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sometimesanalice · 7 months

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Bedside Manner

Summary: You were expecting the perfect summer afternoon with the Daggers, but when a game of dogfight football takes a turn for the worse, you’re left with a bleeding head and an aching heart. And it’s up to Bradley to show you his bedside manner.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 8K

Warnings: A little angst, a little pining, and two idiots in love.

It’s a perfect summer afternoon. Well, almost.

The sun is high in the sky and the steady salt kissed ocean breeze keeps it from being too uncomfortably hot. The coolers are filled with beers and sodas and a few pink cans of rosé that Coyote had brought. And the beach blankets were littered with open half-eaten family sized bags of chips and cubes of bright pink watermelon and containers of various dips and ziplocs with sun warmed and mostly melted chocolate chip cookies.

“You guys, really, I’m fine,” you state as adamantly as you can given the circumstances.

Sure, you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your throbbing, bleeding head. Sure, you are a little afraid to put your full weight on your left ankle and already dreading the long walk back to your car.

But it’s fine, you’re fine. Everything is…peachy. Or it will be as soon as they all stop looking at you like you’re about to crumple to the ground like some 1920’s silent film starlet from on the silver screen.

Nat has that deep pinch between her sharp brown eyes. Jake’s lips are pressed together in a firm white line. The rest of the team stands hovering around you in a misshapen semicircle, all sandy and sweaty, and wearing the concern painted across their faces.

All except for Rooster, who can’t seem to look at you at all.

“Clearly, you’re not,” Phoenix says flatly, clearly unamused by your attempts to minimize the situation. And you wish that just this once she could have let this go and follow your lead. But then she wouldn’t be Natasha Trace.

Your best friend since middle school had always been the most capable and sharpest person in the room and you loved that about her.

Normally.

But not so much when her keen assessment of you keeps you from being able to slink away quietly without fuss.

“No, seriously. It’s just a little scratch. It’s not a big deal.” It sounds feeble even to your own ears. Trying to hold back a wince when the way you shake your head makes starbursts bloom behind your eyes.

You could have dealt with the pounding in your head if it weren’t for the relentless burning of your ankle that was only making things worse. One or the other would have been easier to manage, but both vying for your attention as the pain pulses with every heartbeat was miserable.

The sun was too hot, the kids frolicking the ocean were too loud, the sunscreen on your skin felt too greasy. All you wanted was a shower and your bed and to forget this whole day even happened.

You look around the group trying to gauge how successful your efforts are, but it’s clear that no one seems to be buying your brand of poorly performed bullshit. You wanted to crawl into yourself like a hermit crab, protected by your own shell, as six pairs of eyes all looked on at you sympathetically, while the pretty brown ones you wanted to see the most were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses and trained down at the ground.

It was supposed to be a fun day.

You’d woken up that morning absolutely giddy about trading spreadsheets for sand and sunburns and sea salt tangled hair. Your cheery, new swimsuit already laid out and waiting for you from the night before.

There was something thrilling about hooky on a Friday with all of your favorite people that made you feel all kinds of young and free. Well, hooky for you. They’d been given the day off after a month of intensive training and testing of some new defensive software. They all deserved the break and you were more than happy to tag along.

You were always the good kid in school, never skipping, never missing a class. You’d felt like a rebellious teen as you crafted your ‘out of office’ email, a smug grin on your face like you were getting away with something. Even though you’d earned the right to use that PTO whichever way you wanted.

The anticipation of a snow day from your childhood school days had nothing on the intoxicating promise of a beach day on a golden summer Friday.

The team must have felt the same way too because the group chat the night before had been chaotically amusing. The excitement was palpable enough that you’d almost think you all lived in some landlocked state rather than San Diego, where it felt like all roads led to the beach whether you wanted them to or not.

Somewhere between the string of all capitalized sentences and exclamation points with a few well-chosen emojis scattered throughout, Natasha had managed to wrangle everyone in enough into sorting out who was responsible for bringing what. There wouldn’t be another veggie platter incident, not on her watch.

You’d felt bright and effervescent as you’d pulled into the parking lot, your eyes reflexively seeking out a blue Bronco that hadn’t arrived yet. With a beach chair over one shoulder and a beach bag over the other and a packed cooler bag in your hand, you’d made towards the multicolored sprawl of blankets and the striped peaks of the umbrellas, where you were met with the smiling faces of shiny happy people.

Some of the boys had rushed over to help you carry your things and added your offerings to the communal pile of snacks and sunscreen and bottles of water. It had been easy to fall into conversation with everyone as you set up your own little patch of paradise and shimmied out of your frayed cut-offs. Natasha had given you a wolf whistle and you’d laughed as you give her the finger.

And hour and a half later with an easy grin on his face, carrying a case of beer and two big Ziploc bags stuffed with what you learned later were homemade cookies balanced on top, was Rooster.

You’ve had plenty of beach days with them but every time you saw him in those damn denim shorts he always seemed determined to wear, regardless of how impractical they were, your mind still went a little fizzy as you took in just how well they clung to his thighs.

He’d taken the ribbing from his squad in stride as he unboxed the beers and added them to the collection already chilling in Bob’s bright yellow cooler. You were trying- and failing- to read your worn paperback book when he’d surprised you by plopping his things next to yours on your oversized towel and stole a chunk of juicy watermelon off of the plate balanced on your lap.

“Hey, book worm,” he grinned as he popped it into his mouth, “How’s my favorite girl doing?” That smile of his getting bigger when you rolled your eyes at him.

“Hi, Rooster,” you’d said looking at him from over the top of your sunglasses with an amused smirk.

And if your cheeks felt warm, it was from the sun and not the teasing tone of his raspy voice.

When he’d shrugged off his shirt to apply the sunscreen you’d brought with him in mind, the wink he’d shot you went straight to your head like champagne. The sun highlighting his impressive abs and sculpted shoulders didn’t help either as he took great efforts to cover his chest and stomach with the lotion. He had to be doing it on purpose, because he’d kept rubbing it in well past when the white hue faded. But who were you to complain? Melanoma was no joke.

“You wanna help me out?” he’d asked turning his back to you, looking over his shoulder. You’re pretty sure that he’d been flexing because he’d looked impossibly broad, every defined muscle standing out for eyes to map out and explore.

You’d been at war with yourself, because while your eager hands were desperate to touch him, you also knew that once you ran your hands along his solid frame that you’d never want to stop. That you wouldn’t be content until your fingertips had traced every inch of him.

You had been blessedly and devastatingly spared the choice.

“I got you, Rooster. My hands are already all sunscreen-y,” chimed in Bob, who had just finished rubbing his own freshly applied layer. “Wouldn’t want it to get on her book.”

You were only half relieved to be off the hook, while Bradley on the other hand was still looking at you expectantly, almost hopefully, still with the white and yellow bottle of sunscreen partly extended towards you.

“That’s so sweet of you, Bob-” you’d started.

“Yeah, so sweet-” Bradley grumbled under his breath.

“I appreciate you sparing my pages the sunscreen grease,” you’d said shooting Bob a smile, choosing to ignore Bradley’s comment completely. “Plus, your hands are bigger than mine. You’ll have him covered in no time.”

Bradley looked between you and Bob before he passed the bottle to the other man, shaking his head a little in defeat. You’d giggled to yourself as you wiggled your book at an openly brooding Bradley, and then leaned back on your elbows to observe the way the attentive WSO made sure to carefully and thoroughly cover Bradley’s entire back.

Respectfully, of course.

Behind your sunglasses you’d admired all of Bradley’s bulk compared to Bob’s lithe grace. But in your defense, they were standing right in front of you and you’d already reread your book at least five times in the past, so it wasn’t nearly as interesting as the scene in front of you had been.

“You look awfully comfortable over there,” Rooster called out with a raised eyebrow.

“Just taking in the view,” you’d teased back.

“Yeah, I bet you are,” he huffed as Bob finished up, giving him a thanks, man before tossing you back the bottle of sunscreen. He’d nudged his sunglasses down his nose and pinned you with his gaze, “Let me know if you want me to get your back. My hands are just as capable as his.” Even in the high heat of summer, the way he’d looked at you sent chills running along your arms.

You felt the way his keen eyes traveled from your face, down the deep-v of your swimsuit and along the swells of your breasts, and down your legs to your freshly painted toes. His mouth had ticked up in the corner then left you reeling and your heart pounding away in your chest as he’d strut off to go join Fanboy and Coyote by the mountain of snacks.

And that was the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. You never knew if he was just flirt-y or flirt-ing.

You hadn’t had a crush in ages, but when Nat had introduced you to her team five months ago, the man with the sunkissed curls and surprisingly attractive mustache had immediately caught your eye.

And as you’d gotten to know him, it had only gotten worse.

Not only was he very nice to look at and could make you laugh until your sides ached, but he also he had depth about him in a way that most men your age didn’t. You liked talking to him and listening to his stories. You liked learning his perspective on things. You liked being around him.

He made you feel interesting and special and funny and seen. You’ve never felt as comfortable in your own skin as you did when you were around him.

Rooster would send you flirty winks, give you less than subtle once overs, and could flash you such devastating slow grins that they’d have you trying to catch the butterflies they released in your stomach for hours after you went home.

But he’s never made a move.

If only he wouldn’t play hide and seek with his true intentions.

You felt like you were still waiting on some small clue whether he was serious or not. You didn’t know if he was just having fun with you or if he was into you and it was more than just friendly banter. It would be so much easier if he’d straight up tell you one way or another.

Needless to say, you’d let Nat be the one to help you with your sunscreen a little bit later. The idea of Bradley’s big hands on you, gliding along your sun-warmed skin and under the crisscross straps of your swimsuit, was too much for your hummingbird heart.

The sun climbed higher into the sky as the butter yellow midmorning transformed into a Midas-touched golden afternoon.

The squad had been able to reserve a fire pit and the plan had been to stay until the sunset. An endless summer day stretching out before them like a cat. They had nothing but time.

Clusters of people came together and split apart like a kaleidoscope as some went to take a dip in the ocean or raid the cooler and snack spread or go for a walk along the shore. Changing and shifting with the direction of the wind, going where the mood took them.

And for a peaceful moment, it had been you with your book and a napping Bradley sprawled out next to you on your towel with his arm flung over his eyes. Close enough that you could feel his warmth, almost but not quite touching. The sound of his soft breaths and the waves their own kind of lullaby as you contentedly read your book, turning your pages quietly to not disturb the man next to you, as the droplets of the Pacific dried on your skin.

You still don’t know how you got roped into playing a round of dogfight football with the Navy’s best and brightest. You were more of a corn hole or ladder toss kind of girl, but Coyote had all but thrown you over his shoulder and dragged you out before you’d agreed to participate, conceding your defeat.

You were on a team with Hangman, Coyote, Fanboy against Nat, Rooster, Payback, and Bob. A few plays in and you had been getting the hang of it. They’d all been making sure to take care to go easy on you even in the chaos of two teams playing offensively and defensively at the same time. You were more than a little out of breath, but you were having fun.

Before the next snap, Mickey gave the most impassioned pep talk you’d ever heard, “Fuck luck, we don’t need luck. We gotta fucking win.” You had been about to laugh, but then you’d seen the looks on Jake and Javy’s faces and decided against it. Curious about the other team, you’d glanced over only to see Rooster looking back at you.

The calls had been made, the blur of plays in motion as people whirled and dodged and sprinted.

You’d just lobbed the ball to Javy before darting around Nat when a big, solid body collided with you. Hard. You’d felt the twinge of your ankle twisting in the sand right before the force sent you flying in the opposite direction you’d been headed.

The impact had been jarring. The air knocked from your lungs.

Where you should have been met with a mouthful of gritty sand, instead your head had connected with the rough surface of a partially buried rock. The low, thick thud reverberating throughout your whole body.

You’d been so stunned that you didn’t even register you were even on the ground until you heard the chorus of oh fucks and holy shits and goddamns and jesus christs over the ringing in your ears.

The game coming to an immediate and conclusive end.

For how many empty bottles and cans were sitting collected in a trash bag off to the side of your beach set up, they had been surprisingly quick to act as you blinked blankly, trying to clear the spots from your vision.

It was a silent ballet of efficiency as they instinctively fell into their roles, much like you imagined they did the sky. Everyone stepping up and then stepping back as they did their part, like the ebb and flow of waves.

Nat had carefully poured some fresh water from a bottle on your face to remove the sand that clung to the sweat and sunscreen on your skin. Then Jake had wordlessly passed her his clean spare shirt he’d jogged of to get to help stop the bleeding after Javy checked on your pupils to make sure they were the same size. While Bob stood off to the side holding your warped sunglasses in his hands, as if he was hopeful they could still be salvaged. Mickey and Reuben had been waiting in the wings giving you space, ready to help if they were needed, but not wanting to not crowd in.

And from the corner of your eye, you’d caught Rooster standing a couple feet away with his hands in his hair looking absolutely wrecked.

“Bradley?” you’d tried, even though his name stuck to your teeth. But he’d just shook his head at you before turning away slightly, like he couldn’t look at you, which made your heart sting as well.

They only allowed you to move to sit up after they were content with the answer to their questions- What day is it? Friday. Where are you? San Diego. What else hurts? My ankle and my pride.

It wasn’t until someone hauled you up from underneath your armpits that the throbbing and stinging and aching settled over you. The pain seeping and spreading through muscle and bone like an inky oil spill.

It’s still an almost perfect summer afternoon except for the fact you hate everything about this.

You hate the way they’re gathered around you with too many pairs of assessing eyes pinned on you. You hate that you’re the reason the game of dogfight football came to a definitive and abrupt end. You hate that you’re the reason their carefree and fun afternoon off has turned into this.

There’s a pressure building behind your eyes, the hot tears of hurt and frustration and embarrassment are clamoring to be released. You have to bite your lower lip to keep it from trembling.

And it doesn’t help that you’re the type who’d rather lick your wounds in peace.

You just need to get back to your car and you can figure things out on your own from there. You just need a moment to yourself.

As you open your mouth to argue your case again, Jake puts his hand up and stops you before you’ve even had a chance to start, “I hate to break it to you, sugar, but you’re not fooling any of us.” He says it gently, but gives you a pointed look at the way you’re leaning heavily on your right leg to keep the pressure off of your left ankle.

“That head wound is not a little scratch. Just like your ankle isn’t just a little puffy, when it’s twice the size it should be. You need to go to the Emergency Room,” Nat says, final and resolute. A lifetime of friendship has taught you not to argue when she has that look in her eyes, the one that says try me, I dare you.

They all talk over you as they figure out who is the most sober of the group after your suggestion to call yourself an Uber is immediately shot down. Drinks are being counted on fingers, and memories are searched to make sure every sip and bottle and can is accounted for.

Your eyes drift over to the man who is still actively avoiding looking at you, even as he talks to everyone else on the team. You aren’t paying too close attention to what he is saying, but you can hear the short, clipped staccato of his words.

Bradley’s shoulders are tinged a little pink even though you know for a fact that you had purposely passed him the 65 SPF. His eyes are hidden behind his dark green tinted sunglasses, but you don’t need to see them when you can read his body language better than any book.

His arms are crossed firmly over his chest, the tendons in his forearms flexing and shifting, like he is squeezing and releasing his fists from where they’re tucked under his biceps. Everything in his body looks coiled tight and strained, so at odds with the easy going and loose-limbed man you know him to be.

