of your eyes and a scoff.

“Oh, great, you’re like one of those kids that never grew out of their professional footballer fantasy.”

He grins. Something in his gaze tells you he didn’t buy your act. “It’s not a fantasy if you’re talented enough to make it.”

“Wow, aren’t you confident in yourself?” you ask mockingly.

“Y/N,” your mom warns you, and you sigh, eating your food quietly. You can feel Jaehyun’s stare burning into you, but you don’t look up because he’s confusing and annoying, and you don’t want to look at him because it only makes you more confused and annoyed. Luckily, your mom only seems pleased with your silence. “Do you like the food, Jaehyun?”

“It’s delicious,” he flashes a bright smile. “Could I maybe have the recipe? I'd love for my mom to make this sometime.”

You want to criticize him for sucking up to her, but the way your mom’s eyes light up at his words make you bite your tongue.

“Why, of course, you can!”

Jaehyun’s eyes meet yours as your mom fishes out a piece of paper and starts writing the ingredients on it. He’s still smiling. He doesn’t look proud of himself or anything. It’s just a genuine smile. That was nice of you, you want to tell him. You don’t. Instead, you hope he can see it in your eyes. Or maybe you’re hoping he doesn’t. You’re not sure.

“Uh, why is he here?”

You’re reminded of your brother’s presence only as he walks into the room, sleeves of his shirt pushed up, signaling he was doing the dishes. He’s referring to Jaehyun and you’re thankful someone else thinks it’s awful he’s here right now — at least until your brother opens his mouth again. “Is he Y/N’s boyfriend?”

“What? No!” You slam your hand on the table a little too hard, causing your mom and Jaehyun to jump in their seats. “Are you crazy? He’s just a neighbor. You know, he's one of those annoying guys that always play football late at night.”

You can feel your mom’s reprimand coming along, but before she can fully open her mouth, your brother is turning to Jaehyun with awe in his eyes.

“You are? That's so dope,” Your jaw drops at your brother’s response, Jaehyun’s quiet chuckle only barely reaching your ears. “You wouldn't mind teaching me a few tricks, right? I've seen you guys play and you're mad good.”

You scoff. What is this, some Jung Jaehyun fanclub? Faintly, you can hear him say ‘sure’ to your brother and the latter jumps in excitement like a little kid. Jaehyun’s eyes shimmer in the living room light when you look to the side to catch a glimpse of him, only for a moment wondering what’s going through his head. All you know about him is that he’s unpredictable and plays football, and for the first time, you feel like you want to know more.

As your mom and Jaehyun clean the table, you usher your brother away (ignoring his whining about wanting to play football with ‘the sexy dude’) and put on your hoodie. It’s still cool outside in the evenings, and you’re certain your mom will force you to walk Jaehyun home even though he lives two minutes away. Your suspicions are confirmed as soon as she walks back into the living room with Jaehyun in tow, her eyes already telling you that if you don’t walk him home she’s going to disown you.

Reluctantly, you lead him to the front door, not bothering to tie your shoes. He’s the first to reach the door, and he opens it for you, to which you mumble a small ‘thank you.’ It seems like you have a lot to thank him for today. Making your mom happy, putting your brother in a good mood, and now, holding the door open for you. You suppose it’s enough to make up for the football hitting your head.

“Your mom is nice,” is the first thing he says as you walk alongside each other, slow steps that bring you closer to his house. “Very optimistic and supportive, it seems. It’s refreshing.”

Your first thought is how you thought he was into her, but you feel a sting in your heart when you hear the faint yearning in his voice. He isn’t crushing on your mom, she’s just showing interest in what he’s doing and he likes that. You wonder if his parents are different. If they don’t support him. Maybe they think trying out for the national team is stupid?

“Let me ask you a question,” you say and he nods. “Why do you reject every girl that asks you out?”

He raises a brow in surprise. “That’s a deep question for someone who said my aim is bad.”

“If I take it back, will you answer?”

He buries his hands in his pockets and walks backwards, so he can face you. It’s dark and you can barely see him, and it also doesn’t help that when he’s this close you have to crane your neck to look up at him. Tapping his chin, he acts as if he’s in deep thought.

“I’ll think about it.”

You sigh, shivering as the cold wind hits your skin.

“I’m sorry I said your aim is bad,” you say finally, resigned. “Happy?”

“Very.”

He grins and for some unknown reason, you don’t feel as cold anymore. You shake off whatever feeling’s stirring up in your stomach — for a moment, it feels dangerously close to happiness and enjoying Jung Jaehyun’s company isn’t on your to-do list for today. You try walking faster to get this whole ‘walk Jaehyun home’ thing over with quicker, but he blocks you and you scoff.

“I apologized,” you remind him. “Now answer my question.”

He shakes his head with a playful glint in his eyes. “I said I’d think about it, not that I’d answer it. I thought about it and I don’t want to.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Thanks.”

A small smile settles on your features, one you realize you’ve been holding back for most of the day. You hope Jaehyun can’t see it in the dark — that would be embarrassing. Not only because you’re supposed to dislike him, but also because he’s a cocky little shit and he doesn’t need to know he’s actually an interesting person. At least you think he might be. Maybe.

Slowly, you walk, now barely ten meters away from his house. You’re thinking of something to say when it starts raining. It’s one raindrop, then two, and suddenly it’s pouring. Not violently, just peacefully, water dripping down your face as you look up at the sky. It’s so pretty. He looks at you, you can feel his stare, and so you look at him, too. The smile doesn’t leave your face, and you’re sure he can see it now. He doesn’t comment on it, though, and for that, you’re thankful.

You don’t know what it means just yet. Other than that you want to get to know him. Maybe.

“It’s raining,” you say, and he stops walking, raising his eyebrows, as if to say you’re stating the obvious. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“You like the rain?”

“You don’t?”

He thinks for a moment, eyes on you when you open your hand, letting the raindrops fall on your palm. Your hair is wet, he notices, and your clothes, too. You don’t seem to mind, though, and he thinks this might be the happiest he’s seen you all day. So rain is what makes you happy. He fights back the urge to laugh. He never would have taken you for someone this easy to please. Maybe you’re a little happier spending time with him than you let on.

Maybe. He’s not sure, but maybe this uncertainty is exactly what draws him to you. No clear answers, no black on white, just his words and the words you choose to respond with. He likes it, he thinks.

“I hate playing in the rain,” He finally responds. “It makes the field all slippery and wet. I prefer the sun.”

You’re not surprised, he can tell from the look in your eyes. “Don’t you have any opinions unrelated to football?”

You had intended for the question to come off as a snarky comment, but you realize as the words leave your mouth there are no traces of irritation in your voice. Only the genuine interest you didn’t want to let come to the surface.

“It may come as a surprise, but actually, I do.”

Jaehyun’s bare arms are littered with raindrops, hair pitch black as it allows more rain to drip down his face. He must be freezing, but he makes no move to walk home quicker, and so you don’t either. Your hoodie isn’t completely soaked through yet, so you decide you can enjoy the rain a little longer. He clears his throat and you look at him expectantly.

“I like Red Bull,” he begins, eyes blinking down on you as if he’s expecting you to laugh at him or something. But you don’t, and so he smiles wider and continues. “I don’t have a favorite color. Your mom’s kimchi is phenomenal. Plans and schedules are overrated. You want to be my friend.” He stops, watching your slightly startled expression. “Your turn.”

You think it through for a moment.

“My favorite color is purple,” You say, slowly tasting the words on your tongue as you let them leave your mouth. “Latte tastes best with two cubes of sugar. You’re annoying and your aim sucks. I want to be your friend.”

“I knew it.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” You grin as you push his shoulder. He was supposed to stumble backward, but he doesn’t even budge, which should annoy you, but you can’t bring yourself to care that much when the rain is making you feel so light. Or maybe it’s not the rain. You’re not sure. “Stop smiling so much and go inside. You’re going to catch a cold in that shirt.”

He walks to his door and opens it, but before walking inside, he turns around and waves at you. You wave back, watching as he sports a smile that doesn’t falter even as he disappears into the house.

You walk back home with a smile on your face, only a quarter annoyed.

—

It’s a little past eight when Jaehyun sees you kicking stones by the bus stop.

Actually, he hears you long before you come into sight — a scream of frustration in what he recognizes as your voice hits his ears as he walks outside to throw away the trash. Interested, and maybe a tad bit worried for your well-being, he decides to check what’s going on. And sure enough, there you are, head in your hands as you flop down on the pavement by the road.

“Y/N,” he says and you lift your head, sighing. “You okay?”

You shake your head in disbelief. How come he’s always there when something’s happening? You let your eyes rake over his frame — he’s wearing sweats and a compression shirt that, even you have to admit, makes him look hot. The outline of his abs is distracting, even for you. Still, you do your best to look him in the eyes as you speak.

“I missed the bus.”

He scoffs and you glare at him. “Jesus Christ, I thought something serious happened. You look like you want to die.”

“It is serious!” you protest, throwing your hands in the air. “I’m going to be late for class. Who decided that the buses only run every half hour?”

He looks like he’s in deep thought, gazing down on you as you sit on the edge of the pavement. His classes don’t start until nine, so he wasn’t planning on heading out to school already, but you’re looking miserable and he’s intent on being on good terms with you. Apart from his teammates, you’re pretty much the only one that doesn’t act like he’s some sort of celebrity. Sure, having girls drool over you is fun, but only until you’re looking for someone to talk to and not fuck. Besides, he enjoys your company. It won’t kill him to leave a little early.

“Get up,” he says suddenly, and without giving you any time to react, he grabs your arm and hauls you up so you’re standing. “I’ll drive you.”

You furrow your brows in confusion. “You’ll drive me?”

“Yeah, let me just get the keys to the car.”

And just like that, you’re following a compression-shirt-clad football player into his house that you’ve never been in. For some reason, it makes you nervous, like you’re trespassing or something, but hearing Jaehyun say no one’s home calms your nerves a little.

He walks into the living room and leaves you in the hallway, and you take this as an opportunity to look around. The house looks a little like your own — the design is the same, the walls are painted white like yours and the windows are the same size. But apart from that, it’s so different.

The walls are littered with pictures — you recognize Jaehyun’s parents, holding him as a baby. Another one is of him and his sister, when they were around seven or eight. They have a couple more group pictures, but other than that, most are of Jaehyun on the football field. Ten-year-old Jaehyun holding what looks like his first medal; teenage Jaehyun screaming in happiness after scoring a goal; and then, your personal favorite — tears streaming down Jaehyun’s face as he lifts a trophy above his head, his teammates all joyfully smiling.

His parents must be proud of him, you think to yourself. You probably would, too, if you were them. Yet when you were talking to him last, he gave you the impression that his parents weren’t as supportive of him as he’d like. But it’s none of your business, you decide, and avert your eyes from the pictures.

Your gaze falls on a vase full of flowers standing proudly in the middle of the dining table. It looks familiar, you think, that combination of flowers. Maybe you’ve seen it at the flower shop? No, they’re too messy; they look too handpicked. You stare at the bouquet a little longer, and that’s when it clicks.

It’s the flowers Jaehyun picked on the way home that day you talked to him for the first time.

“I got the keys, let’s go.”

His voice startles you a little, but you only nod, following him out the door. So he picked the flowers for his parents? Or, judging from the way they were carefully placed around the vase so as not to leave any holes, he picked them for his mom. That’s… surprising. And adorable, as much as you hate to admit it.

Jaehyun opens the garage door only to reveal an old-looking, black BMW. He unlocks it and opens the door for you to climb in.

“Is this your car?” you ask him hesitantly.

He smiles as you slide into the seat. “Nope, it’s my dad’s.”

“And did you get permission to drive it?”

“Nope,” he repeats, grinning, and walks around the car to climb into his seat. “Isn’t that what makes it exciting?”

You probably shouldn’t be letting him drive around in his father’s car like that, but you’re late for class and his excited smile is slowly working to loosen up the nervousness in your stomach, so you just glare at him and whisper a quiet ‘you crazy jerk’ under your breath. He hears it and laughs as he starts driving, your own lips quirking up in a smile as he does so. Who knew Jung Jaehyun would turn out to be your savior today?

“So, how does it work?” you ask him as he pulls out of the driveway. “Being an athlete, I mean. Do you have any classes or do you just play football all day?”

“I have classes, too, unfortunately,” he sighs dramatically. “I major in physical education, just in case everything goes to shit. At least I’ll be able to coach teams. But other than that, I just play. Four hours a day.”

You’d kind of expected to have to hold on for dear life, but he’s driving smoothly, only one hand on the steering wheel. His shoulders are relaxed, a small smile playing on his lips while he talks to you, eyes drifting to the side to look at you only for a split second before they’re back on the road. It’s obvious he’s driven a lot before, and you kind of want to know where, but it seems like the wrong setting to ask a question like that, so you don’t. You’ll ask him next time.

Next time. You almost want to laugh as you realize you’re subconsciously planning to meet Jung Jaehyun again. It’s not like you were expecting to never see him again, but it’s the want behind the words that catch you a little off guard. The fact that you want to meet with him again.

“Four hours?” you ask finally, joining him in watching the road. “Couldn’t be me.”

“What do you major in, then? English?”

“Nope,” you clown him and he smiles wider. “Journalism. I might be the reporter interviewing you after your next match, so you better be nice to me.”

“I see,” he uses his free hand to fish out his phone from his pocket, pressing it against his lips as if it’s a microphone. “So you’re gonna be all like ‘Hello, everyone, I’m here with national football team member Jung Jaehyun, who just scored fifteen goals in the match against—’”

“Fifteen? You think you’re gonna score fifteen goals?”

“Well, of course. Don’t you believe in me?” His face forms into a mock-offended expression.

“If I say no, will you throw me out of the car?”

“Probably.”

You grin widely. “Then I believe in you a hundred percent.”

The drive ends earlier than expected — maybe it’s true what they say, that time passes by quicker when you’re having fun — and suddenly, Jaehyun’s parking the car outside of your university. Many people are already there, and you spot Beomgyu and Dahyun standing by the entrance. Jaehyun turns off the engine and you reach for the belt, but even as you push down on the button with all your strength, it won’t budge.

“What the hell?” you mumble, pulling at the belt harder in annoyance.

You feel Jaehyun’s hand on your wrist and look up, only to see him leaning in your direction. For a moment, your heart stills and your body freezes. His hair falls into his eyes as his nose stills a mere centimeter from your own and his hand rests on the part of the seat right next to your head. From the corner of your eye, you can glimpse his arm muscles flexing, his brows furrowed in concentration. Is he about to kiss you? If so, you should totally push him away, but you can barely register what’s happening before he’s pulling away again, sinking back into his seat.

What the hell did he do that for?

“The car’s a bit old.”

You blink a couple times, brain trying to process just how the fact that his car is old correlates to anything that just happened. You stare at him for a moment, waiting for him to explain himself or something, but he just raises a brow, like you’re the one acting weird.

That’s when you notice the seatbelt no longer restraining your movements. Oh. Oh. He was loosening your seatbelt for you because you couldn’t do it.

Holy fuck, just how dumb can you be? Your heart hiccups inside your chest and you almost want to bang your head against the headboard of the car. For a moment of clarity, you slip out from your seat and leave the car, closing the door behind you. A second later, Jaehyun does, too and he looks at you from over the car.

“Thanks,” You tell him, feeling a little bad you just got up from the car like that. “For driving me and for, uh, loosening the seatbelt for me.”

The smile makes its way back to his face. “No problem.”

Fuck, his happiness is contagious. You don’t even try to fight back your own smile. A glance down on your phone tells you your classes are about to start, so you tell him you need to go and giggle softly when he presses his lips out in a pout. He bids you goodbye with his hands in his pockets, leaning against his car.

And just like that, you make your way to the university building, grinning like crazy. A pair of girls walk by, and you swear you hear them say your name, but they look away the moment you meet their gaze, so you don’t think too much of it. Your friends are waiting for you by the entrance and you greet them normally, a little taken aback when you see Dahyun’s frown and Beomgyu’s unusually grinning face for it to be half past eight in the morning.

“Y/N,” Dahyun starts as you’re walking to the classroom. “Please tell me I’m wrong, but did I just see you getting out of Jung Jaehyun’s car?”

“I—”

“I knew it! You guys are totally fucking. I can see it in your eyes,” Beomgyu exclaims before you can even respond to Dahyun’s question. “Tell me your secrets, please. How did you bag the hottest player on the football team?”

“I didn’t bag anybody,” You whisper-shout, looking around frantically as if someone’s going to listen in on your conversation. “We’re just neighbors.”

“And you let every neighbor of yours drive you to school?” Dahyun’s judgemental stare makes you feel bad. What if she’s mad at you?

“No, I guess not, but—”

She cuts you off, lips forming into a smile as she grabs you by the shoulders. “Then why didn’t you tell me sooner, you idiot?”

“What?” You look between her and Beomgyu, utterly confused.

“I’m supposed to be your best friend, you shouldn’t keep secrets from me,” Dahyun pouts. “I’m not mad you’re talking to him, but hello, don’t I deserve to at least know how big his dick is?”

You burst out laughing, relief washing over you. Thank God they’re not angry, because you have no idea what you would do without their useless comments and endless teasing. “And how am I supposed to know that?”

“Because you bagged him,” Beomgyu sings awfully loudly.

You push him. “No, I didn’t!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dahyun stops you from lounging at him. “Just promise me you’ll tell me everything from now on, okay? I want to know every little detail about this ‘friendship’ or whatever. Don’t you realize this is the most exciting thing that’s happened since Seonghwa’s party last weekend?”

You laugh. “Okay. I promise.”

And you walk into class pretty happy with the outcome of things.

—

It’s not before your classes have ended that you hear the rumors spreading.

It happens by accident the first time you hear someone talk about it. A group of girls is standing by the vending machine as you’re buying a coca cola, and you happen to overhear their conversation. Or at least, a part of it. You pretty much only catch your name and Jaehyun’s, and then one of the girls nudges their friends and gesticulates to you. That makes them walk away, and you’re left standing by the vending machine baffled.

What’s even more surprising, Dahyun doesn’t know anything when you ask her about it. It’s only when the two of you approach Minjeong, a gossip girl at most, that you find out what this whole ordeal is about.

“People are saying you’re dating Jung Jaehyun,” She tells you like it’s obvious. “Someone saw you getting out of a car with him, so everyone is on edge because he might be off limits now. ”

“Well, you can tell them he’s not off limits,” you say instantly. “Because we’re not dating.”

Then you head directly to the football field.

You see him the moment you arrive — Jung Jaehyun in all his glory, hair sweaty and legs quick as he dribbles the ball. He’s in the middle of the field, way too far away for you to shout at him. Hesitantly, you walk closer to the sidelines, where the substitute players sit. You spot who you suppose is Jaehyun’s coach, shouting something you can’t quite make out to those on the field.

You watch them play and for just a moment, you forget why you’re here. At that moment, as you glimpse Jaehyun passing the ball to one of his teammates, you kind of understand why people go to football matches. There’s something nice about seeing people so passionate and letting that passion be the only thing occupying your thoughts.

Jaehyun’s yell fills the air not a minute later — your own lungs tightening in something that resembles fear, because what if he’s hurt himself? — but then he turns around and he’s smiling wider than you’ve ever seen him smile, and you become aware that he scored a goal. And there’s that passion again. You can't help but smile.

“Can I help you?” It’s his coach that breaks your train of thought, walking up to you with a curious look on his face.

“Oh, right,” You say. “I’m just here for Jaehyun.”

He sends you a somewhat pitiful look. “Want me to give him your number and have him call you back later? Jaehyun doesn’t really like responding to date proposals during practice.”

“Excuse me?”

“Hey, coach, it’s fine,” Jaehyun walks over to where you and his coach are standing. Half of his team follows him — some of which are looking at you curiously, while others completely ignore your presence. You turn to Jaehyun with an eyebrow raised and he smiles sheepishly. “Sorry about that, it’s just—”

“—Sometimes all those girls get a little too much?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

He smiles again. “Yeah, something like that.”

You tell him it’s fine and that you want to talk to him for a second, but it seems that he has different plans from how he grabs your wrist and drags you in the opposite direction of where you wanted. You ask him what the hell he’s doing, but he keeps silent and brings you back to the football field.

Now you’re left standing in between a dozen football players and their coach with Jung Jaehyun’s hand holding yours. Great, this is certainly going to help you get rid of whatever rumor is stirring up at campus about you two.

“Okay, listen up, everyone,” You stare at him with wide eyes as he catches everyone’s attention. “This is Y/N, and she’s my friend, so I don’t want anyone acting stupid around her or I’ll hit them in the head with a football.”

And just like that you’ve been (against your will) introduced to the whole football team. Oh, Jaehyun is so in for it when you get him alone. You swear you’re going to rip all of that healthy hair off his scalp. That doesn’t happen, though. Instead, you kick him in the shin with all your might after having dragged him behind the university building.

“Ow!” He groans and you almost smile, but hold yourself back upon realizing you can’t break character like that. “What was that for?”

“I just don’t like you,” you say, then sigh. “Have you heard what people are saying about us?”

“People are saying stuff about us?”

You roll your eyes at his cluelessness, but not before your heart jumps all the way to your throat at how unbelievably good he looks. This is just objective, by the way, and has nothing to do with your personal opinion. It’s just that nobody should look good after running around a football field for four hours, but somehow, Jung Jaehyun does.

You’re not sure what does it for you — whether it’s his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead or the compression shirt you oh-so-hate literally having become one with his body — but all of it just makes you want to die. Because this is Jung Jaehyun we’re talking about and he’s just some guy that thinks he’s better than everyone else and you don’t like him at all.

But then your brain decides to remind you that this is also the Jung Jaehyun that wants to make the national team and picks flowers for his mom and drives you to school when you’re running late. And your heart doesn’t like that. Not at all.

“People think we’re dating,” you say finally. “Because you drove me to school.”

“And?”

“What do you mean ‘and?’” You glare in his direction, but he only shrugs. “Do you know how fast rumors spread around this university? Soon everyone is going to—”

“And what if they do? Do you really care that much what others think of you?” You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. He tilts his head to the side, and when you don't respond, he takes a step in your direction, only another step away from caging you against the wall of the building. For some weird reason, it makes you nervous having him this close to you, so you step back until your back hits the wall. “Besides, would it really be that bad if what they’re saying were true?”

“What?”

You should tell him he’s stupid, or punch him, or do anything, but instead, you do absolutely nothing. Physically, that is — your mind is a whole different story. Your thoughts fly around in your brain so fast it makes you dizzy. Or maybe it’s Jaehyun’s words that are making you lightheaded, you’re not sure.

Actually, you’re not sure about anything at that moment. Your first thought is that he’s acting way too arrogant again — that he’s trying to somehow make you admit you want to date him, or something like that. And that’s so ridiculous because you don’t want to date him at all — he’s truly pushing his luck now. Has ever since he asked to be your friend.

But then images of him flash through your mind, his smile, his laugh, his passion, and it hits you like a truck — the nausea is so strong you think you might pass out. He’s gone completely insane, suggesting something like that — there’s no doubt about that — but aren’t you equally as insane for even playing out that scenario in your head? No. You throw the thought onto the ground and stomp on it, like it’s useless. Which, essentially, it is.

No, you’re not doing this today.

Upon seeing your expression. Jaehyun takes a step back. Maybe he thinks you’re disgusted. A part of you wants to assure him that you’re not, but the rational part screams at you to shut the fuck up and say nothing. Incidentally, it seems that Jaehyun has something to say.

“Relax, it’s just a joke.”

That throws you off for multiple reasons. One, he’s acting like you just ruined his fun or something, and it makes you mad. Like it’s not you that just went through a year’s worth of scenarios in your head, trying to figure out what to say. Trying to figure out what to think. Two, he could've said it was a joke sooner, instead of just standing there like an idiot, seeing your face form into an expression of pure horror.

And three, you feel so fucking stupid for not even considering it being a joke. Because it seems so obvious now, as you think back on it, that he was just kidding. God, where did you even get the idea he was being serious?

The embarrassment mixed with his gaze gets too overwhelming, so you do what any sane person would have done in your position. You walk away.

You make it twenty steps before guilt stirs up in your stomach. What if he’s mad? What if he thinks you hate him? You truly have no idea why you even care about that — you don’t care about it, right? He’s just some football player, you remind yourself. A football player that hit you in the head with a football. But thinking about that doesn’t help at all, considering how getting hit in the head with a football was exactly how this thing started.

What if it had never happened? What if he hadn’t kicked that ball in the wrong direction? He would have been a stranger to you, and you would only be a face in the crowd for him. Your name would never settle on his tongue. His dad wouldn’t have to get mad at him for taking the car without permission. And you… you wouldn’t have to feel guilty for walking away from your school’s football team’s forward center.

But you wouldn’t have known that warm feeling spreading in your chest upon seeing his smile, either. Nor would you know how it feels like to feel happy just by talking to someone. Or just by listening to someone speak.

The walk home suddenly becomes so long you almost want to sit in the middle of the path and wait for Jaehyun to come along. It turns out you don’t have to do that, because just as the thought crosses your mind, you hear the revving of an engine and an all too familiar black BMW appears a couple meters to your left. You don’t know if it’s fully surprising, but it definitely is somewhat unexpected when Jaehyun stops the car and rolls down his window to stick his head out in your direction.

“You getting in or what?”

For some reason, your stomach decides to do a dozen flips at that moment, but you ignore them and climb into the car. Jaehyun doesn’t say anything at first — his eyes simply scan you quickly, resting a little longer on your eyes than necessary, and he turns on the engine again after he’s made sure your seatbelt is fastened.

“I bought coffee,” he says finally, eyes fixed on the road, and motions towards a cup of coffee lying in his cup holder. “Latte with two cubes of sugar, right?”

“Yeah,” you say, grinning. “Thank you.”

His eyes flick to yours just for a moment, and his lips quirk up in a smile when he notices your expression. “You’re not annoyed?”

You look at him — his sweaty clothes, his stupid smile, the soft tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel. The trees outside are passing by quickly, the sound of the car blending in with the music quietly playing from the speakers. You’re hesitating for a split second, hand tightening around the cup of coffee that feels warm under your fingertips. The sun comes into sight at that moment, blending you as you first look at it, then lighting up the inside of the car.

All hesitation fades, but not abruptly — it just flows out of your mind like water in a river. The sun remains still, but fragile, like what you say right now might scare it away. But you have no intention of scaring it away — why would you? It’s the same sun that envelopes you in a tight hug as you feel hopeless, the same sun that makes you smile. The sun that piqued your interest and doesn’t want to let go.

“Well,” you take a sip of your coffee. “You’re a little stupid, but I already knew that. So no,” The sun lights up Jaehyun’s face as you smile. “I’m not annoyed.”

It’s as the words leave your mouth that you realize they’re true.

—

After that, you and Jaehyun start walking home from school together.

On days you finish class before him, he sits in the library and does his homework until you text him that you’re done. When his practice lasts until five, you make your way over to the field and sit on the tribunes, waiting for him to end the match. He loses track of time so often you almost become friends with his coach — a guy you find out has lots of comments to make as he watches the boys play. You don’t understand half of what he’s saying at first, but gradually, you learn — life makes a lot more sense after he explains what offside means.

Sometimes Jaehyun even drives you to school (he claims he’s got permission, but you don’t really believe him) even though his classes start half an hour after yours. One those days you pay him back by buying him Red Bull and watching him get way too much energy from it.

Today is no different. You’re walking out the front door with a bag containing Red Bull and some side dishes from your mom in your hand, phone pressed against your ear as you try calling Jaehyun for the nth time. Your mom shouts something in your direction just as you’re closing the door behind you, but you don’t hear her, too focused on the sound of Jaehyun’s voicemail.

“Asshole,” You mumble to yourself, dialing his number again. A long sigh escapes your lips when he doesn’t answer. Again.

The lights in his room are off when you walk over there to check, so you scratch that from the list of possible places to look. Where else can he be at eight in the evening? You think for a while, and then an idea pops into your head.

The football field.

You nod as if agreeing with yourself and start the walk to the one place you suspect Jaehyun might be. He better actually be there, because it’s getting dark and you have no other ideas as to where he might be. Plus, you’re not that keen on looking for him for three hours this late.

The way to the football field seems much longer than it really is when you don’t have Jaehyun by your side and when the wind starts messing up your hair. By the time you’ve arrived it’s completely dark outside, and the only source of light is the moon and the lampposts by the small stadium. You almost want to go back when you don’t see Jaehyun anywhere — the air is getting chilly and you’re getting annoyed — but then, finally, he comes into your sight and you sigh in relief.

He’s wearing black shorts and a jacket to shield him from the cold, one hand pushing his hair away from his face like always, while the other is holding his football. You stand by the edge of the field, watching as he places the ball on the middle of the fake grass. He doesn’t see you, too focused on aiming at the goal, so you just silently observe him as he kicks it, scoring on the first try. This time, he doesn’t scream in victory, but you can glimpse the shadow of a smile on his face.

