#HES SUPPOSED TO BE SMILING HERE!!!! WHATEVER!!!!!!!

[butyoudidthis4what]

Perfumer

Jack Abbot x Reader

1.5k || All of my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: none I think. Hinted at sex and suggestiveness but that's about it really.

Summary: Jack smells the perfume you're wearing, flirty fluffy happy teasing ensues. That's it, that's the fic. Established relationship. No use of y/n or related. Zero proofreading of any kind. No beta.

A.N.: The summaries and titles will not be getting better I fear. After getting out some sadness in that last one I just needed something fluffy and happy and flirty. This is very self-indulgent as I love perfume and wish I had Jack Abbot giving me some and then smelling it on me, and telling me I smell good, you know? Honestly I'm quite shocked I wrote anything with like no level of angst in it that was just fluff. But my mental health needed some pure happy fluff with him so here we are. Anyway, this is exceptionally short for me and as with last time this is my first time back writing fanfic in a longggg time so please be gentle and kind and also let me know if you like it! The ending is very open, so there's definitely part two potential depending upon reception and if anyone would like.

“I should have known the trail of smell good was you. You always smell good.” Santos comments as she walks up to you while you stand by the center desk. “Do you own like a thousand perfumes or something?” 

Jack’s head popped up from looking at the tablet in his hands a few rooms down from the desk at ‘smell good,’ correctly assuming it meant you were here. You can feel his eyes on you and look over at him. “Probably not a thousand, but a lot, yes. I collect them.” 

“Why? Aren’t women supposed to want, like, a signature smell or whatever?” She tilts her head at you. 

You start smirking but Robby beats you to it. “Oh, she has to keep Abbot on his toes somehow.” 

“What does that even mean?” She looks between you, Robby, and Jack.

You bite your lip and stifle a laugh. It’s nice, having your relationship out in the open, having been able to get to know Jack’s friends. He’s still quite private though, which you respect, and know Robby is flirting with the line. You weren’t going to go quite as far, but can’t help the way it made you smile, in large part because it’s true.

It’s become somewhat of a game for you and Jack. You wear a different perfume everyday and he guesses what it is. He’s good at it, which isn’t surprising, he’s good at everything he does. It’s a nice way to have a close moment together. He likes buying them for you too to keep the game interesting.

It lets him read your moods a bit too. He’s learned that when you’re a bit down you have a tendency to go for perfumes that are heavier in a sense, more warm and comforting. And if you don’t wear perfume he knows it means things are bad because you don’t want to end up associating a smell with however you’re feeling or what you’re going through. He also swears they mix with your chemistry and smell different at certain times during your cycle. You don’t know why you found the idea of him being able to smell that on you so hot, but you very much did.

Recently you’d taken to layering some of them, in part to be creative and in part to make it more challenging for Jack.

“It means-” Robby starts.

“Okay, can we just not?” Jack asks as he walks over to you, shooting Robby a look and standing next to you. 

“I just think it’s cute how-”

“Still talking.” Jack cuts Robby off. 

“How the tables turn.” Robby shoots back, making Jack roll his eyes. 

“I was just trying to help-” Jack starts.

“Now, now, boys, no fighting in front of the children.” You fake scold them. This time they both roll their eyes at you. 

“Go back to work since you all still want to be here past your shifts.” Jack tells everyone, grabbing your hand and leading you to the doctor’s lounge. 

You expect a kiss and hug now that you’re in private, but instead you’re met with him pressing his chest to your back, one hand coming to hold one of your hips and the other moving your hair off one shoulder and tilting your neck before he leans in close to breathe you in. You can feel the soft skin of one of his lips brush against you and the stubble from him not shaving for a day. 

“Jack,” you breathe, heavier than you mean to, one hand coming to rest on his hand on your hip and the other reaching up to cup his face. 

“Celeste,” he murmurs against your skin. He’s right so you nod. That’s the name of the perfume you’re wearing on your neck and wrists today. “No wonder Santos picked up on you. Heavy sillage.” He gives you a kiss to the neck before pulling back to spin you and give you one to the lips. You smile as he does. “Stop smiling so I can kiss you properly.”

That makes you laugh, but you’re able to control it and in turn he’s able to kiss you properly, how you deserve to be kissed. “I love that you know what that word means and actually used it. It’s kind of hot.” You give him another kiss. “I’m making my military man into a perfumer.”