You don’t realize just how much you’ve zoned out until Natasha has to say your name a couple time before you pull your gaze away from Bradley and back to her.

“Ok, it’s settled,” Nat informs you, “Rooster’s going to take you.” You barely nod your head in acknowledgement when she tells you, because it feels like you’ve been punched in the stomach now too.

“It’s the least he can do,” Jake drawls.

“That’s not fair-” you start, defensively.

“Fuck off, Bagman-” Rooster snaps.

The rage in his voice shocks you, you’ve never heard that much heat from him before. There’s none of the teasing tone that usually underscores their banter. Jake puts both of his hands up placatingly like my bad, folks and Javy just shakes his head and sighs.

And this time when you look at Bradley, he is finally looking back at you with a deep furrow in his brow. His jaw is clenched tight, that muscle ticking and jumping, as he takes in the way you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your forehead.

Not exactly the way you’d hoped he’d be looking at you when you put on your new blue and white striped swimsuit this morning.

The one you’d bought because you wanted to make him look.

Just not like this.

With everything sorted the rest of the team trickles away a smattering of take cares and get better soons and let us know if you need anythings. But not before Mickey hands Rooster his stuff and passes Nat your bag and sandals. He gives you the gentlest of squeezes on your shoulder before he leaves to join everyone else back on little part of the beach you all had claimed before things went to shit.

Your group of eight now downsized to a trio.

Bradley is quick to roughly pull on his tank and shirt, and Nat fishes out your car keys from your bag as she waits for him to slip his shoes on. When he’s ready she passes it to him and he silently slides it over his arm.

Nat bends down to help gingerly glide your feet into your sandals, “I’ll grab the rest your things and drop them off at your place and then one of the boys will drop off your car later. We’ve got it all covered, ok?”

“Thanks, Nat,” you say quietly, trying to hold back a wince as she slips the left one on, your ankle pulsing in tempo with your heartbeat.

“Best friends don’t say thank you, they just do,” she says matter-of-factly as she stands. It’s the same thing you’d told her after you’d dumped a carton of strawberry milk on Carly Radke for outing Natasha your freshman year in high school. It was only time you’d ever gotten detention, but it had been worth it.

“They just do,” you repeat with a small smile.

You’re so grateful that your friendship with her is one that has spanned years. That you’ve been able seen one another grow and change and come into their own, but that you haven’t outgrown each other. She’s the person you want by your side and having your back. There is no one quite like Natasha Trace.

She turns to Bradley and you watch him stand a little taller under her sharp eyes, your straw tote still dangling from his forearm.

“You good?” Nat asks him with a look in her eye that you can’t place. And you’re reminded that even though she’s your best friend, that he has also earned a spot as one of her closest friends. Their relationship built over years and experiences that you could never fully understand. Different, but just as deep.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got her. I’ll take care of her,” Rooster promises with a stiff nod, as he gives her his word. It might have made your heart beat a little faster if you didn’t feel like such a burden. That it’s simply a twist of fate and three less drinks than everyone else for the reason that he’s the one to look after you. That he’s the one stuck with you.

“I know you will,” she says softer now, patting his shoulder, “Keep me posted.” Nat presses a kiss to your cheek and gives you an encouraging smile then heads off to go rejoin everyone else.

You watch her go with longing. The cheerful beach set up with its colorful blankets and umbrellas looks more like a desert mirage now. The sweet coconut scented potential of what the day could have been now forever out of reach.

And then it’s just you and Bradley and the sound of the waves and cries of seagulls.

The two of you silent and motionless.

You feel one wrong move and the fragile attempt of the stiff upper lip you’ve cocooned yourself in will crack open and all the soft parts of you will seep out into the sand beneath your feet.

His expression is shuttered closed as he bends a bit like he is going to pick you up.

“Woah, buddy, what are you doing?” You’re squinting into the sun as you look at him. You’d step into his shadow to block it, since you’re now in need of a new pair of sunglasses, but that would mean moving to the left which isn’t an option with your ankle.

“Buddy,” he grunts under his breath, slipping off his sunglasses and carefully putting them on your face, being mindful of stinging scrapes and wad of soft cotton you’re holding to your head. “They’re definitely going to have to run concussion protocol on you,” he mutters more to himself than to you, “I’m taking you to the Bronco and then we’re going the ER, remember?”

“Yeah, I know, Rooster,” you grit out, even rolling your eyes hurts, “But I don’t need you to carry me.”

Everything about this was excruciating and embarrassing enough without him being the Clark Gable to your Vivian Leigh. Maybe you could lean on him and hop over to his car? Like a six-foot-one pair of crutches with good hair.

“Take a step without wincing and I’ll think about it,” he says firmly, pointedly calling your bluff. There’s an expectant look of go on then, whenever you’re ready on his face. Because he knows he’s right, and you do too.

You don’t even bother to make a move, but the way your lower lips wobbles speaks volumes.

“That’s what I thought,” he says quietly, almost like pains him to be right.

He bends a little to hook his arms around your knees and back to lift you up, and this time you let him. Your free arm automatically wrapping around the back of his neck. And he starts off towards the winking windshields of the parking lot.

You’ve thought about what it would be like to be wrapped up in Bradley’s arms, how good it would feel to be pressed closed against him. And now you are and it’s nothing like you’ve imagined, because there isn’t anything sweet or swoon-worthy about how you ended up in them. You’re his duty, you’re not his desire.

All your sandcastle hopes have been washed away by the tide.

You’re so frustrated. You’re frustrated by the day, by yourself, by him.

This time you can’t blink back the tears that well up in your eyes. They flood through your tear ducts carving hot trails down your sun-tinged cheeks.

You want the Bradley from earlier.

The one who stole your watermelon with warmth in his eyes.

The one who dozed next to you in the sun like a cat, his features soft free of the tension he now holds in his shoulders.

You want your Bradley.

The one who’d whispered cheeky comments in your ear whenever the team got into lighthearted tequila fueled arguments about things like whether a hot dog was a sandwich.

The one who’d always go up to the bar with you on busy nights at the Hard Deck and make sure you didn’t get bumped into on the way back to your friends with your freshly refilled drinks.

You’re aching, aching. Everywhere.

For a brief moment, as you swipe at your tears, you’re happy for the throbbing in your head and ankle, so that way you don’t have to think about the stinging in your heart.

“I know, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know you’re hurting,” Rooster says gentle and low as you sniffle, but you can hear the thickness of the words in his throat. The term of endearment is the sweetest of nothings, making your tears come faster. Where it should ease the heartache, all it does is make you angry at yourself for giving your emotions away. “We’re almost to the Bronco. It’s ok, we’re gonna get you taken care of, I promise.”

We.

You wanted that with him.

You want to press both of your hands to his cheeks to make him look you in the eyes to ask him is it going to be you and me together? You’ve been a fool for love before, but you didn’t know if could take another hit-and-run with your heart.

The salt of your tears makes your cheeks feel tight and itchy as the summer breeze dries them on your skin.

Bradley carries you like you weigh nothing, but cradles you like you’re the most precious things he’s ever held. He’s mindful of any dips in the sand and gives wide berth around the college kids playing volleyball close to the entry back to the parking lot.

When he reaches the Bronco, he sets you down gently, making sure both of your feet are planted on the asphalt before letting go of you to unlock his car. He tells you to wait a moment when you move to open the passenger side door.

“I never know when I might get called up for an emergency deployment, so I like to have some extra clothes just in case,” he explains as he digs around in the backseat, pulling out a pair of gray athletic shorts.

“Oh.” And you realize you’re still just clad in your striped swimsuit. “Thank you for sparing me from the hospital germs,” you say lightly, an attempt at a joke to break the ice. One that doesn’t land, since instead of cracking a grin he just presses his lips together in a firm line and nods.

Bradley crouches low in front of you and you put a hand on his shoulder for balance as you lean against the Bronco, still trying to keep as much pressure off your left ankle as possible as you step into them. He’s looking up at you and even through his sunglasses perched on your nose, you swear his brown eyes get a shade darker as he eases the shorts up your legs. You’re touched by the effort as he ties the strings in a lopsided bow, even if things are feeling tense between the two of you.

“Think this’ll be easier,” he mumbles shrugging off his light blue button up. You’ve always liked this one, with its soft pastel pink and minty green watercolor prints of net fishermen and hula girls and palm trees.

He holds it open for you, helping you thread your arm through it, and then takes over holding Jake’s now ruined shirt to your head so that you can get your other arm past the sleeve. It smells like him, citrus and amber. Your fingers brush against each other when you reclaim the makeshift bandage, and he adjusts his shirt so that it hangs over your shoulders just right.

It’s an awkward kind silent as Rooster helps lift you into the Bronco with his strong hands around your hips. He is all smooth efficiency as he buckles you in with a click. You pass him back his sunglasses the same moment he hands you your tote bag, and it almost feels like a hostage exchange.

He says nothing as he hauls himself into the driver’s side. The car rumbles to life when he turns the key in the ignition and a cheery song from the 80’s station on the radio comes on. Bradley quick to turn the volume down low. His thumb brushing your shoulder as he sets his hand on the back of your seat to look behind him as he carefully backs out of the spot.

It’s never felt this strained with him before.

It’s so painfully obvious that the two of you are walking on eggshells around each other. You can almost feel the wall that’s gone up around him. The white noise of the radio drowned out by the hum of the road as he drives in near silence.

Your day has been most effectively ruined by a chunk of sedimentary rock, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still recoup what’s left of it.

He could still have the perfect summer afternoon.

He could still go back to your friends and their perfect beach set up and laugh with them as Coyote keeps accidentally setting marshmallows on fire. He could still catch the bold oranges and soft pinks of the sunset with all the satisfied contentment he deserved to experience.

“You can leave me and go back, you know. I’ll be ok if you just want drop me off and then head back to the beach,” you say looking down at your fingers as you trace the stitching of his leather seats.

When he doesn’t answer right away, you glance over at him. The vein in his neck is standing out boldly against the column of his throat.

“Do I seem like the kind of guy who would leave someone at the ER alone?” he asks, his voice rougher than sandpaper.

“No. No, of course not,” you say emphatically, “That’s why I’m giving you permission.”

“Permission?” he scoffs with a shake of his head.

“Yes, permission,” you say, clipped.

You’re giving him an out, why doesn’t he get that?

He heaves a big sigh and grunts. “Is it… Would you rather have Bob- with his big hands- here instead?” Bradley asks, frustration leaking out around the edges of his words.

“Bob with his big hands?” you repeat baffled, “What does Bob have to do with anything about this?”

“That’s what you said earlier, sweetheart. I’m just citing the source. Or I can call Phoenix? Or…” he pauses glancing at the t-shirt pressed to your head, “Or even Seresin. Once we get you checked in I can call any of them an Uber or something, and they can be there with you, if you don’t want me.”

“No, Rooster, I don’t want anyone else.” You wince at the implication and hope it doesn’t read into it further than the current situation to two of you are wading through like quick sand.

“Ok, good,” he grumbles.

“Great,” you lob back.

His hand tightens on the steering wheel, the knuckles turning white, “Then where is this even coming from?” The action makes his thick forearm flex in this most delicious of ways that you’d appreciate more if you didn’t feel the anger simmering low in your stomach.

“It’s pretty damn clear that you’d rather be back there, Rooster. Or literally anywhere else right now.” You flip down the sun visor with more force than it deserves, regretting that you gave him his sunglasses back when the bright California sun in your eyes turns your headache into a full-blown migraine.

“Of course, I’d rather be anywhere else!” he says hotly, tossing his sunglasses back in your lap, “Do you think I like that you’re hurt and that we’re on our way to the hospital?” You shove them on your face with an angry huff.

A car speeds by blaring their horn as they pass by.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fuck off,” he grunts but speed of the Bronco doesn’t change, “Asshole.”

Bradley’s driving five miles under the posted limit, and you know for a fact he religiously drives at least ten miles over. And his turns have been smoother than butter, as if he is trying not to jostle you anymore than you’d already been today.

You are so tired of this hot and cold thing that he’s doing. His words and his deeds weren’t going hand in hand. He keeps giving you the cold shoulder, but is also so in tune with your every movement and need.

Gingerly, you angle yourself in your seat to look at him better, resting your tired left arm on the back of your seat and taking in his strong profile.

“Why are you being like this?” you demand, waving your free hand in a vaguely in his general direction.

“Like what? I’m not being like anything,” he retorts, making the same vague hand gesture as you did a moment earlier.

And oh, if that doesn’t fill your chest with hot indignation. That low simmering anger has turned into a full roiling boil as you shift in your seat trying to get your ankle in a position where it doesn’t hurt.

“Seriously, Rooster? I can feel tension rolling off of you in waves. You’ve been like this since everything turned to complete shit on the beach. I didn’t mean to ruin your day, I’m just trying to figure out how to make things better,” you bite out unable to keep things bottled up anymore.

He sucks in a sharp breath, “Are you kidding me right now? You think you ruined my day?” He glances from the road to you and back again, his brown eyes wide and searching.

“Yes?” Or so you’d thought until you’d seen the shock written all over his face, but now you weren’t so sure. It’s like you’ve dumped ice water on him instead of simply calling him out. “I feel like you’re taking it out on me and I don’t know why.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rooster swears under his breath, shaking his head. “I’m so damn sorry, sweetheart. I’m mad at myself, because I ruined your day. I should have been more careful, I should have been looking out for you. It’s not like you’re hard to miss in that swimsuit.” Your cheeks heat up at the comment, but you choose to ignore it.

Misery drips from his words like spilled ink off a page. You knew he was upset, but you didn’t realize he was upset about that. That he’s shouldering this fluke of fate as if it is his burden to bear. Some of the anger you’ve been feeling leaves your body like the tide washing out back out to sea. You’re still upset at him for how he has been acting up until this point, but you’re not mad at him about that.

“Bradley, no. It was an accident.”

“Yeah, an accident I’m responsible for,” he says hoarsely, rubbing roughly at his forehead. “God, I can still hear the sound it made when you hit that rock and it makes me feel sick. I would give anything to undo that moment. I need you to know that.”

He is being so hard on himself and your heart squeezes, this time in sympathy rather than hurt. He didn’t place that rock in the sand, the both of you were victims of circumstance.

“It could have happened to anyone. It could have been anyone,” you press delicately, trying to get him to hear you, shifting in your seat again still uncomfortable.

The sunshine bounces off of his slumped shoulders as he sighs raggedly.

“But it happened to you and it’s my fault. You’re bleeding, you’re in pain, and you’ve been crying. And it’s because of me.” He reaches down with his right hand and lifts up your leg so that you can rest it on his thigh, some of the ache alleviating immediately. He asks quietly, “That better?”

“Yes, thank you,” you murmur. He looks so upset, and all you want to do is curl into his lap. You want to hold him and you want to be held by him. “You know I don’t blame you, right?”

You expect him to move his hand back to the steering wheel, but he keeps it on your leg. His thumb stroking your still slightly sandy shin. Your cheery toenail polish at odds with the color blooming around your ankle.

Bradley’s throat bobs as he swallows hard, “Yeah, I do. I know that. But I still blame myself.”

The Bronco rolls to a soft stop at the light. There’s enough traffic that you know you’ll be here for a bit, and so does he since he turns in his seat to look fully at you. You take his sunglasses off, tucking them into the pocket of his shirt that rests above your heart, so nothing stands between his brown eyes and yours.

“So, you’re going to keep beating yourself up over it and icing me out? Making me feel worse? For what, Bradley? Because you’re a glutton for punishment? That’s not fair to me or to you.”