It brings a smile to your own features, seeing him this happy. He shoots the ball a couple more times, successfully scoring even as he increases the distance between him and the goal, his hair bouncing each time he runs across the field. You spot his phone on one of the side benches and roll your eyes softly, putting it into your pocket instead so he doesn’t forget it later. Your eyes dart back to his figure just as he kicks the ball again — this time missing — and you hear the groan of frustration he lets out even though you’re standing twenty meters away.

Overachiever, you think to yourself, noticing how his thighs are a little shaky as he walks over to get the ball again. How long has he been here? He misses again, and you frown as he shouts out in anger. Yeah, he’s definitely been out here way too long.

“Hey, Mr. I’m-too-busy-to-answer-my-calls,” you finally shout, catching his attention. The corners of his mouth lift up in a smile when he sees you, and you wave the bag of food and Red Bull at him from afar. “You hungry?”

He jogs over to you with the football tucked under his arm. “You bet.”

There are bags under his eyes, and his forehead is littered with sweat. He looks tired. Still, he’s smiling — and somehow, from under all that exhaustion, the smile reaches his eyes.

“How long have you been here?” you ask him, sitting down on the grass. He sits across from you watching with hungry eyes as you unpack the food.

“A little over three hours now, I think.” He opens a can of Red Bull immediately and takes a sip of it, missing the way your eyes grow wide at his response. “I have a game next week, remember? Some club coaches are going to be there, so I need to do well if I want to be noticed.”

You lay out the food and hand him a pair of chopsticks. His shoulders look so slumpy you actually need to swallow down the urge to tell him to go home and rest. He wouldn’t listen to you anyway. Instead, you take some kimchi between your chopsticks and put them against his lips. “You’ll do well.”

He opens his mouth and slides the food off with his teeth. “You think so?”

“Obviously.” You roll your eyes and nudge his leg with your foot. “Now eat. You can’t play for a football club if you’re unconscious.”

Jaehyun hums in response and obeys, stuffing his face full of rice. You eat in silence, slowly chewing on the food as your eyes scan his face. It’s funny, but for the first time you notice the freckles littered across his cheeks. You’d seen them before, you suppose, just never noticed them fully. For a moment, you try to count them, but give up when he starts chewing his food and you lose track of which ones you’ve counted and which ones you haven’t.

You watch as his energy comes back slowly, his expression cheerful as he’s done eating. He helps you clean everything up and throw away the soda cans, then, as you’re getting ready to leave, he bumps your shoulder.

“Let’s play football.”

“What?” You raise your brows, looking at him incredulously. “You want me to play football? Is your brain fried from the Red Bull or something? Let’s just go home.”

He grabs your wrist before you can walk further away and when you turn around, he’s standing there with a pout on his face.

“Just one game,” He pleads, tugging at your hand. “Please?”

The warmth from his skin spreads across your body, and you hesitate. You hate playing sports, and playing with Jaehyun will most definitely result in you having to face the embarrassment of not being able to kick the ball correctly. Still, something jumps in your chest at the fact that you’ll spend less time with him if you decide to just leave. That resolves it.

You sigh. “Fine.”

He grins widely, dragging you across the football field. You have no choice but to follow, painfully aware of his fingers laced through yours. It’s not like it bothers you, at least you don’t think it does, but it’s different than what you’re used to, especially when it comes to him. You decide you’re thinking too much about it, and breathe out as he lets go of you to put the ball in the middle of the field.

What you can’t seem to determine is whether that’s a sigh of relief or loss.

“You know how to play, right?”

“Yeah,” You say, anxiously rummaging through your thoughts in order to remember everything his coach and those stupid football youtube videos told you. You only watched those in case some of Jaehyun’s teammates ever decided to ask you about your opinion on their game, but you suppose this is where they’ll come in handy. “Kind of.”

He laughs at the uncertainty in your voice. “I can work with that.”

He steps back, motioning for you to start. Okay, you think to yourself, it’s going to be easy. You just need to dribble the ball, run past Jaehyun with it, and kick it into the goal. How hard could can that be?

It turns out it can be, and is, very hard. Especially when you’re playing against Jung Jaehyun.

You somehow manage to keep the ball in check until you reach where he’s standing, but that’s when everything goes wrong. It’s like the football somehow levitates to his foot the moment he gets close enough, and his leg doesn’t even have to touch you for him to steal it away from you and score a goal a millisecond later. If you weren’t totally indifferent to football, you might’ve started crying from the humiliation just about now.

You half-expect Jaehyun to end it there, but he doesn’t. Instead, he passes the ball to you and you barely manage to stop it before it rolls further down the field. He smiles that annoying smile of his — not a pitiful one that you were expecting, but rather a genuine one that forces you to swallow down your embarrassment.

This time it works out better — you manage to get past Jaehyun, pushing him in the process which you’re sure would’ve gotten you a red card in a real match.

“Hey, that’s against the rules!”

You laugh, and faintly, from behind the wind rustling in your ears, you hear him laugh, too. His footsteps get louder behind you and you panic, shooting the ball, only halfway aiming at the goal. It doesn’t surprise you when it hits the metal pole on the left and bounces back, right between Jaehyun’s feet.

“You can’t kick it like that if you want to score a goal,” he scolds you playfully as you turn around to face him, a little out of breath while he looks entirely relaxed.

“Well, I don’t know how to kick it to score a goal,” you whine, throwing your hands up in the air.

Jaehyun’s lips form a toothy grin, eyes lingering on your frame for a little longer than they probably should. Your hair’s a mess from running and your shirt has slid down your shoulder, exposing the strap of your bra. It’s weird how the sight suddenly makes his face feel warm — like when you told him he’d do well. Have you always looked this pretty, or is he just going crazy? Maybe you’re right and his brain actually got fried from all that red bull.

He clears his throat as if to clear his thoughts and motions for you to come closer, eyes persistently looking anywhere but your exposed skin. “I’ll teach you, c’mere.”

“Okay.”

You walk closer, gasping softly when he turns you around so you’re facing the goal, your back a couple inches away from his chest. He hates how much he likes that sound, how right it feels when his fingers brush over your skin in order to pull your shoulders back. His hot breath lands on your neck and you try your best not to shiver — he’s just showing you how to play football, for fuck’s sake, it isn’t that deep. The breath you take is, though. Deeper than it should be and you hope to God he doesn’t notice.

“Your foot is supposed to move like this,” He demonstrates with his own foot, but you can’t really focus on anything besides his raspy voice right by your ear. “Just one fluid movement. You get it?”

“Yeah.”

But you don’t understand any of it — the quick beating of your heart, your ears that are ringing, the cold air that suddenly is out of reach when it was forcing itself on you mere seconds ago. None of it makes any sense at all, but you still nod your head in order for it not to seem too weird when you wriggle out of his grasp.

Your eyes meet his when you turn around and he passes the ball to you again. His smile is pretty, just like it always is, but this time, your heart beats harder against your chest when you see it. You kick the ball and prepare yourself to have it taken away from you, but Jaehyun stands still as you pass him. Thanks to that, you manage to run up the field and score a goal.

Before you can think twice about it, you turn around and smile in Jaehyun’s direction, voice laced with excitement as you shout. “I did it!”

He can’t hold back the grin that creeps onto his face. You look happy, he thinks, and your smile looks so sincere it makes something turn in his stomach. He almost wants to run up to you and hold you in his arms — he could’ve used the excuse that he’s proud of you for scoring, it wouldn’t be a complete lie — but he doesn’t want to overwhelm you. Or himself.

“Of course you did, you’ve got the best teacher in the world,” he says instead, walking over to where you’re standing. “Let’s play for real now. First to score five goals wins.”

“So you’re telling me this wasn’t for real?” you ask with a pout and he chuckles. You’re about to walk to the middle of the field to play again when you feel a hand grab your wrist.

Jaehyun turns you around and your confused eyes meet his when he takes a step closer, so his chest is only a few centimeters away from your face. “Wait a second,” he says, but it comes out more like a whisper.

Before you get the chance to protest, his hand leaves your wrist and comes up to tug at your shirt instead. He pulls it further up your shoulder to hide the bra strap peeking through, and the way your skin forms goosebumps under his fingertips makes him bite his lip. It seems this whole action is having the opposite effect than he wanted it to.

“I don’t want you to catch a cold,” he explains.

It’s not a complete lie, but he has to admit covering you up had more to do with his wandering eyes than anything else. Still, you nod sweetly, and continue your way to the middle of the field. He follows you, reminded of what he’s here for. You’re playing football, and if there’s anything he’s good at, it’s that. But if that’s the case, why is his heart beating faster than normal?

He tells himself it’s the adrenaline, but it makes no sense even for him — you haven’t even started playing yet.

Your blood pressure is still way too high as you kick the ball to Jaehyun, you’re sure of it. Yet you try to ignore it and focus on the game — you’re gonna need it. His foot stops it with ease, and in no time, he’s running with the ball almost glued to his shoes. He makes it way too close to the goal you’re supposed to be guarding, before you manage to remind yourself that you're here to play, not watch him mindlessly.

And so you play. It doesn’t take long before Jaehyun scores two goals, shouting in triumph each time like he isn’t playing against someone who’s basically never touched a football before. You don’t mind it as much as you let on, though, and the whole thing actually becomes a little fun when you figure out how to regain the ball.

You run and chase each other — he scores another goal and so do you (you’re pretty sure he went easy on you, just so you wouldn’t be discouraged) and then he scores twice again. That’s five goals, but he doesn’t stop playing, and neither do you. You play for almost fifteen minutes, in which he scores probably more than twenty goals, before you manage to catch him off guard and score a goal he isn’t prepared for.

“Oh my god, did you see that?” You turn to him, jumping up and down like a kid.

“You did well,” he shouts and you grin at him, pride swelling up in your chest at his expression.

That’s when it starts raining. First, it’s just a couple drops, one hitting the tip of your nose, and then it’s pouring down, wetting your hair and clothes. You look up at the sky with a soft smile, faintly hearing Jaehyun whine in the distance.

“How come it’s always raining when we’re together?” he groans.

“The sky wants to cry when it sees you, probably,” you reply, jogging up to him. Maybe if he was busy thinking about the rain, you’d be able to take the ball from him. “Stop complaining so much.”

But ultimately, he was right — the field is slippery and wet when it’s raining. This, you find it in the worst way possible. Namely by slipping right as you’re trying to take the ball from Jaehyun, your hands dragging him down with you as you fall.

Jaehyun feels his heart stop for a second there as both of you fall to the ground. The rain is pouring harder than ever — his shirt is sticky, his hair is wet, but he feels lighter than ever as he props himself on his elbows not to crush you completely. Raindrops trickle down his face and fall onto yours — your nose scrunches as the cold water hits your skin, and the. it's sliding down your jaw to slip into your shirt. You. You're soaking, too, with your white shirt clinging to your body, letting him see the outline of your bra from underneath it. He does his best to keep his gaze on the grass, but his eyes seem to gravitate towards you no matter how hard he tries.

You look beautiful in that moment — he tries for a long time, but finds no other way to describe it. Just beautiful. You're smiling, no, laughing, and he feels your heartbeat against his chest like it's his own.

Suddenly, he wonders what it would be like to kiss you. It's new, that thought, but somehow it also feels familiar. Like it's always been there, buried somewhere inside his head, but only now has come up to the surface. Would you like it if he kissed you? Looking at your face, he truly can't tell.

“Get off of me, Jaehyun!” you fake-cough and he laughs. “Do you want me to die?”

“I know CPR,” he replies, but makes no effort to stop you as you push him off.

You'd expected him to hold back, but he doesn't, so you roll over one too many times, until he's the one lying with his back against the grass and you're straddling him. Oh, fuck.

You freeze in your spot, every muscle in your body tightening as you realize just what you’ve done. It takes you a second to process it — how you’re looking right into his dark eyes, how you can feel his chest heaving from underneath you, abdominal muscles flexing right beneath your core. And even as you understand it, your body just won’t move. Especially when Jaehyun’s hands suddenly rest on your waist, causing your eyes to go wide, but your body staying still.

It’s an innocent act, really. He just wants to help you get off of him. That’s his initial motive, at least. But Jaehyun kind of forgets how to think when his fingers unintentionally slip a little under your shirt and he comes in contact with your bare waist. It’s not like he’s never touched a girl’s skin before — he’s had a couple girlfriends, and he’s touched all of them — but it’s something about the fact that it’s you that makes his heart beat faster.

He wonders for a brief moment whether your heart’s beating like crazy, too. Then you lay the palm of your hand on his bicep and he’s brought back to reality. Right. He wanted to help you get back down on the grass.

His arms lift you off of him with ease and he helps you sit down on the field, your vision and thoughts only now clearing fully. You look at him, a little dazed, feeling the rain drip down your face.

Jaehyun sends you a worried look. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you tell him, only then realizing it’s true.

“Wanna go home?”

You ponder on that for a second, looking up at the sky. It’s pouring and it doesn’t look like it’s going to stop any time soon. At this rate, you’ll probably catch a cold. Still, you don’t feel like going home. For some weird, twisted reason, you want to stay here with Jaehyun.

And so you say, “Not yet.”

He nods, looking as if he’s in deep thought. You lie down on the wet grass next to his sitting frame, sighing deeply. It takes a few nudges of your finger poking into Jaehyun’s ribs for him to understand you want him to lie down with you, and when he does, his face forms into an expression of disgust.

“The grass is wet,” he comments with his nose scrunched.

“Yeah, that’s usually the phenomenon that occurs after it rains.”

He rolls his eyes, but keeps silent. You smile softly, following in his steps. The sky is pitch black, and it’s most definitely way too late to be lying on the wet grass of a football field with Jung Jaehyun, but at that moment, you can’t bring yourself to care.

As subtly as you can, you tilt your head to the side to look at Jaehyun. His eyes are closed, mouth slightly open, and for a second, you think he might have fallen asleep. You shuffle a tad bit closer, just to make sure you can hear his breathing — which you can — but you end up staying there, with your hair resting on his shoulder. You’re unable to tell if it bothers him, so you just lie there, eyes flicking back to the sky and the few stars that are peeking through the clouds.

“You wanna know a secret, Y/N?” He breaks the silence a minute or two later, his head turning in your direction as he looks at you through lidded eyes. The rain drips down his face, all the way to his lips, where it disappears into his mouth. You nod slowly, your heart beating nervously as the air around you seems to thicken. It’s almost like you can sense it — how he’s hesitating, how his heart is about to beat out from his chest.

“I’m scared,” He whispers finally. head falling forward so it rests against yours. “I’m really fucking scared.”

It’s like the earth stops spinning. Though that might just be the feeling of dizziness that comes with your blood pressure skyrocketing momentarily. His forehead burns your skin, but it’s more of a warm embrace rather than deadly flames. The rain’s slowing down, you notice only by watching his face, only a few of his freckles hidden behind raindrops.

“What are you scared of?”

Your voice is equally as quiet, like you’re afraid of scaring him off. Mostly, though, it’s because you don’t trust your voice not to quiver when he’s this close to you. Something about touching him makes you nervous, though you’re not sure why.

“I don’t know. Everything, I guess,” He sighs and pauses, moving his head to rest in the crook of your neck instead. You listen as he takes a few deep breaths, and feel them against the skin of your throat — warm air against cool flesh. “I’m scared that it won’t work out. That I won’t make the national team, and this will all be for nothing.”

You scrunch your nose as he moves away from you to glue his eyes to the sky instead. “You will make the national team, though.”

“Even my parents don’t believe that,” He scoffs, but his voice breaks midway in the sentence and it’s like it tears your heart apart with it. “They don’t even want me to try out for the team, you know. They think I’m wasting my time and energy on something I’m not sure I can achieve. My dad wants me to study law or medicine, and my mom… I think she just wants to stop worrying whether I’ll get a job after college or not.”

You stay silent for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts. Jaehyun’s breathing is heavy, his jaw clenched. You want to do something to ease his mind — hug him, tell him you believe in him, buy him all the red bull in the world — just anything. But you don’t know what to do or what to say, because you’ve never seen him like this. Vulnerable.

Finally, you take a deep breath. “It’s understandable she’s worried—”

“I know, but—”

“You didn’t let me finish,” You want it to come off as sharp, but it doesn’t. It does catch Jaehyun’s attention, though, and he turns to you again. “It’s understandable she’s worried, but if your parents doubt you can make the national team, they must be completely clueless to just how fucking stubborn you are.”

He blinks — you don’t know whether that’s a sign he’s confused or he’s listening attentively. Maybe it’s both.

Without thinking it through too much, you place your hand on his. It’s just your skin resting against his, you’re not brave enough to hold his hand properly, but it still makes your heart pick up its pace. You’re not sure why you do it — whether it is to comfort him or yourself, but something in your stomach jumps as Jaehyun’s eyes flicker down to where your hands are connected.

A sense of fear flashes through your head. What if holding his hand did the opposite of what you wanted? What if he’s disgusted? For a moment, you feel so nervous you think you might die.

But then his fingers move across your skin and you look down just in time to catch him interlacing his fingers with yours. Suddenly, your skin is filled with goosebumps, and you have the suspicion it isn’t solely from the cold rain. You look at him, but his eyes still rest on the grass separating you two. Which is kind of relieving, because you need a second to calm yourself down and recollect your thoughts.

“I mean, look at you,” you pick up where you left off, finally finding the right words, and only then does Jaehyun’s gaze find its way back to your face. “You’re the guy that started playing football against high schoolers in middle school because the people your age got mad you always won. Sorry to disappoint your parents, but you’re gonna make the national team. I know you will.”

His chest heaves with every breath, strands of wet hair all up in his face. It’s stopped raining, and only then do you realize just how cold it is. Jaehyun stays silent for a few moments, his eyes never leaving yours. And just like how people say they drown in someone’s eyes, you find yourself swimming in his gaze. Floating, because drowning would mean dying and you’ve never felt more alive than right now.

Jaehyun forces you out of your thoughts by moving your intertwined hands so they lie between your faces instead.

“Thank you,” he whispers. You’re about to shrug it off, but he cuts you off before you can even finish your sentence. “Don’t you dare say it’s nothing. I mean it.”

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” he smiles for the first time since you lied down on the grass, and you shiver. His eyes don’t fail to notice, and he’s quick to say, “Let’s go home, I’m freezing.”

He’s not freezing, though. Actually, there’s some kind of weird, warm sensation bubbling in his chest as he stands up and pulls you with him. His fingers leave yours, which for some reason makes him feel a little sad, and he takes off his jacket, the cold air hitting him harder than ever. You raise your eyebrows, probably wondering why the hell he’s taking off his clothes when he just said he’s freezing.

“Take this,” he hands you the jacket, which on second thought he realizes is completely soaked through and will probably do nothing to shield you from the cold. Jesus, he feels so dumb he wishes the ground would swallow him up. “Uh, it’s a little wet, but…”

You smile as you take the jacket from his hands. “Thank you.”

Jaehyun watches with a grin as you put it on, rolling up the sleeves that fall past your fingers. He thinks this might have been the best day of his life.

No, he doesn’t think. This time, he knows.

—

You never would’ve imagined yourself sprinting to college at 10am on a Saturday in order to watch a football game, yet here you are.

Truthfully, it’s your own fault. Staying up drinking with your friends the night prior probably wasn’t the best idea, but Dahyun complained you were spending too little time with them and too much time with Jaehyun, so you wanted to make it up to her. Little did you know that would result in you being woken up by your phone ringing, Jaehyun’s voice asking you where the fuck you are.

“I’m on my way, don’t worry,” You had responded, obviously lying — for what reason, Jaehyun wasn’t sure, because he clearly heard it in your voice that you were barely awake. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

That was fifteen minutes ago. Turns out you aren’t a complete liar, though, because just as your phone shows 10:15 (meaning the game starts in five minutes) you have reached the football field, where the tribunes are pretty much packed. You look around to find Dahyun or Beomgyu, but there’s too many people, so you walk closer to the sidelines instead, hoping to spot Jaehyun’s coach.

You see him outside of the locker room — he’s surrounded by the whole football team, and you catch a glimpse of Jaehyun in his black uniform. His brows are furrowed as he says something, maybe he’s explaining some playing strategy, and then his teammates are nodding along and the coach pats him on the back. You smile softly at the scene, but then a voice announces that the game is starting in two minutes through the speakers and you have the sudden urge to wish Jaehyun good luck.

“Jaehyun!” You shout, jogging up to him just as he’s about to follow his teammates onto the field. He turns around, and his confused expression molds into a grin as his eyes meet yours.

“You made it,” He says, and you nod. His gaze moves down to your body, and you wonder if you put on your shirt the wrong way or something, but then he smirks. “Nice jacket, by the way.”

You furrow your brows and look down, only for your heart to skip a beat as you realize what you’re wearing. His jacket. The one he gave you when you were playing football a couple days ago, and you never bothered to give it back because you always forgot about it. And because it smells nice, but you’d never admit that.

Shit. You must’ve put it on by accident due to being in a hurry this morning.

“Oh, I was just about to take this off, actually. I just brought it with me to give it to you and—”

“Keep it,” He cuts you off with that awful smirk on his face. Does the football field give him some sort of confidence boost or something? “It looks better on you, anyway.”

It’s almost suffocating, the warmth stirring up in your chest at his words. Like your heart’s tightening and not letting you breathe, except you’re breathing just fine, almost getting drunk on the amount of air in your lungs. It’s a paradox, you suppose, just like you desire to be with him simultaneously to how you hate your heart for beating faster around him.

“Thanks,” You say. One look at the field and the tribunes overfilled with people makes you remember how much of an important day this is to Jaehyun, so you take a deep breath and say, “Good luck, by the way. Not that you need it.”

He smiles as the judge blows into his whistle, signaling the game is starting. “How about a good luck kiss?”

“Now you’re really pushing your luck, Jung Jaehyun,” You literally feel your inside turn to mush as you push him further onto the field. “Go play before they start without you. Go!”

“You gotta watch the whole thing, okay?” He shouts, running backwards as the ball is kicked for the first time and the game starts. “Don’t you dare leave!”

And just like that, he runs to help his teammates, leaving you on the sidelines with a smile on your face.

Dahyun and Beomgyu are still nowhere to be seen, so you ask Jaehyun’s coach whether you can sit on the side benches a few moments later when your legs start to get tired from standing. He’s standing alone, too focused on the game to talk to anyone — at least until you approach him. Much to your surprise, he seems like he expected your question and takes you to where the substitute players are seated.

“Thank God you finally came,” Jaehyun’s coach says as you both sit down, watching the players run across the field. “Jaehyun looked like he was about to cry when I told him there were ten minutes left before the game and you still hadn’t shown up.”

You chuckle. “I think you’re over-exaggerating, Coach.”

Your eyes are glued to the field when Jaehyun’s team scores their first goal — Jaehyun cheers loudly and so does the audience, and you see a soft smile on his face as he pats his teammate’s back. He looks proud and happy — it’s nice seeing him like that after all the nights he spent preparing for this match.

“You’re kidding, right?”

You turn your head in the coach’s direction momentarily, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he sends you a knowing smile that you miss when your gaze flicks back to the game. “I’m not over-exaggerating. He’s crazy about you. At practice, he’s unfocused, because he’s waiting for you to come. He leaves early and says he’s tired, but instead of going home, he drives to the coffee shop. Some days his eyes will be drooping and he won’t talk to anyone, but then you sit on the sidelines and suddenly, he’s the happiest man alive.”

The opposing team scores and your heart sinks in your chest, Jaehyun’s frustrated scream filling your ears. You don’t know whether he’s screaming so loudly, or if you’re just hearing his voice because he’s all that matters to you on that field. The coach’s words are like a ticking bomb inside your brain — you can tell from how he’s looking at you from the side that he wants to say something more. Quietly, you pray he won’t, that he’ll forget about this conversation, that your heart will calm down. That Jaehyun will win and you’ll go back home praising him for his skills and he will be happy and you won’t have to think too much about everything that’s messing with your head.

“I mean, I don’t know what’s going on inside his head, but what I do know is that I’ve never seen Jaehyun act like that before. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he might be in love with you.”

“Good thing we both know better, then,” you reply, but your voice is shaky. Insincere. “Besides, even if he did feel that way, I don’t like him like that at all.”

You’re not sure whether you’re trying to convince Jaehyun’s coach or yourself.

When the judge announces a break and Jaehyun comes to sit by your side about ten minutes later, there’s a million thoughts inside your head, but you push all of them back to send Jaehyun a smile.

“You didn’t leave,” he says breathlessly.

“Yet.”

He pouts. “Mean.”

You watch as he gets a bottle of water and opens it above his head. The water splashes in his hair and trickles down his face while the sun illuminates his frame. His uniform is clinging to his body with sweat, legs just slightly shaking when he stands up so the water doesn’t spill on you. He looks beautiful, you realize with a bitter heart — so beautiful it makes you want to rip your hair out.

“You’re staring.”

“Oh, shut up,” you scoff, breath hitching in your throat at his comment and smirk. “I was only looking to tell you you look awful.”

He’s about to retort something, but the whistle blows again and he needs to leave. A little too early for your taste. You get that he’s here to play football, but surely they can afford to give him five more minutes to relax? Your hand moves before your mind, grabbing his wrist before he walks away and turning him around.

“I won’t leave, just so you know. I was just joking.”

You’re not sure why you say it or why you’re so reluctant on letting him go, but Jaehyun doesn’t question your behavior. At least not out loud.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he grins, teeth on display as the wet hair falls into his eyes.

The judge shouts at him to get back immediately and so, a little panicked and a little infatuated, you reach forward without thinking too much and push the hair strands out of his face. You’ve thought about doing it so many times that it doesn’t dawn on you that you actually pushed his hair out of his eyes before your gaze meets his and you notice the shock on his face.

“So your aim won’t suck,” You explain quickly. “Don’t want you to hit anyone in the face just because your hair’s in your eyes.”

Jaehyun tries his best to keep the blush from creeping up his neck at your touch and at the way you seem nervous, too. Silently, he makes a promise to himself that if he wins this game, he’ll tell you he wants you to come to every single one of his games from now on. If he doesn’t… well, that would be really fucking embarrassing and he’s trying to impress you here, so he decides to throw that option away completely.

“Right,” he says to you, unable to hide his smile.

And then he’s running away with a shit-eating grin on his face.

When there’s two minutes left of the match and Jaehyun’s team is winning by three goals, you’re smiling like crazy, ready to start shouting in glee any second.

But as Jaehyun runs close enough for you to see his face clearly, he doesn’t look happy at all. Your eyebrows furrow as you look at him, and in that moment, you truly wish you could read his mind. He should be celebrating, no? It’s certain his team will win.

That’s when you remember what he said that night roughly a week ago: Some club coaches are going to be there, so I need to do well if I want to be noticed.

He hasn’t scored any goals for his team, except one that was a penalty kick. You look at him again, and this time it’s obvious — the shame in his eyes. You want to shout at him that he’s stupid to think he did bad just because he hasn’t scored some extraordinary goal, but instead, you settle on squeezing the arm of the bench as hard as you can, until your knuckles turn white.

“You love him, don’t you?”

“What?”

You wish the question surprised you more than it did, and you definitely wish the answer to it didn’t pop up in your head immediately. Easily, like it’s an exam question you’ve studied for a week to answer, the exact question you expected to be asked. But you’ve put the pieces together — whether that happened the day he drove you to school or ten seconds ago, you don’t know — and the puzzle doesn’t need any more solving.

“You love Jaehyun,” the coach repeats, and this time, your whole body breaks out in flames at his words.

“Yeah,” you say finally, eyes on Jaehyun as he manages to take the ball from someone on the opposing team. “Yeah, I do.”

Jaehyun’s foot moves smoothly — one fluid movement, just like he told you — as he kicks it. It cuts through air quickly, but it’s enough time for everyone to hold their breaths in suspense, the tribunes growing deadly quiet. You don’t dare make a sound. But then it falls right into the goal, passing by the keeper’s shaky hands and the silence shatters with the sound of Jaehyun’s scream. It’s joy, pure happiness in the form of his voice and when he falls down on his knees with a smile wider than ever, you think you’d do just about anything to see him this happy again.

His teammates surround him like moths drawn to a flame as the judge announces the game is over, mere seconds later. You’re just like them, in a way, because you can’t hold yourself back from standing up and walking onto the field yourself.

“Jaehyun!”

He turns from his teammates, meeting your gaze from where he’s standing a couple meters away from you. You send him a smile and suddenly, something wet is settling in the edge of your eyes. You blink it away, kind of embarrassed, yet it doesn’t stop you from practically running into his arms as he spreads them invitingly.

You wrap your arms around his waist. nuzzling your head in his chest as his arms pull you into a warm embrace. His team is probably confused to no end, he thinks, but really, as long as it doesn’t bother you, he doesn’t care. No, actually, he does care, but only about the elation that stirs up in his heart at being this close to you, at smelling your hair, hearing your breath. It’s stupid, probably, but for the first time, his disappointed father wasn’t the first person to occupy his thoughts after he scored.