He hums at you, low and from the back of the throat. He loves it when you call him yours. “If you ever told anyone I would deny all knowledge of having a clue about what sillage and gourmand and all of the other pretentiously fancy perfume related words mean.” 

“I never would. Couldn’t ruin your reputation could I, Dr. Abbot? Plus I like having our little secrets.” You let your voice trail down on the last sentence, run your hands all over his scrub top.

His eyes darken just a little and his jaw tightens. He never really had any sort of title kink before he met you, but there’s something about the way ‘doctor’ slips off your tongue that really gets to him. Same with sir. 

“You’re not here for an ED related reason, are you? Hurt? Sick?” It’s teasing but there’s just enough of a tinge of real concern to the question that melts you. 

“I am not, no. I promise if I ever was here for such a reason I would make sure you knew immediately.” You smile at him softly, run a hand through the salt and peppery curls you love so much. “I just wanted to lay eyes on you, even if only for a moment. I missed you extra today. I’ll let you get back to work.” He nods, the little smile he gives you saying everything it needs to. You share one last kiss before going to leave the room.

“Oh,” you say, turning around and shutting the door again. “You’ve only answered half the question today. I just thought you should know.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You layered scents?”

“No.” You shake your head and smirk. He narrows his eyes a little as he tries to find the answer in your eyes. It suddenly clicks.

“Fuck me, your ankles?” He groans. “You put a different one on your ankles? Why?” He can already feel himself starting to fill out. He doesn’t know if he could articulate why he finds it so hot when you put perfume on your ankles for him to discover but he does. 

Your smirk widens. “For a fun surprise and to see the look on your face when I told you.” He glances around the room and then gets a look on his face like he’s thinking. You’re shocked, honestly. It’s so out of character for him to think about trying to do it at the hospital. It’s only happened twice. “Oh no,” you laugh, “no, no, no, Jack rabbit, you are not finding out here at the hospital, so don’t even think about places you could take me to try and find out.” 

He makes a noise of protest, somewhere between a growl and a whine that makes you bite your lip. He pins your back to the door with his hips and rolls them against you, grinding him into you to let you feel what you’ve done to him. “So what, I’m just supposed to go around like this for the rest of my shift?”

“Well you might want to take a couple of minutes to let that go down baby, but yes. You can finish your shift thinking about what could be on my ankles and what position it is you’re going to put me in to find out.” You press a kiss to his collarbone and his hands squeeze your hips a little harder, an unspoken command to look at him. 

You pull back and do as he asked. So big on eye contact, your Jack. He blinks at you, jaw clenched. “I’m going to be half hard and uncomfortable there for the rest of my shift, you know that right?”

“I am nothing if not a cruel woman.” You say with fake solemnity as you smooth your hands over his chest. “I’m sure as you get drawn back into work it’ll go away. Plus, you know the anticipation and wait makes it better.”

He somehow steps closer to you, almost puts a knee between your legs and leans in close, dropping his voice and making his voice even more gravely.“I want you to remember those words because you’re going to find out all about them once I’m home and I don’t want to hear any complaining.”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow. “Are you threatening to edge me, sir?” His jaw grinds and you see the slightest twitch under your eye that makes you smirk. You love that you can affect him like this.

“I don’t make threats, Doll.” He whispers at your ear as he steps back from you and pulls the door to the lounge open for you both to walk out of. Everyone glances up at the two of you, effectively forcing you to control your reaction as he keeps his voice low, only for you to hear. “Only promises I intend to keep.” 

[bullet-prooflove]

Sucker: Jack Abbot x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989@cosmic-psychickitty @ilariyalavorowrites @spooky-librarian-ghost

Companion piece to:

The Asshole King - Jack discovers you have an unusual technique for dealing with patients.

Bob Dylan - You help Jack to relax after an incident at the hospital leaves him temporarily blind.

Because Of You - Jack realises he's starting to heal in more ways than one after you spend the day taking care of him.

Balance - Jack reveals his feelings for you but they come with complications.

Off Limits - An awkward start to the day leads Jack to make a claim on your affections.

Hawaii - Jack discovers who he really is when you book a trip to Hawaii.

Silk (NSFW) - Jack loves the sight of you in silk.

Running isn’t supposed to be fun.

It’s supposed to a hard relentless pursuit to maintain peak physical fitness.