“Shit,” he mutters, his left hand running through his curls. “You’re right and I’m so sorry. I’ve been in my head feeling so damn guilty that I’ve been such an asshole. Can you forgive me?”

You’re about to answer him that when a horn startles you, making you jump in the leather seat. You see the light is green, the car that had been in front of you is gliding through the intersection passing under a blue sign pointing the way to the hospital.

“Bradley, the light.”

The car behind the two of you honks their horn again.

“They can wait. This is important, you are important. Do you forgive me?” There’s an underscore of need that punctuates his question.

“Yes, of course,” you say easily and sincerely. There’s so much remorse in his eyes, you would have forgiven him with that look alone.

“Thank you,” he breathes out in relief. And then he smiles at you for the first time since the beach and that ache in your heart is completely soothed, bandaged by that soft way he is looking at you.

Atlas no longer, he can simply be Bradley.

He takes his foot off the brake and by some miracle he’s able to make it through the light before it turns red again. You can see the tall structure of the parking lot near the hospital poking out above the line of the treetops.

The destination is closer than ever, but there are still things on your mind.

“And you aren’t an asshole, Bradley. But your bedside manner could definitely use some work,” you tease with a smile of your own.

“Baby, I’ve been trying to show you my bedside manner, but you keep holding me at arm’s length,” he groans dramatically.

The idea of experiencing Bradley Bradshaw’s bedside manner makes you feel all kinds of weak in the knees, even as you’re seated in his Bronco with your leg propped up in his lap, his big hand skating up and down along your shin comfortingly.

“How can you even say that with a straight face? You’ve never made a move!” you exclaim incredulously, “I was even the one to ask for your phone number, if you remember.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I hit on you all the time,” he argues with your favorite brand of Bradshaw banter, “I’ve been waiting for you to give me the green light, sweetheart.”

“I thought you were supposed to be pretty and smart,” you smirk.

He barks a laugh and the last tendrils of all the tension and all the pressure that had been swirling around you like a marine layer evaporates.

“You saying I’ve had the green light this whole time?” He looks over at you with a boyish smile, you like the way you feel when he looks at you like this.

“What I’m saying, Bradley, is if you’d have actually asked me out I would have said yes.” You press your toes into the muscle of his thick thigh and immediately regret it, wincing as pain ripples around your ankle.

He makes a sympathetic sound deep in his chest, “Sounds like I’ve been an idiot.”

“A very pretty one,” you allow, leaning your aching head back against the back seat.

“At least there’s that,” he concedes good-naturedly as he pulls into the parking lot, turning on his blinker for a spot opening up near the entrance to the Emergency Room by some twist of fate, one that’s in your favor this time.

Bradley pulls into the empty spot and kills the engine turning to you. He gently eases your foot back down onto the sandy floormat of the Bronco and leans into unbuckle your seatbelt.

He’s so close now looking up at you from under his eyelashes, and your breath catches in your throat. He moves closer, you can see the bits of hazel that surround his pupils. Your eyes flutter close and you tilt your head up, lips parting at the anticipation of his kiss.

There’s no holding back the noise of dissatisfaction you make when his lips press a tender kiss to your cheek. You lean into him wanting to feel, wanting him to give you more. His warm breath coasts over your skin as he chuckles. You can feel the way his lips are pulled up into a smile.

“I’m a gentleman, sweetheart,” he says as he pulls away, his eyes lingering on your lips. “My mom raised me not to go for the kiss on the first date. Or ones with head wounds and potential concussions.”

“Some first date,” you lament jokingly, looking in at the fluorescent lights awaiting you inside the hospital. You’d rather skip over this part entirely, but you’re ready to be done with holding Jake’s shirt to your head. “Nothing like insurance cards and scrubs to really set the mood.”

“Mmm. How about this, after we’re done here, I’ll take you through whatever drive-thru you want-”

“In-N-Out,” you cut in without a second thought. The novelty of it still hasn’t worn off on you, even if the fries are terrible.

“Ok,” he grins, “I’ll take you through in In-N-Out and get you your number two combo with mustard and grilled onions with a vanilla shake.” He pauses waiting for your nod of approval, looking more than pleased with himself when you acknowledge he got your order right.

“I like the sound of this so far,” you hum.

“Well that’s good. Since it’ll be our first date, I want to set that bar high,” he says giving you a wink. And there are those butterflies again, this time you don’t try to catch them with a net. They’re free to flutter around as they wish.

“If you really want to impress me, you’ll also take me through the McDonald’s drive-thru for their fries,” you muse.

“Done.”

“I was kidding,” you laugh, shaking your head at him disbelievingly and thoroughly charmed.

“Well, I wasn’t. So after we get you fed, give or take some fries, I will bring you home. I’ll get you whatever you need, I want to make sure you’re comfortable. Think you might be on crutches for a bit, sweetheart,” he says softly, playing with the ends of your hair. “And then in the morning, if you’re up for it, I’ll take you out for breakfast. Or bring you breakfast. Whatever you want. We can call that date number two.”

“And then you’ll kiss me?”

“And then I’ll kiss you,” he promises, offering you a crooked pinky finger. You beam and you wrap your own around his.

He slips out of the driver’s seat leaving you to contemplate the terms of his offer as he rounds the front of the Bronco. The nurses are going to get an eyeful of him in only those snug jean shorts and thin white tank. You make a mental note to avoid looking at him if they have to connect you to a heart rate monitor, he doesn’t need to know the effect he has on you. Not yet anyways.

“I have counteroffer,” you announce turning your body towards him as he opens your door for you.

“Let’s hear it, baby,” he says with a grin that almost makes you forget how bad your head and ankle hurt, “Shoot.”

“We still go to In-N-Out, but then in the morning you make me breakfast in bed with some of those famous Bradshaw pancakes I’ve heard about,” you say, as he steps in between your legs, “Seems like a good way to work on that bedside manner of yours.”

“I think you’re going to like my bedside manner, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb over your cheek.

You tilt your head at him, taking in the sunkissed strands in his hair and the affection in his eyes, “I guess we’ll have to find out.”

“Guess we will,” he rasps.

Rooster drops another sweet kiss to your cheek, whispering for you to stay put, and then he struts off towards the automatic doors of the Emergency Room. Leaving you alone with the butterflies in your stomach and the hope in your heart.

You dig your phone out of your straw tote and check the time, doing the math in your head.

There are a few messages from Nat and other people on the team already checking in, but you know you’ll have time to reply to them later as you wait with Bradley sitting by your side.

You look up and see he’s got a wheelchair now and is making his way back to you, wearing a soft smile on his face just for you.

Only seventeen more hours until you get to kiss Bradley Bradshaw and you can’t wait.

You’ve got that forever feeling about him.

Oh, oh, oh.

Thank you for reading! Rock on. Oh that joke was schist, I'll see myself out.

This was written as part of @roosterforme's Rocktober Playlist! You can check out all the other great submissions here!

The song that inspired this story was Paula Abdul's "Straight Up"

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader

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sluttywoozi · 4 months

Text

Like A Melody | ljh x f!reader

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~3.9k | Pairing: ljh x f!reader | genre: smut

Jihoon has fucked you in his studio before, but never like this.

Warnings: dom!jihoon, studio sex, biting, hair pulling, grinding, cumming in pants, multiple orgasms, oral f. rec., fingering, recorded sex (just voices), male masturbation, praise kink, piv sex, creampie

Reader Notes: chubby, has breasts and a vagina, subby

Jihoon needs to take a break.

He desperately needs to take a break, and he knows this, so why can’t he do it?

He’s been working on music for hours; his fingers are starting to cramp from plucking guitar strings and pressing down piano keys, his throat is sore from trying lyric after lyric, and his hair is a mess from his fingers running through it every other minute. His eyes are exhausted, the blue light lenses in his glasses only doing so much. Even his back hurts, which rarely happens now that he lifts so heavy.

But he just can’t make himself quit, which is why he breathes a sigh of relief when he hears the knock. It’s soft, just like you, and he calls out a quiet, “Come in,” feeling the smile stretch his lips as soon as your sweet face peeks through the slowly opening door.

“Are you busy?” You ask apprehensively, your eyes darting between his face and his computer.

He can’t take a break for himself but he can for you, so he says, “Not at all, baby,” and pulls his glasses off, minimizing his music production software. Pushing away from his desk, he turns his chair to face you and holds his hand out, waiting for you to come closer and take it. He just holds your hand for a minute, staring up at you with tired eyes and letting them blink closed when you lean down and press your lips to his.

Kissing you is as easy as loving you. It’s one of the few times in his life where he can shut his brain off and just feel, because every movement comes naturally to him. Dancing and singing do too, of course, but he has to count beats and remember words and keep every next move in mind.

With you, Jihoon can just do what feels right. Like taking hold of your knee with his free hand and pulling until you give in and straddle him in his chair. He loves how plush and perfect you feel against him, all of his sharp edges rounded out by your curves, and he loves even more having your weight on him.

He can take it, he can take you, and he likes to remind you at every opportunity.

Sliding lower in the chair, he pulls your hips into his to let you feel his hardening dick, his hand flexing in yours when you grind down. He can feel how hot you are through your little pajama shorts, and if he knows you at all, you’re wet already. He works his fingers free of yours to slide them between your legs, pulling your shorts and panties to the side so he can feel you through his thin athletic pants.

Your arousal soaks the fabric as soon as he thrusts up into you, making him let out a small laugh against your lips. You pout in response and mutter, “Shut up,” still working your hips against his.

“Didn’t say anything, baby,” he teases, smirking up at you and squeezing your lush hips with both hands. You sink yours into his hair and pull, and suddenly, nothing is funny. His hips buck against yours as his cock twitches, precum leaking from the head adding to the wet patch on his lap.

Your hips roll into his and he starts to throb, his dick pulsing in time with his heart. He can’t let you keep going or you’ll make him cum in his pants, or maybe… he could?

Should he?

It makes you feel good to make him feel good, and you always have a little pep in your step after he lets you make him cum first. He’s also desperate to get his mouth on you, and you’ll be more inclined to let him take care of you if he’s already taken care of.

With his mind made up, he pulls you down onto his cock and grinds into you, exhaling a moan against your mouth when you tug on his hair again. You love it this length, you’ve told him, and he’s going to keep it like this for as long as he possibly can. Partially for you, mostly because he fucking adores having you brush it and play with it and braid it.

He gets to be so close to you, and your fingers in his hair feel heavenly, even (especially) when you get a little rough.

His scalp stings with the next pull and it sends a shiver down his spine, ending in a sharp buck of his hips. He stretches his thumbs out to pull your pussy apart so he can grind into your clit, hoping to take you over the edge with him.

He’s getting close already, and you’re so wet, he can feel every inch of your cunt like there’s nothing separating him from you. Soon enough, there will be nothing, and he’ll be able to lick and suck and kiss you as much as he wants.

You bite his lip and drag your nails over his scalp, and that’s it for him.

His brain goes offline and his hips stutter against yours, a low groan leaving his open mouth as his dick twitches and jerks, streaks of cum splattering the inside of his pants. Your hips don’t stop moving until he stops them himself, his harsh grip dimpling your flesh.

“Fuck,” Jihoon sighs, blinking his eyes open to find you beaming at him.

He can only smile wryly at you in response, shaking his head and letting go of your hips to grab you by the waist.

“Up you go,” he pushes, hefting you up to sit on his keyboard, discordant notes filling the studio until he leans forward and presses mute.

“Are you su-”

“I’ve literally dreamed about this,” he tells you, for the first time.

“You have?” You almost sound like you don’t believe him, and Jihoon simply can’t have that.

“Yes. I’ve dreamed about spreading you out on my desk just like this,” he shoulders his way between your legs. “And kissing up these thighs,” he presses his mouth to your soft skin, digging his teeth in only once, though he wants to leave you covered in bite marks.

“And feeling them squeeze my head when I finally get you on my tongue,” he leans in and licks from your cunt to your clit, fighting a smile when your thighs snap closed just like he knew they would.

He wants to talk to you more but he can’t pull himself away from your pussy, can’t make his mouth form words when he’s so busy using it on you. And honestly, his priority is keeping it on you, for as long as he possibly can.

Between work and sleep, he doesn’t get to taste you nearly as often as he wants to, and now that he actually is between work and sleep, he plans on making the most of it. By shoving his tongue inside you over and over, by wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking until you cry, by groaning and humming into you both so you can feel the vibrations and to voice his obsession with your pussy.

And Jihoon is obsessed with your pussy, make no mistake. If he didn’t love his job so much, he’d quit and spend all his time worshiping you, taking care of you, loving you. He honestly thinks he’d make a killer house husband, and someday, when he retires, he plans on becoming one.

He can imagine it now, cleaning and working out and sleeping until you come home, then feeding you and fucking you till the sun sets, reading to you and massaging away any soreness before wrapping you up in his arms and falling to sleep together. He can still make music while you’re gone, but he won’t be jetting off or practicing for hours on end anymore.

He’s not ready for that now, but for a distant dream, it’s pretty enticing.

Even more enticing is the paradise between your thighs; the taste of you, the scent of you, the feel of you clouding his mind. He can barely breathe but that doesn’t matter, not when you’re moving with his tongue like this, grinding your hips onto his face as he sucks and sucks and sucks at your swollen little clit.

He wishes he could record the sounds coming out of your mouth, wishes he could play them back to you, watch you squirm and feel you flush at the sheer debauchery of them. It occurs to him that he could, but he’d have to pull away from you enough to ask and he’s unable to do so at the moment.

You’re just too hot and wet and perfect for him to stop for even a second, so he’ll save that idea for another time and focus on making you cum for him now. He can tell you’re getting close, by the way your thighs shudder against his ears, by the keen you let out when he sucks hard enough to hollow his cheeks, by the hand you sink into his hair to hold him to you, as if he’d ever want to leave.

All it takes is a groan and a shake of his head and you’re cumming, your arousal leaking all over his chin and dripping down his throat to soak into the neckline of his t-shirt. He’ll take it off as soon as he gains the will to detach himself from you.

It doesn’t come to him until his eyes travel up your body and catch on the way your tits heave in your sleep tank. He wants to see them, feel them, taste them, bury his face in them.

Finally, he stands and rips off his shirt, leaning over you and waiting for you to raise your arms before tugging your top off and throwing it to the side. He takes a second to appreciate your bare breasts, the shape and weight of them intoxicating, and then shoves his face between them, licking over to one nipple and opening his mouth around it with a groan.

He fucking loves your tits, and he shows you just how much with his lips and his teeth and his tongue, one thigh between yours to hold them open for his searching fingers. They find your clit with practiced ease and start to rub staccato circles, chasing you when your hips buck in sensitivity.

He covers your other breast with his free hand, squeezing and brushing his thumb over your pebbled nipple as he sucks at its twin. You must have already showered, your skin tasting like your honey and cocoa butter lotion, and he can’t get enough, his head filling with clouds and images of you dripping wet and running your hands all over your body.

He’s gotten you messy again, but he’s sure you knew what you were doing when you knocked on his studio door. This is almost always how you end up when you come to check on him, his hunger for you insatiable, incurable.

How could he ever get enough of you when you’re this luscious, this sweet, this perfect? His mouth strays from your breast to your stomach, his lips tracing your rolls and stretch marks and cute little belly button before he sinks back down into his chair. He pushes your legs apart with a firm hand and replaces his fingers with his tongue, gliding it over you and sliding his fingers down to your entrance.