It was you.

He pushes you away softly, only far enough to look down on your face while keeping his arms around your middle.

“Hi.”

You smile up at him and it’s perfect. All of it — the crowd screaming for him, the adrenaline in his veins, you. He loves all of it.

And so he responds with a “Hey,” and does what any other sane person would do.

He kisses you.

He’s not sure what gives him the final push. Whether it’s the adrenaline from the match, your smile, or that intense feeling of pure love that fills him up to the brim, until it finally spills over and his lips land on yours.

It’s not like he imagined, the kiss. In his daydreams, his pulse was steady and his heartbeat slow, lips moving in sync with your without mistake. Now, his palms are getting sweaty and his heart is beating out of his chest and there’s so much he wants to feel at once that his lips aren’t enough. His hands rest on your waist, but they shiver, and he wonders if it bothers you. You don’t seem to mind, though, so he brings his fingers to tilt your chin up a little, slipping his tongue inside your mouth.

The sun warms up your face when he deepens the kiss — at least that’s what you tell yourself, feeling your whole body heat up the moment your chest is pulled flush against him. Your fingers sink into his hair, heart beating dangerously fast as you taste him on your tongue. It’s like some sort of mantra — just Jaehyun, Jaehyun, Jaehyun inside your head.

Even as he pulls away to breathe, all the cheering coming from his teammates barely reaches your ears, drowned out by the sound of his breathing heavy against your lips.

You love him. There’s no doubt about that; not anymore. There might’ve been before — you can’t really remember when your brain’s foggy from the fact that you just kissed Jung Jaehyun — but now, you simply feel like your heart will explode any second if he doesn’t kiss you again.

“Y/N,” He says instead and you look at him expectantly.

“Yeah?”

“You wanna know a secret?”

“Always,” you reply, voice a little shaky. It’s true, though — you want to hear all his secrets and store them away in the deepest corner of your soul along with all the small moments you’ve been hiding there ever since you met him.

“I’m in love with you,” he breathes finally, and you feel his grip on your waist tighten. Like he’s afraid you’ll run away from him. “I’m really fucking in love with you.”

Really, though, you’re far from running away. If anything, you wish you could stay in this moment forever — looking up at his face, lip pulled between his teeth and his chest heaving with each breath. The people around you are a part of the background, you can faintly hear some whispers of Jaehyun’s name, but almost everyone is busy celebrating their win. You’re also busy celebrating, your heart doing somersaults, your brain still trying to process what was just said.

Jung Jaehyun is in love with you. And you’re in love with him.

“Can you please say something? I’m about to die from embarrassment here.”

“Sorry,” you giggle, looking at the way Jaehyun’s scratching his neck. “It’s just that this is the first time I’m seeing you this nervous. It’s cute.”

He puts on an utterly scandalized expression, burying his face in his hands as his ears go red. “Cute? Oh my God, now I’m going to have to switch football teams and—”

“I’m in love with you, too, stupid,” you cut him off with a grin, pulling him closer so your chests are touching again and you have to lift your head up to look him in the eyes. “Even if your shirt is soaked with sweat.”

“You like it when I’m all sweaty, though.” Suddenly, he’s regained his confidence, making your heart beat harder when his hands cup your cheeks and he leans down to nuzzle his nose against yours. Is it awful that you feel something turn in your stomach at the sight of his bare arms this close to your face? Probably — but honestly, you don’t care. “Don’t deny it. I’ve seen how you’re looking at me during practice.”

Your breath hitches and you push him away, trying your best to ignore the warmth spreading across your body. “You’re delusional, Jung Jaehyun.”

“I’m also your boyfriend, so I’d say it’s a win,” He grins, intertwining his fingers with yours, but then his smile falls for a moment, replaced by a tentative gaze in your direction. “I am your boyfriend, right?”

“Yeah,” You smile and the gleeful expression returns to Jaehyun’s face. “Yeah, you definitely are.”

—

Jaehyun is impatient. Always has been, and probably always will be.

Only that until now, it hasn't been a problem. In fact, his coach always used to say that his restlessness is what makes him a great football player. That it's a blessing.

But right now, as Jaehyun finds himself getting impatient at his football game because his mind is filled with thoughts of you, he thinks it's more like a curse. A strong one at that. Because how the fuck is he supposed to focus on kicking a football when you're sitting on the tribunes, waiting for him in the tiniest skirt he's ever seen?

Okay, so maybe it's his own fault, because you did ask him what you should wear to his game this weekend and he had picked out the skirt himself. But you had sent him a picture of it on the floor, not around your hips, and he never would’ve imagined it being this short. Besides, had he known you’d wear a low-cut top with it, he would’ve told you to wear jeans, because dealing with a boner on the field isn’t exactly ideal. He doesn’t even want to think what his teammates will say if they notice his state.

You’re not completely innocent in this matter, though. Putting on that top that makes his eyes linger on your cleavage a second too long and shamelessly staring at him during the whole game is most definitely intentional. You’re not evil, though — it’s just that dating the hottest footballer on the school team is supposed to have its perks, right?

And one of them should be getting to fuck him after a game, because — as much as you hate to admit it — he does look hot all sweaty.

You sit on the bench silently, cheering when Jaehyun’s team scores a goal and blowing kisses in his direction when nobody sees. It’s kind of funny just how quickly you managed to go from being his friend to making out with him every chance you get. Now, after just a month of dating, you know everything about him and yet you want to know more. What you love most, you think, is that there’s always something more to find out.

Like whether Jaehyun will let you drag him into the locker room after the game.

Your prediction after seeing him look in your direction countless times during the match is that he will, but, just like everything about him, it’s uncertain. But that’s just what makes it even more exciting to wrap your arms around his neck after his team has won, standing on your tippy toes to kiss him. It isn’t the first or even twentieth time you’re kissing him, but feeling his lips on yours feels just as amazing as ever.

“Hello to you, too,” he mumbles against your lips, slipping his fingers under your shirt so he can grab your bare waist. It tickles where he touches you, like fire spreading across your skin. “You liked the game?”

“Not really, it was boring,” you tell him and he rolls his eyes with a soft smile. “I don’t even know why I come to these things.”

“Because you love me, that’s why.”

“You’re so overconfident,” you click your tongue, unable to hide your smile as he pulls you even closer, so you’re flush against him. “But I guess seeing you in this uniform makes up for it.”

He grins at your words.

“Told you. You love coming to my games.”

“Mhm.” You rest your head on his shoulder, looking up at him. “Don’t you think I deserve a reward for being such a good girlfriend?”

You watch as he processes your words, eyebrows raising. His lower lip trembles just in the slightest as he figures it out — in the exact same way it does before a big game or when he’s dying to kiss you. He might be sending you a careless look, but from how the tips of his ears are tinted pink, it seems he’s less unbothered by your proposition than what he’d like to be.

“You wanna go home?”

He asks the question casually, but his fingers grip your waist tighter.

“No,” you reply and he furrows his brows, tilting his head to the side. “It’s too far away.”

“Too far away?”

“Mhm.”

You stand on your tiptoes to nuzzle your nose into his cheek, lips lightly brushing over his dimple. He smiles softly and you take the opportunity to press a kiss to his cheek, before moving lower. You can hear him swallow when you kiss down his jaw, head instinctively tilting a little to the side to let you continue onto his neck. He didn’t really plan on giving in this easily — teasing you is his favorite thing, after all — but your wet kisses against his skin are enough to make him cave.

It’s only when your lips reach his collarbones and he feels himself growing hard from underneath his shorts that he remembers you’re standing in the middle of the football field, where everyone can see you.

He inhales sharply as your lips suck on a spot just above his collarbone, hand grabbing your waist tighter. “What do you want to do then?”

“Come with me.” You don’t miss a beat, pulling away to grab his hand.

Jaehyun’s teammates are long gone as you lead him in the direction of the sidelines — some changing in the locker rooms, others probably on their way home by now. The weight of Jaehyun’s hand in yours calms your nerves a little, because — as much as you hate to admit it — he still manages to make you nervous with his presence, especially when he’s in that goddamn uniform and his ego is over the roof.

You drag him further along the football field, and stop by the locker rooms, pressing your ear against the door of the first one.

“What are you doing?”

You don’t reply to his question, just shake your head as you hear the water running from one of the showers, and move on to the next locker room. This one is completely silent when you listen for any noise and you smile in victory, pulling Jaehyun’s hand harder as you slip inside.

“Y/N, what are you-”

You cut him off, pulling at his shirt so he leans down and allows you to kiss him, this time on the lips. He gives in immediately, hands flying to cup your cheeks and tilt your head backwards so he can slip his tongue inside your mouth with ease. You stumble a few steps back, the plan to double-check whether there’s anyone here long gone from your mind as you kiss him.

Jaehyun’s hands fall lower, to your hips, and he pulls you closer only to rest his leg between your thighs. You shiver at this, letting out a shaky breath into his mouth. He smiles against your lips, obviously satisfied by your reaction, and slips one of his hands inside your shirt. You feel it travel upwards, creating goosebumps on your bare skin before he manages to unclasp your bra and take it off so you’re left with only your tank top, nipples showing through the thin fabric.

It’s him that pulls away first, eyes taking in your state and a groan leaving past his lips. “Is it bad I really want to fuck you stupid right now?”

If bad means your panties suddenly feeling uncomfortably wet, then sure, it’s bad. But mostly, you think you might die if he doesn’t touch you again.

“The only bad thing is that you’re not doing anything about it.”

You pout at him, feeling something turn pleasantly in your stomach when he pulls his lip between his teeth, jaw set. He looks so good it drives you insane — shirt sticking to his muscles, thigh on display from where it’s resting between your legs. If he just moved it up an inch or two…

“Jae…” you say, and his eyes move up to look at your pleading face. “Would you please do something?”

He raises a brow, and presses down on your hips, testing the waters. Sure enough, you let out a half-suppressed whimper when your clothed pussy just slightly touches his thigh. He smiles at that, flexing his thigh as he does it again, your nails digging into his biceps as he guides your hips along his leg. It makes your head spin when your pussy is dragged back and forth against his skin, and you practically moan out his name as you tug at his arm.

Tilting his head to the side, he smiles. “You want it that bad?”

“Need it, Jae, please.”

“God, you’re so needy,” he presses his tongue against his cheek. “Alright, if you want it so bad, I guess I’d be really mean not to give it to you, right?”

You don’t need any more assurance. Quickly, you grab the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head, knuckles grazing his sweaty muscles on the way up. Your eyes take a second to admire his bare chest, and you can only imagine how widely he’s grinning from the way you’re rubbing your thighs together in order to ease the heat forming there. You’ll worry about the consequences of your own actions (Jaehyun’s relentless teasing) later, though — for now, you’re more than happy with the promise that he’ll give you what you want.

Goosebumps form on his skin when you press a kiss against his collarbone — picking up where you left off earlier. You smile against the flesh, looking up at him as you let your teeth bite down just slightly, enjoying how his brows furrow and his fingers squeeze your breast in response. His abdominal muscles feel firm under your lips as you kiss them — slowly, because seeing him go crazy is one of your favorite things in the world.

He bites down on his lip as your kisses move further down, tongue swiping over his abs before you reach the waistband of his pants. You can see the outline of his cock through his shorts — probably hard and leaking for you, and the thought forms a throb between your legs. Letting your fingers move downwards, you palm him through the fabric, which makes a soft groan escape past his lips.

“Stop.” You look up as Jaehyun tugs at your hair, his eyes hazy and chest heaving. Confused, you blink up at him, but he only pulls you up and against him, his cock just barely rubbing against your thigh. “Wanna feel you.”

You don’t really get to respond as he drags you further into the locker room, walking all the way to the corner of the room, where the lockers are.

It’s unexpected when he spins you around, hands positioned on your hips as he pushes you softly so your chest comes in contact with the cool locker. You gasp quietly as the cold seeps through the thin fabric of your shirt, your first instinct to pull back, but Jaehyun holds you in place. His hand slips under your top and comes up to play with your tits to warm you up, and you sigh into his touch when he pinches your nipple lightly.

“Okay?” he asks, his breath hitting your ear, and it takes you a second to register he actually wants you to answer.

“O-okay,” you mumble shakily upon feeling Jaehyun’s other hand on your inner thigh, slowly inching towards the throbbing between your legs.

His fingers pinch your thigh and you shudder, biting your lip when his knuckles brush over your clothed pussy from underneath your skirt. Your panties are completely soaked, some of your arousal probably seeping onto Jaehyun’s fingers when he rubs his fingers against you again — slowly, so softly you have to stop yourself from whimpering for him to give you more.

He understands it even without your words, though — probably from how your hips involuntarily move back to meet his fingers — and lifts up your skirt so he can pull your panties down your legs. You help him eagerly, lifting your legs and meeting his gaze for just a moment as you take the opportunity to turn your head. He sends you that smile that makes your knees buckle before grabbing your hips again and pulling them against the bulge in his pants.

There might be a layer of clothing separating your pussy from his cock, but you still let out a mewl at the feeling of finally creating some friction. You just know Jaehyun’s wearing a grin when he pulls away from you again, only to replace his hips with his fingers that make you shiver when they come in contact with your bare cunt. He slides them back and forth through your folds, spreading your arousal across your pussy before he rubs your clit in circles, making you clench around nothing. Your head falls against the locker, a small whimper escaping past your lips.

“Yeah?” He retracts his fingers momentarily, only to deliver a slap to your cunt — which makes your mouth part in a broken moan. “This okay, too?”

You shiver, pushing your hips back even more. “Yeah.”

His hand grips your hip tightly as he teases your entrance with his finger before slipping it inside, your walls sucking him in immediately. You moan his name, spreading your legs wider so he can start slowly moving his finger, curling it inside your cunt in a way that makes you clench around him. Your mouth falls open as he adds another finger, pumping them in and out of your hole so well your legs feel weak after only a few pushes.

If it weren't for your hazy mind, you definitely would have felt embarrassed at the loud sounds of his fingers fucking you, but with his digits deep inside of you and his cock pressing against your ass from behind, you can't bring yourself to care. It feels so good you don’t want it to stop.

Except it does — a mere twenty seconds later, as you feel the familiar sensation of rapture start to stir up in your stomach, Jaehyun pulls his fingers away like you weren’t so close to reaching your high.

You turn around with a pout on your face, legs slightly shaking. “Why’d you stop?”

You feel like you could cry, but Jaehyun only chuckles, leaning down to plant a kiss on your lips. You lean into his touch, whimpering into his mouth when he squeezes one of your tits.

“Want you to cum on my cock,” he says against your lips and you shiver, feeling his hands drop to your hips, pulling you closer so his still clothed cock rests just beneath your throbbing pussy. “Okay?”

“Yes, please.”

He smiles, eyes crinkling as your hands move to pull down his shorts and boxers, mouth parting slightly when you take out his cock. You almost want to get on your knees and suck him off, but the painful throbbing between your legs tells you otherwise, so you only stroke him a couple times, kissing his jaw, before letting him turn you around again.

His hands come up to your waist to lift your shirt over your head and throw it off somewhere. You let out a small whimper when your bare tits are pushed against the lockers, arousal pooling between your legs.

“What if somebody comes in?” you ask, admittedly more to hear his voice than to get an actual answer out of him. You're way past worrying about someone coming in by now.

Jaehyun clicks his tongue and you feel his cock press against your cunt, softly grazing your folds and coating itself in your arousal. “I guess you’ll just have to be a good girl and stay quiet so nobody does.”

Clenching around nothing at his words, your hands come up to hold the lockers so you don't fall to your knees from the simple sensation of him slapping your pussy with his dick. You try pushing your hips back to make him hurry, but he's intent on dragging his cock through your folds painfully slowly, paying no mind to the way you whimper as he comes in contact with your puffy clit.

Thank God he's an impatient person, because his teasing doesn't last more than five seconds before he's lining up at your entrance, pushing in slowly with his hands coming up to play with your tits. You lean into his touch, moaning softly at the stretch and spreading your legs further to help him slide in. You don't really need to, though, because you're so wet he thrusts into your cunt with ease.

“Shit, I love you so much,” He mumbles into your ear, a small groan escaping past his lips as he bottoms out, your walls tightening around him. “Love fucking this pussy. Always so wet and warm for me.”

You hold harder onto the lockers as Jaehyun starts rocking his hips into yours — slow, shallow thrusts that already have you biting your lip to muffle any sounds that threaten to spill from your mouth. Faintly, you hear the slam of a locker in one of the other rooms, and it only makes your cunt clamp down even harder on his cock.

“You love it too, don’t you? Love having your pussy stuffed with my cock?”

Jaehyun’s grip on your hips tightens as he pushes deeper into your cunt, your moan way too loud for it to be classified as quiet. You only nod in response to his question, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at the feeling of him pulling almost entirely out before pushing his cock back in, so deep you swear you feel him in your stomach.

He groans at how you’re sucking him in, landing a soft slap on your ass. “‘Course you do, that’s all you ever think about, right? Even when we’re in public, all you want is to get fucked dumb.”

You nod dumbly. You whimper loudly when he picks up the pace of his thrusts, your pussy tightening around his cock. It takes him less than three rolls of his hips to find that one spot that makes your toes curl, and when he does, he makes an effort to hit it repeatedly, so fast it makes your head spin.

“Yeah? Feels good?”

“Mhm,” you choke out. And as if you’re not shaking from pleasure already, he brings his fingers to rub circles into your clit, his arms practically holding you up. “Please don’t stop, Jaehyun, please—”

It confuses him a little — why you think he would even want to stop right now, with the way you’re clamping down on his cock, moaning his name in a way that has him struggling not to cum right then and there. His own hips stutter just as you start clenching and unclenching around him, your moan growing into broken whimper and incoherent mumbling of how good it feels and how you want him to go faster.

And so he does, grabbing your hips harder so he can push you further onto his cock, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. His thrusts make the locker bang softly against the wall, but all you can focus on is the way his cock is pistoning in and out of your cunt, filling you up to the brim.

“You gonna cum, baby?” he rasps into your ear as you start shaking from underneath him. “Gonna cum all over my cock?”

You only nod frantically, mumbling something he can’t make out and then, with a last few rubs of his fingers against your clit, the knot in your lower stomach snaps. He cums not too much later, groaning against your cheek as he spills his cum inside of you.

Jaehyun lets you come down from your high before he pulls out, smiling to himself at the whine you let out. He gets dressed and helps you put your shirt and panties on, chuckling as he sees your legs shaking when you walk over to him.

“What the hell are you laughing at?” you grumble at him, but it doesn’t really sound threatening when you’re wearing a giddy smile on your face. “It’s your fault, you know. You’re gonna have to carry me home now.”

“Sorry,” he replies, sounding the least sorry he’s ever been. “If it makes you feel any better, I just got hard again from looking at your legs.”

You scoff at that, but let him interlace your fingers as you emerge from the locker room together. It almost surprises you how cold the air outside is compared to how hot it was inside — though you think that might’ve had something to do with other things than just the temperature.

“So,” Jaehyun grins from ear to ear as he speaks up a few moments later. “When do I get to fuck you in the locker room again?”

TAGLIST: @kflixnet @mrkis @ljnfav @shiningdery @qiankunslove @fluffyjaes @the-universe-in-you-jjh @honeym4rk2 @pckeia @baehaechannie @peachjamal @luv4jeno @lunarmindedchild @myjaewoo @kange3939 @bimb0beee

#nct smut #jaehyun smut #jung jaehyun smut #nct 127 smut #nct hard thoughts #jaehyun x reader

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janeyseymour · 2 months

Note

Hi, I feel like there’s not enough jealous Melissa fics, so I wanted to request one where reader is a new librarian, and because she dresses really nice Ava immediately takes a liking to her, and Melissa gets jealous because she takes a liking to her too. But obviously at the end Melissa x reader end up together. Can have smut or not, your choice. Thank you!

ask and you shall receive! i hope you enjoy!

Love In the Library

WC: ~3.9k

Your interview at Abbott had gone well- perfect, even. The principal of the school was full of life, and you could tell that you were going to absolutely love it here as librarian. She seemed just as thrilled that you were joining their team- apparently they haven’t had a librarian for a good chunk of time.

You walk into the school on the first day of professional development dressed well- you figured it would be a good idea since Ava dressed so nicely, and you were aware that the students wore their light blue uniforms.

As you enter, you’re greeted by the principal, who tells you that the first meeting of the year will indeed be held in your space, which is entirely fine with you. Hopefully, you’ll be able to meet a few of your coworkers and find the group that you’ll find yourself a part of- that would be nice. First days, even first weeks and months can be daunting, and it’s always a bit easier when you find people who might be in your corner.

You’re seated at your desk and looking over the catalogue of books you have- seeing how you can begin to organize everything (most things weren’t very organized) when the rest of the faculty starts to trickle in. You smile at the few who walk in first, but it immediately becomes a bit overwhelming when more and more people start to make their way in. You find yourself to be grateful that you have your own assigned spot at your desk. They all converse and catch up on what they had done over their summers, and you don’t really know how to insert yourself into any of those conversations, so you just look around and try to find anybody who might be kind to you.

As you’re people watching, a small group of teachers come in. In that group is a short younger woman, a taller black man conversing with a slightly shorter white man, and two teachers who are clearly veterans. The one is absolutely captivating with her pleather pants, heeled doc martens, and the way that her hair is curled softly and falls over her shoulders beautifully. The light pink shirt that she wears compliments her hair beautifully. You catch her take a glance over at you, and you feel a shiver run through your body as her emerald green eyes sparkle in your direction. She’s absolutely gorgeous.

It looks as though she’s going to make her way over to you, but Ava cuts her off by entering the room in what you can always assume is true Ava fashion, what with the mixed groans from the rest of the staff. You stay seated at your desk and watch as the redhead takes a seat at the front table with her friends. Her eyes linger on you though throughout most of the meeting- you can feel her staring at you.

You snap out of your trance when you hear your name come out of the principal’s mouth. You blush bright red, but you give a gentle wave of your hand.

Ava really hypes you up, explaining that you’re the best thing that’s come around to Abbott in quite a long time- that you’re a bad bitch with good fashion, fashion that almost competes with hers.

You see the way that the redhead rolls her eyes at that comment before looking you up and down.

The meeting drones on for a while longer before the staff is able to participate in a few different seminars or set up their classrooms.

You have your head down as everyone mills around, mingling and heading out. That is until you see a hand on your desk. When you glance up, there are those striking green eyes that were staring at you through the entirety of the meeting.

“Hi?” you squeak out.

“You the new librarian?” the redhead asks.

You nod and swallow before introducing yourself, although you know she already knows your name. “And you?” you ask politely.

“Melissa Schemmenti, second grade teacher,” she tells you, and you shake her hand firmly. “I’m gonna need one of the copies of the book, The Name Jar.”

You nod and smile. “I can definitely find that for you. It’s for a beginning of the year lesson, I assume?”

“It is,” she says shortly.

“I’ll have it for you by the end of the day.”

“Thank you,” the second grade teacher smiles at you.

You’re able to locate the book relatively easily, and with a bit of exploring the school, you’re able to find the classroom that has her name on it. She’s in the process of writing out name tags for her students and putting them at the desks when you knock on the door gently.

She glances up at you before pushing her glasses up and off her face, resting them on the top of her head.

“Just dropping off the book you requested,” you say softly. “Is there anywhere specific you want me to put it?”

She stands up straight, rights her shirt, and gives you a genuine smile. You love to see that smile of hers.

“I can take it,” she says softly, and she makes her way over to you. Her hand brushes yours for about half of a second before she actually takes the book from out of your hands, and you swear you feel a rush of electricity between the two of you. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” you smile right back, and she immediately wants to always see that beaming look on your face. “If you need any other books, let me know. I’m going to try to have the library organized by the end of September.”

When you go to get your lunch, the redhead is there, and so is your boss.

“There’s our sexy new librarian,” Ava winks at you. You turn bright red. You know you’re… not the ugliest women in the world, but this is a lot. “Girl, don’t act like you don’t know you look like a Philly eleven in that sexy dress of yours.”

You chuckle nervously as you glance down at the dress you were done up in. You look at the other teachers, and maybe you were a bit overdressed. “Have a nice lunch, guys,” you say as you go to head back to your room.

“I ain’t stayin’ in here to listen to your boring teacher talk,” Ava sighs dramatically. “But I’ll see you all later, losers!” She winks at you again, and you can feel the blush that had begun to diminish come back in full force.

“Oi,” you hear Melissa call out as you’re at the threshold of the door. “Come eat lunch with us.”

You don’t notice the strange looks that your coworkers give the second grade teacher, but you smile softly.

“Really?” Janine asks, jaw dropped.

“Oh, it’s… okay,” you say softly. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You ain’t intruding,” the second grade teacher is adamant, so you sit down next to her.

Barbara looks confused, but she doesn’t say anything at all. The teachers take their time getting to know you, and Melissa’s eyes find yours quite a few times, giving you reassuring looks and smiles.

You head out a few minutes before everyone else, and once you’re gone, Melissa’s friends look at her like she’s got three heads.

“What?” the redhead asks as she sips her iced tea.

“When did you get all friendly to newbies?” Barbara asks.

“Seriously,” Gregory puts in. “When I first started, you refused to learn my name for the first month I was here.”

The second grade teacher rolls her eyes. “And look where we are now… might as well give it a shot being nice to the newcomers.”

Barbara eyes her warily, but she doesn’t say anything in front of the full group. When the two of them are walking out though, they see you.

You wave quietly as you stack your things into your car to continue working on your organization, and the gorgeous teacher waves back with a smile.

You climb into your car, pull on your sunglasses, and head out.

“Girl, you like her,” Barbara nudges hr best friend.

Melissa rolls those green eyes of her. “Yeah. I’m the queen of England too.”

The kindergarten teacher hums, and while she doesn’t say anything, she knows that her work wife has a thing for you. It’s clear in her eyes and the way that she invited you in so sweetly.

“Well, maybe this will be good,” Barb states. “We have a new librarian, she seems like a sweet girl, and Ava isn’t making fun of her.”

“No,” the redhead frowns. “She’s flirting with her instead.”

“That a problem for you?”

“Shut up. I’ll see you tomorrow,” the redhead rolls her eyes as she climbs into her car.

The next few days of development go the same for you, organizing the many books, going through the catalogue to see what books you might be able to add to the collection

(whether that be from home or you can try to scrounge up the money to buy them at a thrift store). Melissa often appears in the library, claiming to look for a book, but most of the time she just ends up chatting with you- you don’t mind one bit. You sit with them at lunch, and you quite enjoy getting to hear Melissa laugh and listen to her talk.

Ava still flirts with you everyday, and while her compliments are appreciated, you never fail to turn as red as a tomato.

When the kids start to come into the school the following week, a few of the older ones are shocked to actually have a librarian. Furthermore, they can’t believe that they’ll actually have library as a special.

You begin to learn the children, and they absolutely adore you. You have quickly become one of the kids’ favorite teachers. In the first month alone, you’ve been given a ream of papers’ worth of drawings- it melts your heart. The older ones come and talk to you in the mornings before they actually have to head to class, and the little ones flock to you for hugs whenever they can. It’s safe to say you love being here at Abbott with these kids.

It’s also safe to say that you like most of the staff that you’re with, although you’ve found yourself a part of a certain group; one with the most attractive teacher in the school: Melissa Schemmenti.

You find yourself being drawn to her presence, and she’s drawn to you too. You spend your time with her and Barbara as often as possible, more than happy to listen to whatever the two of them are up to.

But with being friends with them also brings Ava around quite a bit. She is constantly looking for the two of them for advice on how to discipline and run the school. It also gives her an excuse to come flirt with you. Her comments are starting to get more and more scandalous, and she’s practically taking off your clothes with her eyes any time she’s talking to the three of you. You notice the way that the redhead seated next to you almost always scowls.

You almost wonder if you should go to HR for her looks and words.

“Melissa,” Barbara singsongs as the two of them are leaving lunch that day. Ava had come in and shamelessly flirted with you. “Turn that frown upside down!”

“I ain’t in a mood, Barb,” the second grade teacher grumbles.

“That face says otherwise,” the kindergarten teacher clicks her tongue. “When are you just going to admit the fact that you hate that Ava flirts with Y/N because you like her?!”

“I do not,” Melissa rolls her eyes. “I just think Ava needs to stop eye-fucking her anytime she sees her.”

“While I agree with that,” Barb sighs. “No one gets nearly as upset with that as you do, and I think it’s because you genuinely do have feelings for her.”

Melissa bites her lip. “So what if I do? It don’t matter. She’s young, I’m me. And we’re coworkers.”

“Being her boss isn’t stopping Ava from flirting with her,” Barbara points out. “C’mon. Just give it some thought.’

The redhead groans. She knows her best friend knows about her little crush on you now.

The next day, Barbara waltzes into Ava’s office.