A way of training your mind and body…

“Come on slow poke, you’re falling behind.” You call over your shoulder with that devil may care grin and Jack huffs out a laugh because that was his mentality before you, before he got to see that firm Lycra clad ass and swishing ponytail.

If that doesn’t change your perspective on running, well he doesn’t know what will. It’s part of the reason he’s been lagging behind the past half mile during the park run, conserving his speed for the finish line. The other part is the prize he has in mind.

“I’m just a poor old man with a prosthetic leg.” He calls out as you hit the final straight. “How do you expect me to keep up?”

“Oh no Jack.” You say slowing your pace, your eyebrows furrowing in concern. “Is it hurting you?”

His baby, she’s so kind and conscientious. She’s also a complete sucker.

He erupts with a burst of speed sailing past you, the word ‘motherfucker’ hanging in the breeze behind him as he laughs to himself, hurtling towards the tree that marks the finish line. His palm slaps against the bark signalling the end of the race and he turns around in time for you to give him the  middle finger as you do the same.

“You. Are. An. Asshole.” You say as you lean over, your hands on your knees trying to catch your breath. “ A trickerish son of a bitch…”

“Faye.” He says softly and you look up to find his face in close proximity to yours.

It takes you a second to realise he’s down on one knee, that he’s holding a ring in his hand. It’s beautiful, silver with a midnight blue sapphire in the centre, a pinprick diamond on either side of it.

“I won the race honey and you know the rules.” He tells you, the left side of his mouth quirking up into that handsome smile. “Whatever I ask you can’t say no.”

“Jack.”  You whisper, your lips brushing over his as he slides the ring onto your finger. “How could I ever say no to you.”

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[supercutszns]

kay this might be a CRAZY thing to say and idk if ur taking reqs rn but just!!! take this as a lil treat idk!!!!

luke w a sunburned reader……… and bro is obsessed w how he leaves handprints after he touches you…. IS THIS CRAZY IDK. AM I INSANE.

wc + pairing: 1.5k, luke castellan x daughter of poseidon! reader

notes/warnings: this thought literally made me feral thank u so much😵‍💫😵‍💫 got a little carried away but wanted to write some more of my twin beads babies so this was the perfect opportunity! reader is able to burn, mentions/allusions to sex, luke is horny but aren’t we all, just fluff & banter with smutty undertones

The waves roll in to break crisply against the shoreline. There’s a noise they make, a soft crackle and splash, that sounds like laughter. You’ve had a long, good day at the camp beach, savouring your one day off to lounge on the sand with your friends and swim as far as your legs could carry you. Percy was the only one willing to keep up with you—Clarisse tried and hid her bitterness when she failed, and Luke humoured you for all of five minutes until he realized he didn’t need to be your swim buddy anymore. Percy clumsily waded in after you each and every time, and it had never been more obvious the two of you were related.

Despite the beauty of the sun warming down the sky, Luke can’t bring himself to pay attention. There’s only you, between his legs, staring out at the water like you’re seeing it for the first time. You’re especially gorgeous after a long day at the beach. Even prettier now that Luke doesn’t have to pretend you’re not. The muscles and the skin he spent ages tracing in the darkness of his cabin have a new weight to them out here, heavy and captured in the shadow of the sun.

He pulls you against him, arms winding around your front. You’re so warm and he needs more of it. He presses his nose into the dip of your shoulder and breathes. You smell like salt and sunscreen, a citrusy comfort that’s defined the past five years of his life.

“You tired?” He asks, muffled against your skin. No matter what you say, he knows. He can feel you sinking into him, the way your muscles have melted away.

“I’m happy,” is all you say, because you know he knows too.

The curve of his smile matches the curve of your shoulder as he kisses your skin, twice. He never does it once anymore. Reminds him of all the years he’d spent pretending like he didn’t want you. The least he could do is double what he gives you; return everything he’s saved for you in your youth.

He feels you sigh as he traces the tip of his nose up the dip in your neck, and the way your breath wavers when his mouth follows suit. He kisses your neck lazily, lets his teeth scrape on your skin, lets himself soak in the warmth and your exhales. He likes it when you pretend this doesn’t drive you crazy.

You’re really not giving in this time, though, and he supposes he’s in no rush either, so he pulls back and rests on the heels of his palms. You groan a bit, but whatever you’re about to say is cut by his very pronounced, “Shit.”