He fills you with them slowly even as your cunt flutters and squeezes, wanting them deeper already. He’ll give you what you want, he always does, but first he’ll tease you a little bit. Not to be mean, or to punish you for something, but because he fucking loves to hear you beg.

It always takes you a little push to lose your shyness, to find your voice, and this time, his push comes in the form of three fingers stretching your entrance open, sinking in only to the first knuckle. Your hips roll into his hand and his free one flies up to hold them still, his arm banding over your lap to hold you down so he can fill you at his pace.

He goes much slower than he knows you would prefer, and he presses his smile into your clit when you finally break down.

“Jihoon, please, I’ve been so good for you,” you whine, and he feels the heat spread from head to toe as he realizes it’s one of those nights. The kind where you need him to take control, to be rough with you, to reward you when you’ve earned it.

And you have earned it, so he lets his fingers fill you, pushing them in all the way and murmuring into your clit, “You have been good, baby. I’ll give you what you need, promise.”

You just whimper, your head tilting back on your neck when he scissors his fingers apart and your walls clinging to them as he pulls them out to the tip. “Eyes on me, baby.”

He waits for you to return your gaze to his before pushing his fingers back inside of you and beginning to fuck you with them, his lips pursing around your clit and sucking with every thrust. Your pussy is so fucking hot and wet around his fingers, it makes him moan into you, just the thought of feeling you wrapped around his cock enough to reawaken it.

It twitches in his damp boxers when a curl of his fingers beckons forth a rush of wetness and a sharp keen, one that echoes in his mind like a looped track.

“Baby, can I record you?”

He asks before he can stop himself, but now that it’s out in the air, he won’t take it back. He rests his cheek against your thigh as he waits, his heart pounding and his dick throbbing.

“Um, sure?” You don’t sound certain, and Jihoon doesn’t want you to regret anything. He can always delete them, but he doesn’t want you to do something you’re not comfortable with.

“You don’t have to say yes, Y/n. I just think it would be… really fucking hot. Having your voice on file, being able to listen to you whenever I want, using your sounds in songs that will never be heard by anyone but us.”

You squirm under his forearm and clench around his fingers, and he believes you when you say, “Do it, Jihoon. Record me.”

His lips stretch in a broad, genuine smile and he reaches for the computer mouse, opening his recording software and clicking the red button.

He watches little waves form on the baseline, curls his fingers, grinds them into the rough patch inside of you, and arches an eyebrow. You gasp weakly, seemingly shy now that your noises are being picked up by something other than his ears.

Jihoon can be patient though, knows that soon enough, he’ll make you forget all about it.

You’re still being good, holding eye contact and keeping your thighs spread for him, so he rewards you with his mouth around your clit, a heavy suck startling a moan from your parted lips. He fights a smile, his lips pursing and pulling at the swollen bundle of nerves, and starts to hum, knowing you love the vibrations.

He can’t see the software from here but the wave must spike because you let out a sharp cry, your nails scratching at the edge of his desk until he takes your hands and puts them on his head. Your fingers delve into his hair and you pull his face into your pussy, and he knows he’s got you.

He didn’t really consider the mic picking up his own noises but he’s sure it is, his grunts and groans audible even with your thighs pressed to his ears. He can’t stop though, can’t hold them in when you taste so fucking good, when your cunt is searing hot and soaking wet under his mouth, when your nails are scratching at his scalp and sending zaps of electricity down his spine.

They all end in his cock, and he feels it jerk against the waistband of his boxers. He’s tired of them, removes his arm from your hips to shove them and his pants down, groaning loudly when his cock pops out into the open air. It’s sticky with cum and hard enough to hurt, and he can’t resist taking hold of it with his free hand, squeezing hard at the base to ease some of the ache.

His fingers thrust into you as he strokes his dick, the slick sounds loud in his studio, and you crane your neck, your eyes searching until they find his hand at work.

“Fuck, Jihoon, I want you inside of me,” you whine breathlessly, trying to pull him off your cunt by the hair. That just makes him moan into you, makes his cock jump in his grasp, makes him fuck his fingers into you harder.

“Cum for me first,” he demands, determined to get at least two orgasms on this file for mixing purposes. It seems he’s still a producer even when he’s trying to just be a boyfriend.

You pout but listen well, your cries reaching a fever pitch as your pussy flutters around his fingers, arousal spilling out of you and dripping between the keys of his keyboard. He may have to buy a new one, but that’s a problem for future Jihoon, and a problem he would be lucky to have.

“Perfect, baby, that was perfect,” he murmurs in a low tone, wanting your voice to be the focal point.

“Will you fuck me now?” You pant, reaching down to smooth your fingers over the head of his cock, making him shiver and swallow a groan.

“Yeah, baby, I’ll fuck you now,” he whispers, standing from the chair and pulling away from you to tug you off his desk. Your knees shake when you get your feet under you and he smirks, cupping your cheek and pressing a kiss to your lips before taking you by the hips and turning you around.

He squeezes your shoulder and starts pushing you down, letting you bend over the rest of the way by yourself. You fold your arms under your head, resting your cheek on them so you can watch as he guides his dick to your cunt and sinks inside.

You’re stretched out enough to take him easily, your walls forming to his cock and gripping it tightly. You’re such a perfect fucking fit for him, it’s like you were made for one another, like your bodies were designed to match. It blows his mind every single time he has the privilege of being inside of you.

He’s reluctant to leave you and you’re reluctant to let him, but pulling out means he can thrust back in. He keeps one hand on your shoulder and drops the other to your hip, clutching at it like a lifeline as he starts to fuck you in earnest.

His hips smack into your plush ass rhythmically, the sound causing sharp spikes on the waveform graph and acting as the perfect percussion to the moans and whimpers escaping you. The mic is right by your mouth and he knows they’re being picked up beautifully, butterflies gathering in his stomach just at the thought of getting to hear them through his headphones.

“Sound so fuckin’ pretty, baby,” he grunts, angling his hips up to hit your g-spot and smirking when you yelp at the sensation. Your back arches, your stomach pressing into his keyboard and your hips pressing into his, and he just holds you tighter, fucks into you harder.

Your pussy undulates around him as his hand slides from your shoulder to join the other at your hip, both of them gripping your ass and spreading you apart so he can watch his cock enter you again and again. It’s a sight he’ll never get tired of, a feeling he’ll never get used to, a gift he’ll never truly deserve.

It’s what will send him over the edge, just as long as he makes you fall first. He already came before you once and he doesn’t plan on doing so again for a long time, but he needs to get you there soon or he won’t have a choice.

One of his hands slips around your waist to dive between your legs, his fingers finding your sensitive clit and starting to strum it as he fills you over and over. You whimper and tremble against him, your cunt fluttering wildly around his aching cock and your hand flying down to grasp his wrist like you think he’ll pull away.

He doesn’t intend to, honestly wouldn’t mind being attached to you like this for the rest of his life, knows already that he wants to spend it with you.

His fingers get rougher on your clit and his hips move on autopilot as his brain empties, his balls aching to do the same. “Please cum, fuck. Baby, please fucking cum.”

Jihoon should have known he’d be the one begging you at the end of the night.

Thankfully, you like to indulge him, your pussy locking him in place as you cum with a loud cry, followed by gasping sobs of his name when he doesn’t stop fucking you. He’s right there, he’s right fucking-

“Jihoon, cum inside me. Fill me up, I want it,” you whimper, pressing your ass into his hips and squeezing your inner muscles around his throbbing cock, and that’s the end for him.

He drops down to cover your body with his as he breaks apart, his own moans and whimpers registering on the graph alongside yours and his cum flooding into you in pulses. His hand leaves your clit so he can wrap his arm around your waist in a hug, his cheek pressed to your back and his other hand finding yours.

He tangles your fingers together and rises up, pulling you with him and sitting heavily in his chair. He’s still hard enough his cock doesn’t slip out, and he leans you to the side so he can cup your cheek and turn your face into his, pressing his lips to yours in an openmouthed kiss.

“Love you, baby,” he whispers into your mouth, waiting for you to say it back before kissing his way to your neck and biting down gently, just enough to leave an indent of his teeth behind.

“Will you come to bed with me?” You whisper in a small voice, and he returns his lips to yours, kissing you deeply and responding, “Of course, baby.”

He reaches a hand out and stops the recording, saving the file to his private hard drive, ideas filling his head already. They can wait until the morning though, you asked him to go to bed with you and go to bed he will.

Jihoon thinks this might be the most productive break he’s ever had.

AN: this one's for all the jihoon stans who have been thirsting with me lately 💖

My Masterlist

My Chubby!Reader Masterlist

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sentient-stove · 5 months

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“Wait, wait, wait, short baby Robin, back it up. You followed a radioactive green dog into the sewers? With no weapons?”

“Don’t be an idiot Grayson, I always have a weapon on me. It’d be counterproductive if I didn’t. Anyway- the dog disappeared and I was already down there so I followed the voices to this room—”

“You followed voices?!?”

“Do try to keep up.” Damian snipped. “Yes, and there was a room down there, like some sort of tomb and then I pulled this guy out of the coffin there.” And subsequently gave himself mild frostbite he was guessing by the way he still couldn’t feel his hands. Dick looked mid aneurysm at Damian’s minimal explanation but that had the benefit of him not asking anymore questions as he let them into the apartment, offering to take the teenager from Damian wordlessly.

“Did he tell you anything?” Dick pressed fingers to the teen’s wrist, brow furrowed. “Low pulse, okay. Okay. To the living room then. Was he awake when you got him out?”

“For a few moments.”

“And did you ask him for a name?”

“No.”

“Damian.”

“I was preoccupied with finding a living person in a glass coffin Grayson. He did say one thing though.” Besides thanking Damian but he was keeping that to himself for as long as he could.

“What was it?”

“The Packers suck.”

“Like the football team?” Dick questioned and Damian shrugged.

#dc x dp #damian wayne #dick grayson #danny fenton #danny phantom #dc comics #fanfic #wip hell #is it just me or would a Danny Phantom fic set in the 80s would slap #cause like satanic panic factoring into the ghost fear #but that’s not this wip lol #anyway I’m out #he’s! a! phantom!#glass casket au

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runa-falls · 9 months

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squirting with Miguel ????????

if the question is "can miguel make you squirt?" the answer is yes.

if it's "does miguel try to make you squirt every time you're alone?" the answer is also yes, and that's why you're constantly passing out after your escapades.

short blurb (18+):

the first time it happened was one of the few times he was taking things slow. his thick cock nudged incessantly against your g-spot. he was angled in such a way that any movement would make you whine.

he loves watching himself disappear inside of you, how your slick pussy stretches to its limits just to take him. you writhe as he continues his slow pace, barely shifting his hips to take you to the edge.

regardless of the minimal movement, you could feel something building within you.

it's a pressure in your lower stomach, a tingle that almost makes you think you're going to piss yourself, but it feels so good, you can't stop it. you're literally dripping for him now, coating his cock in viscous lust until it spills onto the mattress below you.

"w-wait miguel," your hand presses against his firm chest, unsure if you want to continue on this path. "something is d-different..."

he can feel it to.

you're fluttering around him, sucking his cock in deeper yet pushing him away. your body can't seem to make its mind up, it's overwhelmed.

"let go, honey, i'm right here."

you're shaking. your back is violently arched as you cry out his name. your eyes roll and your muscles tense as the intense wave of ecstasy moves through you. it genuinely feels like an explosion, a feeling of total release, an escape.

miguel groans when he follows right behind you, pulsing and stuttering as he finishes inside of you. it takes you a moment to catch your breath before you can reopen your eyes.

"look, mi vida, you made a mess of me." he looks at you with a small grin, proud of his work that drips down his chest.

"miguel..." you're mortified. did you just pee on your boyfriend?

he pulls you closer, "god, that was so hot, baby."

"really?"

"yeah, let's do it again."

#anon #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut

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astraystayyh · 7 months

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My sun

a little something for channie's birthday, inspired by this pic he sent :') basically chan is tired and you're his sun. hurt/comfort.

chan is exhausted. you could sense it before even seeing him- from the way he quietly dropped his keys onto the kitchen table, to how he refrained from turning on any lights on his way to your bedroom; as if trying to minimize his existence, to soften the sounds he leaves on his trail so the world would finally allow him to rest.

or maybe you simply knew from the way your heart constricted in your chest as soon as you heard him open the door to your apartment. you were worried about him all week, sensing that his soul felt a bit heavier for him to carry, harder to care for due to all the work piled up on him.

you hurry to your feet, meeting him halfway at the entrance to your room. his gaze softens the moment it lands on you, with slightly puffy eyes and discheveled ginger hair- he's beautiful, even when he's utterly tired.

"hey, baby," you greet, opening your arms wide for him. he sinks into your embrace, sighing softly when his forehead presses onto your shoulder blade. you rub your hands soothingly across his back, willing the tension in his body to dissipate, to desert his bones and seep into yours. you'd do it all to lessen his load, even if it meant adding onto your own.

"did you eat?" you ask after a while, your hand smoothing down the back of his hair. he simply shakes his head against your body, a slight exhale escaping him and traversing your skin, like stones skipping across a tranquil river.

"let's eat together, hm?" you suggest, gently peeling yourself away from him. "i've made you dinner."

he manages a tired smile in reply, and the light in his eyes still seemed muted to you. but you kiss his cheek and the corners of his mouth tug upward a bit more, and it's a slight progress you'd take.

you lead him by the hand to the kitchen, settling him on the stool before heating up the meal you've made beforehand. you quickly move around, plating the food and pouring him his favorite soft drink. your hand brushes against his shoulder silently as you sit down in front of him.

you both eat in silence, his warm palm pressed against your knee. you didn't always need words to fill your home- your love spoke louder than man-made syllables.

"thank you, honey," chan whispers when he's done, a smile gracing his plump lips. it's brighter, and the light in his eyes sparkles even more when you kiss him in reply. you can't help but press your lips against his again, and again, and again, hoping that with each kiss the lights would gradually turn on within him, one by one.

"you can shower while i clean up, okay?" you beam at him, lips still tantalizing close to one another. he tilts his head upwards, placing a kiss on your nose in gratitude.

some time later, chan climbs onto your bed, the smell of his shampoo tickling your nostrils. he's wearing a black crewneck, the one you've heated up beforehand for him. you hoped that the warmth from the soft material would seep into his soul, igniting candles where the rain seems to have finally ceased.

you retrieve your moisturizer from your nightstand, before straddling chan's lap. he shifts slightly, settling his back against the headboard, allowing you to sit comfortably on his midriff. you scoop a bit of the cooling cream, before lathering it on his skin. your eyebrows are slightly knitted as you gently massage it in, you miss the way chan's eyes glimmer as he looks at you- the shinning lights are back on for you.

he grabs your wrist, halting your movement, before turning it around and placing a tender kiss on your pulse. the ghost of his breath sends shivers down your spine, and you retaliate by placing the tiniest peck on his palm, before trailing up his arm, his shoulder, then his jaw. chan giggles quietly as you pepper his entire face with kisses, making sure that no inch of skin is forgotten.

his face is dewy from the moisturizer, a pink hue tinting his cheeks from your kisses, and he looks so breathtakingly pretty as you finally curl your hand around the back of his neck, lowering his head to meet his lips in a tender kiss.

the seconds swiftly trickle into minutes, not that you'd know of as your mouths move lazily against one another, time no longer existing for the two of you. "i love you," he whispers, as you pull apart, slightly dazed. you gently cradle his cheek, thumb swiping tenderly from his temple to his under eye, "i love you too."

you turn off the light, before settling against his chest. his arms wrap around you, pulling you impossibly closer. you can feel his heart beating underneath you- a steady rhythm that would serve as backdrop to your dreams, later that night. he smells like coconut soap, and a faint whisper of his cologne that never truly leaves his clothes, even after laundry. you lightly untangle yourself from his hold, moving around until his face nestles in the crook of your neck.