“Girl, I wouldn’t usually condone this, but you need to continue to flirt with Y/N as much as possible.”

“That won’t be hard,” the principal laughs. “She’s a fine piece of ass. But why?”

“Melissa has a huge thing for Y/N, and I can just tell that our little librarian has a thing for Melissa too. You know the best way to get her to confess her feelings is to make her so jealous she can’t bite her tongue any longer.”

“Damn, you don’t think I got a shot?”

“Ava,” Barbara rubs her temples. “Might I remind you that you are in a relationship.”

“And?”

“Ava!”

“What?” Ava raises her brows. “You think I don’t want to-”

“You know what? Nevermind,” the kindergarten teacher goes to turn on her heels.

“Wait!” Ava calls. “But you really don’t think I have a chance?”

“What I think is that Y/N is a respectful, young woman who would not want to… partake in the activities that you are alluding to.”

“You never know,” the principal shrugs. “What’s in it for me?”

“A nice bottle of wine, and I’ll go out to the club with you the next time you tell us we’re all getting together for dinner but inevitably end up going somewhere else.”

“Oh, hell yeah. But I get to pick the bottle.”

“Only if my plan works, and Melissa and Y/N get their heads out of their asses and date.”

“You have yourself a deal, Barb,” the principal grins before going back to scrolling through Instagram.

Ava’s flirting only gets worse from here, and she purposely does it in front of Melissa whenever she gets the chance. While Barb is naturally appalled at the things that the principal is saying to you, she knows its worth it when she can practically see the steam pouring out of her work wife’s ears.

It’s picture day at school, and you know you’re going to be forced to get your picture taken as much as you don’t want to. So, you apply some light makeup and dress yourself in a white body suit and a flowered skirt that has a rather high slit up the side. It shows off some skin, but you know that you can always adjust the skirt if necessary so it’s not too revealing.

That was a mistake though- or at least you think it is when Ava starts commenting about you having a body that ‘challenges Beyoncé’. Her eyes linger on your still sun kissed thighs as you make your way into the building. You thank her for her compliment, but you don’t play into it any further than that. You make your way to the break room to drop off your lunch and make yourself another cup of coffee when you run into the redhead.

She looks absolutely stunning. Melissa really hasn’t done anything special for picture day- she just always looks gorgeous to you.

“Hey, good morning,” you say as you fall into step with her. Her eyes rake you up and down, and you feel a blush creep into your cheeks when she subconsciously licks her lips.

The two of you walk into the break room together and are sipping your coffees when the principal comes in again.

She makes an absolutely obscene comment about you and the way that your chest is comparable to that of the redhead’s, despite the fact that you hardly have any cleavage showing. That makes Melissa almost as red as her hair, but she puffs out her own chest. But then… she says something about the slit in your skirt and something about it looks stunning on you, but it would look better on her bedroom floor with her boyfriend.

At that comment, you suck a deep breath in and try to cover how embarrassed your feeling.

“Ava!” Barbara nearly shouts.

“Well,” the principal shrugs at the deafening silence in the room. “I have to go do principal things, y’all.”

As Ava leaves the room, the kindergarten teacher gives Ava a look, but it’s almost a mildly impressed look.

You can’t look at anyone, so you practically rush out of the room with your coffee.

At your sudden exit, Melissa looks furious. “I have to go do some work.” She storms off, and out of the room in order to go yell at her boss for embarrassing you in front of everyone.

“I should check on Y/N,” Barbara says softly before following your direction. She knows that those comments made you more uncomfortable than any of her others, and she knows she has to stop you from making a complaint to the HR department about the conversation that just took place.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Barb says softly as she enters the library.

Your hands are in your head, and the red in your cheeks hasn’t disappeared in the slightest.

“H-hey,” you mumble.

“Don’t mind Ava,” she tells you softly. “She used to say stuff like that to Gregory all the time, and eventually she’ll move on to someone else.”

“Does she always do this? Shouldn’t she get into trouble for that?” you ask quietly.

The kindergarten teacher waves a hand. “Our HR department never does anything but bounce the emails back to the principal of the person who sent them… the last time someone did that, we had a ‘bonding session’ because Janine emailed them. It’s not even worth your time.”

“But… that was…”

“A lot,” Barbara sets a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I know. But trust me on this one: it isn’t worth it. And she likes you, so she’ll be willing to help you out when you need it. If you report her, she’ll only make your life that much harder. Just let her flirting die out, honey.”

You frown. “I guess… I need this job.”

“I know.”

“And I love this job.”

“We love having you here,” the older teacher squeezes your shoulder gently. “And the kids- they absolutely adore you. We hope you’ll decide to stay with us for a long time.”

“Y-yeah.”

“Are you okay other than all of that?”

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Thanks for checking on me.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Barbara smiles at you charmingly.

She exits, and you sigh. You should probably talk to your boss about the things that she says to and about you… how it makes you uncomfortable. So, with your head down and cheeks still burning, you make your way down to the office. You stop just short of the principal’s when you hear a familiar voice shouting at the woman you were going to talk to.

“Ava!” the redhead storms into the office. “What the fuck?!”

The principal laughs. “What, girl?”

“What the hell was that? The shit you were sayin’ to Y/N in the break room? I know you usually say stuff you shouldn’t, but God dammit, that was over the line!”

“And? Why do you care so much?” Ava asks nonchalantly. “You jealous?”

“Jealous?” Melissa glares, looking utterly confused. “Why the hell would I be jealous of saying absolutely deplorable things to the sweet girl? Why on God’s green Earth would I be jealous of saying the absolute truth that she’s hot as hell?”

Ava smirks. “You think she’s hot?”

Fuck. Melissa’s been caught.

“You think Y/N’s hot?” Ava grins.

“No!” the redhead rolls her eyes. “I just don’t think you should be sayin’ shit like that to her!”

“You think she’s hot!” the principal singsongs. “Girl, just admit it!”

“Okay,” the redhead sighs. “If I admit that I think she’s hot, you can’t keep saying stuff about her like this.”

“Say it,” Ava teases.

“Ava,” Melissa groans.

“Say it!”

“Okay,” the second grade teacher huffs. “I think she’s hot. I like her, and not just for her looks. Now stop talking to her and about her the way that you have been.”

“Girl,” Ava grins. “You want me to flirt with her for you?”

“No,” Melissa rolls her eyes. “If and when I decide to make a move on her, I can do it on my own terms. Remember, I am a Philly eleven.”

With that, she turns on her heel and exits the office… only to bump into you.

Your eyes are wide, your cheeks and ears are burning, and… did she just admit she thinks you’re hot? The woman that you’ve developed a small crush on actually has a thing for you too?

“Shit.”

“Uh…” you nervously tuck a loose hair behind your ear.

“How much of that did you hear?” she asks you quietly.

“I uh, have to talk to Ava,” you evade her question.

You don’t give Melissa a chance to say anything else before you knock on the door and enter before closing it behind you.

By the time you’re finished with your conversation with Ava, you barely have time to run down to the library before you know the kiddos will start trickling in… and you’re not entirely sure you even know how to approach the situation you’ve found yourself in with the redheaded teacher.

That’ll have to wait.

But when you get to the library doors, Melissa is standing there waiting for you. She looks incredibly nervous as she taps her foot.

“Melissa,” you say softly.

She just takes your hand and pulls you into the library before taking you to your desk- which remains just out of sight from the door.

“Shouldn’t you be in your classroom to wait for your kids?”

“I got Janine to watch them for arrival,” she tells you. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough,” you say softly. “You are a Philly eleven, you know.”

And then you press your lips gently to hers. She kisses you back just as softly, and you can’t help but pull her in a bit closer.

But then you have to pull away. You know the older kids that come to your room will be there far too quickly, and you really don’t want them to catch you kissing their old second grade teacher.

“Y/N,” Melissa whispers.

“Go back to your classroom,” you say softly. “The kids that come to me in the morning will be here soon, and I don’t need rumors about the two of us going around.”

“Yeah,” the redhead agrees. “That probably wouldn’t be too great.”

You hum.

“So…” she says quietly though. “I’ll see you at my house tonight for dinner?”

You nod.

“It’s a date,” she promises as she squeezes your hand gently. With those words, she leaves your room just as one of your kiddos is coming in.

“Hey, Serena,” you smile softly. You immediately turn on your warm teacher voice, and Melissa can’t help but turn around and watch as the student comes over and embraces you.

The sunlight through the window hits you perfectly, and you look angelic.

While Melissa had initially taken a liking to you because of your looks (you might just be a Philly twelve), the heart of gold that you have is what made her really fall for you.

#melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x reader #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary

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babywriter · 10 months

Text

Jenny was a cheerleader at your school and, maybe it was the uniform, you thought she was cute. And she was, but a lot of guys were a little uneasy around her since she wore diapers, pigtails and came across as a little childish. Not that she minded. Clearly, she was at ease in her own skin and this had actually prevented her from becoming bullied or a social pariah. Always bubbly, always brushing it off with a shrug. So no one bothered her. Like most young women her age, she went to parties, kissed boys and hung out with her girlfriends. Most of those friends being cheerleaders themselves. You talked to her from time to time since you shared classes, and at lunch you observed her eating with her friends. Ok, fine it was a little stalker-ish, but you were trying to gather the courage to go talk to her. As always, she unpacked her pink lunchbox. It had Disney princesses on it which you’d think would get her some teasing, but no one bothered her about it either. She pulled out a sandwich neatly cut in triangles, some apple quarters and a juice box. As she was surrounded by friends, you thought better than to ask her out. When, maybe half an hour later, you found her alone at her locker, you actually did manage to walk up to her.

“Hey.”

“Hi!”

Following this incredible conversation, an awkward silence began since you hadn’t really thought about what to say.

“I think it’s great you wear diapers.” Her smile sort of froze, unsure whether this was a compliment or you were trying to make fun of her.

“Thank you.” She said extremely drawn out.

“I meant, I think you look cute. And diapers are cute, right?”

Her eyes went from panic-stricken to mischievous.

“Right.” she went. She took a step towards you. Her forehead was a few inches from your lips and she looked up right in your eyes. “So you think I’m cute?”

“Yes.”

“And you like that I wear diapers?”

“Yes.”

“I think we’ll be friends. Wanna come to my house tonight?”

A proposition that made you instantly flush.

“Yes.”

“Great! See you on the bus.”

Which is how you found yourself in the aisle seat of a bus going the other way from your house, next to a very pretty girl in pigtails and a diaper who had her pink backpack and pink lunchbox on her knees.

“This is where we get off.”

Strangely, a middle-aged woman was waiting just outside the bus.

“Mommy!” Jenny screamed as she went down the steps and jumped in her mother’s arms.

“Hello.” you said.

“Why, hello. Jenny, is that a friend of yours?” Jenny nodded.

The walk was short, but very weird. Your date was holding her mother’s hand throughout and when she overtook you to open the front door, you realized Jenny wasn’t wearing the jeans and t-shirt she had been wearing earlier. She was in her cheerleading uniform and it was a very short skirt. In fact, you could peek at her diaper. Which, yes, you did do. It was especially hard to avoid looking when Jenny removed her light pink Velcro shoes while flashing her padded bottom.

“Mommy, we’ll be upstairs.”

“Ok, sweetheart.”

This is going well...and all happening very quickly. Frankly, you thought you were going to go to town right away.

As you followed her upstairs, you noticed that a teddy bear had appeared in her right hand. When you stepped into her room you saw how childish, no, babyish, it all was. Toys, stickers and patterns meant for toddlers. She turned her head towards you.

“You can close the door.”

You obeyed, but despite your raging hormones, you weren’t going to go further without some answers.

“Jenny, this is a little weird.”

“Yeah, like what?”

Already, she was on all fours on her bed and looking at you with the sweetest of faces.

“When did you change? When did you grab that teddy bear?”

“Oh, that’s just what happens when I get home!”

That wasn’t really an answer, you thought.

“Humm, okay. But jumping in your mother’s arm and all that…”

“I love my mommy. What’s wrong with that?”

“You still call her mommy?”

“Look, I brought you here because I thought you liked all that stuff.”

“I do, I do. Does it turn you on?”

“Big time.” she giggled

“Great! Great! Me too!”

“Aww, so you got a wittle cwush on baby me?” she kept giggling.

“Yeah. Hahaha…”

“Mr. Teddy say hi to the handsome young man. Do you want a Teddy too?

“I haven’t had one in a long time.”

“Yes, but do you want one?”

“There aren’t many guys my age who sleep with one.”

“Would you have a teddy if you were a little girl like me?”

“Ok, Jenny, this is kinda weird.

“I love sleeping with Teddy.”

“Ok, that’s nice.”

“Are you just here for bouncy-time?”

“For…? What?”

“Bouncy-time.” And to illustrate, she bounced on her bed. “Come on, if you wanna have bouncy-time it’s now ow newer.” she giggled again. She even wiggled her padded bottom for you.

“I’d love to.” you said as you approached her bed. “But I’d like some explanations”

She sighed heavily. “I become baby when I go home, what’s the pwoblem? Now get hewe while we can have fun-fun!”

“What do you mean?”

“I weg- I we- I gwow little.”

She stroked a pose while her thumb made its way into her mouth.

“Mmm. Mmm.” she hugged her teddy bear tightly and dry humped the bed.

“Alright, it’s kinda hot.” you said.

“You likey?” Her pitch had gotten higher too.

“Yes.”

“Cwome.”

You finally came to her and sat on the bed. Gently, you removed her skirt.

“You jelly of my skiwt?”

“It’s a pretty skirt. You look very cute in your outfit.”

“Do you wanna weaw diapies too?

“Sure, I’d love to try.”

“Would you be baby if you could?”

“I guess.”

“I was wike you befowe.”

“What?”

“I was a big boy.”

You stepped away from the bed.

“I’m not sure what you’re saying.”

“I wanted to be baby giwl. I woke up wike this one day. I had a new mommy and daddy.”

“And they take care of you?”

“Yesh.”

“Feed you, bathe you, everything?” She nodded.

“And your diapers, you can’t control yourself?”

“No. And I’m weally a giwl.”

“How long have you been like this?”

“Yeaws.”

“And you don’t…age?”

“I don’t twink so.”

You looked at her toys scattered around the room, her white diapers under her changing table.

“You say you can transform me?”

“Yesh.”

“What’s the catch?”

“It’s fowevew.”

“And you’d do this for me?”

“I wike diapie girls too.” she giggled again.

“No, no, I don’t think it’s a good idea. It’s tempting, but…I’d need to think this over.”

“It’s okway. You’ll love it. You don’t have to wemembew you wewe a big boy. Wook.”

Laying on her stomach, she reached for a toy hung on the wall. A toy piano of some kind. When she pressed the middle key, the world around you instantly went to black. And just as instantly, you woke up. You had died, you had been reborn. And now, you were to forever be just like Jenny.

#ab/dl diaper #ab/dl caption #ab/dl fiction #ab/dl stories #ab/dl girl #ab/dl community #diaper captions #diaper stories

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urwhorecrux · 2 months

Note

poly!marauders x drunk!reader at a party and reader needy but they don’t want to help reader because they don’t want to do anything when reader basically unconscious of what’s happening because reader is drunk. So they try to explain to reader that they will gladly take care of them after they get better and go to bed. Thank you!

⋆ ˚⁀➷ ₊˚⊹⋆ Our darling poly!marauders.

pairing. poly!marauders x fem!reader.

warnings. mentions of alcohol, alussions to sex, pet names.

a/n. SRRYYYY this is a little blurb, i've been busy doing yet another sport. also didnt mean to leave sirius out in the end oops. not proofread.

masterlist.

Your boyfriends leaving you alone for a moment seemed like a good idea. maybe a new way for you to socalize, or to spend more time with girls from your house- until it was the opposite.

Sirius came back to finding you on the couch, completely out of it with not a single thought in your eyes. It was nearly the same for him, but he was slightly more conscious of everything around him, surprisingly.

"Where have you two been?" James was ecstatic to see you, as always.

He'd been more than pleased when you showed up to the party they'd planned after they won the quidditch cup, even wearing James' uniform.

"Sorry prongs, jus' wondered off for a while", sirius grinned, wrapping an arm around you before placing sloppy kisses across your face.

"Alright yea that's jus' great pads, c'mon let's just take her up", james gently lifts you off the couch, draping your hands across his shoulders as he cradles you.

You giggle at this feeling, loving the feel of Jame's rough biceps after all those years of qudditch, and the way Sirius' hair sits as he follows along, gently cupping your face rambling out undescribable words.

James signals for Remus, noticing he's busy by the chocolate fountain, discovering anything that was possible to dip in there.

"Moooonnyyy", you call out, a giggling mess.

His ears perk instantly as his eyes widen, the sight of you drunk was funny to James and Sirius, but to him he always seemed more concerned.

"You smell like firewhiskey, what'd we say about firewhiskey?" he pouts, slowly rubbing your head.

You're in James' arms, still being cradled as the other two boys follow along, Sirius being a stumbling mess and Remus being prepared to catch him if he tumbled down the stairs. The door opens, the smell of a warm fire going and soft cologne fills your head, James carefully places you on his bed.

"I'll have one night of passion with her first, if you don't mind," Sirius announces, stumbling over to the bed.

"C'mere Siri", you call, desperately needing his touch, unaware of James and Remus hurriedly stopping him.

"Not tonight Pads, tommorrow we'll take care of her", Remus smirks, "Tonight you're both sloppy drunks, later".

Sirius can't help but get defensive in a dramatic manor, now arguing with Remus as James approaches you with an old t shirt of his.

"Oh, Jamie" you smile widely, still slightly dazy about everything going on in the room. "You're here to finally kiss me? Want you so bad Jami-" you cut off by James shoving his t-shirt over your head.

"No dove, not tonight tomorrow when you feel better, promise", he places a soft kiss against your forehead, now going to the other side of the bed and spooning you.

Remus approaches, now laying your head on his chest as he settles comfortably.

"Rem, t-tell him 's not fair" you groan, nuzzling into his neck.

Remus shakes his head, whispering "tomorrow, tomorrow," as he gently kisses your cheek.

Sirius stumbles towards the bed, nearly yelling goodnight to everyone as he tumbles down on the couch, falling asleep in almost a weirdest, yet comfortable enough for him position.

#harry potter #young marauders #marauders fic #harry potter marauders #marauders smut #james potter smut #james potter x reader #sirius black smut #sirius black fic #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin smut #sirius black x reader #poly!marauders #poly marauders #marauders x reader #poly!marauders smut #poly marauders smut

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ellecdc · 2 months

Note

I absolutely love love love your writing! I have a request if you’re up for it?

Can you write a possessive/ jealous wolfstar x reader. Reader is always wearing baggy clothes so when shes wearing a tight dress that hugs her curvy body for yule ball and the boys in school wont stop staring at her got remus and sirius very jealous?

thank you baby! and thank you for your request. it’s not a whole lot of jealousy, but this is my take on it; hope you like it!! 🫶

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader who looks so good in a ballgown CW: no smut but mention of dicks/horniness, catcalling

There were some things that not many people knew but Remus did.

One thing not many people knew was that Sirius – in all his cool bravado – was the most sensitive person Remus knew. Sirius would cry during any and every movie, he once cried when he saw a baby chipmunk because it was ‘way too small, what the fuck?’, and those closest to Sirius knew that one must watch their tone lest the long-haired boy believe you were mad at him.

Another thing that not many people knew but Remus did was how fucking hot you were. And that’s not to say people didn’t know you were beautiful – your beauty was undeniable.

But Remus (and Sirius) knew a secret.

Under the Hogwarts uniform? Under the boxy dress shirt, plaid pleated skirt, and woolen jumpers and cardigans, was one banging body.

What helped keep this fact to be widely unknown was that when not in your uniform, you could usually be found in Sirius’ quidditch jersey, or Remus’ jumpers, or your own loosely fitting clothes. Your style was simple and understated, usually consisting of loose-fitting shirts and jeans or corduroys. Comfy, cozy, nondescript. It also helped that Sirius’ style was nearly the complete opposite – loud, demanding, and bold - so people spent most of their time ogling him.

It seemed, however, that this secret would be revealed to all of Hogwarts tonight.

“Holy shit.” Peter muttered under his breath as the Marauder’s stood dressed in their best awaiting their dates for the ball. You and Lily traipsed down the stairs in your heels and dresses whilst Peter was bombarded with various whacks to his arms and an ‘oi!’ or two from James, Sirius, and Remus.

But Peter was right, you looked fucking stunning. You were wearing a beautiful satin gown, the fabric spilling sinfully over your body like water and cascading to your ankles. Your shape and figure were further accentuated by the way the lights refracted off the shiny material, leaving nothing to the imagination. He was surprised to see how thin the straps were; there had to be some magic holding the gown to your body, surely.

Remus felt conflicted; he both wanted to throw you over his shoulder and rush back up to the dorms to ravish you and parade you around shouting ‘look at what this poor, scarred werewolf managed to pull!’.

There was one issue.

Sirius.

“What is she wearing!?” He whispered shouted to Remus.

“Pads, don’t upset her.” He murmured into his boyfriend’s ear. “Don’t make her feel self-conscious.”

Sirius let out a sound between a pained moan and a growl but nodded all the same.

You offered the boys a soft smile, shoulders migrating towards your ears proving to Remus that you were indeed feeling a little vulnerable.

“Hey beautiful!” Remus greeted you, taking your hand that adorned the charmed corsage Remus and Sirius had given you that matched the one’s pinned to their lapels and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“Hi boys.” You smiled, looking between the two of them. “You look very nice.”

Sirius scoffed, and Remus prayed to every deity possible that Sirius kept his wits about him. “Not half as good as you, babe! Come on, give us a spin.”

Remus let out a sigh of relief whilst your shoulders migrated impossibly higher, though you obeyed Sirius’ demand, nonetheless.

Remus dick twitched embarrassingly in his pants, and based on the pained groan emanating from Sirius, he was sure his did too. Thinking about Sirius’ dick made his own dick twitch again; this was going to be a long night.

“It’s not too much?” You asked sheepishly as you turned back to face them, embarrassment painting your features as you looked timidly between your two boyfriends.

“No!” Sirius shouted, but his voice came out painfully high. “No.” He corrected, clearing his throat.

“You look stunning, my love.” Remus said more eloquently.

You smiled beautifully albeit shyly at the two boys before your moment was interrupted.

“Circe’s tits, L/N! Where’ve you been hiding that body!?” Barty Crouch Jr called as he let out a wolf whistle, either completely forgetting or ignoring the fact that he was walking arm-in-arm with his boyfriend who only offered his brother and his brother’s dates a simple eyeroll.

“Keep walking you fuckin’ wanker.” Sirius barked.

Remus’ heart clenched when he noticed you start to ring your hands together nervously.

“I don’t know... Lily told me to go with this one, but I have another dress upstairs – maybe I should-”

“Absolutely not.” Sirius cut you off, levelling you with a look that spoke no nonsense.

“It would be a sin to deny the world of such a sight, love.” Remus encouraged pulling you towards him and massaging at your tense jaw with his thumbs. He hoped he was giving you his softest smile possible, and the way your own expression softened in response told him he had.

“Wear what you want, dollface; I can fight.” Sirius added, causing the two of you to break eye contact, looking over to see that he was already tying his hair up pre-emptively. Remus scoffed out a laugh and you whimpered a pained ‘Sirius...’.

“Let’s go, sugar.” He said when he was done, winking at you teasingly. “Let’s show these tossers what they’re missing.”

Remus thought you looked nervous as you allowed Sirius to hook your arms together, though he didn’t know why. You didn’t have to referee Sirius’ tussles; Remus did.

#ask elle #marauders au #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #reader insert #self insert #sirius black #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #remus x sirius #wolfstar #poly!wolfstar #poly!wolfstar x reader #poly!wolfstar x you #poly!wolfstar fluff #ellecdc fics

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seravphs · 11 months

Text

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — MIYA OSAMU x FEM READER

On a bad day, Onigiri Miya becomes your new comfort restaurant. Not only is the food good, but the man who takes your orders is always kind. You think the Miya you’ve been venting to on the phone is the same Miya who shows up at your door to deliver all of your orders.

It’s too bad you don’t know there’s two of them.

wc — 2k

tags — fluff, romcom, miscommunication, miserable corporate girl x small business owner who teaches her joy

The email doesn’t even do you the courtesy of being short. They make you read through two whole paragraphs before you get to the point of it all in the final sentence.

Your termination is effectively immediately.

You sit back in your chair to allow yourself a moment to take it in. It’s…not terrible, all things considered.

You get to leave this job that you hate. They’ll pay you severance. You have enough savings to be comfortable for the next few months.

It might even a blessing.

But it still doesn’t feel good. You worked hard to land this, and now you’ll have to start all over again. Change is always hard, especially when you haven’t asked for it.

You look at the clock. It’s currently 8:30 in the morning. You’re giving yourself exactly twenty four hours to wallow, and then it’s back to business.

First things first - a good meal. Food always make everything better, and you really deserve something special today. For a moment, you entertain the idea of calling your friends over to get breakfast somewhere fancy, but then you remember -

They’re all at work.

Where you would be, if you hadn’t just been let go.

That does sting a little, so maybe you’re not as okay as you thought you were. Hurriedly pushing those thoughts to the side in favor of scrolling through your options, a plain blue banner catches your eye.

Onigiri Miya, it reads.

Japanese comfort food. Family owned.

When you click on the link, it takes you to a page that’s as simple as it’s name. It’s just a menu and a series of pictures, but it’s what you need right now. Your head hurts. You don’t have the capacity to deal with anything more.

You want something straightforward and easy to digest. Onigiri Miya it is, then.

“‘Miya speakin’. What can I get ya?”

It’s a pleasantly accented voice. When you rattle off your order, you suddenly find it a little less pleasant after he says, “Er. Ya sure?”

This is some shoddy customer service.

“I’m placing the order, aren’t I?”

“Those two don’t normally go together,” he says. “I’d suggest number nine and number thirteen instead. Trust me.”

You don’t trust him, actually. This is probably just an upselling tactic he tries on every customer, but you’re not in the mood to argue. You had thought when you called a family owned restaurant, you’d be speaking to some kindly old grandma who might let you cry and vent into the receiver for just a little while, not whoever this is.

At least the delivery is quick.

A series of sharp raps on your door alerts you to the arrival. You pull it open to a man in a baseball cap and a uniform with onigiris on both. Their merch is cute. You’d wear it unironically.

Underneath the cap, yellow blonde hair peeks out. On his shirt, a name tag reads Miya.

Instantly, you feel a little worse for thinking poorly of him. Your bad attitude from work is no reason to take it out on this hardworking entrepreneur who’s running a one man show by himself.

“Here ya go,” he says, thrusting a paper bag at you. “Eat it while it’s hot!”

And then he’s off, scampering back down the stairs instead of taking the elevator even though you’re several floors up. You suppose there’s a reason he has those thighs.

That the food is good is an understatement.

Your former coworker Aiko used to work in food advertising before she pivoted. She loved to talk about how fake the industry was during lunch, both in terms of people and actual product. It’s through her that you know that half of the food in commercials aren’t actually food, but styrofoam and plastic painted to look appetizing.

Onigiri Miya, in contrast, doesn’t look perfect. Appetizing, certainly, but not like a work of art. It just looks like what it is - a ball of rice with special ingredients for flavor.

So why are you crying as you finish your first onigiri and reach for the next?

It’s been so long since you had a home cooked meal. You’re trying not to be maudlin, but you can almost taste the love that went into everything you’re eating. Imagining Miya carefully packing each triangular ball of rice by hand with a smile has you reaching for another, then another, until eventually the entire order is gone before you know it.

Exhausted from crying and eating, you sink into your couch with a satisfied sigh and fall asleep.

It’s 1:30 P.M. by the time you rise again, feeling a little better. Sleep really was the cure to all evils. Now you have 20 hours left to indulge yourself as much as possible.

You’re not in the mood to turn off your brain by binge watching a show. You want to do something. You want to use your hands to craft something from scratch.

Learning how to make onigiri could be a start. A quick run to the grocery store and the first recipe that popped up on Google later, you have a half formed, crumbling mound of rice with pickled radish shoved inside. If you squint, it looks almost like what you got from Onigiri Miya this morning.

Who are you kidding?

That’s an insult to Miya’s craft. He put so much care into each dish - you can hardly compare your shoddy workmanship to his. There’s only one thing to do. You have to taste the real thing again to see where you went wrong.

“Miya. What d'ya want to order?”

“I’d like-“

“Hold up. Didn’t ya call this morning?”

Flustered, you nearly fumble your phone. You’re breathless as you clutch is tighter and bring it back to your ear. “Yeah,” you admit sheepishly. “Is that bad?”

“I mean, yeah, a little,” Miya says. “I appreciate the business but ya shouldn’t be eatin’ onigiri for two meals a day. Yer going to make yerself sick.”

“It’s a special day,” you tell him. “I got laid off.”