You glance back at him. “What?”

His eyebrows pique. “You’re burnt, sailor. Like super burnt.”

“Really?” You try to crane to get a look at your back, which is futile, and sigh, “How bad?”

“Pretty bad.”

“Like three years ago camp triathlon bad?”

He shakes his head. “Like … last year’s kayaking trip bad.”

That settles you a bit, so you shrug. “Oh, that’s fine.” You wave Luke off and turn back to the sunset. “You know it’s so weird, I never burn in the water. It’s only when I’m out of it that it happens.”

“Or when heatstroke happens,” Luke remarks, taking the opportunity of your back facing him to run his fingers along your spine. “Do you remember after the triathlon right after I beat you? When you crossed the line and the second I came over you started—”

“Please don’t finish this—”

“—vomiting all over the place and nearly passed out in my arms?”

“Luke!”

“And that older Ares kid you thought was soooo hot had to take you to the infirmary?”

“Okay, that is enough!” You turn around and wrestle his hands away from you, until he pushes back and you’re both slapping each other wherever you can, laughing like children. “Colin Ackerman was hot, you were just jealous of him!”

He catches your splitting smile that hits his heart like a tsunami. “Yeah, I wonder why!” He manages to gain the upper hand and maneuvers you back into his arms, but you put on an impressive show pretending like it’s not what you wanted all along. Your back settles against him once again, your nose smushed to his cheek, and you nudge and nudge until he kisses you. You sigh and trace your finger along his jaw and Luke wants to kick himself stupid for going this long without tasting you whenever he could.

“You’re so annoying,” you grin, kissing his cheek.

“At least I’m not Colin Ackerman.”

You snort and kiss his face again before turning back to the lake. Luke takes it upon himself to keep running fingers up your spine, noticing how your skin ripples a different shade in his wake. He can’t believe he didn’t see you were burnt sooner. You never listen to him about wearing a shirt once you come out of the water. Unfortunately, the part of him in his boxers is often glad for that.

He watches intently as he presses his thumbs into your back and drags them out, feeling your muscles stretch. It’s distracting, the burn briefly fading on your skin under his fingertips. It’s like a map of exactly where he’s touching you. A mark that lingers.

“Does it hurt?” He asks, running his thumb down your back again just to see what it does to you.

“What?”

“Mm, this,” he murmurs, moving up, watching a river blossom between your shoulder blades as he touches you.

“Not really,” you let out a pleased sigh when he kneads your shoulders for a moment. “Feels good.”

“Yeah?”

He drags his hands down to the middle of your back, making sure to press hard enough that he can see the path he’s travelling. He rubs circles near your spine, a place he knows you knot up. “This?”

“Aye aye, captain.”

He presses his palms flat against your back and pulls away to see the imprint. Embarrassingly, he thinks it’s one of the hottest things he’s ever seen. His hands travel further, resting on your hips. “How about when I do… this?” He hitches his thumbs just below the waistband of your bottoms.

“Luke!” You whip back to him like you’re scandalized, which he knows very well as a look you give when you want to rile him up.

“What, I’m just asking!” He takes your hips and drags you back so you’re flush again. There’s a flash of your smile when you look back at him, and he knows he has you. He kisses your neck again, toying with your waistband, letting his fingers dip a little lower every time. “How’s that feel?”

You don’t answer him, and you don’t need to. The sigh you give when he kisses your pulse is enough. He lingers there, swiping his tongue over the spot, and takes his sweet time cherishing it. You make a little sound that nearly kills him. “So pretty like this,” he says. “Wanna see?”

The two of you are chest-to-chest before he even gets a chance to elaborate. He has to prod your face away with his nose to get you to stop kissing him. Suck on that, Colin Ackerman!

He looks down and feels your gaze follow. He rests a hand on one of your arms, draped over his shoulders. When he drags his thumb along your skin, the path snakes across your complexion. “Look.”

“Yeesh,” you say, and Luke laughs. He lays kisses along your arm, and he imagines this is what the ocean smells like. This is what lost sailors feel when they finally press their faces against land again.

“Can I take you back to my cabin?” He asks, letting his teeth graze the skin of your shoulder. He doesn’t ever want to move, watching the imprint of his thumbs against your ribs and his teeth on your neck. He wants to see his hands on you everywhere.