"i want to hold you tonight," you whisper, fingers running through his slightly damp hair.

"thank you," he says quietly, pausing to press a kiss to your collarbones. "thank you for being my sun."

his body is snug against yours, a comforting warmth emanating from him to you. holding him feels like embracing the clouds and sinking into velvet pillows, it feels like coming home where all the lights are on, idly waiting for your return.

#i wrote this for the galaxies in chan's eyes and the incredible warmth he emanates.#skz x you #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz imagines #skz scenarios #bang chan x reader #bang chan imagines #skz fanfic #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #bang chan fluff #skz hurt/comfort

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romanoffsbish · 5 months

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Worth the Wait

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Request | Natasha loves it when you tease, well, unless there’s nothing she can do about it… | WC: 1,896

Warnings: Minimal plot | Injury / Stitches / Blood

Smut: Free Use Referenced | Unprotected Sex (Natasha has a penis)| Breeding | Squirting | Cockwarming (KO)

18+ | Minors DNI

“Oh my god!” You shrieked as your bare midriff was pressed into the cold marble of your kitchen counter by small, callous hands; Natasha filled the gap between your bodies, and you could feel her pulsing through her boxers. “You make me so fucking hard detka,” she rasped breathlessly as she firmed her body into yours, her warm lips trailed over your cold shoulder.

Natasha loved moments like these the most, when your body gave into her touch as if it was your haven. She could feel you warming up, and pressing into her, it was a dream come true, if only not for the knock.

——

“Romanoff, we have a mission, wheels up in ten,” Tony called from behind the door, having learned his lesson from the time before. The image still haunts his mind.

You smirked at her through the glass of your kitchen window, ten seconds ago you were going to give it all to her, but now you were going to tease her. It was a promise that your face made as you twirled in her hold and kissed her lips with feigned innocence. Your deviance shown in the way you cupped her hard-on and stroked her firmly, but only for a few times.

“Behave,” you warned when you felt her kiss you with more urgency. “Y/N, we have enough time, please.”

You leaned back, removing your lips midway through the kiss and she nearly growled at your interference. “Y/N, I swear to god, if you make me go without.”

“What?” You provoked her, “What is it they’ll do?”

Natasha backed down when she saw the promise of a month in your eyes. It was a shifty illusion, deep down she knew that but she wasn’t willing to risk it.

“I’m sorry love, I just, I get so riled up when you look this delectable,” her hands softly groped your thinly veiled breasts and your gasped air brushed across her face. “Please don’t make me wait, I need you so badly.”

“No,” you affirmed, “You need to be in tip top shape baby, and fucking me beforehand will weaken your stamina. I need you back alive and well.” The redhead was two seconds from being all over you, but she saw the genuine worry in your heart through your eyes.

“When I’m home?” You grinned, and winked. “Maybe.”

“Okay,” she conceded against your lips as she pecked them. “I’d wait forever for just the promise of eventually, I love you.” You smiled like an idiot then gently pecked her lips in return. “I love you too baby.”

You had no intention on holding out, and you also knew Natasha wouldn’t wait anyways, even if her words were sickeningly sweet. The concept of no was (consensually) removed from your dynamic, she’d never cease to wear you down into the perfect place to warm her cock and you’d pant just like a bitch in heat, needy and open. Natasha left with a knowing smirk.

Hours spent worried and horny went by in a flash. In the midst of cleaning the already spotless loft up you’d stopped to take a shower, preparing yourself for the climax of your day. After getting dressed in her favorite crotchless set you took a quick set of photos. Each one was blurry in their own right, but she could see your glistening folds between your white laced, thick thighs.

Her eyes darkened with lust, fueled mostly by fresh hot anger as she caught Wanda’s eyes widening. The way her cheeks flushed red and her throat cleared it was obvious she was having thoughts about your body. It was a direct oversight on her end, but she’d blame you.

Had you not made her leave so desperate, she never would have opened the attachment without looking around first. Wanda had already made her way to the other end of the jet, preserving her peaceful trip and trying to restore her prior indifference to your body.

The redhead stormed off the jet and headed straight for your bedroom. Opting to take the stairs in hopes of being too ahead of the nervous super soldier who was fresh on her tail with an idea for what was happening.

You two were the compounds resident horndogs as Tony drunkenly deemed you both one night. The rest of the team had cheered and you were embarrassed. Yet it never stopped you two from fucking like bunnies. Nothing would ever get in her way from having you.

So Natasha wasn’t exactly having it as Steve shouted at her, the man was only urging her to get her shoulder fixed up, but she was in far worse pain elsewhere. The man truly didn’t deserve to be tossed into a wall as if he were the size of a toddler to the woman who stood a foot below him, but he was interfering with her needs.

His pride was wounded and her shoulder throbbed, but it was satisfactory when she was able to walk away without another word from the super soldier. You had heard the commotion bleed into eery silence aside from firm footsteps. The spy’s step a calculated warning, you knew you were truly fucked; you hoped.

The redhead slammed your door faster than your eyes could register it had even opened. Your eyes fell to her shoulder and her heart considerably warmed at the way your lip trembled with concern. She caught it with her teeth as she pressed you into the counter, again.

You gasped at the way the lace tickled your back, it was relatively feather light but it made your body shiver. Her tongue greeted yours in the same breath and you were gone, mind melting into a state of obliviousness. Which is why you gripped onto her shoulders, blood gushed around your thumb and you both cried. The redhead sucked in a sharp breath containing her rage, you were already in the dog house for her festering jealousy, she wouldn’t blame you for her injury too.

“Get the first aid kit,” she groaned, pulling away with a scowl as she felt anger at the unfair loss of your touch. You were quick to appease her, after washing your hands you were back with the white tin in hand.

You nearly stumbled forward, knees clanking as you barely caught yourself at the sight of your bruised lover. The wounded warrior’s look always turned you on the most, knowing she’d left to protect you, and returned with a need for your safe touch after was hot.

Natasha had stripped down to nothing, showcasing the new bruises you’d have to watch fade from black and blue to yellow and green in a days time. You were always grateful to her bodies advanced healing, but to know she was ever in pain hurt you all the same. She saw your concern, even appreciated it, but she wasn’t going to waste the lust in your eyes over the softness.

“I’ll g-go get some anesthetic from Cho,” you gulped and the redhead smirked, then her tongue clicked as her finger curled, urging you forward. “No, you won’t.”

“B-but,” you stuttered, needy eyes avoiding hers with the hope of being able to fix her up first, but her hand wrapped around your wrist and your body lurched forward until your pussy was nearly hovering her head. Her hand pulled the first aid kit from your own, and quickly laid out what you’d need on the bedside table.

Then she brought your hand down to her throbbing tip, letting you feel her desperation before she helped you to guide it to your entrance. “The only anesthesia I need is your warmth choking my cock detka, so take a seat and offer mommy some well earned relief.” Your hand squeezed over hers firmly, then it slipped off so that you could hold onto her good shoulder as you slid down, both of her hands gripped at your hips as the pleasure wrapped around her roughed up frame.

“Ride me,” she whispered hotly against your throat, you gulped against her lips, walls clenching at the thought, but for a minute you killed the mood with a hard refusal. “Let me clean you first, just a moment.”

Natasha huffed, but shut up quick as your teeth nipped at her bottom lip. Then as your warm rag rushed over her shoulder you offered her your tongue to pacify her, you felt her raspy cries with every brush or clench.

Once finished cleaning and weakly numbing the wound with some cream you found, you pecked her lips then began to stitch her up. After a few moments you found a synchronic way to tend to her every need. With each dip of the needle that was reconnecting her skin you’d rise up, then drop back down as you pulled the thread tight. Hips connecting with each finished stitch, and you finished in sync as well, the redhead nearly burst them back open as her load shot into you without more than a twitch in warning. Then yours gushed, flushing the combination down into her lap.

Natasha’s head was leaned back as she relished in her high, dick still pulsing as you sloppily applied the salve and bandage to her shoulder. Just as you finished she was back on you, her lips crashing into yours as your body melded into the plush mattress. “I’m going to make you regret making me wait detka, might finally fill you up enough to start our family. Gotta claim your womb before anyone else can try to steal it from me.”

“What?” Natasha saw your confusion but she didn’t reply with any context, just a reminder, “You’re mine.” Her teeth sunk into your shoulder, giving you a little taste of her paralleled wound as she marked you. It only made you wetter seeing her so desperate to claim you that she forgot about her ring sat on your finger.

Your wife smirked against your skin as she felt you suck her cock in even further. Your ass now sticky as your arousal oozed out of you, her green eyes found yours and you felt your breath disappear. “I hope you remember your safe words,” she winked and you were gone. “Oh shit…” There was no hope left for you now.

There were two words you called out during sex that indicated an encroaching limit. “Stop,” was a clear word, but it wasn’t transparent as this was what you called when you wanted her to push you a bit more. It was a feigned safe word, as she sped up her attempts each time. Tears streamed down your face as she pressed a bullet to your abused clit, you gasped as your back arched before it collapsed back into the mattress.

“Fuck,” is what you usually muttered when it was time for her to give you a break, but your conscious slipped just before she could hear you cry it out. In the end she chose to fall into your body, more than happy knowing that she made you squirt. She decidedly left her cock inside of you to lessen the chance of her seed oozing out. Her consciousness slipped, but in the back of her mind she dreamed that you’d wake up wanting more.

You were sure to be parents come next holiday season.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff oneshot #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x female reader #gxg #natasha x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha x you #natasha x fem!reader

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minimal-pulse · 11 months

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The Big Four: Metallica, Slayer, Anthrax, Megadeth

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randomcanbian · 2 years

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someone put these two photos together on twitter and like 😭 want a movie with the two of them in these aesthetic please ToT

#maya having sort of an old fashioned style with minimal knowledge of the internet to the point that she has to have memes explained to her #while carmilla is always at the forefront of trends and has her pulse on the internet culture akjsdnsja like so amaziiing #they contrast so well with each other GIVE THEM MORE MOVIES PLEASE

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slytherinslut0 · 6 months

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MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Ten-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, SMUT, Throat Fucking, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Dirty Talk, Toxic Behaviour, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Jealousy, Possessive Behaviours, Manipulation, Humiliation, Begging, Gagging, Oral (f & m rec), Spanking/Belting, Sexual Punishment, Sexual Aggression, CNC, DubCon.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

Dread gripped your insides, twisting like a coiled snake ready to strike. The weight of the impending confrontation pressed upon you, a leaden heaviness settling deep in your stomach. Last night had been sleepless, the weight of Mattheo's threat lingering in your mind like a haunting spectre. It wasn't necessarily fear that gnawed at your insides, but a potent blend of anxiety and worry.

The mere thought of Mattheo retaliating against last nights events, potentially drawing his brother Tom into an even deeper tangled web of suspicion, sent shivers down your spine. You knew Tom was already suspicious, already clearly had some sort of inclination about what was going on between you and his brother, and fear sunk its talons into your neck just thinking about what could happen if Mattheo lashed out at him again after last night. The timing would just be all too convenient to happen twice in a row like that.

In the hushed confines of the empty classroom, as you awaited Mattheo's attendance for Wednesday's tutoring session, every second seemed to stretch into eternity. The air hung heavy with anticipation, your breaths shallow and hurried--every creak of the floor beneath your restless pacing echoed like an ominous drumbeat. Your heart thudded in your chest, its frantic rhythm reverberating in your throat, each pulse a reminder of the impending confrontation. Fingers, usually steady, now trembled with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation, tangible proof of the mounting tension in your chest.

But then, before you could even process it, the door creaked open, the sound slicing through the heavy silence in the room like a warning. You turned, your heart skipping a beat when you saw Mattheo's disheveled figure framed by the dim light filtering in from the corridor. His white dress shirt was stained with patches of blood, his appearance marred by the evidence of a recent altercation. His eyes, normally sharp and piercing, were now ablaze with a fierce intensity, burning with emotions that he kept tightly concealed.

As he stepped inside, the atmosphere seemed to shift, the air growing thick and suffocating. Each movement he made was deliberate, calculated, as if he was conducting an unspoken symphony of power and control. With a fluid motion, he started to loosen his tie, his hands moving with a grace that contrasted sharply with the aggressive energy radiating from him. The room seemed to shrink in his presence, the walls closing in as if acknowledging his dominance.

You stood frozen, your gaze locked onto his, unable to tear yourself away despite the unsettling mixture of emotions that gripped you. Mattheo's gaze bored into yours, his eyes holding a storm of emotions--anger, frustration, and something deeper, something you couldn't quite pinpoint. The weight of his unspoken words hung heavily between you, the silence ringing in your ears like a deafening roar, suffocating the space and leaving you feeling like you were standing on the edge of a precipice.

With each step he took toward you, the energy in the room grew more electric, his presence overwhelming. The intensity of his stare made it hard to breathe, as if he could see right through you, peeling away layers until your soul lay bare before him. It was a confrontation without words, a battle fought in the silent language of unspoken emotions, and you stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to break free from the magnetic pull of his furious gaze.

Your voice quaked. "Mattheo-"

"No," he said, cutting you off, his voice slicing through the air like a blade. "No talking, Raven, not tonight."

You felt a lump forming in your throat, a mixture of frustration and confusion bubbling within you. You clenched your fists, trying to suppress the words that begged to spill out, but his resolute demeanor silenced any protests before they could escape your lips. As Mattheo came to a halt directly in front of you, his bloodied emerald Slytherin tie sitting loosely around his neck now--he wasted zero time before he seized your hips with a motion as swift as a striking snake, his grip so strong it felt like your bones might shatter within his grasp.

Every muscle in your body coiled like a tightly wound spring, bracing for whatever the fuck he'd do next, but nothing could prepare you for the feeling that would erupt through you as he leaned in--inhaling a sharp breath, his exhale hot against the sensitive skin of your neck. The sharp scent of alcohol wafted from him, swirling around you, adding to the already charged atmosphere.

His head dipped, finding the hollow of your shoulder, his dark, curly hair grazing your skin like a whispering caress. A shiver traced the length of your spine as his proximity engulfed you, leaving you both exhilarated and trapped in the potent grip of his presence. You swallowed, trying to steady your trembling fingers that hung limply at your sides.

"You're drunk..." you managed to utter, your voice barely audible in the charged air around you. It was fucking Wednesday. "What happened to exercising your demons, Mattheo..."

"Oh, I am," Mattheo murmured against your neck, his lips brushing your skin in a heated caress. "I got them running around the castle right now, doing laps...."

Despite his effort to suppress his fury with cunning sarcasm, the energy radiating from him was palpable, a stormy intensity that crackled in the air around you. His voice was low, almost a growl, and you could feel the weight of his words settle on your skin.

"I...you..." you stammered, your voice barely audible, your mind a chaotic whirlwind of emotions. His proximity was overwhelming, his strange demeanour leaving you entirely at a loss for words--yet there was one thought that seemingly wouldn't leave your mind. "Matt...please tell me this blood isn't from Tom..."