In the resounding silence that follows, you have ample time to berate yourself for sharing that. What is wrong with you? Why would you say that? He’s a stranger that you’ve randomly dumped your misery onto and you’re sure he’s -

“Ouch,” he says. “‘Kay, I’ll make an exception just for today. What’s yer order?”

Miya shows up at your door promptly. He’s ditched the cap so his yellow hair is on full display. It looks like he’s run his hands through it. It sticks up at odd angles.

“Here ya go,” he says, almost distractedly as he hands you your bag. “Enjoy.”

You bring the bag inside and start rummaging through it immediately, excited to try new flavors you hadn’t gotten the first time around. Out comes the four onigiri you had ordered, a cup of miso soup, and…

A little takeout container of sushi with a cat’s face drawn on it. A speech bubble next to its head reads, “You can do it, meow!”

Laughter echoes around your apartment. To your surprise, the world feels less daunting already. You hadn’t realized how quiet you had been the entire morning. Miya’s the only person you’ve spoken to the entire day, and even that was a quick and whispered thank you. Your throat almost hurts with the force of your giggles after disuse all morning, but it’s a good kind of pain.

Onigiri Miya, family owned. You can almost feel the warmth of an embrace around you as you bite into your steaming onigiri, still a little too hot.

All too soon, it becomes a tradition for you to order Onigiri Miya as your comfort meal. It doesn’t even have to be a bad day - you actively try to avoid associating things you like with painful feelings by using them as treats for hard days. Instead, Onigiri Miya is anything from a reward for getting to the second round of interviews or a celebration for successfully starting a new hobby.

Onigiri has become your favorite food, and the person on the other line who takes your orders and even spares a few minutes to chat with you when it’s not too busy has quickly become someone irreplaceable in your life.

You think you might need to redownload Tinder if you’re this attached to the man who fulfills your onigiri orders.

Even though you know it’s strange, you can’t bring yourself to sever your connection. Miya is warm and kind, and you’ve quickly come to think of him as a friend. It’s a culmination of lots of little moments piling up over time.

When you had forced yourself to go on your first date after a while, determined to get back out there, it had crashed and burned catastrophically. Onigiri Miya had been there to pick you back up. Miya had even recognized the sniffles in your voice that you were fighting and drawn you another little cat.

The next time you had ordered, before you could even tell him what onigiri you wanted, Miya had asked you what happened last week. Maybe that’s just how family owned businesses are. They actually care about their customers. Enough so to play therapist to the girl that orders from you every week.

Then there was the time you had gotten your first call back for a job application, and you had called Miya to celebrate.

Well, not Miya. You didn’t have his personal number, but you had called Onigiri Miya, which is more or less the same thing at the moment. This time, he had been the one to be interrupted as you blurred out your good news.

You can almost hear the smile in his voice when he says, “What’d I tell ya? I knew ya could do it.”

There’s no container of sushi with a hand drawn cat this time, but there is a little note written on a napkin. It’s accompanied by an origami star.

You don’t cry, exactly, but your eyes water up as you read the note. He’s proud of you. The star is to wish you luck on your continued journey. The knowledge that he’s proud - his own words - fuels you as you keep applying and interviewing, never letting rejection stop you.

He’s just the guy that takes your onigiri order, but at some point, he’s become someone special to you.

He cares. He spends an extra two minutes on the phone with you to ask about your day even when you can hear the sounds of a busy environment in the background. He remembers your accomplishments and failures. Whether you fall or rise, he’s there with you every step of the way.

Sometimes, you get a fluttery feeling in your stomach when he laughs at you, calling you silly for whatever mistake you’re relying to him. You miss his voice when you don’t have an occasion to call, and when something happens, your first thought is always to tell him about it.

Maybe he feels the same way, because the next time he comes to deliver your order, he tells you, “We’ve known each other long enough, ya order every week. I don’t like being called Miya. My name’s Atsumu.”

Or maybe not, because he never treats you in person the way he does on the phone. There’s no spark of connection, no bright laughter, no willingness to linger, to stay, to listen.

Perhaps he’s just shy. In that case, you’re willing to take what he’s offered you and make the first move.

The next time you order, you end the call with, “Thanks, Atsumu. I’ll talk to-“

There’s an abrupt interruption from the other end immediately.

“What’d ya call me?” His voice sounds funny.

“…Atsumu?”

Even when you’re confused, the sound of his belly deep laughter makes you feel all shivery from your toes to your head. It makes your joints feel weak, like they can’t support you, and you ease into the dining chair as you wait patiently for whatever laughing fit that’s gripped him to pass.

“Atsumu,” he repeats, with another snort of laughter. “Atsumu, really?”

“What?”

“Ya know Onigiri Miya’s a five minute walk from yer place, right?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Come here,” he says, and hangs up.

When you enter Onigiri Miya, you get instant whiplash. There’s two of them!

You’re just wondering if you should get your eyes checked when you start seeing the subtle differences. They have different hair colors, and their eyes are just the subtlest shades apart.

The most discerning difference is the way the one with grey hair is looking at you.

“There’s the girl of the hour,” Atsumu says. “I’ll leave ya to it.”

When Atsumu leaves, Miya gestures for you to sit at the bar in front of him. He’s still packing onigiri.

“I’m a little hurt, ya know. Can’t believe ya mistook me for my twin.”

“It was an accident!” You protest. “How was I supposed to know?”

“I’m teasin’ ya,” he says, laughing. “Yer so easy to rile up. Remember this, okay? I’m Osamu. The nicer brother.”

“I heard that,” Atsumu yells from the back.

“Atsumu’s just the delivery guy,” he says. There’s a twinkle in his eye. You don’t think it’s that funny, but you like seeing him mirthful. “I’d rather make the food than deal with the people, so he does it.”

“Am I part of the people?”

He gives you a look.

“Stop fishing for compliments,” he says, and your cheeks grow warm with delight. “Ya know ya aren’t.”

“Here,” he says, sliding you a napkin with a series of numbers and a hand drawn picture of a cat. “I’ve been meaning to do this for a while.”

By the cat’s head, the speech bubble reads, “Miya Osamu’s personal number.” The cat is winking at you.

“Is this…?”

He smiles at you. “Stop clogging up the line cause ya miss me-“

“I don’t-“

He ignores you. “I got a business to run, ya know? Just call me next time.”

Then, he leans over the bar. He’s too close. Your cheeks feel warm under his attention as he whispers to you, “I’ll make something just for ya, compliments of the chef.”

Trying to recover, you swallow to bring moisture to your dry mouth. You’re trying to be playful when you say, “It’s a date, then?”

He looks at you with a hint of a smile. “It is.”

#sera writes #miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #miya osamu fluff #hq fluff #haikyuu fluff

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vintagehellfire · 5 months

Text

Danse Macabre | E.M x Reader

summary: Your best friend invites you to a concert that you're less than keen on but you get much more devil worship than you bargained for.

warnings: porn without plot, plot? What plot?, choking, nipple play, blood play, bruising, oral (m receiving), sacrilege, bdsm, dom sub dynamics, just really stupid horny honestly. Eyefucking, teasing, edging???? Spit kink, mask kink, devil worship. This is just pure filth honestly, piv, unprotected sex (don’t do this with strangers ya’ll pls I’m begging) mdni 18+

word count: 8.6k

Thank you to @the-unforgivenn for beta reading this pure filth for me and for correcting my atrocious keystroke mistakes. I love you so much babe.

part two

How you got dragged to some sort of musical satanic ritual by your best friend Lilly was far beyond you. The heavy instrumentals contrasted too harshly with the light and theatrical vocals. If looks could kill, Lilly would be dead. This wasn’t your scene, it never would be, it’s what you told yourself. Sipping your gin, arms crossed, you scrunch your face, the bartender having been too busy staring at your chest while he poured your drink, resulting in a rather disgusting concoction. As if the night couldn’t get any worse.

One of the lighter intro songs came to an end before the pyrotechnics roared to life next to you, one of the guitarists emerged from behind the waft of smoke. It was then that your breath caught in your throat, the way that he played had you hypnotised, placing you in a trance so deep that you couldn’t tear your eyes from him even if you wanted to, veins protruding. Your eyes trailed over his body, tight jeans fitting to his body and a uniform dress shirt adorning his torso, long sleeves and turtleneck underneath, hiding any soft skin. As you would be met with a face, you were surprised to find that you were met with a helmet of sorts, breathing tubes and other such accessories adorning it, as well as sticking out the top. His eyes burned red like embers behind the wide goggles, a darkness swallowing the man behind the mask and drawing you in. Curiosity got the better of you, you watched closely when he stomped to the beat of the songs. he fans collectively let out a wave of screams, throwing flowers on stage. You rolled your eyes so hard they probably should have rolled out of your head. Were you attracted to the masked musician? In some capacity sure, but wholly? No. They just… they knew how to play well and those hands… you could admit those hands were something. You shook your head to rid yourself of impure thoughts, it wasn’t like you liked the music anyway.

Your face was stone cold and your arms were crossed over your chest unhappily, cleavage pushed up, and the leather of your jacket creaking. That was the thing about you, you’d rather die than remove your prized biker jacket. It was your battle armour, much like the guitarists get up seemed to be the band’s uniform. To them, it protected their identity, and it protected you – you wouldn’t be caught off guard, you wouldn’t be vulnerable, you couldn’t. Your icy stare pierced through the smoke, through the flames, as you focused your gaze on the guitarist in front of you. His white guitar distinguished him from everyone else just as your expression did you –perfectly sour.

The crowd behind you chanted along to the songs, screaming about Lucifer and the congregation and whatever other shit you chose to ignore in favour of your best friend. Lilly was one of them, jumping up and down, chanting every word of the hymns the lead singer belted out to the tune of the strong bass line and the chugging of guitars. As much as you wanted her to have fun, you rolled your eyes, this wasn’t your scene. Every song that started out heavy led to a disappointment with the vocals or the rock opera and so you just opted to be the designated party pooper and give your best glare towards the lead guitarist who seemed all too interested in your corner of the stage. He wailed on his guitar harder than you’d seen anyone wail on one before, a flash of worry briefly crossing your mind but you quickly pushed it down.

The masked man played through his songs flawlessly, fingers moving expertly across the fretboard, mind and body completely in tandem; however your pout, your knit eyebrows, and crossed arms caught his eye, he’d stare back at you through his tinted goggles, smiling softly to himself at how adorable you looked when you were so grumpy. He could tell this wasn’t your scene and so during the slow and long intro to a song he walked over to the very front, standing just a few feet above you. He tilted his head to the side, his mask listing as he stared, playing the intro as his eyes never left yours.

The small movement caught your attention, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as you felt like the glowing embers behind the goggles were burning into your very soul, dissecting every little secret. He slowly points to himself before he gets his queue to jump into his next riffs, stomping away as he pushed through the heavy chords that thundered through the concert hall. You dared not admit it to yourself, but something inside you snapped, a warmth starting to spread between your legs. No, no you couldn’t possibly be attracted to this, right? But just as that thought entered your mind, it shot out of your head and straight to your heart when you saw the man before you strut over to his bandmate. The two bent over backwards together, the taller of the two supporting the back of the man with the white guitar. A cute moment, or so you thought, but as soon as the shorter was up for his solo, the taller wrapped an arm around him and pawed at his cock, tugging him into his muscled body, catching the one you had your eye on off guard. He rocked his hips into the other and rested his masked head on the shorter shoulder, fake panting. He did not falter however, and that had your brain reeling.

With a small smack on the ass, the taller let him go, strutting away as the crowd erupted in ear shattering screeches, and if what had just transpired wasn’t one of the hottest things you’d seen, you would have absolutely rolled your eyes, but instead it had you shifting in your place, all too keenly aware of the small flare of heat that lapped at you and the proximity of the other bodies surrounding you. You suddenly felt small, trapped; and you wanted nothing more than to run out and dunk your head under some ice cold water. What was wrong with you? Your eyes darted from side to side, hoping your best friend Lilly wouldn’t notice.

What went on next was just about to make anyone lose their minds, the lead guitarist started to throw guitar picks into the crowd, plucking one last one from his guitar and marching over to directly in front of you. The song they played next was clearly well known but it was only vaguely familiar to you, it was one you would listen to ironically while doing the dishes, one that you didn’t care much for, but was catchy nonetheless. What you didn’t realise was just how suggestive the lyrics were – and so when the man with the white guitar stood in front of you, spreading his legs to put himself in a more comfortable playing stance you thought nothing about it but his next motions had your panties soaking themselves in your slick. A long and crooked finger pointed to himself quickly, then he went back to wailing on his precious guitar just before giving himself a window of about a second to stop, his ring and middle finger very rapidly turned upwards, flicking rapidly as if motioning fingering you, his goggles deadlocked on your eyes. You could tell he was watching you for a reaction, and how you knew you wouldn’t be able to tell. Christ, maybe you should have listened to Lilly when she was telling you this band was horny. Truthfully, you had shrugged it off, what, some singer in a pope mask acting all horny? That didn’t exactly get your rocks off, but the moment you laid eyes on the masked men playing their instruments, all rational thought flew out the window.

Little did you know that the guitarist did have his eyes set on you, all queues already learned, his body moving on auto pilot, his performance was deliberately exaggerated just for you, his motions tailored to get you hot and bothered. He knew he played the best role, and as the show went on, with the lack of water, and the horrid head, he knew his veins were pronouncing themselves even more, fingers sliding around, fingering the fretboard with an expert speed. Every nook, cranny, and metal notch memorised by the calluses on the pads of his fingers, like an old lover he’d always know how to please. He would pride himself on it, on his accuracy, and he was thankful, oh so thankful, that his death metal band had allowed him the dexterity to pull something such as this off.

Your eyes couldn’t tear themselves away from his figure, stalking his every move like a predator with their prey, A game of cat and mouse you both played with each other from the stage and the crowd. At this point, all shame was thrown out the window and you were openly eye fucking him, blood boiling in your veins and mouth starting to run a little dry.

The final nail in the coffin was during their heaviest song during the show, a calm moment before the storm, before the stadium exploded in a downpour of black and white paper confetti. Your eyes fixated on the man before you as the song slows to a steady chug, breathy whispers sung into the microphones. It made your head spin as you were trying to compose yourself, breath hitching as the object of your lustful affection met your gaze. His black inky goggles bored you as he brought a shaky hand up, his other hand chugging the low E of his guitar. You were transfixed by the man, unable to peel your eyes from him as he slowly and seductively licked his hand, tongue expertly flicking between his fingers, his shaky breaths becoming ragged and exaggerated. Pressing his hand to his chest, he threw his head back in a moan, sliding his elegant fingers down the front of his uniform until it was level with his guitar, and exactly in time with his strumming, he fisted his hand and with a teasing motion he tugged at the air. Your mouth ran completely dry as you registered that he was feigning masturbation in front of thousands of people. He had you caught in a trance, hypnotised by his agonising motions, his eyes seemingly staring into your very soul, picking apart every last bit of you - he saw the scars inside and your desires all rolled into one. As his actions picked up, one hand still busy on his guitar, you let out a choked breath, transfixed by the man, ghoul, whatever he was, before you. He commanded all your attention, causing your mouth to run completely dry but it couldn’t have prepared you for his “release”-- letting go the moment the confetti cannon exploded. Your jaw slacked, a strangled moan flying from your mouth as you clenched your thighs together, mouth slightly agape.

The guitarist knew he had you in a chokehold at that very moment, smirking from underneath his coverings. Flawlessly he jumped back into the song and turned away from you, the game of cat and mouse had become too much, too real. It had only taken him an hour and a half to break you down, but once he did he felt a satisfaction he couldn’t explain, and of course he would try to hide it as he continued to strut across the stage as if he owned it. The reality was that he didn’t want to give away just the way this little game had affected him as well, an undeniable strain in his lower half. If his bandmates had noticed, they had clearly made it their mission to torture him, the rhythm guitarist getting on his knees in front of him during a solo, fucking into his own guitar as he pressed his head to the lead guitarists thigh. It wasn’t until the lead placed a boot on his shoulder to push away from him that the one on his knees relented, the crowd exploding in a rain of screams, and yet all you heard was the rush of blood in your ears. You resigned, the game had been won.

As you tried to catch your breath, you looked over to Lilly, thanking Satan that she hadn’t noticed your turmoil. The rest of the show had you holding your breath, knowing that the masked musician had made it his mission to play games with you. the show ended, you were relieved, you might have a moment yet to go home and get yourself off, forgetting the whole of the events that transpired.

“Come on, let’s get out of here and to the merch table before it gets too crowded!” Lilly cheered, sticking her handout for you to take, but as soon as she looked over your face her eyes drained of excitement. “Oh, are you okay? You look a little pale,” she noted, tilting her head to the side.

“Y-yeah, I,” You cleared your throat, “I’m fine, just feeling a little warm. I think I might head home but you go grab some merch. I’ll text you,” you lied cooly. You didn’t want her to know the profound effect that the lead guitarist had on you. With a nod she gave your shoulder a squeeze and darted off.

You could finally breathe, the suffocation that gripped at your throat just moments earlier had slightly dissipated. As dirty as your thoughts were at the moment, it was in your best interest to get moving, and so, as if on autopilot, you let your feet carry you as far from the stage as possible. You slipped past the crowd, weaving in and around groups of friends, teenagers reeling about the show, displeased parents. You wanted to beeline it out of there before anyone noticed you but unfortunately your plan was short lived as you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist and tug you behind a closed door.

Your brain ran at a mile a minute, trying to figure out whether it was cause for alarm, but as your back collided with the wall behind you, you were met with the masked ghoul from the stage pressing his knee between your legs, pinning you in place. All colour drained from your face as your breathing laboured. There wasn’t any fear in your body, not any longer, and if there had been any,it had been replaced with undeniable arousal, heat being sent straight to your core. It took all your willpower not to grind into his thigh.

“Hey, sweetheart.” The husky voice purred, a small accent peaking through. He smelled intoxicating, like amber and cigarettes, a tinge of iron poking through in the softest of undertones. It drove you crazy, mind spinning, dizzy with want. He cocks his head to the side, his nautical mask tilting, the black goggles seemingly bottomless, swallowing his eyes. The musician’s expression is completely unreadable and if you knew any better you’d say it was like a predator who had caught his prey. Your mistake was thinking the little game you both played was over, yet now it seems like it had just begun. The man leans into you, invading your space completely, his covered mouth coming up beside your ear. “Oh you thought our little game was over, didn’t you?” He pulls back, allowing your caged body some space. “Don’t think I didn’t see you, little one.” His sweet voice purrs, setting you over the edge, hips finally pushing into his leg as your head tilts back, smacking softly into the wall.

“Fuck…” The syllable leaves your mouth as a groan before you can do anything about it. Surely you were dreaming this, but when you opened your eyes, you were met with the same mask, the same expression that stared at you from the stage.

“If that’s what you want, sweetheart, I’ll have to bring you to the green room. We’ll paint it red in sin .” You swore you could hear him wink from behind his coverings but you didn’t care, satan, you didn’t care as long as you could have him. You’d worship him in uniform, all sweat slicked and bloody if you had to. In this moment you had a one track mind and you’d be damned if you didn’t act on your desires… but maybe having these desires meant that you were already damned. “What, not as bold anymore? Devil got your tongue?” He mused.

“Are you going to run your mouth or are you going to fuck me?” You spit out at him, a feigned venom behind your words, but they were too lust drenched to be taken harshly. In an instant his body was against yours, thigh pressing into your cunt, slowly rubbing back and forth.

“Earn it.” He growled out, face burying itself into the crook of your neck to pepper both kisses and love bites across your jugular. Your body caught fire, desperate to be taken by the mysterious man then and there. You hadn’t seen his face and you were mildly worried that seeing it would ruin the illusion. Would you even find him attractive under all his coverings? You didn’t have time to think about it before his hands came to the meat of your ass, tugging you against him with a burning desire, fire coursing through his veins. The strangled moan that ripped from your throat was one you weren’t expecting, but did it ever feel right, his strained cock digging into your hips as he pushed your body closer to his. You could tell he was well endowed even through the fabric of his trousers, a heat creeping up your neck at this realisation.

“Don’t tease.” You spat, hands coming up to grip his slightly torn jacket, his arm coverings hiding any identifiers. You were going off of nothing aside from the little fire element pin that was securely pinned to the lapel of his uniform. Your hands found themselves tugging him forward, daring him to kiss you.

“Don’t be a brat.” The stranger growled, swiftly lowering the cloth covering his mouth before assaulting your lips with his. It was all teeth and tongues, pure lust taking over every one of your senses, and it seemed to be true for him as well. You kissed back furiously, nipping at his bottom lip, eliciting a gasp from him that would turn into a groan as you rolled your hips against his, begging for some relief. “Easy, pet.” He muttered against the plushness of your mouth, a small tender moment slipping through the cracks. As much as you enjoy rough, there was a certain swell that filled your heart in knowing that he wouldn’t push too far.

Your escapades were all tongue, teeth, and lips, strangled moans, and tugging at each other’s clothes until you both reached the green room wherethe band was supposed to be, however, your mystery man had ensured to clear it before he went out to find you. The only time either one of you broke from one another was for air or to push the door closed, locking it in the process. Both of you were too impatient, a carnal desire for one another pooling into your veins, fire spreading through you both and kindling in that very low spot in your abdomens.

“If you need me to stop, the safe word is Beelzebub.” The man’s husky voice cut through the groans, tugging your hips forward into his by the belt loops. He gave you a moment to process what he had said, but instead you grabbed onto his mask and tugged his head forward, lapping at his bottom lip in order to gain access to his mouth. As soon as he parted his lips, you were welcomed by his tongue dancing in tandem with yours. He tasted of wintergreen and cigarette smoke, a combination so sinful, so depraved that you should have been turned off, instead it flooded you with desire.

“Need you.” You panted out between kisses, the man unrelenting his assault on your mouth. You were utterly soaked through, and you were certain that the musician could smell you but you didn’t care, not right now anyway. You should have been embarrassed by being taken like this but it just turned you on even more knowing that maybe you would get to live out your newly discovered kink instead of trying to soothe — or smother — the flames by yourself.

“Do you need me?” The man mused. “Mmm, prove it to me, my little devil.” His hand crept from your waist down to your hips, and from your hips down to between your legs, agonizingly circling your cunt, thumb pressing into the seam of your jeans in the exact spot your clit would be in. “Show me how needy you are for me… Go on…” His husky voice teased. When you didn’t react he spun you so your back would be to him, a strong arm holding you against his body while the other busied himself with teasing you. His breath was by your ear now, and his cock pressed into your ass. He was so worked up that he began to rut his hips forward, moaning at the friction. His moan elicited a reaction in you, causing you to throw your head back onto his shoulder, mouth falling open. The tassels on his overcoat swayed with each rut of his hips, tickling the side of your face. You couldn’t imagine he wasn’t warm in his get up but you were too occupied to do anything about it.

“Please, fuck, I need you.” You choked out, eyes screwed shut as he teased. You felt him lick a stripe up your neck before nipping just underneath your ear as a small warning before latching his lips to the sensitive spot, sucking a dark bruise into your skin. The sickening combination of his lips on your neck, his hard on rubbing against your ass, and his fingers teasing your clothed cunt was becoming too much, driving your senses crazy. A low growl emanated from deep within his chest, reverberating across your back from the proximity.

“Then get down on your knees….” He spins you around, voice low and husky as he shoves you down, a mix of fear and burning desire settling in the deepest pits of your stomach. Your knees hit the ground with a thud and you’d be sure to bruise later, but that was a small price to pay. You watched him undo his belt and pull his zipper down before bringing his hand back up to his face, licking it slowly like he had during the show. You knew what was coming but what you didn’t expect was him to give you one last order as he spidered his fingers down the ruffled fabric of his shirt. “And pray.” An animalistic snarl came from beyond the mask as his fingers trailed into his boxers this time. The man tugged his cock out and began to stroke himself, chest heaving, his breathing became laboured.

“Oh, god.” You uttered, but the musician didn’t seem to like that. He let go of his cock, allowing it to bounce against his stomach, a stark contrast with his black attire. It looked delicious with the little opalescent bead of precum nestled on the very tip.

“No, my pet,” he purred, his thumb coming to your lips, slipping past them and into your mouth. It tasted of brass and sweat yet you opted to hollow your cheeks around it anyway, “you answer to our savior, satanus here. You are no longer in the house of god.” There was a cruelty behind his voice, corruption on his tongue. You would have thought the theatrics would have instantly had you shoving him away, but instead it left you craving the masked man, mouth salivating at the thought of him completely ruining you.

Without much warning, he tapped his cock on your lips, his precum smudging across your lips, and satanus, was it going to be his death. Your dark smudge of red lipstick would become ruins in the wake, the thought of a red ring around his member had his brain short circuiting, if you didn’t take him in your mouth soon he was going to lose it. Luckily you complied, opening wide to accommodate his size, letting your tongue lap at his tip as he slid in. He started slowly, almost carefully in order not to hurt you but soon enough you pushed his cock to the back of your throat, eliciting a strangled moan from him. His hands flew to your hair, desperate to hold onto something, anything, and he tugged you forward, pulling a moan from the very back of your throat. You pulled back, saliva building up in your mouth mixing with the salty taste of his seed.It wasn’t something you expected to like but you found yourself chasing it, craving more.

Your head bobbed over his length, your moans muffled as you tried to take him deeper, his tip brushing the back of your throat. His delicate resolve broke then and there, slamming into you at a frantic pace. He chased his high, immense pleasure searing through his veins as he fucked into your mouth like an animal, all sense of self control was gone. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, giving him the most innocent look you could muster as you flicked your tongue over his tip, lapping at his slit. Agonisingly you pulled back, employing the aid of your hand around his length, taking only part of him in your mouth. You jacked him off as you hollowed your cheeks around his tip, tongue expertly flicking over his frenulum and eliciting the most pornographic moan from him.

“Satanus, save me.” The man hissed from above you, pulling on your hair to draw you closer. He was losing control, babbling about how pretty you looked on your knees for him. “You are so exquisitely sinful, my pet.” His chest heaved with every breath he took, fingers tangling themselves further into your head of hair, fingernails practically at your scalp.

You take the praise and you run with it, taking it as a signal to keep going, and this time you move your free hand up his leg, rubbing over his thigh as a tease, a preamble to what you were going to do next. You took his groan as a confirmation to continue, his breaths coaxing you to keep going. You slid your hand up, opting to rub his thigh teasingly, savouring the feeling of the looser material under your fingertips, toying with it before you continued your journey up. While your mouth and right hand busied themselves with his thick cock, your left hand came up to fondle his heavy balls. Who knew that praying to a false idol could be so pleasurable.

“Oh, oh, f-fuck.” The taller threw his head back, voice gruff and fucked out, clearly enjoying this more than he should have been. He was rapidly losing any grip on the situation and he needed to extract himself from it unless he wanted to spill into your mouth. It was his nightmare, his most sinful fantasy, having you like this after the show – a stranger, a person in the crowd. The amount of people that would absolutely kill to be in your position and it was likely that you weren’t appreciating it as you should have been. The man keened before tugging you back harshly, his hips stuttering at the sudden loss of contact from your mouth. “If you keep going like that, I’m going to cum down your throat, sweetheart.” There was a certain level of concern laced into his tone, one that you glossed over through your lust.

“Holy shit…” You breathe out, pupils completely blown, the colours of your irises practically disappearing due to how clouded your mind was with him, only him, nothing but him, and how divine his cock was. At your words, something inside him snaps and he grabs your throat, pulling you up. You could feel yourself growing more aroused by the minute. How he had guessed that you’d be into choking was beyond you, but fuck was this doing things to you that you hadn’t even thought possible.

“There is nothing Holy here.” He growled out, a darkness overtaking his voice. His words sent a cold shiver down your spine, one that found itself shooting down towards your core, causing you to press to him. The ember glow from behind his goggles scanned over your face, flickering, igniting a fire in the bits of your belly. “Here we succumb to our lust.” He breathes before letting your neck go only to bring his hand down to your chest and massage your breast, pinching gently through the fabric of your tank top. In an instant, his mouth attacked your neck savagely, teeth nipping at the thin skin, tongue flicking over the bites to soothe them. You tilt your head back to accommodate him, your breathy moans coming up right beside his ear as you rut into him. You’re desperate to be fucked at this point, needing him more than you need to breathe.

He pierced your skin with his canines, an animalistic desire for you taking over him. He could no longer think, all consumed by his desires. You felt his lips trail down, soft as a butterfly’s wings, stopping at your jugular vein before he bit down, causing you to let out a yelp. Your cry of pain turned into a pornographic moan as he sucked and lapped at your salty skin, a small sheen of sweat starting to gloss over you as you burned up. If this was what being in hell was like, you’d have a hard time coming up with reasons to wind up in heaven. Your torture didn’t end there; however, as he snaked his free hand up to your cheek, holding you in place tenderly as he continued his assault on your neck. He made it his mission to mark you up as his but you were too far gone to care.