You wind a hand in his hair. “There will be people in there.”

He gently snaps the strap of your swimsuit against your shoulder with his mouth, “Your cabin?”

“Percy.”

The sigh he lets out is embarrassingly pent-up and he pulls away to look at you in your beautiful face. “Can I please take you somewhere nobody else is so I can take off all these clothes and see where else I can touch you?”

“Be my guest, captain,” you smile eagerly.

“Thank you,” he exhales, and you waste no time in kissing him again, open-mouthed and fervent. He imagines his handprints nestled into your back, your hips, your thighs, and he’s gotta get out of here before he gets too carried away. You feel good and warm and wonderful and he’s desperate for more.

Thankfully he has practice in patience when it comes to you, so he kisses you twice more until the scorch is unbearable. The two of you rush along the sand like drunks, until Luke gets you somewhere with a little less sun and a lot less fabric so he can make good on his word.

luke taglist: @sunniskyies @apollos-calliope @lillycore @sunny747 @m00ng4z3r @pabkeh @thaliagracesgf @theadventuresofanartist @bonnie-tz @ash-williamsss @sucker-4-angst @kitkat-writes-stuff @too-deviant @huang-the-geek @daughterofthemoons-stuff @jennapancake @idunnowhattonamethis @jarofshells @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not @lauraisthebestyapper @nininehaaa

[yesihaveaobsession]

Beneath the Static: Alastor’s Breaking Point

Alastor x female!reader

Summary: Alastor like the reader (you) but never announced it until Mimzy comes around and pokes around the bush.

A/N- This mini request was from @hazbin-collection I did half of it because I might write the other half in another fic, so I hope it's okay! And I hope y'all enjoy :)

You'd always known Alastor—and the bit of a mystery he was. The smooth-talking, always-grinning guy was the very definition of unreadable. While you could feel something in the way his gaze lingered when you laughed at one of Angel Dust’s bad jokes, or how he just so happened to show up whenever you needed help—even if you hadn’t called for him... he never said anything.

That day, you were sitting on the plush furniture in your usual spot, sipping some tea and flipping through a worn book, while Alastor stood a few feet away, speaking animatedly with Charlie and Vaggie—probably about the hotel or something. That’s when the doors swung open with a flair.

“Miiiimzy!” Charlie greeted with a surprised smile.

The platinum-haired flapper floated into the room like she owned it, dripping with glitter and sass. She greeted everyone with a bright smile—until her eyes landed on you. You hadn’t been there since the last time she showed up, and judging by everyone’s faces, you pieced together that they were all surprised she had the audacity to come back.

As Mimzy looked you up and down, her painted-on smile twitched. You weren’t sure why.

“Oh. And who’s this?” Mimzy’s voice was sugary, with a bitter aftertaste. “The hotel really has changed, hasn’t it?”

Alastor’s smile didn’t budge, but his eyes snapped sharply to Mimzy.

“This is Y/N,” Charlie said, still chipper. “She’s been staying with us for a while. Everyone here adores her.”

Mimzy tilted her head, clearly unimpressed. “Adorable, sure. She’s got a... rustic kind of charm, I suppose. Like a chipped teacup. Functional, if you squint.”

Your fingers froze around your teacup. You could feel everyone’s eyes on you. You weren’t one to pick fights—especially in a place like the hotel—but the jab stung.

Before you could open your mouth, Alastor’s laugh cut through the room like static.

“Hehehe~! Oh, Mimzy, still as sharp-tongued as ever.”

You glanced up. His tone was jovial, but there was something tight in his voice. Controlled.

“But do be careful,” he added, stepping closer, his shadow stretching oddly long across the floor. “Wouldn’t want that silver tongue of yours to rust with all that petty spite, now would we?”

Mimzy blinked. “Excuse me?”

Alastor’s smile grew wider—maybe a little too wide.

“Y/N has done more for this hotel and its guests than you’ve ever bothered to, my dear Mimzy. She’s clever, warm-hearted, and doesn’t need sequins to shine.”

You just stared at Alastor—and frankly, so did everyone else. He never spoke like that. Certainly never about someone. Especially not about you. Your heart couldn’t help but skip.

“She’s not here to impress you,” he continued, his voice dipping into something darker. “And I don’t recall anyone asking for your opinion on her worth.”

Mimzy’s eyes narrowed. “Well. Aren’t we touchy.”