"I said no fucking talking, Raven..." Mattheo's fingers dug into your skin, a painful pinch that threatened to draw a cry from your lips. A sharp gasp escaped you as he swiftly maneuvered his hand around your back, his fingers asserting a firm, possessive hold on your ass. "That mouth only has one fucking purpose tonight...it's been far too long since I've had those pretty lips around my cock..."

Mattheo's presence was a blazing inferno, searing heat that enveloped you entirely, making your skin prickle with anticipation. He maneuvered you both with an unyielding force, guiding you until the edge of the desk met your ass, eliciting a sharp gasp from your lips. Both of his hands, firm and possessive, found their place on your backside, pulling you snugly against his muscular frame. A sense of foreboding settling deep within your lungs, a weighty anticipation that gripped your every breath.

Despite the palpable tension, you couldn't resist the compulsion to probe further, pushing his boundaries even as the atmosphere crackled with escalating intensity.

"Mattheo, please..." your voice brushed against his cheek like a gentle breeze, your fingers winding into his hair, pulling on the tousled strands in an urgent plea to lock eyes, your heart racing with anxiety. "Please just give me an answer...Tom was skeptical-"

With a sudden, unsettling intensity, Mattheo's demeanor transformed--whatever restraint he was previously maintaining had now completely vanished as he swiftly pivoted you around, his hands unrelenting as he pressed your hips forcefully against the desk. The cool wood bit into your skin as he loomed behind you, his body molding to yours with possessive insistence. One hand coiled around your throat, pulling you back against his chest, while the other traveled up the front of your body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

"Say his fucking name again and I will not hesitate to bend you over this desk and fuck you until the only name you remember is mine..." he pulled you impossibly close, his breath a sultry growl against your ear. "You'll be so fucking full of me, Raven...you'll be so fucking full of my cum you'll feel fucking empty without it...you'll fucking crave my cock...you'll be begging for me to get inside you..."

His free hand explored your body, its fingers skillfully finding every contour, moving purposefully to your tits, caressing and squeezing once he'd reached them. He pulled you tighter, hugging you flush to his front, his insistent erection pressing tight against your ass. A delightful buzz tingled on your skin from his grip around your throat, rendering you utterly helpless, and all that escaped your lips was a soft, pathetic whimper, surrendering to his control.

"Do you feel what you do to me?" He murmured, the alcohol on his tongue swarming your ear. "You're all I can fucking think about."

The words brought a wave of heat crashing over your body.

"Matt-" you said, fighting against his hand, his name hiccuped between your gasp for air when he increased his grip. “-thèo..."

"You fucking haunt me," he said, jerking his hips into your ass, his painfully hard length jamming into your backside. You whimpered as the force of his pelvis drove you harder against the desk. "I've made myself cum to the mere thought of fucking you so many times, Raven...fuck, if you were any other slut I would have fucked you stupid by now..."

His voice was dark and deadly, so quiet that you were almost certain you weren't hearing him correctly, the pounding of your heart drowning out the edges of his syllables, his hand working to untuck your blouse from your skirt before slipping underneath it--igniting goosebumps on your flesh as he went.

"Oh..." the word was a moan as it left your lips, his fingers brushing over your stiffening nipple. "Shit-"

The fingers at your throat increased their pressure, choking your words. "I told you I have a clamouring fucking desire to ruin you...and believe me, I do...but it's not enough to just ruin you, Raven...It's like I need to fucking own you, possess you...there can't be anyone else..."

In defiance of your good judgment, you clenched, a shiver of longing fluttering over you. Mattheo's large palm squeezed your other tit now, kneading it in his hand until he could feel the peak of your nipple. His thumb brushed over it, and you held back a whine, wriggling against him.

"Mattheo-" his name left your lips like a breathless sin, as though it was the only word your pathetic, lust-filled mind knew how to say.

"You know I could be with any girl I fucking want, Raven...any single fucking one..." he murmured, circling the hardening point with the pad of his finger, sparks of pleasure lingering in its path. "I seen your little friend looking at me the other day...what's her head like, hm?"

Ignoring the squirming in between your thighs, you rolled your eyes, a flutter of uncontrollable irritation flowing through you. "Go to hell-"

He answered your snark with another harsh jab of his bulge. "Yeah, you don't like that, do you..." the hand on your throat slid up to pinch your jaw open, two fingers shoving past your teeth and depressing your tongue. You caught a gag when he reached toward the back of your throat. "You wouldn't like it if there was another girl kissing me good night, would you? Another girl sucking me off...swallowing my cum..."

You tried to call him an asshole, but all that came out was, "Ah-houh."

"Mhm, I know..." he snickered, pressing further into your body, hunched over you like you were his next meal. "You're going to fix that situation with my brother, or else I will...you have one fucking week..."

Your heart hammered, your pulse flying, your body trembling against him. His teeth nipped your ear, your head spinning with the onslaught of his power.

"Because this..." this hand on your breast made a path toward the band of your skirt, and you shuddered, bucking away from his touch when he skimmed the sensitive skin of your belly.

"...little cunt..." his hand slipped under the seam of your panties, long, thick fingers easily reaching the warmth of your slit, resting on the outer folds, and you whimpered, wiggling your hips as you sought out his touch.

"...is mine..." one finger parted your lips, slicking itself on your wetness, dragging and catching over your swollen, stiff clit and pulling a low moan from your throat.

You were gelatin in his arms. All you could do was bob your head against his grip, tongue writhing to speak.

"Yeah, that's fucking right..." he said, tracing tiny circles around your clit while his length pressed against your ass. "This tight little pussy wants to cum for me, doesn't it?" You groaned--louder than you wanted--when he sped his pace on your nub, and he squeezed your jaw, voice a deep growl against your ear. "Then you better prove you deserve it."

He relinquished his hold on you, his fingers slowly sliding away from you body as he took a deliberate step back. This subtle retreat granted you just enough space to pivot back towards him. In the dim light, his eyes appeared as profound as the obsidian night, their intensity softened by an unexpected vulnerability. It was a facet of him you had never glimpsed, hidden beneath the layers of his usual overbearing arrogance.

A hushed tension hung in the air as his gaze descended to trace the contours of your lips, a magnetic pull drawing him toward you. His own lips, parted with anticipation, met yours in a tender yet fervent kiss--a languid grace encompassing the way he explored your mouth, a delicate dance that left you breathless. The lingering taste of alcohol on his tongue only heightened the intoxicating sensation, sending your senses reeling as he skillfully slipped past your teeth, all before pulling away again.

"Get on your knees for me, pretty girl..." he murmured, his hand finding your hair and directing your head down, a huff of exasperation leaving his nose as you did what he said without question. "There we go...so good for me..."

As you knelt before him, your heart thundered in your chest, its beats so forceful you feared it might shatter your sternum. Perplexed, you couldn't pinpoint the source of your unease. It wasn't the first time you'd assumed such a position for Mattheo Riddle, yet an unfamiliar tension hung in the air tonight. His unpredictable demeanor had your entire body on edge, amplifying your nervousness to an unprecedented level.

"We're going to do things a little different tonight..." he purred, his hand in your hair pulling away to stroke your cheek with two rough fingers as he peered down at you, dark eyes burning wounds into your skin. "Unbutton your shirt for me."

Your heart skipped, your senses reeling, but with trembling fingers, you immediately did as he said, as though you were being controlled by a remote in his hands. Mattheo hummed in approval as you got down to the last few buttons, his eyes never once leaving yours, the muscles in his jaw clenching and his throat bobbing as he swallowed. When you were done, you met his eyes again, the intensity making your thighs clench in need, and a smirk teased his lips as he reached for the tie sitting loose around his neck; holding it between his battered fist.

When he spoke again, you almost fainted. "Take off my belt, princess..."

A visceral tension gripped you, twisting your stomach into a knot so tight it felt like your insides might unravel. Your hands trembled like fragile autumn leaves in the wind as you reached for the metal latch on his sturdy leather belt. With cautious fingers, you tugged, undoing the buckle carefully and pulling on it until it slithered free from around his waist. Gripping it tightly in both hands, you met his gaze once more, your eyes locking, accompanied by enough force to shatter glass.

Mattheo delicately lifted the tie, guiding it towards your mouth with a gentle touch, your lips parting in a silent understanding. He skillfully threaded it between them, the smooth fabric caressing your skin. With practiced hands, he wrapped it around the back of your head, the silk cool against your skin. With a deft motion, he fashioned it into a comfortable knot, ensuring it held securely, before he bent down and gripped your arm, pulling you back up to your feet.

"Bad girls get punished, Raven..." he murmured, his lips grazing your jawline, one hand on your hip, the other reaching for the leather seated in your hands. "Take your punishment like the good girl I know you are, and I'll reward you..."

As the leather slipped from your hands, Mattheo pulled back, something flickering behind his eyes that made your stomach leap up into your throat. He met your gaze, searching your face for any sign of hesitation or fear, before he urged you to spin around.

"Bend over the desk," he husked, running his hand up your back, the gentle touch igniting flames on your flesh as he urged you down against the desk, the cool chill of the wood igniting a shudder through your entire body. "Down on your elbows...there we go..."

Mattheo groaned, low in his chest, the sound reverberating through the quiet room. Drool was already threatening to spill from the sides of your lips, the taste of blood lingering in your mouth as the bloodied tie sat tightly between your teeth--your breath hitching in your lungs as you felt two large hands run down the sides of your body, tracing your curves with determination as he positioned himself behind you, pressing his bulge against your ass until his hands met your hips and he pulled away; finding the hem of your skirt and slowly flipping it up to expose your backside, wasting absolutely zero time at all before his hands found the plump flesh, squeezing and groping like his life depended on it.

"Fucking hell, Raven..." he groaned, his voice tight and hoarse with need. "You look so fucking good bent over...I wish I could keep you here, just like this..."

You moaned involuntarily, a tornado of emotions swirling inside your brain. You felt as though you were in sensory overload, so many firsts happening at once.

"Spread those thighs," a calloused palm dipped between your legs, urging them further apart, your fingernails digging into the skin of your palms, your entire body trembling as the heat of Mattheo's power turned suffocating. "Good fucking girl..."

Your breath hitched, feeling his thumb grazing dangerously close to your cunt, resisting the urge to buck toward his hand--desperate for connection. The heat between your thighs was insatiable at this point, and the teasing was driving you insane. Snapping you from your thoughts, there was a jingling of a buckle, followed by a loud, sickening crack--and you shrieked, heart thumping in your throat, squirming with force to attempt to get away from what was to follow.

"Ah, ah," Mattheo huffed, pressing a palm down on your lower back, holding you firm against the desk. You felt the smooth leather being dragged across your flesh, the sensations making your entire body flinch.

"I'm going to bruise this beautiful ass, and you're going to thank me for it, because that's what bad, filthy girls deserve..." he paused, as though waiting for your protest, and when it never came, he shifted his body, looming over you. "Do you understand me, princess?"

Do you understand? Do you fucking understand? No, any sort of understanding eluded you entirely. In truth, the unfolding scenario baffled you--you didn't know how the fuck you'd gone from being his tutor, someone who could barely tolerate his daily presence, to this precarious moment--bent over the fucking desk, about to be belted by him for an issue involving his own brother. You didn't understand any of this, and yet, not one single part of you wanted to stop it.

In response, you nodded, and Mattheo hummed, seemingly satisfied.

A heavy silence settled around you, in wake of his voice. Every sinew in your body tensed with anticipation, your eyelids squeezed shut in grim expectancy. The air hung heavy, pregnant with the impending storm, while inside you, tension wound tighter than ever, prickling your skin like sharp thorns digging into flesh. Then, like a sudden lightning strike, a searing bolt of pain cracked across your backside, tearing a scream from your lips. Despite the muffling effect of the tie clenched between your teeth, the sound reverberated through the room, shattering the silence.

Mattheo, his grip firm, yanked your hair, pulling you forcefully against his chest--his lips brushing against your ear.

"Do that again and I'll give you something to really fucking scream about, Raven..." he snarled, his fingers pinching your scalp. "Shut up and bite the tie. To five."

In a swift, unyielding motion, he thrust you back onto the desk, his hand firmly grasping your head, forcing your cheek against the chilling surface of the wood. You squirmed beneath his unrelenting hold, your eyelids clenched shut as you awaited the searing sting, but Mattheo didn’t make you wait for very long before the smooth leather of his belt cracked against your skin, leaving behind a trail of fiery agony that surged through your limbs.

Instinctively, your teeth sank into his tie, muffling the primal scream that threatened to escape your lips. An electric jolt of pain rippled through you, yet amidst the torment, a strange sense of resilience emerged. Inhaling sharply, you found the strength to steel yourself, your body absorbing the pain while your spirit endured the storm.

"Mm." Mattheo hummed, running his rough palm over the red, sweltering skin, squeezing a cheek in one of his big hands, soothing the welts. "I gotta say, I fucking love watching you squirm, princess..."

Your face reddened, a pang of an unknown emotion in your chest, eagerly squeezing your eyes shut as he pulled his hand off your flesh, the lack of movement and audible sounds in the room driving your nerves into a panicked frenzy. And then, before you could process it, you felt it again--the pain forcing a choked cry to leave your throat.

"Such a shame I have to ruin this perfect ass--" crack.

Your cunt twinged at his words, fire flashing your flesh, and he he struck you again, swift and merciless, leaving no room for a response--only a ragged, involuntary squeal escaping your throat in response to the searing pain.

"Such a shame I have to remind you of your place--" crack.

You whimpered, your body trembling with a mixture of pain and bewildering emotions. A twisted cocktail of sensations engulfed your mind, leaving you conflicted. You cursed your own body, disturbed by the inexplicable response, your senses entangled in a blend of desire and humiliation. Your core pulsed with an insatiable need, aching for attention, craving release despite the twisted circumstances.

Confusion swirled in your veins, leaving your head spinning. How could you find arousal in something so humiliating? The paradox gnawed at your thoughts, yet an undeniable part of you craved the intensity, leaving you inexplicably craving more.

Above all else, this was degrading. Yet, you were fucking throbbing for it.

"...remind you who you fucking belong to--" crack.

With the final, brutal crack of the belt, the metal buckle seared into your skin, imprinting its icy mark. The sharp, biting sensation wrenched a primal groan from your throat, your body convulsing in response. Drool spilled from your lips, tears welling in your eyes--and the room reverberated with the metallic clatter as Mattheo discarded the belt, his hand moving swiftly to find the inflamed skin, fingers grazing the wounded area with a mixture of tenderness and possessiveness.

His thumb traced the path where you were certain blood had been drawn, a deliberate gesture that seemed to collect the evidence upon his skin. In a sudden, commanding movement, he pulled you away from the desk, forcing you to face him. Within the depths of his gaze, you glimpsed a twisted satisfaction entwined with something infinitely darker. His grin took on a sinister edge as he sucked his thumb into his mouth, the taste of your blood lingering on his lips. It was a macabre ritual, sending shivers down your spine, as if he had claimed a piece of you in a way that transcended the physical realm.

With a deliberate slowness, he withdrew his thumb from his mouth, his unyielding eyes locked onto yours, a challenge simmering beneath the surface. His fingers traced the path of the tie between your teeth, pulling it down methodically until it hung around your neck. Gently, he wiped the drool from the corners of your lips, his touch meticulous and strangely intimate. His eyes scrutinized your face with a depth of focus that both unsettled and intrigued you. There was an enigmatic intensity in his gaze, a complexity that left you partially terrified and yet undeniably aroused.