“Oh Christ.” You moaned as he lapped at the bite marks he left, but he didn’t seem to like this. Not that you could see this much, but his eyes turned dark as he trailed his lips farther down, burying his face in the crook of your neck before he bit down hard enough to draw blood. Your pain was immediately covered in a strangled cry of pure ecstasy as he tugged you towards him, his hand on your breast moving to your hip, surely bruising it, fingerprint embedded in the skin of your hip bone.

The taste of iron filled the musician’s mouth, his hard on reacting to your metallic taste, pressing into your hip involuntarily. He couldn’t get enough of you - the intoxicating smell of amber and palo santo mixed with the salt from sweat, and the citrus of the gin… He wanted to ruin you once and for all.

“No, my pet, you are not in the house of God. Only the devil resides here. Will I need to have you pray to me again?” The growl that ripped from his throat has you soaking your lace panties, a choked sob escaping from your parted lips. As he took you in, he noted that you already looked completely fucked out, the bruising on your neck blooming like deep red roses, a symbol of both love and devotion. The only thing you could do was shake your head in answer to him. “Mmm,” the stranger hummed, “your body and blood are mine, sweetheart.” He teased you. As your chest heaved, you examined him, traces of your blood down his chin, and some smeared across his mask, his lips were swollen from the harsh and animalistic kisses he was giving you, and satanus were you ever attracted to him in this moment.

“Please… Can I see you?” You plead, your hands coming to his waist, trailing down slowly, your right hand making contact with his cock. The soft cant of his hips encouraged you to grip it gently, stroking him languidly as you await his answer. “Please…” You repeated, eyes desperately boring into the void behind his goggles.

“Oh, is my little pet desperate to see me?” He cooed out, his fingers skillfully finding your belt, undoing it at a painfully slow pace. It was your turn to buck your hips into him, rolling them into his touch. “Mmm, such a little slut, can’t wait until I get my hands on you, can you?” He teased.

“Satanus, yes, please! Wanna see you.” You groaned, breath catching as he slowly teased you through your jeans. “Need you, need- need- ah!” You cried, throwing your head back once again, eyes fluttering shut from absolute pleasure. It’s then that the man opted to unzip your fly, pausing his animalistic activities to gently tug your jeans over your hips. You weren’t having any of this slow and sweet shit; however, and kicked them off as soon as you got the chance to, allowing him easier access to your sopping cunt. The smell hit him immediately and he moaned, head falling against your forehead, his breathing ragged and strained. His cock reacted, bouncing in your hand and you continued your teasing.

“Then beg me for it, pet. I don’t think you’ve earned the opportunity to unmask me just yet.” His resolve crumbled with every soft touch, every stroke. He pushed into your hand and you took that as a sign to speed your motions before you pushed him back. Confusion was written across his features, that was until you let a healthy glob of spit hit his angry cock. “Oh mother fuck.” The man hissed out, crashing his bloodied lips into your own, allowing the metallic taste of your own blood to permeate your tongue. You reciprocated, tongue swiping across his bottom lip, begging for entrance. He parted his lips, granting you access, as he swiftly moved your panties to the side, his thick fingers slipping between your weeping folds. It took everything in him to not take you then and there, your pussy sucking his fingers in, tight and wet.

“Please, please, I need to see you.” You sobbed out between kisses, but it was clear that it wasn’t enough. The musician growled at your words, dipping his index into your slick and using it as a lubricant to tease your clit with, it took him a moment but he found the bundle of nerves. The instanthis calloused finger landed on your clit, your vision exploded into stars, mouth practically running on its own, incoherent pleas and various iterations of “more” tumbling from your swollen lips. You were finally giving him something to work with, the pleas, the praises. He continued working your cunt, curling his fingers into the sweet spot deep inside you, warm walls squeezing against him.

“Oh, darling. I’ll give you whatever your sinful heart desires.” He nipped at your bottom lip, splitting it with his canines before he pulled back, panting as he tried to catch his breath, however he refused to remove his hand from your cunt, slowing his movements only a fraction so that he could catch his bearings. “Are you sure?” He asked you, a worry laced in his voice. You nodded fervently, a saccharine look in your eyes peeking through beyond the undeniable lust. Whether you understood he was anxious about what you would think of him or not wasn’t apparent but regardless, you wanted to know who the man you were bound to fuck was.

With a swift move he tugged the mask off, tossing it to the couch behind him and removing his balaclava. What you hadn’t expected was the sight to take your breath away completely. His hair tumbled out of the bun he had it tucked into, and the messy curls cascaded down his shoulders, doe eyes framed by the prettiest eyelashes you’d ever seen, and his swollen lips? God you couldn’t even think anymore. You immediately kissed them, nipping at his lips, taking his bottom lip into your mouth and sucking, tearing a moan from him, his lust filled eyes expanding even farther as you continued your assault on his lips. You bit down harder this time, cracking his lip. This time the metallic taste belonged to him and you couldn’t help but moan at his taste. You needed more.

“Please, I- I need you…” You panted, eyeing the man with carnal desire.

“Eddie, my name is Eddie.” And with that final confession he grabbed you by the hip and dragged you back to the roomiest surface he could find. It was all teeth, tongue, and the metallic taste of each other’s blood. Your hand on his cock and his fingers still working you open, movements becoming more erratic as he practically drilled into you with his fingers, setting an unrelenting pace that he seemed eager to keep up. Your knees hit the back of a couch, and his arm immediately shot to the small of your back, gently lowering you, a contrast to how he was abusing your needy body. Your hands moved to his hair in preparation for what was to come, yanking at his soft locks, releasing a deep moan from low in his chest. His hair was silky underneath your fingertips, few tangles in the way or your mission.

“Eddie, please.” You whined, flush with desire, unable to think of what you wanted anymore than wanting him. A smirk adorned his lips and he sank his knees onto the soft cushion, knees bracketing your hips perfectly, his hands coming up to frame your face, curls ticking your cheekbones as he did so.

“Open up, sweetheart.” He cooed. Instinctively you parted your lips for him only to feel a glob of his spit fly into your mouth. “Now swallow like the good devil worshipping slut you are.” You obeyed without question, swallowing down his spit with a pornographic moan. As you did, he took a moment to line himself up for you. “God, you look so beautiful, blasphemous doesn’t even begin to cover it, pet.” He praised as he rubs his dick against your soaked entrance, your hips rocking into him, threatening to suck him in. He hissed but slid his hand down your body, tracing your figure with his fingers, teasing in the most tantalising way, once he reaches your ass, he gives it a harsh slap at which you gasp out, choking on your breath, the sting of his hand making contact with your ass radiating a heat you hadn’t thought possible. You hadn’t expected it in the least but it was welcome nonetheless. “Behave.” He growled out, a darkness seeping into the word.

“P-Please, Eds… I need - I can’t, please.” You babbled, words completely incoherent. You weren’t even sure what you were begging for at this point. His cock? His fingers? Were you asking to be fucked stupid? In all your incoherent ramblings and begging Eddie caught one thing that made his brain fuzzy around the edges. “Corrupt me satanus, corrupt me, please.” Playing into the whole devil worship aspect had him gone, his hips violently snapping into yours, completely disregarding that you might need to adjust to the stretch. Part of him felt bad, but your immediate response was to wrap your legs around his waist, crying his name out as tears brimmed your eyes, mascara beginning to run down your cheeks. To Eddie, you looked absolutely perfect. He leaned in and peppered kisses across your face to wipe away the tears that trickled down.

“S’this what you want, my little pet? You want me to ruin you?” His husky voice was in your ear as he dipped his head lower, his hips rolling into yours slowly. He moved masterfully for someone so scrawny, cock buried to the hilt as he rocked into you. Your mouth fell slack, tightening your legs around his waist and tugging him into you. “Come on, answer me, sweetheart.” He coaxed, pulling out of you slowly before snapping his hips into yours. The pleasure and pain mixed together in a teasing dance, keeping you on the edge and overwhelming your senses all the same. You couldn’t verbally answer and so you turned your head, tucking your face into his neck and kissing up to his ear. About halfway up you landed on a sensitive spot, causing a moan to tumble from his lips, a shiver running down your spine. You latched on like a vampire, sucking over the spot, lapping over it with your tongue to soothe any violent bites you inflicted upon him. In turn he bit into your shoulder, trying to ground himself in reality instead of losing himself to carnal pleasure, the coil in his abdomen tightening evermore. His plan had gone to shit the moment you continued to nibble on his neck, your hands tugging harder at his lock, pulling him further into you. With a slight upward tilt of your hips, Eddie hit a new angle when he snapped his hips into yours, ploughing deeper into you. The both of you moaned in unison before he released a strangled whimper. It was your turn to break skin, your mouth filled with the crimson substance that sustained Eddie’s life. Releasing your lips from the wound, you kissed over his neck and to his shoulder, smearing the fluid across his upper half.

His pace picked up, slamming into you, deeper and deeper, nothing but the sound of breathless lovers, bodies colliding, and the sweet ecstasy of carnal desire flooding the green room. Your hand then came to his back, scratching down it and eliciting a whine from the man above you.

“Please, please, please.” You chanted into his neck. It was as if he understood what you meant, his hand coming down between your joined bodies to rub over the bundle of nerves, little figure eights being drawn over your clit. You were going to lose your mind, and maybe even your soul. Would selling it to the devil be so bad? It didn’t take long after that for a white heat to build, a pressure that you weren’t used to building, the coil tightening, threatening to snap like an elastic band.

“Oh, shit, sweetheart, I’m close.” The man turned his head, kissing up your neck, over your cheek, and found your lips. His kiss was searing hot, burning with need. He chased his release with you, trying to bring you as close to the edge as he could, hoping you might be able to finish at the same time. “Don’t want to finish until you do.” The devil could be generous if he wanted to be.

“S’close.” You panted against his swollen lips, unable to give any coherent answer to him, not that you cared. If laying in sin felt this good, you’d bed the devil any day. “Please, Eds… Don’t stop.” And somehow he kept at it, the same pace, same pressure, same rough and unrelenting fuck that he had been using for the past few minutes. He knew that don’t stop also meant that he shouldn’t change a single fucking thing he was doing, and rightfully so. With a cry, you closed your eyes tight, lights dancing behind your eyelids as you came, the elastic finally snapping, and your release soaking Eddie’s stage uniform.

“Oh- fuck!” The man squeaked, his own release following shortly after. He could have sworn he saw stars in that moment, arms shaking beneath his own weight. His body fully collapsed on top of yours, your arms wrapping around him tightly, kisses tenderly placed on his shoulder. “So perfect f’me.” He mumbled into your sticky skin, reluctantly peeling from you. His brutal and domineering demeanour melted away, replaced by a certain level of care. You could see it behind his eyes clearly. “You okay, sweetheart?” He cooed, brushing your hair from your face, a few strands sticking to your forehead.

“Y-yeah.” You shakily breathe out, your voice hoarse from the activities that had just taken place. As you try to prop yourself up on your shoulders, you wince, a pain shooting through you. “Just sore.” You murmured, suddenly shy under the musician’s gaze. You didn’t dare look at him anymore, a twinge of shame filling your heart.

“Hey, sweetheart, come here.” He mumbled, scooting closer, not daring to pull out just yet. He pulls you up, legs entangled with each other in a pile of limbs, unsure of where one person ended and the other began. He pressed your warm body to his, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, rubbing soothing circles over your back, his gentle voice whispering sweet nothings to you.

“Thank you, Eddie.” You mumbled into his skin, placing a tender kiss over a forming bruise. “That was something else.” He hummed in agreement, allowing his eyes to flutter close for a second, letting himself enjoy a fleeting moment of human contact while he was on tour. While the guys were wonderful and he loved them to death, there was a certain intimacy that he missed in lovers. One that he didn’t indulge in as much these days.

Reluctantly, he pulled out and you pulled away, debating whether to say anything to him, or whether you wanted to indulge in some more pleasantries. If you were any wiser and more observant you’d have noticed the longing in his eyes, his gaze trailing over your figure as you pushed away to gather your belongings. It was odd to say that the musician would have wanted you to stick around for some more aftercare, it would have been even stranger if he admitted to you that he just wanted you to stick around post coitus and have a drink, maybe a smoke, and get to know each other.

“Hey, hang on, let me clean you up.” His voice softened, taking you aback. “Come on, pet, I’m not gonna leave you like this.” He gets up only to tuck himself back into his slick soaked uniform, cringing as he does so. He grabs a water bottle from the nearby table and a small cloth kept on the vanity in the far corner of the room. “Come on, just sit.” He motioned back over to the couch and watched as you hesitantly padded over. You sat down on the cleanest area you could find, squirming as you began to feel Eddie’s cum slipping out of you.

“S’fine, you don’t have to.” You mumbled, turning away from the man. He sighed as he approached you, sinking to his knees before starting to clean your thighs. He worked his way up between your legs, cleaning the leaking spend from your cunt. He placed a few gentle kisses to the tops of your thighs, your eyes flicking over to him as he did so. That was the moment you got a good look at the man. Dark ink littered his skin, barely an inch was pure, untouched, the only areas you couldn’t see his tattoos were the areas in which you had drawn blood, the dried fluid flaking slowly. He continued cleaning you up, rubbing gentle and warm circles with the wet cloth. Part of you couldn’t help but find this incredibly thoughtful, your heart squeezing at the gestures, but the other half of you believed that you were probably just an easy lay.

“Hush, yes I do. It’s the least I can do.” His doe eyes met yours as he looked up at you through his lashes. “I made a mess of you, darling, and I need to clean you up.” His voice was sincere, soft even, and you couldn’t help but melt. You allowed him to tend to your tired limbs, and once he got to your neck, he apologised, knowing that it would probably hurt. You couldn’t help but stare at the softness behind his eyes, the fire that burned within had fizzled out and was replaced by some unnamed emotion. As the towel made contact with your neck, you winced, earning yourself a kiss from the musician. It shocked you that even after the heat of the lustful moment he was still willing to kiss you but you accepted it, melting into his lips. They were soft, a little chapped, but inviting nonetheless.

“Thank you.” You whispered against them, afraid your voice would give out if you spoke any louder. Your hand came up to his face, brushing your thumb over his sharp cheekbone before placing your forehead against his. “You’re sweeter than I anticipated.”

“And you’re kinkier than I anticipated.” He retorted and moved back gently, only to give himself room to fold the towel over to a clean side before cleaning up your face with a gentle hand. “Thank you for indulging me.” He cooed out to you, his sincerity going straight to your heart. You couldn’t help but nod.

“I should go.” Your voice broke, and in that same moment, so did Eddie’s heart. There was something to you that drew him in, that he wanted more of, that he craved. It flew past just the need for human contact, part of it had to do with the way you ran with the punches he threw, you went with the game you played from the stage all the way to the back room. Eddie nodded solemnly, pushing away.

“Yeah, uh…” He bit his lip, tossing the washcloth on the coffee table. Surely worse things had been on that surface in the past, but right now Eddie didn’t care about that, not about what was on that table, what would be in the future, or what he just threw onto it. “You don’t have to, I actually, I don’t know that I want you to. Can I at least buy you a drink?” He asked, standing up straight. You turn around, grabbing your pants so you could slip them back on over your legs.

“You want to buy me a drink?” There’s a hopeful tinge to your voice, head shooting over to look at the musician in question. As you did, you hissed out gently, the garden of blooming roses on your neck blossoming farther across your neck, bite marks adorning your skin like dark tattoos. There was no denying what had gone on.

“Sweetheart, I think we both left a mark on one another,” he teased, “when you pray to the devil so well, I think it’s hard for him to resist.” A twinkle in his eyes told you it was more than just the sex you both had. “Besides, it might help with the pain. What do you say?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed as if you were deep in thought, “only if the devil can treat me right.” You mused. “You going to change first?” You waggled your eyebrows, referring to his squirt-soaked trousers, only to receive a smirk in return. “Oh no sweetheart, I wear my battle scars with pride.” With that, he pushed back to grab his helmet, slipping it back over his head before taking your hand in his and leading you off to the bar. He wasn’t what you expected, none of it was, the show, the music, Eddie, but as you took his hand you couldn’t help the feeling brewing in your chest; the feeling that maybe the unexpected was exactly what you needed.

taglist: @munson-blurbs @the-unforgivenn @littlesubbyflower @word-wytch (if you want) @rip-quizilla @hellfire--cult @mystish

#eddie x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #musician!eddie #stranger things au #mask kink #ghost bc #sodo ghoul #eddie as sodo #i'm obsessed #eddie munson smut #reader insert #music

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dollfacefantasy · 4 months

Text

Puppy Games

pairing: chris redfield x fem!puppy-hybrid!reader

summary: chris develops a soft spot for the hybrid he's taken in and wants to make her birthday extra special

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral (m receiving), daddy kink, breeding kink, predator/prey (they play chase)

word count: 5.9k

a/n: this is a birthday present for one of the sweetest, most caring people i've ever met, @nexysworld. i love nexy so so much, and you should all go wish her a happy birthday because she's great and she deserves it. i'm so lucky to call her my friend <3

Chris startles awake upon hearing a creak outside his bedroom window. His life working for the government and fighting bioweapons left him a light sleeper. The slightest noises, like the one he imagined came from the gate to his yard, jolted him awake. Rubbing his bleary eyes, he sits up. He tries to determine if what he heard was real or the remnant of a dream. But then he hears the clatter of something falling over outside, and he knows something, or someone, is out there.

After getting out of bed, he pulls on a shirt and grabs a flashlight and a gun. Slipping on his shoes, he peers out the window and confirms that the gate is open. He cautiously slides out the back door and casts the flashlight around the yard. The beam illuminates the small grassy area, but doesn’t give him an idea of what made that noise.

That is until the beam sweeps over a bit more, and he catches a pair of eyes staring back at him. He jumps from the sudden discovery and aims his weapon. You don’t make any moves at him though. If anything, you look more frightened than he does. You were shaking like a leaf, wide eyes full of fear. He slowly lowers the gun and takes in the sight of you. Floppy ears sprout from the top of your head and a fluffy tail is tucked between your legs. He figures out you’re one of those hybrids he’d heard about. He thought they had only been approved under government supervision for now, but here you were in his backyard.

“Hey there,” he calls as he begins approaching you with caution. He hears you whimper through the darkness, and his heart aches at the vulnerable noise. He closes the gap between the two of you and crouches down to where you had cowered against the fence. You shy away from him, trying to scoot away though you’re prevented by the barrier behind you.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says gently, “What’s your name?”

You look at him for a moment as if you’re contemplating whether he was worth trusting or not. Eventually, you make your decision and respond with your name. Your voice is quiet, so soft he can barely hear it.

“I’m Chris… Are you lost?” he asks. He honestly had no clue why you would be here. It wasn’t like you were a loose housepet. A hybrid like yourself should’ve been stowed away in some facility with the other pups, doing… whatever they did with your kind. He never had the time to look into it much. It wasn’t his sector.

You shake your head as a response, but it doesn’t look like you even believe it. He scans the light over you, looking for any clues as to your origin. You look like you’ve been on your own for a while. You’re littered with cuts and bruises, and you don’t look like you’ve had a shower in a while. The clothes you wear are plain and functional. They look uniform, government-issued. Something glimmering dangling from the pocket of your sweats catches his eye. He pulls the chain and fishes out some metal tags that confirm his suspicions. They were government issued, displaying your ID number, birthday, and division code. He dangles them in front of you.

“What are these, hm?” he inquires.

Your hand shoots out and yanks them back. “Nothing,” you deflect, looking away.

His eyebrow raises. “I told you. There’s nothing to be scared of. But you’re in luck anyways. I work for the BSAA. I’ll have you home in the morning,” he says.

“That place isn’t home. I’m not going back,” you say with a bit of a growl. The first moment you don’t look like a skittish pup. His interest in you grows.

“Why not? You got somewhere else to be?” he asks.

Just as quick as the fight appeared in you, it vanishes. You shake your head and cast your eyes downward. “I don’t have anywhere, but I’m not going back,” you say, quiet determination in your tone.

“Alright… but what am I supposed to do with you? Can’t just keep you in my backyard,” he says, “I’m sure if you got lost it will be no trouble getting you back in.”

“No!” you say, almost sounding pleading. Frustration flashes across your face as you try to figure out what to do. You look up at him again and decide to take the leap of trusting him. You explain why you won’t return to the hell that is your division of the BSAA. You briefly recount the horrors, the inhumane treatment, the suffering.

Chris listens intently. He lets you speak and doesn’t interrupt once. While he wants to say that could never be true, he knows better. And because it is the truth, he knows he could never take you back to a place like that. No one should have to live like that, but especially not a cute little puppy like yourself.

“How about you come inside with me? You can shower, eat, do whatever you need to. Then we’ll figure something out in the morning,” he offers.

You nod. He stands up and sticks out his hand for you. Looking up at him, you take it and let him pull you to your feet. As you follow him inside, you get a better look at him. He’s tall, but even more noticeable, he’s built. He’s maybe the beefiest guy you’ve ever seen. You can only imagine how strong he is with those thick biceps. How easy it would be for him to hold you down. His legs looked powerful too, like he wouldn’t even stumble if you squirmed around in his arms…

Guiding you into the house, he takes you through the living room and down the hall to the bathroom. Everything here was small but cozy. You liked the size of it, much different from the vast government rooms you were used to. They were big but always filled with bulk-ordered, industrial furniture. Everything there was overly sanitized. Here, it looked lived in.

“So shower’s in here. You’ll have to use my soap cause that’s all I’ve got. Towels are in here too,” he lists off after opening the bathroom to you. He scratches the back of his head awkwardly before continuing. “Can you do everything you need to yourself?”

“Yes, I can do it all myself,” you huff with a glare.

He raises his arms in surrender and backs out of the bathroom to let you have some privacy. You shut the door, and for the first time in a while, you have the luxury of being alone in a room that locks from the inside. You take your time in the shower, scrubbing away the months of roughing it. You didn’t even care that it was “his” soap. He smelled nice, and it felt so good getting clean. When you’re done, you get out and dry yourself off. It’s at this moment that you realize he didn’t give you any clothes.

You timidly peek out of the bathroom, ears bowing. “Chris?” you call.

He appears after a moment. “Yeah?” he answers.

When he sees you wrapped in a towel, he quickly averts his eyes. He grumbles to himself as he comes to the same realization you had moments earlier. He goes into his room and gets one of his shirts and a pair of his sweats for you. He’s quick to bring it back and hand it to you through the sliver of space left by the open door.

Before you retreat to the bathroom, he catches one more glimpse of your body. Your pretty legs and soft skin. Now that you’re clean, he can really see your cute face and delicate features. He shakes his head and gets himself focused again before he heads back to the kitchen.

On the other side of the door, you begin putting on the clothes he gave you. They’re huge on you to the point that it’s almost comical. You roll the sweats as much as you can, but they still struggle to stay up. What really gets you though, is his scent. It’s all over these. You press the cloth to your nose and take in the heady masculine smell. You’re nearly loopy with how it makes you feel, the urge to be claimed flaring up within you.

After you finish dressing, you join him in the kitchen. You hop up onto a seat at the counter while he fidgets with something in the corner. He brings over a plate with a sandwich to you.

“I didn’t really know what you liked, but I’m sure you're hungry,” he says simply.

You nod appreciatively and begin eating. While you’re occupied with that, he goes into the living room and sets you up a bed on the couch. He lays out a few thick blankets and puts some pillows down. It isn’t much, but he’s sure it’s better than wherever you’ve been sleeping on your own.

Once you’re done with your food, you go into the living room and watch him fluff up the cushions for you. He gestures for you to lay down once he finishes, and you do so. He feels a protective urge spark inside him. He doesn’t know how you’d feel about any kind of affection, but he just wanted to do something nice before you slept. He reaches down and brushes some hair out of your face before giving your ear a light and playful tug.

“See you in the morning, pup,” he says instead before exiting to his bedroom.

You squirm a little from the gesture, but a shy smile graces your lips. Your first hint that maybe he wasn’t such a stiff. After he left, you pull your pillows into place and cover yourself with the blankets he provided to try and sleep.

A couple of hours go by though, and you’re still awake. The makeshift bed he created for you was much better than anything you’d slept on in a while, but you still couldn’t get yourself to drift off. You shift around for a bit, trying to get comfy. Nothing works. You whine and kick the blankets off yourself. Huffing with irritation, you try to figure out what it is. Part of you already knows, but the other half soon catches up.

His scent. It was all over you now that you’d bathed in his soap and were wearing his clothes. It followed you everywhere you went. It told you everything you needed to know about him on an instinctual level. With every breath, your body ached for him. Deep down inside, you wanted him there with you, holding you, whispering that everything was ok, that you were a good girl.

You look over, down the hall at his door. It was mostly shut, but a little crack was left open. It was basically calling for you to come in.

So you get up and pad across the hall. You’re sure to be quiet, set on not disturbing his rest. You slip through the door and make your way to the foot of the bed. You stand there for a moment. He was asleep, facing the edge of the bed, shirt off again. Your tail swishes slowly as you contemplate the idea.

‘Should I?’ you think to yourself. It was a risk, but you wanted to be near him so bad. You were tired of being alone.

So you decide to go for it. You kick off his annoying sweats. They kept pooling around your feet and tripping you, so they were left on the floor. You crawl onto the mattress and up the bed. He stirs, but you keep going. You’re quick to slide next to him, slotting yourself against his back. You wrap your arms around him and nuzzle against his warm skin.

That easily wakes him. His eyes flutter open, and he mumbles in confusion as he tries to turn around. It takes him a moment when you’re clinging to him like that, but he manages and looks down at you. He blinks a few times, watching with bewilderment as you tuck yourself against his chest and nestle your face against his muscles.

“What are you doing?” he rasps.

Your head snaps up at the sound of his voice. Not wanting to get kicked out, you look at him with the best timid puppy dog eyes you can manage. “It’s cold out there,” you say sadly.

“I gave you blankets,” he says.

You sigh a little. Clearly, he was dense in more ways than physical.

“I got lonely too… It’s hard for me to sleep alone,” you say, starting to pout a little.

He continues looking at you. He wasn’t completely oblivious. He knew how much you had been through so far. What kind of guy would he be to deny you some comfort in your time of need?

“Alright, c’mere,” he sighs and pulls you into his chest all the way, wrapping those big arms around you. One hand rubs your back while the other strokes your hair. “Get some sleep, pup. You need to rest.”

You nod obediently and settle in. With his warmth and scent engulfing you, you’re out like a light. It’s not even ten minutes later before he senses the soft, even rhythm of your breath, letting him know you’re asleep. He shuts his eyes too, dozing off for the night.

In the morning, when Chris wakes, he feels you before he sees you. He feels your warm body pressed to his, your quiet breaths fanning over his skin. He cracks his eyes open and finds you looking as precious as he imagined, tail twitching in your sleep. It was at that moment that he knew for certain that there was no way he was letting anyone else at the BSAA get their hands on you. He wouldn’t be able to rest ever again knowing you were locked away, hurting and sad.

He waited a little while after you woke up to pitch the idea, not wanting to startle you with such a big life change the second you opened your eyes. But once he did lay out the possibility of staying with him, you were all in. Chris’s house was a thousand times better than a park bench or alleyway, and you thought he was pretty nice.

Of course, after a few months of staying together, you both thought much more of the other than “pretty nice.” You loved him, and he completely adored you. You were the piece from his life he didn’t even know was missing. You gave him love he never felt anywhere else and let him express love in return. You were the sweetest little thing he’d ever come across, so affectionate and loving, but you were funny too, always making him laugh with whatever you got up to.

As he spent more time with you, he loved finding out things you liked and little quirks about your personality. He found you loved sitting in his lap, loved curling up with a nest of blankets. He found he loved buying you things in your favorite color just to see your eyes light up. Never did he think his room would be crowded with stuffies and other things of that nature.

It only took no time at all for him to understand how playful you were. He could never be bored with you around. You always wanted to mess with him. You’d taken to calling him “daddy” pretty quickly. The first time he’d heard you say it, all his thoughts came to a screeching halt.

“What’d you say?” he asked.

You repeated yourself confidently with no indication that you’d done anything out of the ordinary. He tried to explain to you why that maybe wasn’t the best idea, but you put on the same puppy dog eyes that convinced him to let you stay in bed on your first night. So from then on, he had a cute puppy girl running around his house calling him daddy.

Even though he wasn’t crazy about it at first, he justified that if it would make you happy, it was worth it. Soon enough though, that word falling from your lips was his favorite sound in the world. He told himself it was because it showed how comfortable you were with him. It definitely wasn’t because he felt his blood rushing south whenever you curled up to him and looked at him with those big sweet eyes saying you loved your daddy.

You also always wanted to play. Whether it was chase or wrestling, the two of you weren’t going to relax until you were thoroughly tired out. Chris loved seeing you have fun, but these games made it harder to suppress the effect you had on him. When he’d chase after you, he'd force himself to just pick you up in the end and not pin you down and stuff you full of him till you were truly exhausted. Or when you’d wrestle, you’d wiggle your hips, whimper and whine, all while he had you underneath him. Every time he’d have to end it by going to the bathroom and jerking off real quick before returning to you.