Alastor’s grin flickered. “Only when it’s warranted.”

There was a tense silence before Mimzy rolled her eyes and flounced toward the bar. “Whatever. I need a drink.”

Once she was out of earshot, Alastor glanced your way. His voice softened, just a bit.

“Apologies, my dear. Mimzy’s… well. She’s Mimzy.”

You gave a small smile, touched. “Thanks. I didn’t think you cared that much.”

Alastor cleared his throat and looked away, the red in his eyes glowing faintly, though his smile didn’t fade. “I don’t care for rudeness. That’s all.”

But he refused to meet your eyes the rest of the night.

And you knew—he definitely cared more than he’d ever admit.

[glossykissies]

soooo obsessed with the idea of s1 bunny sunbathing by the lake at the camp. this girl has no cares in the world and i can just picture her in her teeny tiny pink bikinis (which she packed because it’s her let’s be real) getting her tanning in — feel like this is before shane and her are together and he’s just staring at her all 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 being an icky perv ☺️💗😝 bonus points if he puts her sunscreen on for her

that was what he liked about you. you were so serene. calm in the face of the world falling apart. you shouldn’t have been, god you should have been terrified and sometimes you were. but moments like this, moments where you’re just laying there glistening in the sun with all that skin on display. you were perfect.

shane must’ve looked like a creep. stood frozen, one hand splayed on tree bark as if he couldn’t hold himself up without it. your body seemed to reflect light, that pink bikini doing nothing to hide anything. he huffs a laugh out of his nose, shaking his head. if rick could see him now— he thinks. though he oughta hand himself some grace, it was the end of days, people were hungry in more ways than one.

you’re laying on your front, and when you go to roll over, everything jiggles. shane licks his lips and you open your eyes, looking right at him. he guiltily shuffles on the spot, caught — blinking rapidly and glancing around as he wipes the smirk off his face.

“shane.” you call our melodically, half way into your rolling over. he thinks he’s in for a scolding, and thinks up something quick as he jogs over.

“you uh—” he cuts himself short with a pained sigh, squeezing his eyes shut only for a second when you roll fully onto your back like an obedient dog to give him your full attention. your bikini strings that were meant to be secured behind your neck are untied for maximum tanning, falling down your chest from the movement along with the cups which you catch just in time but with little urgency, a hand splayed over your chest to hold them up as you stare up at him patiently. it disarms him momentarily, but he continues. “be careful out here, yeah? we haven’t checked beyond them woods yet. don’t know what might pass through here so… keep your wits about you.”

shane’s eyes flicker to the woods as he speaks, peeking just over the lake. it was easier to look over the blinding shards of sunlight scattered over the water than to look directly at your nearly bare body.

“i’m sunbathing.” you explain, mellow, as if it wasn’t painfully obvious.

“i know that but—”

“i just wanted to relax for a little while. you could always stay with me and… keep your eye on things?” the way you pause, glancing up at him suggestively through splayed eyelashes hints that there is more to what you’re getting at and he pauses once more, off guard before letting out a nervous chuckle.

“i uh— hey— i — there’s a lotta things that need doin’ round this camp. people i gotta protect i gotta—”

you press a bare foot against his leg where he stands, giving him your prettiest pout. of course, it silences him and he tongues at his lip. “just for a little while? keep me safe?”

shane sighs pensively, hands on his hips.

“its nice out here.” you convince, laying back fully so you no longer have to hold your bikini top up. instead, you reach for the pink string at the hip of your bikini, twirling it round your delicate fingers before pulling, undoing the knot. “no one ever comes out here. i can do whatever i like.” your voice gets a little quieter but your eyes don’t budge from his, tugging at the strings of your bikini until the fabric is merely a thin cloth lying loosely over your puffy mound.

“that right.” he glances around, lips turned downward to suppress a smile. “suppose a lil’ break won’t hurt. gotta keep you safe, ain’t that right sweetheart?”