In that moment, you found yourself entangled in a labyrinth of emotions, your mind racing to comprehend the enigma of the boy standing before you.

His voice was a hoarse whisper. "What do you say, Raven..."

You swallowed, throat more arid than the desert, heart still pounding like a base drum. "Thank you, Mattheo..."

Mattheo's hands found their way to your face, his touch firm yet strangely gentle as his fingers slid sensually through your hair. Without a word, he crushed his lips against yours, a hungry and urgent kiss that left you breathless. His mouth dominated yours, his tongue probing with a rough insistence, exploring every corner of your mouth, caressing your own tongue in a dance of desire.

A low, needy moan escaped your lips, muffled by the intensity of the kiss, while your fingers clenched his shirt, desperately seeking an anchor in the whirlwind of sensations. With a commanding strength, he urged you backward, his grip on your hips unwavering as he effortlessly lifted you onto the desk. A soft whimper slipped from your throat as the supple flesh of your backside met the unyielding surface of the wood.

He moved down your neck, his plush lips leaving a hot trail of kisses down your chin, jaw, licking and sucking at the every inch of skin he could, creating planes of goosebumps across your flesh. His tongue drew a line across your collarbone, and he fell to your breasts, tugging down your bra and taking one of your nipples into his mouth, suckling it. You moaned, meeting his gaze, and he rolled his tongue around the hardened bud, sending shivers through you, straight to your clit.

Exasperated, he pulled away--dark eyes scanning your heaving, lust-possessed form.

"You're beautiful," he breathed.

You were speechless, beginning to tremble, and Mattheo Riddle dropped to his knees between your legs, urging your thighs further apart on the desk, long fingers clutching your hips. Your cunt clenched in anticipation, but your teeth were clacking from anxiety, and he met your eyes.

"Relax," he said.

You made an attempt to nod, but your chin quivered despite your resolve. It wasn't an issue of trust, nor were you overtly frightened. Yet, the sheer intimacy of his presence, hovering intimately close to your most vulnerable parts, left your nerves frayed and your composure on the edge of unraveling.

"Raven." Mattheo glared at you, gouging the flesh of your hips hard enough to leave bruises. "Relax. You're safe with me..."

"I-I know..." you whimpered.

You shut your eyes tightly and drew in a slow breath through your nose, holding it in an attempt to steady the quivering in your body. You waited, holding onto the breath, until the tremors subsided before finally exhaling, releasing the tension that had gripped you.

"Good girl," he said. "Now look at me."

You opened your eyes, and his gaze locked with yours as his warm mouth started to suck at the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, extracting a mewl from you. He smirked against you, moving closer to your center, and you bit your lip, walls contracting again with desire. As he drew closer, the curls of his messy hair tickled your skin, and then he shifted a hand, urging your panties to the side before he skipped his tongue across your outer folds, making your hips buck toward him.

"Filthy thing," he said, and pressed his full, soft lips to your pussy, dragging his flat tongue along the slit.

“F-fuck," electricity shot through you, wriggling within his grasp, your fingers clenched tightly, entwining in the disheveled tangle of his hair.

Riddle muffled a laugh with your flesh, lavishing your cunt with deep, slow kisses, tongue sliding inside of your folds, lapping the juices at your core, teasing your outer lips with languid licks. He moved away from your center, his mouth back to crawling along your thighs, and you complained with a grumble. In response, he took the tip of his tongue and flicked your clit.

"Shit..." you moaned, rocking your hips toward him. You stared at him with shining, pleading eyes. "Matty...please, please..."

"There's my girl..." he purred, "I love when you beg for me, Raven...you've been so fucking good for me..."

Before you could response, he growled and sucked your clit into his mouth, and you cried out, body jerking, but he held you fast, swirling his tongue around the sensitive nub. A moan left you as you gyrated your hips, warmth spreading out across you, fingertips and toes buzzing with bliss. Mattheo played his tongue against your swollen clit, your walls throbbing as your pleasure continued to build.

"Oh, fuck," you said, head hanging to the side. "Oh, Gods...Matty..."

The vibrations of his moan reverberated through your pussy, and he sucked harder, his unyielding stare never wavered, his golden-brown eyes digging into the depths of your soul. Each breath came faster, a delicious surge of pleasure coursing through your veins, building an exquisite tension that carried you higher and higher, inching you closer to the precipice of bliss. Mattheo buried his face into your cunt, lips tight on your clit, tongue batting the bundle of nerves.

Incessant moans escaped your chest with every ragged breath, jaw hanging open, gripping his hair like you could pull it from his scalp. "I...holy fuck...Mattheo..."

"That's it," he purred, the praise in his tone sparking heat in your lungs. "Cum for me, baby..."

A tidal wave of euphoria crashed over you, the walls of your senses pulsating, your body wracked with the convulsions of a long-delayed orgasm. Your vision blurred into white nothingness as you threw your head back, a crescendo of unintelligible curses escaping your lips in a primal symphony. Mattheo held onto your spasming legs, his ministrations expertly guiding you to the pinnacle of your pleasure, drawing out every last exquisite tremor, tip of his tongue sliding up your slit to your mound as you finally returned to reality. Your chest swelled as you caught your breath, refocusing on Mattheo's glistening face.

Your head rolled, lids fluttering open, hands petting at his hair. "Fuck, Matt-"

"Shh." He licked his lips, gaze liquefying your centre. "We aren't done yet, princess...keep being good for me..."

Entirely speechless, you nodded, unable to peel your eyes from his as he pulled you off the desk, dropping his hands from you as he moved to the buttons on his trousers, swiftly undoing them before pulling them down his thighs along with his boxers--his thick, throbbing cock springing free, tip glistening with precum, his head falling back in relief as he wrapped his fist around its girth, stroking slowly as you instinctively gathered yourself in front of his feet.

Something was swirling inside you, something primal, something hungry--and your hands found his thighs, slowly trailing up, peering up at him with a wide-eyed gaze; your voice alien to your own fucking ears.

"Please, Matty..." you purred. "Please let me suck your cock...please let me swallow-"

"Fucking hell..." Mattheo seized your hair, his actions driven by a raw and primal intensity as he directed his cock toward your lips. "Show me what that filthy mouth does, baby..."

You parted your lips, and Mattheo's grip on your hair tightened, pushing himself into you. Without thinking, you groaned on his length, legs writhing with arousal as he inched himself along your squirming tongue. Mattheo was biting his lip, watching your own lips stretch around his dick, watching you stare up at him with large, obedient eyes. He throbbed in your mouth, and you swallowed, the pool of your spit mixing with pearls of salty pre-cum.

Mattheo grunted, pulling out and thrusting back in, and in and out again, lips parting while you whimpered and choked on the size of his cock.

"Poor thing," he sneered. "Am I too big for your dirty little mouth?"

Nodding, you attempted to groan your agreement, but found yourself muffled by a deep thrust into your throat. You retched, trying to get off of his length, but another hand seized the back of your head, holding you there, tears and drool sliding to your jaw while he rocked into you. Every noise from your chest was a stifled whimper, gagging with every deep thrust, but he was ruthless, fingers burrowed into your face, cock fucking hard into your throat, and when you squeezed shut your lids, he growled.

"Look at me, Raven." he ordered. "Look at me when I'm throat fucking you. Know whose cum you're about to taste.

You complied, locking eyes with him through a haze, your throat raw and tender, lips and tongue going numb with his brutal thrusting.

"Good girl," he moaned, "so good...fuck..."

Riddle shifted, craning your head back, plunging deeper into your neck, seething in pleasure when you whined on his cock. His breath was coming fast, his dick pulsing urgently in your mouth, and then he was cursing, hissing your name, hips jerking in sloppy thrusts. He pulled out, fisting his length.

"Open."

You did, and he growled, shooting hot ropes of white onto your mouth and eyes, hips still rolling while he fucked his hand through the end of his climax. As he caught his breath, he looked down at you, your jaw jacked open, his bitter cum collecting on your tongue and sticking one of your lids shut.

"Go on," he huffed. "Swallow it."

Groaning, you swallowed, eye twitching as it opened despite the pull of his release on your lashes. Gasping for air, your head hung low as Mattheo released your hair. His eyes never wavered, attentively watching your every move as you gradually pulled yourself up from the floor. Meanwhile, his hands deftly moved to adjust his pants, restoring a semblance of decency.

Your own hands trembled as you fumbled to button up your shirt, a sense of vulnerability lingering in the air. Mattheo closed the distance between you, his tall figure casting a shadow over you in the charged silence. With a slow, deliberate movement, he used his finger to sweep away any traces of his release from your face, his eyes smoldering with intensity and a smirk playing on his lips as he directed his finger toward your parted lips.

Without hesitation, you welcomed it between your teeth, your mouth enveloping it with a mix of compliance and desire. Holding his gaze, you sucked gently, the unspoken tension crackling between you. He watched, his lips parting slightly, as you willingly took his finger into your mouth, the connection lingering until he slowly withdrew it, the intensity of the moment hanging between you like a charged current.

"Shit..." he murmured, glimpsing your lips.

"Shit." You repeated, glimpsing his.

The charged silence hung heavily in the air, enveloping both of you as you stood there, locked in a wordless exchange. Countless unspoken words seemed to swirl between you, filling the space with their weight, yet neither of you dared to vocalize them, opting for the sanctuary of silence. After what felt like an eternity, Mattheo finally exhaled, the sound carrying the weight of the unspoken. With a resigned gesture, he moved towards his chair and sank into it, the weariness evident in his posture.

You followed suit, collecting yourself, and Riddle finally broke the silence.

“This isn’t his blood.” He said, and relief almost immediately flooded you. "One week, Raven."

————————

Find chapter eleven->

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kentopedia · 1 year

Text

fresh air

FEATURING. levi ackerman x f!reader — wc: 4.5 k

SUMMARY. everyone on levi's squad wonders where he disappears to when they get time off in wall sina.

CONTENTS. fluff, secret relationship, the scout find out levi is in love, doctor!reader, established relationship, levi gets a minor injury, canon universe, she/they pronouns for hange, no warnings bc this is all just very sweet

based on this ask here ♡

The first time that Levi met you, he’d been too rough around the edges, a newly freed man from the underground with one too many health issues and a sickly complexion.

Against his will, Erwin had sent him in for a medical examination, a requirement he’d been forced to endure before officially joining the Survey Corps. It seemed a life with minimal sunlight had lasting effects on the human body. Levi thought that was a reasonable assumption.

He’d suffered through the check-ups, holding his tongue when the doctors prodded at him with invasive hands and told him what nutrients he needed more of. He’d taken their advice, for the most part.

You were still a nurse back then, holding a strong desire to help people and eyes with an innocence that would never last. When the doctor had been running late one evening, you’d come in to check Levi’s pulse, asked if he had any pain.

He’d stared at you for a moment, and for the first time in his life, fumbled for the right words to say.

Trivial things like beauty had never been important to Levi, but your smile had been the only image in his mind for days.

You’d visited him again for another check-up the next day.

And Levi was, really, perfectly fine. He knew there was nothing seriously wrong with him. Though, you had been so eager to do your job, so happy to help a fragmented man, that he let you take care of him for a week and, ridiculously, pretended that he was in much more pain than he actually was.

A hesitant sort of bond started between you after that. You were still intimidated by his brashness, and he was too afraid of his own feelings to ever let himself accept that he found you enjoyable to be around.

Although, whatever he felt ceased to matter after that. Levi officially became a scout, lost the only two people that cared about him, and hardened even more.

Years passed before he saw you again, and by then, you’d become a doctor, saved more patients than you lost, and built a name for yourself.

Levi saw you much more once he became the Captain of the Survey Corps; soldiers on his squad were always getting injured, and he nearly died on a couple missions.

Somewhere along the way, he’d fallen for you. Too quickly and too easily, especially for a man like him who knew better than to care for people.

Still, he figured he was allowed at least one good thing in life, and he’d chosen that to be you. The pretty little doctor who had snuck into his heart.

“Levi?” Hange was in front of him, snapping a hand in front of his eyes, overly concerned and much too close. “Are you losing more blood? You look pale.” She prodded at him, a humored grin spreading across her mouth. “Someone might think you’ve been living underground.”

Hange laughed loudly and Levi pushed them away, irritated, and worn-out from the mission.

“I’m fine,” he said, though his ribs ached, and he couldn’t deny the pain that lingered in his side. “Just get off of me. You smell foul.”

Hange made a face. “Just plug your nose then.” A slender finger poked at his ribs again, and he recoiled, hissing. “See! You’re not okay.”

Levi’s aggravated response went unheard as Hange called a doctor over, waving their hands dramatically. A scowled embedded even deeper into his features.

“I’m fine, shithead. Stop being dramatic.”

Though his protests didn’t matter much. A man in a white coat came by after Hange’s call, adjusting a spectacle as he tucked parchment under his arm. “Is everything alright?”

“Can you please have the captain checked out? He was injured outside the walls, and I’m not sure our first aid did well at stitching him back up.”

The doctor looked over Levi skeptically, peeling back the wrapping around his middle that had already dried brown with blood. “We’ve got a lot of people in need of assistance. I can try and get a nurse to help you, but—”

“Where’s the other doctor?” Levi knew your name, of course he did, but he was afraid if he said it something would change on his face. “The younger one.”

“There are other squads that ended up worse off. She’s taking care of them at the moment.” the gray-haired doctor said, looking at his parchment. “I’ll tell her to make her way over here. I don’t know how long it will be.”

Levi could tell what the man was thinking: that he was Captain Levi, and they could afford to lose the other scouts, but they couldn’t afford to lose him. Still, Levi’s wound had been treated sufficiently. At the very least, he didn’t feel like he would pass out again any time soon.

“I can wait.” Levi looked at the other battered members of the Scouts, some of them with slices up their arms and deep gashes in their skulls. It was a sickening sight really. No one should’ve been worried about him. “These soldiers have worse injuries than I do. You should treat them first.” He glanced at Hange beside him, the glasses making their eyes look even rounder. “And take Hange while you’re at it. Maybe you can find out if there’s a cure for being an idiot.”

The doctor cracked a smile. “Come with me then, Section Commander. You seem to be free of injuries, and we need some help taking care of these soldiers.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll do everything I can.” Hange nodded and stood to follow the doctor. She sent Levi one last look before leaving. “Don’t let your wound get infected because you’re trying to play the hero.”

“I’m fine, Hange. Seriously.” He blinked at her, his expression blank, and Hange sighed before disappearing into the crowd, into the mess of carnage from another fruitless journey outside the walls.

Levi waited for a half hour, watched as more soldiers were led away from the central room into the private wing of the hospital. Someone had cracked a window, and a warm breeze of fresh air fanned into the anteroom.

It was starting to get hot again. He dreaded the summer missions that burned his skin.

The chair was stiff, but he could’ve dozed off in it, suddenly feeling more light-headed than he had when Hange left. Levi shifted, bringing a palm down to his wound. The pain was starting to get worse again. When he drew his hand away, there was more blood.

Shit. That wasn’t a good sign. The stitches mustn’t have been done properly.

He started to stand, beginning to wonder if he should just stitch the wound back up himself, when you finally approached, and the sight of you sent a wave of relief over him. You were like his very own guardian angel, illuminating the hospital with nothing more than a hopeful smile.