It all came to a head though when you developed the habit of sitting between his legs while the two of you watched tv. You loved being surrounded by his strong arms, but there was something about being below him, encased by his massive thighs. You’d get comfortable with your blanket and just relax between his legs, resting your head against his knee. And that was fine, but then you wanted to look up at him. You’d turn around on your knees, gazing up at him like the lovesick puppy you were. And then one day you started to nuzzle your face against his lap.

“Hey, hey, baby, what are you doing?” he said quickly, trying to lift you off him before it was too late.

“Just showing you I love you,” you responded, continuing to drag your nose along his pants and even pressing little kisses to the area.

He squirmed a bit. Obviously, had he really wanted to, he could have pushed you off him in a second. But he didn’t want to hurt your feelings. Not to mention he liked how it felt. Once he’d given up his resistance, it wasn’t long before there was a large, hard bulge in his jeans. You were still his precious pup, but you were also a pretty girl rubbing her face all over his cock. He was only human.

You weren’t stupid. This is what you had wanted all along. It’s why you called him daddy, put yourself in every compromising position you could think of. You thought you made it completely obvious that you wanted him to take you and fuck you dumb whenever he felt like it. But all that went over his head, so this is what it came to. But fortunately, it seemed to work.

You freed him from the constraints of his pants and watched his cock spring to life. Timidly wrapping your fingers around it, you brought it to your lips. You licked it a few times and kissed the tip before sliding it into your mouth. Chris’s eyes fell shut as he groaned.

“Fuck, baby. Such a good puppy,” he grunted, tipping his head back.

You sucked with dedication, savoring the heavy weight of him on your tongue, the smell of his musk filling your nose. Your saliva dribbled down his cock as you bobbed your head. He petted your hair mumbling that you were such a good girl for him, such a pretty puppy.

You kept going, using your hand on the part your mouth struggled to cover. He pulsed in your mouth, his muscles tightening as he spilled his hot cum down your throat. You wanted to keep going, and that’s when he really had to use his strength to pull you off and lift you into his lap.

From then on, that became part of your shared routine. He found it was a way to keep you occupied that didn’t take much work on his part. He’d come home, and you’d scramble to the door to greet him. You’d talk a little about each other’s days. Then he’d sit on the couch, already undoing his belt, and ask “Does my pup think she deserves a treat?”

You’d vigorously nod, tail wagging as you positioned yourself at his feet while he pulled his cock out. You’d take it in your mouth as soon as he let you and just shut your brain off. Chris would watch your eyes go glossy as you drooled all over his shaft and lapped at his balls. He realized that this was a way to feel close to him more than anything else.

The first heat you had while living with him brought you even closer together than the countless blowjobs. He basically stayed buried balls deep in you for an entire weekend. He pumped you full with load after load, only taking small breaks when he absolutely had to.

Even when you weren’t in heat, he felt like he could barely keep up with you sometimes. Your favorite way to play became to bounce on his lap till you couldn’t think straight or have him pound you into the mattress until it felt like the bed would break. He couldn’t complain though. How lucky was he to have such a loving pup?

Everyday with you in his life was brighter than the last. Today though, today was a very special day. Today was your birthday. He comes home from work, small bag in hand. As usual, the second you hear the front door shut, you rush to come see him. You fling yourself into his chest, nearly toppling him over despite your smaller stature.

“Woah, hey there, sweetheart. Miss me today?” he says. He ruffles your hair before wrapping his arm around you and walking to the kitchen. You were still clinging onto him as the two of you walked. Your tail brushes his back as it swishes with your excitement.

“Miss you everyday,” you murmur.

“Get in any trouble today, baby?” he teases.

“No, but the day’s not over yet,” you beam up at him.

He laughs lightly and shakes his head. “Well, I think I need you to hold off on that for a little longer cause I have something for you,” he says, lifting the bag and showing it off for you.

“A treat?” you ask excitedly.

“Mhm, a special treat for my birthday girl,” he says. He places the bag on the counter and smiles at you eyeing it with curiosity.

“What is it?” you ask, ears perking up.

“Why don’t you open it and find out?” he says.

So you do. You tentatively reach forward and take the plain white tissue paper between your fingers. Pulling out the sheets, you drop them to the floor and tilt the bag into your line of sight. Pale purple fluff sticks out of the top. You pull the object out and find a pretty stuffed bear, another you could add to the growing collection on your side of the bed. You look up at him, beaming. He laughs softly and shrugs.

“Glad you like it, pup. I got one more thing in there for you though,” he says.

He takes out a small square box and opens it. After he puts it on the countertop, you see it’s a cupcake decorated with pretty purple frosting. While you admire the color of the dessert, Chris reaches over you and sticks a candle in the top. He lights it up and tucks your hair behind your ear.

“I’m not gonna sing for ya, but I want you to make a wish,” he says softly.

You didn’t even know what to say. No one had ever even celebrated your birthday before let alone been so nice about it. You take a moment to contemplate what you’d even wish for. He steps closer and hugs you from behind, rubbing your arm.

“Go ahead, sweetheart. I won’t even ask what you wished,” he whispers and plants another kiss on your head.

You finally decide and blow out the candles. You then turn to him and hug him like you did when he first walked through the door. His hand runs over your head. He cracks another smile hearing you mumble a thank you.

“You’re welcome, baby. Just wanted you to have a nice birthday. You wanna eat your cake now?” he says.

You look up at him and shake your head. He would have been confused, but he recognizes the look in your eyes. You’re up to something. There’s a plan forming in that pretty head of yours.

“Oh? Why not?” he asks.

“Well, remember last night. You said we could do whatever I wanted tonight, and I said I had to think about it. But now I know,” you say as you take a step back from his large frame.

“And what is it that you want to do?” he asks, following with a pace in your direction.

You walk over to the door leading to the backyard, and your goal starts to become clear to him. “You were bad today, Daddy. You left the back door unlocked. Woulda been so easy for me to get out and run away,” you say with that mischievous lilt in your voice.

“Oh, but why would my puppy want to do something like that on her birthday? Thought you were my good girl. Good girls don’t behave like that,” he says, joining your game without hesitation.

“I am a good girl. But I get so bored,” you whine, “Need to run around.”

You open the door and step out onto the porch. He follows along, a knowing smirk rising to his face.Your tail goes back and forth behind you

“If you want to do that, you ask Daddy. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you Daddy knows best. You can’t be trusted out here on your own. You’ll get hurt and then come running home, crying. And you know it breaks my heart to see my baby upset,” he says.

“I wouldn’t do that. I’d be fine. Don’t need Daddy to take care of me,” you challenge. Despite your bratty facade, you could barely suppress your grin.

“Wow,” Chris says and places his hand on his chest, feigning hurt, “Who knew my puppy was so tough, hm? Is the same girl that whines me for more kisses? Clings to my legs every chance she gets? The same girl who begs me to breed her every single night? Maybe I’ve spoiled you too much. Made you an ungrateful little brat.”

Your face heats up and your ears fall. You struggle to think of a good response.

“That’s what I thought,” he chuckles, “So c’mon pretty puppy, get back in the house, and we’ll eat that cake in there. Bought it just for you.”

You shake your head. “It’s my birthday. I get to do whatever I want. You said so yourself, can’t take it back now,” you say before bolting out the gate and through the grass to the vast sea of trees behind the house.

He shakes his head and starts running after you. “Sounds like the only thing you want right now is for me to teach you some manners and pound that little cunt into the dirt,” he calls after you.

Your laughter carries through the open forest air. You prance over tree roots and under branches, occasionally looking over your shoulder to gauge how far behind Chris was. He bounds across the dirt along your trail. He tears through the foliage, biceps flexing against his shirt as he pushes the plant life out of the way.

Excitement courses through your limbs. You're breathing hard, your heart slamming against your ribcage while gliding through the woods. He’s gaining on you quickly though. Yeah, you were fast, but he was fast and had longer legs. If he wanted to, you’d be caught already. But a big part of the fun for you was the chase.

After a bit more running though, he decides it’s time to call it. He runs with extra speed for a few strides and lunges towards you. You squeal as he tackles you to the ground. He made sure you were engulfed by him though, shielded from any potential harm.

You both roll through the dirt, but at the end of your tussle, he’s on top, pinning you against the earth with a thud. He smiles down at you.

“Oh no, looks like my puppy’s birthday plans have been ruined,” he breathes while looking down at you in your compromising position.

“Mhm, it’s your fault meanie,” you whimper, attempting to jab your knees into his sides.

He dodges the weak attacks and laughs. “Too bad. I’m a meanie, and you’re my little brat. That’s just how it is,” he says as he begins pulling your clothes off you and piling them up nearby.

“Daddy!” you whine and swat at him, “Someone could see!”

He chuckles at that. He tears your panties off you and flips you over onto your stomach with ease. Leaning forward, he speaks into your ear.

“Yeah, and what are they gonna see? Just a responsible owner training his naughty little puppy. Don’t think anyone would object to that.”

He yanks you around some more, getting you into position. Your cheek is pressed to the dirt while your ass is in the air. He holds your hip and grinds his clothes bulge against your soaked pussy. You whimper from the sensation, rocking your hips onto the material as much as you can in his grip. You leave behind some slick on the fabric once you’ve pulled away.

“Look at you. Such a messy baby. We’re gonna have to train that out of you too,” he says.

Before you know it, his pants are down just enough for his cock to spring out. He lines up with your entrance and starts pushing in. Your walls embrace him like always, as if welcoming home. He groans from the warmth that squeezes around him while you gasp from the stretch.

He doesn’t give you much time to adjust before he starts pumping himself in and out of you. You whimper and dig your fingers into the ground, seeking some form of leverage for yourself. His hips bump into you over and over, dragging your soft cheek against the dirt.

“I’m not hearing any of that attitude now? What happened, pup, ten seconds on daddy’s dick, and you’re fucked stupid?” he mocks.

“No!” you mewl. Your hips are rocking back into his, meeting every single thrust.

“Whatever you say, birthday girl,” he grunts

He’s not gentle right now. His hips connect with your ass at a rapid pace, the clapping echo sounding through the trees. His fingers are digging into your flesh, his teeth poke his own lip as his own pleasure floods his body.

“I don’t know how many times I’ve had to teach you this same. fucking. lesson. You need your daddy,” he grunts, punctuating each word with a thrust, “You’re so stubborn, pup. Gonna have to do this even more than usual to get you to loosen up.”

You babble protests against the dirt and weakly shake your head.

“What’s that?” he asks with a particularly harsh thrust, “Talking back still? Guess I haven’t done good enough yet.”

He keeps up his thrusts, maintaining a consistent speed, but increasing the power. You jolt with each stroke. Your hands curl into complete fists. You cry out, your legs twitching in the dirt. Soon enough, you’ve given up on playing defiant and willingly fall into submission for him.

“Mmm, daddy… feels… feels good. Best daddy in the whole world,” you slur.

“Yeah, now that you’re getting some cock, I’m the best daddy ever. Funny how that works,” he teases as he continues to drill into you.

He watches you squirming on the ground beneath him. He leans down closer to you, pressing his muscular front to your back, letting you feel his size, how easy it is for him to keep you in place and use you for his pleasure.

“You know, sweet baby, I think I’ve got a solution for this problem you keep having, but don’t worry it’s one you’ll like,” he says.

“Wh- mmph- what is it?” you ask around whimpers.

“I’m just gonna have to do what you’re always asking. Gonna have to breed my pretty little puppy,” he answers.

“Gonna- gonna breed me?” you repeat.

“Yeah, baby, gonna breed you. Stuff you full of cum. And if it doesn’t take out here, don’t worry, I’ll make sure it does at some point tonight. Gonna have you carrying my babies by the end of the week,” he grunts with a smack to your ass.

You moan and nod excitedly. “Yeah, yeah, want it,” you slur.

“Oh, I know you do, and think about it, it will work out for both of us. You’ll be the prettiest mama for our pups, make me so proud every single day. And you’ll be too swollen to run off and get yourself hurt. Isn’t that great?”

A blissful smile spreads on your face. “Mhm, great. Smart daddy,” you say, your voice a clear display of how fucked out you are.

“Good girl. Daddy has to be smart to take care of his dumb little puppy, always causing trouble,” he says.

He felt you trembling hard, pulsing around his cock as you got close to cumming. He works himself deeper inside you, stroking all the places you need to reach that high point. A few more thrusts and you burst. You gush around him with a long whine. You squirm and buck as he holds you in place and keeps rutting into you until it becomes too much for him. He also lets loose and shoots his cum inside you. He fucks it into you a bit, before slowly pulling out.

You collapse onto your side, crumpling up on the dirt just like your clothes. He smiles at that, finding it so precious. He rubs your back gently and leans down to kiss your temple.

“Such a good puppy baby. My good girl,” he coos and scratches behind your ears.

He cleans himself off a little. It doesn’t take much work before he’s looking like he was before. You, on the other hand, are a whole other story. For you, he brushes the dirt off you as best he can, knowing you’re gonna need a bath after you take a nap. He then pulls your clothes back on, over your limbs which are mostly limp at the moment. Kissing your forehead, he scoops you up and starts carrying you back to the house. You’re all sleepy and clingy, tightening your arms around him and mumbling about how much you love him.

“I know, pup,” he reassures you, rubbing your back as he keeps heading towards the house.

Once he’s there, he takes you inside and flops down in his old recliner. He kicks it back and cradles you to his chest. You get comfy pretty quick, snuggling up to him and nuzzling his chest.

“That’s it, baby. Daddy’s got you. Get some rest, and then we’ll have some cake when you’re up,” he whispers.

You give one more drowsy nod before passing out on top of him. He holds you even closer, watching his precious puppy rest.

“Sweet dreams, birthday girl.”

#chris redfield x reader #chris redfield x you #chris redfield x y/n #chris redfield smut #chris redfield imagine #resident evil imagines #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #smut

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steddie-island · 5 months

Text

@steddiemas day 7 - mall and/or workplace WC: 952 | Rating: M (for language) No content warnings, full tags on ao3

Update: @doomcheese made lovely lovely art of them and you should go look at it and show it and her all the love!!! 🥰

Jingle Boy Rock

Wearing the usual Scoops Ahoy uniform was bad enough 11 months out of the year. Wearing it in December was fucking miserable.

Gone were their usual hats, and in their place were elf hats– the kind that were red with green trim, with a bell on the end and giant felt elf ears on the sides. They were given bright red shorts, with a green and red striped shirt that had bells hanging from the spikes around the collar.

Steve would have preferred to wear the regular uniform everywhere every day for the rest of his life than wear the goddamned elf outfit all month long.

Especially when Eddie fucking Munson, the goddamn bane of his existence, worked right across the mall, at the record store. Eddie had taken one look at the Scoops uniform and decided that he was going to be the biggest nuisance in Steve’s life. Every lunch break, every time he was bored, every time he just felt like it, he was there. Leaning against the freezer and smiling that crooked smile. Steve really didn’t want to know how much worse the wheedling was going to get when Eddie saw their holiday uniforms.

“Jingle boy!”

Steve groaned– he hadn’t been at work for five fucking minutes, and already Eddie was calling across the mall to him. He pushed both hands over his face and grabbed the hat to pull it off. “He only does that because he always gets a reaction out of you,” Robin pointed out. At least her outfit– a red dress with a green shirt underneath it and matching white and green striped tights— was cute.

“He does that because he’s a pain in the ass,” Steve said. He dropped the elf ears onto the counter and leaned back against it with his arms crossed over his chest. “I can’t deal with this today.” “Right. Like you don’t love it.” Robin shook her head. “Just kiss him already, dingus.” Steve had heard this at least five times already, and just like he had every other time he waved it away. “Do you say that shit to him, too?”

“No, just to you.” She pushed away from the counter. “Hey, Eddie.” “Hey Buck!” Eddie sauntered over to the counter. Surprisingly he was wearing a hat, too, but it was black velvet with white fur trim.

“Santa’s goth now?” Steve asked. “Metal, actually. I have to shake things up somehow, right?” Eddie leaned against the freezer. “I like the new getup. It’s very… ‘Hallmark threw up on me.’”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Do you need something, Munson? Some of us actually have work to do.”

“No one’s here,” Robin pointed out. She just grinned when Steve glared at her.

“I’m actually here ‘cause I have something for you,” Eddie said. For the first time that Steve could recall, Eddie actually looked… nervous.

“You have something… for me?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Eddie pulled a box out of his pocket. “It’s not a big thing, just… something that made me think of you.” He slid the box across the counter and tapped the lid with his fingers. “Go ahead, open it.”

“It’s only the 7th,” Steve said.

“I know, but I want you to open it early.” Eddie tucked his hands into his back pockets. “Please?”

“You said ‘please.’ Does that mean something’s gonna jump out of the box at me?” Steve joked. He untied the pretty red ribbon and took the lid off. Inside was the cutting of a plant, just a stem with a few little shoots that ended in green leaves and little white berries. There was a matching red ribbon tied around it.

“Is this…” Steve looked at Eddie. He wondered vaguely if his cheeks were as pink as Eddie’s were. “...mistletoe?”

“Yeah.” Eddie ducked his head so his hair fell into his face. “I, um… I realized that I don’t think my flirting has been working? And I figured, before I turned you off of me forever…”

“Wait– wait, you’ve been flirting with me?” Steve asked. “Since when?”

Eddie looked at him with those big, deep eyes. “Since I walked in and said ‘hey, big boy’? What did you think I was doing?”

“Trying to get under my skin!” Steve said. “Are you– really?”

“I wasn’t trying to get under your skin. Maybe in your pan–” “Hey! Maybe you two should go to the breakroom to finish this conversation!” Robin said. “Quickly, though, Santa’s almost here and that means we’re gonna be packed.”

Steve caught Eddie’s hand and tugged him towards the back room that had a couch, two folding chairs, and a wobbly card table. “You’ve really been flirting with me?” he asked.

It made sense, when he thought back to all the time Eddie spent tugging at his scarf or flicking his hat, talking about his shorts and–

“Oh my god, I’m an idiot.” Steve shook his head and lightly hit himself in the forehead with his fist– a move he wanted to repeat when the bells around his neck jingled with the movement. “Oh my god!”

Eddie giggled and wrapped his fingers around Steve’s hand to stop him from doing that. “Be nice to yourself,” he said, and Steve was shocked when Eddie leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “Anyway, Stevie… my gift. What’d you think?”

“I think… that it’s bad luck, if we let it go to waste.” Steve lifted it out of the box by the stem and leaned in with a smile.

He wasn’t sure what the mistletoe was supposed to mean exactly, but as their lips met, and as his fingers curled into Eddie’s soft hair, Steve found that he was more than willing to find out.

#steddiemas #Steddie #Steddie ficlet #Steddie holiday drabble

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darkworkcourier · 1 year

Note

Could you write Ghost x fem!reader where she finds him attractive but is too shy to actually tell him but also can't hide the way she's feeling, so Ghost notices her interest and eventually they end up in bed (*cough* you know what I mean)? Also Ghost being gentle and protective towards her, plz

Ps. I love your writing!

Word Count: 8314

i’m incapable of short prompt fills, apparently! o, but i am filled with grief!

anywho, reader’s codename is ‘ladybird’ (hc that soap gave it to her because she’s lucky) but is otherwise nameless.

contains masturbation, oral sex, lots of feelings, wee bit of slow burn, ghost being like weirdly emotional and soft, and soap’s gratuitous and unfortunate use of emojis. 💀/🐞4ever

---

The first time it really hits you, you're in a helicopter about two miles above the ground—honestly a terrible place to face your feelings. It's a velvet-dark night, strategically chosen for the new moon, the countryside below nearly invisible. You're almost in a doze, caught up in the Chinook's blades' low, thunderous pulse and the sporadic rocking as it hits little glades of turbulence. Your eyes lose focus on some of the running lights, until they turn hazy, and its only when the man across from you moves his boot do you snap back to attention.

Ghost. Right. You learned his name a few weeks ago during your orientation, but he was deployed on a recon mission only a day later. Price summoned him back for this mission, but aside from a few gruff comments at the all-hands meeting, you haven't heard him say much.

For a moment, you think he might have dozed off, too. He’s leaning back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed. And that’s fair, you think; Soap told you he didn’t think Ghost ever slept.

You silently study him, the way his head rocks a little with the turbulence, how much taller he is than everyone else in his row, the peculiar illusion that the eye sockets of his mask are empty—

And suddenly they aren’t.

He’s looking back at you, dark eyes regarding you passively, even though the mask makes every look significantly more intimidating. For moment that goes on way too long, you don’t look away, your gazes locked. Your heart takes the tracheal elevator to your throat, beating loud enough to drown out the Chinook’s roar.

You look away first, and you swear you hear him snort.

The rest of the journey to the drop-off zone, you deliberately don’t look at him; but when you close your eyes, there he is.

All you can think is ohhhh, shit.

---

Military crushes aren’t abnormal. Put enough people at the peak of physical excellence in a room, throw around some form-fitting uniforms, and mix in a few adrenaline rushes—it’s a goddamn potent mixture. You’ve had your share of mess hall dreamy-eyed gazing sessions, and a few ‘I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go’ moments in gyms and fitness centers. That’s fine; that’s normal.

What you start feeling for Ghost isn’t that.

Nevermind that he’s rarely out of tactical dress, and if he is, he usually defaults to a hoodie or something that doesn’t exactly entice the imagination. And he’s never out of some variation of his mask, so you can’t think woah, pal, do you cut glass with that jawline because as far as you can tell, he doesn’t have one. No mooning over cheekbones, admiring the curve of lips. He has nice eyes, but ever since the night in the Chinook, you haven’t been able to meet them for more than a second before your heart does that terrible little samba again.

Per your mental checklist, aside from being tall and muscular, he doesn’t check all your normal boxes. By all those counts, Gaz or Soap are way better fits. Hell, Soap likes to hang around in his silkies like they’re pajamas, showing off plenty to keep your fantasy fodder trough filled. And you’ve caught Gaz doing push-ups in the lounge, his tight shirt doing wonders for his shoulders.

But it’s Ghost who makes you feel like a hormonal teenager. It’s Ghost that gets you antsy and fidgety when he enters a room. And it’s Ghost that you think about during your rare alone time in the shower, when your hands start drifting south and the tile walls are your only support.

You’ve got it bad for him, and you have no idea what to do about it.

---

You’re doing recon in Berlin when Soap notices.

The mission details are simple: a drug lord known as Keiler using a night club as a go-between for his suppliers and dealers—all further complicated by the fact that he has plenty of friends in the arms trade, and by Laswell’s reports, he’s very generous to those friends. The club is a front, a money laundering wonderland. Through your observation, drugs and alcohol are doled out in equal volume, all to the backdrop of skull-splitting bass and sharp scalpels of strobe lights.

The biggest obstacle is that Keiler likes to use a private room overlooking the club as his perch, and your intelligence says that at any given time, he has a small army defending him. Getting to him requires an incredible degree of finesse. Naturally, Ghost is the one to do it.

You, Soap, and Gaz are scattered around the main floor of the club. Gaz is out on the dance floor, Soap’s taken up a spot near the bar, and you’re in the lounge. It’s the first time you’ve done something like this (and in an outfit with so little fabric), and you’re really not used to being ogled and pawed by a bunch of drunk, drugged, or horny Berliners.

Soap must see your discomfort from his position, as you hear a dry, amused, “Feelin’ a little tense, Ladybird?”

You swallow hard and chase it with a sip of your drink, which definitely needs to be watered down. “I’m fine,” you say.

“You look like you just drank petrol.”

“You’re the one who ordered it for me.”

Gaz cuts in with a weary, “Do we have eyes on Ghost, yet? I’m starting to get tired of people grabbing my—”

“I’m here,” Ghost’s voice scrapes over the comms, causing you to sit up straight and look around. You catch sight of Soap who has his hand curled in front of his mouth, clearly snickering like a heathen.

“Think you scared the shit out of Ladybird, LT,” he says.

He’s lucky he’s on the other side of the room, otherwise you’d pretend to be extremely clumsy and find an excuse to spill your drink on his (very, very tight) shirt. You mouth ‘shut up’ at him, and he reaches up with his pointer finger to draw an invisible halo over his head.

Ghost ignores him. “I’m near the east stairwell, headed to second deck. Got one guard at the far end. Gaz, you seein’ anything I should know about?”

A pause, then, “Negative, Ghost. I’ve got what you’ve got.”

“Copy. Going to second deck now.”

Out of habit, your eyes go to the east stairwell, peering through the haze pierced with multicolored lights to see a single dark shape ascending. He disappears behind a catwalk, then reappears to the right, mingling with the crowd near the second floor bar. Once he’s there, he seems to fade into the throng of people, most in dark clothing, some in masks. Just like that, he’s invisible.

It’s hard to focus on looking calm and happy to be there, but you keep sipping your drink, watching the dancers and feeling the bassline of yet another techno song thrumming in your chest. You’re glad you’re not out on the dance floor, or being called to give come-hither glances to bouncers and guards.

Then, “Coming back down to first deck,” Ghost says, clearly agitated. “Too many guards and too many people. We need another way up.”

Soap grins. “Violence isn’t the answer, LT?”

“Negative. Start looking for another route.”

On cue, you stand up and cross the room to the bar, sliding in beside Soap. He’s fishing for another couple Euro from his wallet, pushing it across to the bartender with two fingers. The bartender gives him a brief nod and refills his glass, while Soap turns his attention to you.

“Any bright ideas?”

You frown and adjust the straps on your top again. It’s a stupid piece of clothing, always feeling like it’s going to fall off. “Only the emergency stairs by the front doors, but I can’t imagine Keiler leaves those undefended.”

Soap looks thoughtful and scratches at his stubble. “Yeah, but probably no civilians, either. And if the door’s alarmed, Ghost can take care of that.”

As if summoned, you feel Ghost appear before you see him, a huge presence over your shoulder that makes you jump. “Jesus!” you hiss.

And Soap, the traitor, laughs to the point of wheezing as Ghost takes up the bar stool on his other side. “I think you’re giving our Ladybird here a complex,” Soap says through his laughter.

Ghost rolls his eyes. From this angle, you can see Ghost in more than just the dim light you’ve been working with most of the night. He’s not dressed too far outside his usual fashion wheelhouse—heavy boots, black trousers, and a loose black hoodie. His hood’s pulled up over a black beanie and a skull-painted gaiter, and he’s foregone his usual thick coating of greasepaint for black-ringed eyes (is that eyeliner?) and a streak of smoke-colored paint that just manages to obscure the color of his brows. The downside (for you, at least) is that the combo manages to draw his eyes into sharper contrast, making them that much more intense.

Suddenly, your heart’s doing the thing again.

Ghost doesn’t seem to notice any change in you, but you think Soap’s actually looking for it. He watches you, brows lifted, mouth curled like a flirtation of a smirk. Briefly, he glances between you and Ghost, and then the smirk appears in full force, enlightenment dawning.

Before he can insinuate a thing, you’re shoving your half-empty glass across the bar top with a too-high, “Bitte.” The bartender only gives you a brief, unamused look before taking your glass and remaking whatever godforsaken cocktail Soap ordered.

It’s not a good distraction, and the damage is already done. Soap knows, damnit. His smile is too easygoing, but he turns to Ghost and starts talking about the emergency stairwell, which is a relief. Ghost looks over his shoulder toward the stairwell in question, and as he does, Soap looks at you and makes the gesture of zipping his own mouth shut, throwing away the proverbial key with a wink.

As he does, Gaz pipes back up with, “Ghost, you copy?”

“Yeah, Gaz?”

“You, uh, know anything about a big guy with a tattoo of a boar on the back of his head?”

Ghost looks toward the dance floor, brows furrowing. “Yeah, that’d be Bauer, Keiler’s right hand man.”

“Great. Glad you know him, because he’s here.”

Shit. He wasn’t supposed to be. If Bauer’s here, then either Keiler’s doing something more than his usual partying upstairs, or Keiler knows someone’s here looking for him. Either way, the mission just got significantly harder, and your night got that much longer.

With a grunt, Ghost pushes off the bar and starts making his way to the emergency stairwell. “I’ll take care of it,” he says. “Keep your eyes open. Out here.”

Once he’s gone, there’s a pause—a very heavy pause. Then, Soap looks at you with an expression that is just a hair too pleased. “Ghost, huh?”

Your face heats up, right as the bartender hands you your drink. You reach for your wallet, only for the bartender to put a hand up and shake his head. “Nein, für das schöne Mädchen,” he says.

For the pretty girl.

“Bet Ghost thinks so, too,” Soap says, and you resolve to definitely spill your free drink on his too-tight pants.

---

Weeks after Keiler’s nice and cozy in a maximum-security prison and the 141 is back at base, you have another miniature existential crisis.