[kislnd]

handsy - chrismd~

synopsis: chris loses all sense of self restraint when he's drunk around y/n. notes: hey... i have returned after a very long while... with the chris fic based on this request from a while ago 🫶 getting back into the flow of writing so apologies if this isn't the best!! warnings: suggestive, alcohol word count: ~1.3k

masterlist

the pub was a haven of warmth amidst the cool autumn night, its windows fogged from the breath of numerous conversations and a slight aroma of alcohol and some sort of fried food clinging to the atmosphere.

y/n could tell chris was already a few drinks in and gradually becoming more and more competitive as he challenged each of his friends to a game of darts. "you still think you can beat me?" he teased to a more sober arthur who just rolled his eyes playfully, his voice louder than usual due to the alcohol loosening his tongue. "don't get too bigheaded, it'll be even more embarrassing when you lose." arthur grinned, standing to his feet to take chris on. y/n couldn't help but crack a smile at arthur's remarks - usually it was chris who would say things of the sort, especially when he was under the influence.

y/n watched intently as arthur went first, despite the fact he also had a couple of drinks he was still quite good - good enough that she wasn't sure if chris could actually beat him. "that might actually be a hard score to beat chris," she grinned at him from where she was sitting. "hey!" chris turned around abruptly to face her, a slight smile on his face, "you're supposed to be my number one supporter!"

"i am, i'm just realistic." y/n shrugged, "for some reason arthur is weirdly good at certain things." at this, arthur piped up, "that didn't feel like a compliment," he smiled, but remained fixed in his position, hyperfocusing on the dartboard to finish up his final few throws as best as he could.

"chris, you're up," arthur pulled his final dart out of the board, satisfied with his score. "i'll wait a second, let you feel good about your performance for a moment before i thrash you." y/n still wasn't convinced chris would be able to pull it off but she stayed quiet, anything could happen, especially if he was this dead set on winning.

the first couple of throws hadn't been too bad but in comparison to arthur's up to that point, they were slightly lower scoring. "you're going to have to really pull it out of the bag here mate," another one of the guys who was invested in the game commented. "don't worry, i know what i'm doing." chris nodded to him, y/n couldn't help but laugh - she wasn't quite sure when he turned into the grand master of darts but this mentality wasn't currently translating into skill. admittedly, she was hoping chris would win, moreso because after everything he had said, it would be a blow to his ego if he lost and painfully embarrassing.

as if by some miracle, chris' final throw was the saving grace of the entire game. arthur's mouth fell open in shock, he had been leading for most of the game and rightly so, had been expecting to come out on top. "i like to lure them into a false sense of security." chris grinned widely at arthur, who still hadn't fully processed how he had managed to bring it back to the point of victory. "yeah, i've no idea how you did that but fair play, well done." arthur shrugged, taking another sip of his beer.

chris finished gathering up the darts, went to order another pint and returned with his drink, situating himself next to y/n. "i never doubted you for a second." she giggled, shuffling a little closer to him. he smiled, resting his hand on her thigh, "whatever you say."

as the night drew on and the drinks continued to flow, y/n noticed chris' hand inching further and further up her thigh, pushing her skirt dangerously high. he was rubbing small circles on her inner thigh absent-mindedly, engulfed in the conversation at the table. every now and again, he would glance at her with clouded eyes that, despite being tired and obviously drunk, were still filled with love, maybe even something more.

y/n mentally confirmed he was in a certain mood as he inched closer to her, dragging her towards him so their sides were pressed together - one arm around her, resting gently on her lower back while the other continued to rub her thigh slowly, almost painfully. if they hadn't been in public, she was certain something more would have happened by now. chris was getting more bold, sliding his hand even further up her leg, earning a gasp from her. "chris!" she hissed, not wanting to draw attention to them, "really?"

despite being a little more than just slightly drunk, chris knew what he was doing, and y/n knew that for a fact. "what?" he smiled a dopey half smile at her, "can't i touch my beautiful girlfriend?" y/n rolled her eyes playfully, she still couldn't believe how cute he was capable of being - especially given the fact that he was generally quite mean when under the influence. she had to admit she couldn't get enough of the way it made her feel extra special, and honestly it did give her a good laugh. the way he would be super loving towards her and in the same breath call some poor victim, usually arthur, a rude name was just comical. "why don't we get this treatment?" arthur prodded chris in the side with a cheeky smile on his face. "last time i checked you weren't my girlfriend?" he snapped back lazily, head flopping onto y/n's shoulder, hand still firmly planted on her leg. "wouldn't want to be either, you're crushing the poor girl!" another one of the guys, one y/n honestly didn't recognise in the moment, added.