Immediately, Levi softened, wondering how you could get more and more beautiful every time he saw you.

“Captain Levi.” Your eyes dropped to the seeping bandage, the shoulder that wasn’t sitting right. He’d dislocated it, twisted a little too funny when slicing up a titan. The tissue there had probably worn down too much. “Don’t tell me you’ve been waiting for me.”

“My injuries are minimal. Thought I’d take my chances until someone competent could stitch me up properly.”

Your jaw clenched, and though you reached your hand out to him, you retracted it, remembering there were other people around. With a sigh, you pointed over your shoulder instead. “Come with me.”

Levi followed you down the hall, to a shimmering white room that smelled too much like flowers. You gathered a few supplies, and he watched you, taking a seat on the bed.

Without a word, you began unwrapping the bloody gauze, cleaning the dark wound with unfazed, sharp eyes. His chest was exposed to you, the shirt already removed.

“At least tell me you missed me before you get me undressed,” Levi said, his tone dry as you pressed a warm cloth to his skin.

You narrowed your eyes, your expression exhausted. He was certain you’d been working nonstop since the Survey Corps got back. “I did miss you, Levi,” you said quietly, wringing the blood out of the cloth. “I always miss you.”

Against his will, Levi’s heart panged in his chest. It was almost too easy for you to get a rise out of him.

You worked in silence, and Levi let you—you’d done this many times for him before, and he knew how much you hated being disturbed.

Though, you looked so sweet with your lip jutted out in focus, and he relaxed, unable to stop himself when he leaned forward to give you a kiss.

To Levi’s disappointment, you saw him coming and pushed him away, placing a bloody hand in front of your mouth to stop him. “Levi!” you shouted in exasperation, though you were far too used to him to be surprised. “I’m not done.”

He sighed, leaning back once more, though the smallest of smiles was on his lips. “I thought you were the best doctor in the interior,” he said mockingly. “Shouldn’t you be a little faster than this?”

“You should work on being more patient. It’s only been a few minutes.”

“Has it?” Levi snorted. It felt like an eternity. You were there in front of him, so lovely and focused, and he could hardly contain himself. He’d spent weeks away from you, and he couldn’t even sneak a quick kiss.

You laughed, the sound stirring up butterflies in his stomach, and he relented, the seriousness in your expression pulling him back to reality. He sat quietly and left you to do your work.

Your hands were soft against his skin as you sealed up the wound, fixed up the stitches, so gentle that he almost forgot about the pain entirely. Having you to watch certainly helped keep him distracted.

Finally, you stepped away, satisfied, and grinned. “Alright. All done.”

“You mean it?” Levi leaned forward, and the ache in his abdomen pinched. “You’re not going to wipe your disgusting palm on my face if I try to kiss you?”

A part of him was, completely serious, but another laugh escaped you as you wiped your hands on a clean rag, the blood still staining your palms. But it was his blood and Levi figured if it had already dirtied his own skin, it didn’t matter much.

He kissed you, momentarily, and the feeling of your lips brought him entirely back to life. Levi wasn’t sure what about you changed him so completely, made him feel a jolt of energy zap into him every time you were around, but he was addicted to it.

He took a breath, for a moment, his expression gentle, though he didn’t have the opportunity to kiss you again. The door had been thrown open, slamming against the wall, and Hange strolled in, wearing a wide smile and bright eyes.

“Levi,” Hange said, much too loudly, and he recoiled, wondering if they’d seen him kiss you. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Probably not then. Hange would have made that the first topic of conversation.

You smiled politely beside Levi, already placing a professional distance between you. He craved the warmth, missing you again already. “How are you, Hange? I take it you didn’t get too banged up on the mission?”

Hange laughed, throwing an arm over your shoulder like old friends. “Not a single scratch.”

“A miracle, really, with the way you’re always throwing yourself into danger.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. I always play it safe.” Hange turned back to Levi; lips pulled up to reveal a white grin. “I see you’re feeling better then. The doctor got you all patched up?”

“I always do,” you hid a smile behind your hand, careful not to touch it to your mouth.

Levi sighed, hating how well you two got along. He might as well have told Hange about your relationship in the very beginning. You two saw each other every time the Scouts were in the interior wall. “Didn’t you have something to tell me, Hange?”

Hange scrunched her face up, before recognition passed through it. “Right,” they said, straightening. “Erwin’s requested your presence in a meeting with Commander Pyxis and the Military Police. They’ve got a lot of questions.”

“I’m sure they do.” Levi struggled to his feet, feeling much older than he really was. He wondered when all of the hits to his body would start to catch up to him. “I’ll follow you out, then.”

Levi exchanged a look with you, conveying everything he couldn’t with Hange standing there.

“I’ll see you later then, Captain Levi. Hange.” Your smile was refined, corresponding to your current status, and you saluted like a good soldier would. Then, the two of them were off.

Hange tossed a grin over their shoulder once the two of them were outside the hospital, eyes crinkling behind thick lenses. “You look a little flushed there, Captain.”

Levi stared back at Hange indifferently, not an ounce of emotion in his cool eyes. Hange always teased him when it came to you, but he doubted she ever figured out the truth. “Is that so?”

“Why don’t you just confess your love already?” Hange said romantically, batting their eyes and holding clasped hands to her chin. “It’s been years Levi.”

“I’m sure you’re not insinuating I’ve got any sort of romantic feelings,” Levi said dryly. He was certain that he had not been blushing, and he pinched Hange’s cheek too, the pink tint there as well from the warm weather. “It’s not like it’s nearly summer.”

Hange swatted him away, their joyful expression falling as a pout formed on their lips. “Oh, you’re so boring, Levi. I’m only messing with you.”

Levi let out a weary noise, somewhere between a sigh and a groan, wondering how he’d managed to put up with the most insufferable person for years and years on end. “You sound like a teenager.”

After his mess of a meeting with the military police, Levi headed to one of the nicer homes at the edge of the city, an older building in Wall Sina that had managed to stay intact after the Female Titan incident.

It wasn’t his home, not really, but it was the only one he had outside of the military housing and the single private room he received as a commanding officer. And, it might as well have been his anyway—his clothes all hung in the closet, his teacups stuffed in a crowded cabinet. He was there more than he was anywhere else.

The door opened easily when he pushed the knob, and while he knew you were expecting him, he hoped you didn’t always keep it unlocked. The streets were too wrought with crime; a fact he was far too aware of.

When he opened the door, the scent of home and a freshly made meal invaded his senses, warming him to the very core of his soul. He slid his shoes off at the door, careful not to track in any mud.

You hadn’t heard him come in, too busy cutting up vegetables to throw into a pot. You hummed to yourself softly, distracted entirely by your own thoughts.

Levi smiled, admiring you for just a moment and taking in that second to carry it with him on his next mission. For so much of his life, he’d hardly had a home to come back to. It was nice to remember that he had a person waiting for him on the other side, someone that could be there for him in the moments that he didn’t want to be alone.

He snuck up behind you quietly, and you remained completely unaware until he wrapped his arms around your middle, relaxing into your body in a way he’d never been able to when he was away from you.

You jumped momentarily, but eased into his arms right after, recognizing his touch easily. One of your softer hands wrapped around his, the other still throwing chopped vegetables into the pot.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” yod, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, tranquil.

So much of his time had been spent in a world that was a living hell, trying to deal with the overarching mess that had started years ago, and being with you was the only time he could ever recover. The knowledge that he didn’t have to always be humanity’s strongest soldier with you gave him, at least, some semblance of peace.

“I hope I didn’t scare you,” he whispered, hooking his chin over your shoulder as he looked at the stew you were making. It was the best thing he had smelled in weeks, and Levi felt too spoiled after a childhood spent eating mud and garbage from the streets. “You could’ve waited for me to get home. I would’ve cooked something instead. I know you’ve been working all day, taking care of the Scouts.”

“Levi.” You pressed a kiss to the back of his hand, smiling into the delicate skin. “You’ve been gone for weeks. You probably haven’t had a proper meal since you left, and you were injured. I don’t want you to strain yourself.” You turned to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’m glad you’re home. You can get some rest now.”

You pressed a kissed to his nose, and no matter how many times you referred to your home as his as well, a fiery warmth bloomed inside of him.

“Me too.” Levi smiled at you tiredly, brushing his thumb over your lips before retracting. “I’m going to get cleaned up. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“I’ll tell you when the food is ready.”

Levi nodded, and released you hesitantly, already wanting to be around you for every moment he had in Wall Sina. Instead, he headed towards the bathroom, where he knew the soap that he preferred would be waiting for him, just as he’d left it before.

“Levi?”

He turned at the sound of your voice. You were watching him with hearts in your eyes, the very expression something he would probably never been accustomed to.

“I love you.”

Levi softened, his feet melting into the floor entirely. “I love you too.”

Your face grew so bright, and you turned back to your task, newly invigorated. Levi had gotten better at saying the words, at accepting that you wouldn’t get taken away from him just because he cared about you.

It had been a long road, certainly, but somewhere along the way he’d started to become familiar with happiness.

“Levi, what do you think of this one?” You spun in a slow circle, making sure that he saw every angle of the dress. You were watching him with a skeptical look, suspecting that he wouldn’t be honest with you.

Which was maybe true. Levi didn’t know very much about what was in style. He just thought you looked nice in everything.

“It’s pretty,” he said, indulging you with a nod. “You look very pretty.”

Despite yourself, you grew warm, smiling at yet another compliment from him. He’d said the same thing about every dress, but he loved seeing the expression on your face, the twitch of embarrassment, even though you’d been together for years.

It was rare that the two of you got to do something so calming. You were meant to go to a ball in the upcoming weeks, gain some kind of recognition for your accomplishments as a doctor, and you were in desperate need something to wear.

Of course, you’d decided the moment that Levi was home would be the perfect time to go shopping.

Though, it didn’t matter. He would’ve gone with you anyway, even if you needed an outfit or not. Levi was just so incredibly proud of you. A part of him wished he could accompany you to the ball, even if being in a stuffy room with a crowd of pretentious, wealthy men sounded like the most undesirable event in the world.

“Well, which makes me seem like I know what I’m doing?” you asked him through the mirror, the tailor doing her best not to intrude on the conversation. “I like the blue one, but do I look too young?”

“Well, you’re not old,” Levi scoffed. “Besides, I hardly think you need new a dress to let people know you’re a professional.” Though, he mulled over the question regardless, mostly taking your inquiry seriously. You were making a face at him. “I like the blue one too.”

He liked them all, really.

You smiled, letting the tailor finish up her job and Levi turned, wondering how much of a dent this would put in his wallet.

“I’ll just be a second,” you said, leaning down from your stool to kiss him. His lips curled up when they met yours. “Want to wait outside?”

“Sure.” Levi turned, and for a moment, swore he saw a flash outside, someone speeding past the window. When he looked closer, no one was there.

He ignored it, leaving a wad of cash with the store-owned and tried to remember that he no longer needed to save that money for another meal.

As he waited for you to finish up, Levi leaned against the wall, watching the people walk back and forth, paying him no attention at all. It was sometimes easy to forget that not everyone recognized him. Not everyone cared, really, that he was Captain Levi.

It was refreshing to be ignored.

“Levi,” you said wearily as you came out of the short building, and he knew what was coming next, knew what words would leave your mouth. “I told you I’d take care of it.”

“Consider it paying back a favor.” He fell into step beside you as you turned the corner, going down the narrow alley.

You creased your eyebrows skeptically, trying to catch his eyes. The ones that had brightened minimally after a night of rest in an actual bed. “A favor for what?”

“I don’t know. Letting me live in your house? For cooking for me last night?” Your frown deepened, exasperated and Levi sighed, rolling his eyes. “Just accept the gift, you idiot. I was trying to do something nice.”

You gazed at him in disbelief for another moment before laughing, the seriousness evaporating. “You’re so sweet.” You grinned, and Levi thought that was hardly the word to describe him, but you seemed so happy that he didn’t say anything. “I appreciate it a lot. Thank you.”

“Come on,” Levi said, huffing when you tried to kiss him again. “We should go back home before I run into one of those intolerable brats from my squad.”

Though, Levi really regretted the words, wondering if there was some higher being out there who just lived to cause him grief. Not a moment later, he heard a familiar voice rounding the corner, getting much too close to where he was standing.

“Armin, look! I told you. I saw him with someone.”

Levi’s jaw tightened as Eren sprinted down the alley with his smarter blond friend in tow, and a dark-haired girl who never seemed to leave his side.

The three of them nearly ran into the two of you, skidding to a stop only when they noticed you both turning the corner, and gauged the unamused expression on Levi’s face.

“What are you two doing here? Don’t you have training or something?” Levi’s voice was stern, though he knew they had the day off, just as he did. Just as you did.

“Captain Levi!” Armin straightened, looking nervous under his tense gaze. Levi wondered what it would take for that kid to gain some confidence. “Sorry, we didn’t mean to intrude. Eren just said—”

“Eren said—” Eren began, but before he could continue, Hange had also come around the corner with Erwin, the two of them laughing like they’d found something very funny.

Levi wished he had his gear so he could start swinging the blades at all of them.

“Levi,” Erwin greeted him good-naturedly, and Hange was snickering beside him, their eyes glued to the minimal space between you and him. “Eren said there was an emergency this way. What seems to be the issue?”

That little shit. Levi could’ve kicked the stupid grin right off his face again.

“Did he?” Levi said, swallowing down his anger, his expression as nonchalant as usual. “I’ve got no idea what he could possibly be talking about.”

“Eren said you two were kissing.” Mikasa spared no time for idle conversation, her eyes as hard as his own as she made the comment in a bored tone. If Levi had to guess, she’d been pulled into the situation because Eren had caught them and couldn’t keep his nose out of other people’s business.

And Hange, who had never been very good at holding back laughter, doubled over with tears gathering at the corners of their eyes.

“Oh,” you said beside him, embarrassed, and Levi softened, remembering that even though he’d kept the relationship a secret for your own safety, there really had never been a need to. You were never going to leave his life, not if he could help it, and he trusted the five people before him enough to keep it from becoming public knowledge. “I’m sorry,” you whispered to him, momentarily panicked. “That was my fault.”

Levi hated the look on your face; he never wanted you to look so disheartened again. He sighed. “Eren, you should learn to keep your mouth shut.”

At least, Eren had the good sense to sober up. His back became rigid, any humor disappearing from his face immediately. “Right, sir, I’m sorry. I just thought—”

“I’ve got the day off like the rest of you, don’t I? Maybe you should let us spend it in peace.” Levi boldly grabbed your hand, walking through the middle of the starstruck crowd, knowing he’d have to deal with their endless questions sooner than later.

For now, though, he just wanted a relaxing day with you by his side.

“Levi, wait! Why didn’t you tell me?” Hange’s dramatic cries rang out through the air as he glared at them over his shoulder, eyes narrowing so intensely it almost hurt.

Behind him, Eren’s cry of pain could be heard after Mikasa slapped him over the head. “Eren! I told you that was a bad idea.”

“Bye!” you said sweetly, like nothing had happened, and continued along with your hand in Levi’s, a stupid smile on your face.

When you were far enough away from lingering ears, Levi looked over to you, shaking his head. “Why do you look so happy?” he asked, exasperated, and ready to go home.

You shrugged. “I like that someone else knows that I love you.”

And though Levi would still push Eren twice as hard at the next training, he couldn’t be too mad at him after that.

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