It’s all an accident—just a tempest of bad timing and bad luck. Ever since you came back from Germany, you’ve had a tough time getting a full night’s sleep. It’s easy to blame the natural stress of your work, the long hours, the high-adrenaline action you see more than you ever did before this job. And, well, part of it has to come from Ghost. He’s occupied your thoughts more than ever since the night club.

Your solution is to hit the gym late at night, pushing yourself until you can’t keep your eyes open and no amount of insomnia can overcome it. The first few nights of this effort work fine—you end up in bed around one or two in the morning, and sleep until your alarm goes off. No one bothers you; no one hogs the machines. It’s kind of nice.

However, you don’t account for all the night owls that share the base with you.

You head to the gym late on a Friday night, towel around your neck, water bottle at the ready, podcasts preloaded. If you ever hit the gym during the day, you usually do so in a t-shirt and sweatpants. At night, you’ve started opting for PT shorts and a tank top, happy for the lack of eyes around the room.

Except for tonight.

You open the door into the gym, only to hear the mechanical drone of a treadmill and someone sprinting damn fast on it. For a second, you freeze, hiding behind the corner. Then, slowly, you peer around it, clutching your phone and water bottle close to your chest.

Jesus Christ. It’s Ghost.

Ghost, in a t-shirt. In sweatpants. Running on a treadmill set to the highest incline. Panting.

Ghost, with bare arms, showing a detailed tattoo on his left arm, and prominent veins running over his chiseled muscles. He looks like a fucking Greek statue, and that’s just what you can see.

“Ohhh, my God,” you whisper to yourself, immediately working on an exit strategy that doesn’t involve catching his attention.

Which obviously doesn’t come to pass. It’s something you probably should have learned on the helo ride—Ghost knows when he’s being watched. He turns his head, dark eyes fixing on you immediately. Briefly, he looks back at the treadmill, then down at his watch, and back to the treadmill’s controls. He slows it down, dropping the incline, until he finally steps off and starts walking toward you.

Abort, abort.

You think about fleeing, running back to your room or rolling under a table or hiding behind a counter like he’s a goddamn velociraptor in the kitchen. You do none of those things, because despite your training, you freeze up. No one could blame you, you think. It’s hard to do much else when a six-foot-something skull-faced wall of muscle walks up to you. And you must look stellar, holed up in a corner by the door, your water bottle and phone held up like a shield.

Ghost takes in the sight of you, eyes flicking up, down, up. Heat rises to your face, and down to—to nowhere, because it’s better not to think about it. You suddenly feel too vulnerable in your choice of outfit, naked under his gaze.

“Ladybird,” he says. Your nickname becomes a hot scratch of sound, losing its whimsy in favor of a tone you can’t define. “You need somethin’?”

There’s a patch of sweat by his collar. You stare at it, then at the floor.

“No, I just— I was, um, just about to leave, and... Yeah, I’m gonna go.”

He’s silent until you finally look up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time in what what feels like an eon. He looks amused, but there’s a quirk in his brow like he can’t quite get a good read on you. “You look like you were about to use the gym.”

You look down at your bottle, phone, and towel like you’re just now noticing them. When you bring your attention back to him, you feel like you need to just kick the door open and escape, dignity be damned. “I... was,” you say slowly. Then, you rally yourself, trying to look upbeat and resolved. “Y’know what? You can keep using it. I’ll come back later.”

He shrugs, but you see it. Some secondary expression slinking around in his eyes like it’s working through the perpetually-moving cogs in his head. He gives you another one of those assessing glances, and for a second, you think he’s going to step into your space. His body language looks primed to do so, and you hold your breath in anticipation for it, unsure of what he’s going to do.

Then he takes a step back, and another.

“Suit yourself,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind it, though.”

Before you can process his words, he’s back on the treadmill, tweaking the settings and raising the incline again. The belt starts moving, and he’s back to looking like power personified, a vision in motion.

You have got it so bad.

It’s a hasty retreat to your room, and once the door’s shut behind you, you’re panting like you had run on the treadmill and lifted weights.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you hiss, discarding your things on the table beside your bed, kicking off your running shoes, then laying down and staring at the ceiling. He knows. He has to. Ghost’s whole job depends on him being observant, and he looked at you like he was reading a fucking book.

You groan and press your palms into your eyes until phosphenes appear, dancing around and shimmering like fireworks behind your eyelids. You’re going to have to leave the 141 out of pure mortification. You’ll have to go into some kind of witness protection, change your name, and move to the other side of the earth. Or if you stay, you’ll have to pretend Ghost doesn’t exist. You’ll hide behind walls, slinking through the building’s HVAC just to avoid him like you’re working on a heist. Maybe you can convince Soap or Gaz to accompany you everywhere so you can hide behind their bulk.

But then, your horrible brain reminds you of what you’ll miss out on. It runs through a greatest hits reel of your crush so far—Ghost’s eyes, his presence stretching long over you like a shadow, his massive frame, his arms. The tattoo, detailed enough to tell from a distance, and then the thought of running your fingers over it, tracing all the fine points and lines. And are those his only tattoos, or are there more?

And his voice. Jesus, you replay the few words you’ve heard him say over and over, savoring each syllable, each quirk of his accent. Even the last thing he said—

I wouldn’t mind it, though.

That makes you open your eyes again, widening them as you take in the pocks and scrapes on the ceiling. He wouldn’t mind what? Having company in the gym? Having you, specifically, as his company? You don’t know what to make of it, or what he meant by it. Honestly, you feel like you don’t know anything right now.

Except that you want him. That’s the only thing you’re sure of. You want to know how his hands feel on you, how they would run over your bare skin, what the callouses on his fingers would feel like on the most delicate and sensitive parts of your body. Your imagination leaps ahead of you, guiding your own hand down into your shorts and under the band of your panties. You tease yourself, just dipping your fingers into the wet heat, trailing them over your clit like a hint to yourself, coaxing your arousal out of your panic.

His hands would feel different. When you rub your index finger over your clit, you imagine his finger instead, pressing gently against you, building up friction slowly, making you ache. You wonder if he’d savor your reactions, watching you get worked up, grinding against his hand to seek any kind of relief.

“Easy, Ladybird,” you imagine him saying, the nickname now a tease. And he’d know your real name, the one hidden away in your file. He’d whisper it into your ear, breath hot on your neck, his whole body eclipsing yours.

Your pace quickens, fingers running urgently between your clit and opening, causing your core to tighten and your breath to come in short gasps and barely-concealed moans. Ghost would tell you to let them out, let the whole damn base hear how aroused he makes you, how badly you’ve wanted him.

You breathe his name into the small space of your room, a whisper in the still air broken only by the low hum of the forced air in the vents. When you finally plunge your fingers in, it takes every bit of self-control not to outright moan and let everyone nearby know what you’re doing. Normally, you can stay quiet when you get yourself off, but you’re damn near frantic with this, whatever it is Ghost has done to you.

His fingers in you, fucking you in long, languid strokes, drawing himself out and pushing back in—all the while, watching your reactions. When you rock your hips to the pace of your hand, you imagine his voice again, “That’s right. Fuck yourself on my hand. Let me see you.”

You’d show him. Hell, you’d soak his hand, and it would remind him that it’s his fault you’re like this.

The wet sounds of your hand on your cunt is lewd and loud. It’s almost too much, enough to make you stop at the apex of your pleasure, to hide yourself under the blankets in shame and pretend that none of this happened.

But the vision of Ghost keeps you going, keeps your fingers moving in and out, crooking them inside and forcing out a gasp as a white-hot shock of pleasure lances up your spine and settles warm in your belly. The pad of your thumb presses against your clit, and you multitask on yourself, building up that friction, bringing yourself to the precipice.

He’d take you there. He might even pull you back from the edge over and over, teasing you with the fall.

“Do you want it? How bad? Show me.”

God, you would. Any way he wanted, you would show him. You’d beg and plead if that’s what got him to finally make you come.

So you whisper, “Please,” into the night, to a man who is never going to be in your bed, never going to touch you like this, never going to see your pleasure through to the end. The Ghost in your imagination has to stay there, behind locked doors and bulkheads, secured and contained for good.

But until then, you chase your orgasm with him, hitting that divine height and going into a freefall. Blood rushes in your ears, muscles twitching, heart racing. Your head comes off the pillow, back arching, toes digging into the mattress, mouth open on a moan that you refuse to let loose. You come way harder than you ever have using your own hand, enough that when you finally lower yourself back onto the bed, you grimace at the feeling of a wet patch on the sheets.

“Fuck,” you say, very emphatically. To yourself, to Ghost, to the whole damn situation.

Groaning, you reach over and grab the towel, wiping your hand and tucking it under your ass before rolling onto your back again and wondering what the hell you’re going to do.

---

You’re going to hide from Ghost, that’s what.

Captain Price gives the team a few days off to rest up for the next mission, and you decide right then and there that you’re going to spend every second off base, as far away from the barracks as you can get. You’ll get a hotel, order a ridiculously expensive amount of room service, and marinate in your feelings for a couple days until it’s all out of your system. Maybe you’ll go to a bar or coffee shop and chat up some nice person who isn’t a tall, broad, terrifying British soldier. And maybe you’ll have a night of incredible passion and twisted sheets, and it’ll be so cathartic that when you come back to base, you’ll be a whole new person.

That plan holds until your phone goes off while you’re packing up.

It’s a text from Soap: ‘wyd?’

‘Going off radar for a couple days. Why?’

He sends a sad emoji, then two beer glasses clinking together, a soccer ball, and then a big red question mark. Apparently, Soap only knows how to speak in hieroglyphs.

You smile, and type back, ‘Sorry, need to go clear my head.’

Skull emoji. Question mark.

‘None of your beeswax,’ you send, followed by the soap emoji.

‘that sucks,’ he types back. There’s a short pause, and then he types again. ‘cause he was looking for u earlier’

Your heart damn near comes to a stop, and you very hesitantly respond, ‘Why?’

‘idk. think he wanted to ask u smth’

Nope. You’re not taking the bait. If Ghost wants to talk to you, he can come right up and—and you can walk off in the opposite direction and act like there’s something incredibly interesting that you need to see right that second.

You type a few variations of ‘Then he can come and talk to me himself,’ but none of them sound particularly nice. Ghost hasn’t done anything wrong, so there’s no reason for you to act like he has. And for that matter, you’re supposed to be hiding from Ghost, not encouraging him to find you. Instead, you send back a clipped, ‘Okay.’

Nothing.

For one hopeful second, you think Soap’s mercifully let the conversation go, allowing you to go in peace to your nice hotel and your overpriced room service food.

Instead, you get the sunglasses emoji, a wink face, and, ‘k i told him to come see u’.

‘WHAT’

The only response is the skull and the little running cloud dash emoji, suggesting that Ghost is making a beeline right to your room. Panic seizes you and you fling your phone on your bed like somehow it’s going to help. It bounces harmlessly, then lands screen up, emojis taunting you.

Quickly, you start shoving the rest of your clothes and toiletries in your bag without a care as to where everything goes, eager to book it out of there as fast as your legs can take you. Once your bag is zipped up and thrown over your shoulder, you think you might be in the clear. Mission nearly accomplished.

Nearly.

Two solid knocks on your door almost make you hit the ceiling. You hold still, using that Jurassic Park wisdom again: if you don’t move, he can’t see you.

That applies to fictional dinosaurs, not trained killers, and certainly not Ghost. He knocks again, then follows it up with, “Ladybird, it’s me.”

Yeah, you know. That’s the problem.

Briefly, you consider going out the window, shimmying out and potentially getting caught on a base security camera for someone to laugh at later. That doesn’t make the problem go away, though.

You can just tell him you’re in a hurry, that your ride is at the gate right now and you don’t want to keep them waiting. Whatever conversation he wants to have, it’ll have to wait until you get back. It’s a good response. Solid. Foolproof.

And it dissolves the second you open the door.

He’s there, not vanished in the disappearing act you were hoping for, and all that want flares up again the moment you see him. He’s in casual dress like what he wore to the club—boots, jeans, t-shirt, hoodie, balaclava. His posture’s more relaxed, one hand in his hoodie pocket, the other hanging at his side. You meet his eyes, and your regret mixes with desire welling up inside you.

It’s that intense gaze from the helo, the brief but incendiary look from Berlin, the thoughtful gaze from the gym. You’re drawn up in it immediately, and this time, there’s no possibility of looking away. Ghost has you locked in.

He takes in the sight of you, dressed in your civvies, backpack on your shoulders, and raises his brows. “Going somewhere?”

Your mouth is cotton-dry, and you’re proud of yourself for putting a little syntax together. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m headed out.”

Right now, you should say. I’m going out right this second and I cannot be stopped. Do not engage.

But you don’t say that. You leave the words as they are, hanging between the two of you. In that moment, you’re two opposing fronts of contradictions—you want him to go, stay, talk, stay silent, touch you, leave you alone.

Ghost seems to sense this, that you’re not making any move to either speak to him or push him away. He doesn’t get into your space, staying right where he is while looking at you with his head slightly tilted. “Can I come in a sec?”

No. “Yes.” Please.

You take a step back, allowing him to walk into your room. His presence seems to fill it, like there’s too much of him and too little space to contain it. He closes the door behind himself, then finds a spot against the wall (the rare section that isn’t covered by posters or mementos) and leans against it. Still, still giving you your space.

You’re all nerves, waiting for him to speak, yet feeling like you should say something—to get all your feelings out in the open, exposed and waiting for him to pick over and do with what he will. But your anxiety and silence wins out, and instead you fidget, trying to find a point in the room to fix your gaze. Ghost takes all your attention though, holding it in a firm, invisible grip that can’t be broken no matter what you do. You get now, more than ever, why people are so scared of him when they end up at the wrong end of his skill set—he immobilizes them, rendering them completely unable to do a damn thing.

He watches you for an agonizingly long moment, then sighs. “Look, I didn’t want to bother you if you were busy, but Soap said you were around,” he says. Ghost doesn’t trail off or leave a space in his words for you to fill in the blanks. It’s a good thing—no place for you to misinterpret him—but it suddenly leaves you terrified at the possibility of what he’s going to say.

“Just for a little bit,” you hear yourself say, voice subdued and small.

He nods. “Then I’ll just get it out now before you go. More or less a question.”

Fuck. You feel a strange, uncomfortably cold sensation curl up tight and tense in your stomach. The feeling of standing at the edge of a long drop, knowing you have no choice but to let go.

His eyes are locked on yours, unrelenting, pinning. And then he says, “Do you have feelings for me?”

Right. No way to misinterpret.

You suck in a breath—a gasp, jerking at the question even though you knew it was coming.

You could lie. It’d be easy to do, just a few movements of tongue, jaw, and lips. No, I don’t. Three easy words. You could say you appreciate him as a teammate, as a professional, as someone you can trust in tough situations. He has your back; you have his. Anything beyond that is too much, to far outside of the commanding officer-subordinate hierarchy.

But you can’t lie to him. He’ll know. He’s trained in looking for tells, for the slightest quirk to denote that you’re holding back the truth. That, and you don’t want to lie to him.

Instead, quietly, you say, “Yes,” and inwardly brace for impact. Any kind of dressing-down from your C.O. and reminder of responsibilities and duties; or on a personal level, that Ghost doesn’t do relationships. You’re tensed up, waiting for its inevitable blow and all the shrapnel that’s definitely going to land right in your heart.

“Oh,” he says.

Oh.

Just one syllable, said deceptively, uncharacteristically soft. It belies so many things—possibilities, dangers. This man is fucking complicated.

And then he takes a step toward you. Just one. Just enough to close the gap that many inches. You don’t back up, but you’re too afraid to walk to him, unsure of what’s coming next.

He’s looking down at you, gaze passive, calm, and strangely open. You’ve learned new and interesting ways to read his eyes since you fell for him, but this one has an unknown definition, a kinesic oddity that you can’t translate.

And for a moment, you let yourself hope.

Then, he says your name. Not Ladybird. Not your rank. Your name. The sound of it is a rush in your ears, in your whole head, through every artery, vein, and capillary. He takes another step, slower than the first, drawing in closer before he says, “Do you want this?”

You nod. There’s nothing else you can do. You take a step toward him, looking up into his eyes and trying to read everything there. “Do you?” you ask. You’re still waiting for the rejection, as though Ghost is the type of person to lure you in only to shut you down.

Rejection doesn’t come. Instead, he steps forward to close the gap, one of his hands finding your waist.

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

Holy shit.

You stare at him in surprise, and the look on your face must be ridiculously easy to read. His other hand goes up under your chin, tilting your face toward him. The touch of his fingers is exactly like you imagined, the callouses on his thumb brushing over the soft skin underneath your jaw, causing you to shiver.

Ghost leans in close to your left side, skull’s grin close to your ear, and whispers, “Thought you hated me. Every time I looked at you, you’d look away.”

A near-hysterical laugh bubbles up in your throat, and comes out as a compressed, breathless giggle. All that time, you were so hopelessly in love with him, you couldn’t look at him without feeling like your heart was about to give out; and he interpreted that as dislike.

“God, no,” you say. “Total opposite.”

He laughs in your ear, and the sound chases out the remainder of that cold tension, replacing it with a newfound heat that feels good. “Wish I’d known sooner,” he says, and one of his hands goes up to push a strap of your backpack off your shoulder.

You ease out of it, dropping it to the floor, before reaching out and tentatively touching his waist in return. Through the fabric of his hoodie, you can feel how solid he is underneath, and you run your hand along his side in silent wonder.

Ghost moves back suddenly, and you only have a second to question why before the light goes out, leaving you in muted darkness permeated only by the bare sliver of sunlight filtering through your curtain. One hand finds your waist again, pulling you close, walking you toward your bed.

All you can think is no fucking way over and over, even as the back of your legs hit the side of the bed, and Ghost is lowering you down. Your back touches the mattress, head on the pillow, and Ghost is over the top of you, his hands bracketing your head. He looks down at you, mostly in shadow, only the bright white of the skull motif visible in the darkness. Then, his eyes flicker to his left, and he abruptly snorts.

You furrow your brow. “What?”

Wordlessly, his hand moves to the right of your head, and he picks up your phone.

Your phone which is still on, showing the emoji-heavy conversation with Soap. Ghost flips the phone to show you the last text he sent.

Skull emoji, kiss, black heart, red heart, ladybug, eggplant, peach, confetti ball, birthday cake.

“What the fuck, Soap?” you say under your breath, grabbing the phone from Ghost. You quickly turn it off and shove it onto your bedside table, groaning in embarrassment.

Ghost shakes his head, and unlike Soap, he doesn’t remark on it. Instead, he brings the situation right back on the rails with one hand going up under your shirt. Then, he says, “Close your eyes a second.”

You do, without question. You hear a faint rustle of fabric, and then his lips press against yours.

You gasp against his mouth, and that thrill you felt at hearing your name seems to rush back through you twofold at the thought that he took his mask off for you. He kisses you firmly, a guarantee that this is what he wants. You reach up with one hand, combing your fingers through his hair, nails scraping along his scalp and drawing out a quiet groan. He smells like standard-issue soap and laundry detergent, and the faint spice of cologne only just clinging to his skin. The feeling of kissing him is dizzying, entrancing, and the sound of it just hammers home that this is happening to you, in your room, with him.

He pulls back just a little, kissing a trail from the corner of your mouth down to your chin, then your jaw, and up to your ear. The sensation makes you shiver again, arching up into him involuntarily. You hear and feel an amused huff of breath, before he says, “What do you want?”

Good god, what don’t you want?

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “Anything. Whatever you want.”

He nods against your neck, then tilts his head up to press a kiss to your temple. “Tell me if it’s too much, or if there’s something you don’t like. Communicate.”

You grin, mostly at the sotto voce version of his command voice. “Yes, sir.”

He huffs a laugh and continues kissing down your neck, down to the hemline of your shirt. Undressing comes as an easy next step, shoes off first (and they were on the bed, ugh), and then Ghost pulls your shirt up; you lift yourself enough to help him pull it over your head. In the darkness, he does the same, and you watch his silhouette remove his hoodie, then pull his shirt over his head and drop it off the side of the bed. You can’t see his face, but the faint beam of sunlight touches his hair and brings out a hint of pale gold. It feels like a secret shared between you, adding to that warmth building up inside.

He leans back down, kissing down your sternum to the upper hem of your sports bra. He starts to go lower, and you decide then that you’d like to take at least a little initiative.

“Wait,” you whisper. “Come back up here.”

He does, like he’s accustomed to obeying your orders rather than the other way around. You reach up and touch his chest, eager to feel this part of him, the one he typically buries under layers of clothing and gear. He sighs at your touch, head dropping down to rest on the pillow beside you.

He’s firm and toned with well-honed muscle earned through endless missions and exercise. At the same time, the skin of his chest is surprisingly soft—even the scattered network of scars and keloids that mark his body. You feel old and new wounds, some still raised as they heal, some concave with age. They’re long, short, thick, thin, orderly, and jagged. Starbursts of bullet wounds, hard lines of cuts, spatters of shrapnel, textured lines of old stitches. His whole torso tells a long, tragic story from cover to cover, chest to back.

But he leans into this read of him, letting you feel every scar, every painful moment. His breathing is steady in your ear, giving way to the occasional sigh as your fingers trail over his skin.

In turn, he touches you. You don’t have even a fraction of his scars, but you have a few he can note. You know when he touches them, by the way his touch lingers, learning each one. It feels reverential, or communal—the two of you engaging in a silent trust exercise. He doesn’t ask about them, and neither do you. All of that is for another time.

Ghost presses a kiss to your shoulder, then pushes up until he’s over top of you again. His free hand goes down to the waistline of your jeans, finger tracing teasingly over the zipper. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” you say, breathless. As if you’d say anything else.

He undoes the button, then the zipper, slowly pulling your jeans to your hips, then removing them entirely. He sits up on the edge of the bed for a moment, removing his boots, then his jeans. You lay there, watching him move, feeling your arousal start to grow and burn like a low flame.

When he touches you again, you silently agree that you wish you’d said or done something sooner. It’s bliss. He’s gentle with you, mindful even, in a way you’ve never experienced or anticipated from someone like him. He helps you out of your bra, letting you pull it all the way off before his hands palm your breasts in slow, deliberate movements. It’s an extension of his exploratory touches, learning your body inch by inch.

Your breathing quickens, and Ghost looks up at you in what you guess is concern. “Doing alright?” he asks.

Your face grows hot, and you nod, turning your head to kiss his cheek. “I’m fine,” you reply. “I just don’t know what to do.”

It’s not like you haven’t had sex before, but sex with him feels completely different, like it doesn’t belong in the same category. You’ve never wanted someone this badly, or had someone respond to you like this. It’s almost overwhelming, but Ghost reaches up and combs some of your hair away from your face before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Lie back a bit,” he instructs. “And tell me if you need me to stop.”

You do as he says, leaning up against the pillows as he moves down your body, leaving a trail of kisses down your torso to your hips. He’s a shadow moving over you, long and languid, and every touch just adds to the mounting heat. When his fingers touch the hem of your underwear, you shiver in anticipation, then arch your hips to give him a little leverage in removing them. In one motion, you’re exposed to him, even in the dark. Yet after touching him, and him touching you, you don’t feel as vulnerable. If anything, this feels safe. This feels right.

His hands go to your hips, then run slowly along the outer sides of your thighs. You think he might fulfill that fantasy from earlier, fingering you until you’re a mess, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure with his skilled hands.

Which is why it surprises the hell out of you when he goes lower, until his head is between your thighs, sunlight leaving gold stripes along his back.

“Ghost,” you gasp.

He looks up at you, and now more than ever, you wish you could see his face. You only see the faint shine of his eyes, but at that moment, it’s enough.

Then he spreads you, and licks a stripe from your opening to your clit.

If you were entertaining any thoughts before, any fantasies carefully curated in those rare hours of alone time, they flee in that single movement. Even the Ghost of your imagination never did this, tasting and savoring you in long, slow laps that make your whole brain short out like a blown fuse. The sound is goddamn obscene, especially as he leans in close and starts to lap at your clit. It’s a shock of sound in the silence, louder than even your own noises when you got yourself off.

Your right hand finds his head, fingers running through his hair as he licks you. He alternates between short laps and long strokes, tongue circling around your clit, teasing you, making you shudder and moan. It’s frustrating and fucking heavenly, the sensation of ebb and flow, receding and rushing waves of heat building up then flowing back.

Right when you think you can’t take the teasing anymore, he switches tactics. The teasing abruptly ends, and Ghost gets relentless.

You moan way too loud when he sucks at your clit, tongue swirling around it, the sound of his mouth on you loud as a gunshot. You swear they have to hear it down the hallway, or anywhere on base. At this point, though, you really don’t care who hears you, because they don’t have Ghost between their legs, getting them off in ways no deity ever intended.

Then his fingers join his mouth, index tracing circles around your entrance, dipping in slowly, tauntingly.

“Fuck.” The word is sharp in the air, as you arch at the sensation.

It’s too much; it’s not enough.

He tilts his head up a little, but when he speaks, you feel his warm breath ghost over your sex. “Let me hear you,” he says, words drawn straight out of your fantasies. Every door containing that imaginary version of Ghost is unlocked, every bulkhead breached—that Ghost and this one are one in the same.

And when he pushes that first finger into you, you follow his order to the letter.

It comes out as a broken wail, cut off when he starts thrusting and licking you in alternate strokes. His pace quickens, merciless, sharp eyes watching you from the shadows as your head rolls back on the pillow, chest heaving to catch a single solid breath. Your hands drop to your sides, fisting the sheets just to have something to hang onto, any kind of anchor as Ghost guides you through a tempest.

You moan his name, last consonant catching on a sob of pleasure when he starts to add a second finger. Only then does he pause, and the absence of his mouth is stark.

Then he says your name, temporarily drawing you out of the cumulonimbus of arousal you’re flying through, briefly bringing you back to earth.

You look down at him, the silhouette of his head, small locks of hair sticking up from where your fingers combed through. You see him tilt his head to rest his cheek against your inner thigh, and his voice rolls out like a dull roar of thunder in your ears. “It’s Simon,” he says. “I wanna hear you say it.”

Somehow, hearing his real name in the midst of all this is almost too much. Like the last little vestige of a play on stage falling away and revealing the inner workings of the backstage, all the ropes and pullies holding the show together. He’s more exposed now, more raw, more human.

You reach down, trembling hand brushing over his cheek, over stubble and scar tissue, and the soft skin of a very real face.

“Simon,” you whisper. It sounds like a confession.

He doesn’t reply, but you feel him smile against your hand, briefly turning his head to press a kiss against your palm. Then he’s lowering himself down again, coaxing you out of the eye of the storm and back into the maelstrom. Two fingers thrust and curl, filling you, leaving you empty, touching places that send bolts of pleasure through you.

Your pulse becomes the thunder of the helo’s blades, your body trembling with midair turbulence. Simon fucks you on his fingers, tongue lathing over your clit, mouth fucking worshiping you. He takes you to that precipice, the long fall, the drop through cloud cover to a faintly-marked point on the earth.

The step off the edge feels like perfect, natural progression.

Your orgasm sweeps through you from toe to tip, a roll of white-out pleasure shaking you, wringing a cry out of your mouth that makes Simon fuck you harder. His fingers don’t let up, working you through the tidal wave, taking you to shore on the other side.

You’re boneless at the end, slumping back on the pillow and panting, shivering, taking stock of your limbs and extremities as they each come back online after the outage. You only vaguely register the feeling of Simon moving on the bed, coming up to lay beside you.

He murmurs your name, then kisses you, and you can smell and taste yourself on him. Your hand goes up to run along his jawline, one rogue thought telling you, yeah, you can cut glass with it.

How everything gets so gentle afterwards is beyond you. Simon’s hand is on your face, thumb brushing the soft skin under your right eye. You can feel his erection against your leg, and somewhere in the back of your mind—still tingling with pleasure, shimmering bright and brilliant—you know how you’re going to take initiative.

You break the kiss just for a moment, delighting in the soft sigh of protest you hear and feel against your cheek. Then you lean in close, pitching your voice low like his, hoping it has the same effect on him.

“Hope you don’t have any plans this weekend,” you say, brushing your hand over his shoulder.

You feel him smile against your skin, and he shakes his head.

“Thought you were heading out,” he says.

“Only if you’re going with me.”

One arm goes around your waist, pulling you close as he nuzzles against your neck. “We have some time, though, right?” his voice slides over you, suggestion clear and presented like a gift.

God, yeah you do.

---

Somewhere in between rounds, your phone goes off on your bedside stand.

Once.

Twice.

You don’t hear it, and the short buzz is drowned out by moans and the soft slap of skin on skin. When Simon makes a move like he’s going to check on it, you hook him back in place with your leg around his waist, pulling him in close, then kissing him silent. He falls into it, all too happy to oblige.

So you miss the skull and ladybug emojis, then the volume symbol.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x you #em dash and italics party is here to staaaay #can you believe this was going to be longer #am i super happy with it? not totally but it was p fun

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