at this, another couple of people at the table darted their eyes towards her, noticing the way chris was near enough wrapped around her completely, bar his lower half. she felt the heat rising to her cheeks, she was never the type to do pda, but equally she wasn't entirely opposed to it - just as long as it wasn't something too crazy. "you lot as well?" chris sighed, exasperated at the attention from seemingly everyone other than y/n, "i'd like to enjoy my girlfriend in peace please," he shut his eyes slowly, clearly getting towards the tired stage of being drunk. "we can tell," arthur continued, noting chris' hand placement. y/n assumed that this was his way of getting back at chris - playfully of course - while he wasn't energised enough to argue. "i'll let you have that one, i won the darts," chris didn't bother to open his eyes to reply, he used what energy he had remaining to pull himself closer to y/n, "and i have a sexy girlfriend, so who really won?"

the table erupted into laughter - y/n couldn't tell if this was genuine shock or amusement or a blend of the two. the way chris could be so straightforward when he was drunk and come out with some of the most unexpected things was remarkable, he became almost the polar opposite of his sober self. "right, i think we'd better get home," y/n spoke lowly to chris, who hadn't moved from her seemingly very comfortable shoulder. it was getting late and everyone was visibly tired and / or intoxicated so she figured it was a good idea to slip out of the pub before the masses left.

chris only hummed in agreement, eyes still firmly shut, the few thoughts that were circling his mind were all y/n.

[maghendearey]

Italien romance

Hi guys, today it's Kimi. It feels kind of weird because he's so young, but whatever. I hope you like it.

kimi x not italy reader

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

: In which you surprise him with his language

"Cara mia, are you coming? I've been waiting for hours." He was overdramatic and not exactly patient, but that's exactly what you loved. You tried to get ready quickly: a simple black dress, black heels, simple makeup, and curls. That would work. You quickly grabbed a handbag and ran down the stairs. You tripped on the last step and were caught by Kimi. "Attenta Cara mia, non devi cadere."(Carefully Cara mia you must not fall)

He said. He often spoke to me in Italian. He didn't yet know that I could understand him, but soon I would show him. Kimi gently intertwined my fingers with his, kissed my hand, and led me outside, where the black Mercedes was already waiting. He opened the door and helped me in. Very gentlemanly. The ride was short; he drove well and carefully. I imagined he drove more carefully when I was in the car with him. After just a few minutes, we reached Kimi's favorite restaurant. According to him, they made the best pizza. He led me inside; it was small and cute. Very familiar. It felt like family; Kimi was greeted with a hug. They spoke to him in Italian while she led us to her seat. They spoke to me in English, since they knew I didn't really speak Italian. After they had given us the menu, Kimi delved into it. Unlike me, who always had the same thing, he liked to try it different dishes. The waiter came back, smiled, and asked for our order. Kimi ordered a pizza that I wouldn't even try in 100 years. "And you chiaccherona?" The waiter asked kindly. "Un rigatoni al forno, per favore"( A baked rigatoni, please.) I order and the waiter has to smile. “Certo chiacchierona il cibo è quasi arrivato”( Sure chiacchierona the food will be here soon) He said and disappeared. When I looked back at Kimi, he was beaming with a smile. "Come fai a farlo? Da quando ci riesci? Quando l'hai imparato? Oddio, sono così orgoglioso."( "How can you do that? Since when can you do that? When did you learn it? Omg I'm so proud.") The words bubbled out of Kimi and he was so excited. Which made me smile and blush. "L'ho imparato per farti una sorpresa. Doveva essere un regalo di compleanno, ma volevo farti una sorpresa ora. So quanto ami questa lingua."( "I learned it to surprise you. It was supposed to be a birthday present, but I wanted to surprise you now. I know how much you love this language.") "Oh sì, amo la lingua e ti amo moltissimo, e ne sono davvero orgoglioso. Spero tu sappia che ti amo moltissimo e ti sono davvero, davvero grato."( "Oh yes, I love the language and you very, very much, and I'm really proud. I hope you know that I love you very much and am really, really grateful to you.") I leaned forward to kiss him. "Anch'io ti amo"( "I love you too")

It was a bit short, but I hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to leave a comment and like.

Vi amo ragazzi💋

[judesmoonbeauty]

𝕁𝕦𝕕𝕖 𝕁𝕒𝕫𝕫𝕒'𝕤 𝕄𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕊𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟙𝟞 + 𝕃𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣

This is a fan translation only. Please expect grammatical errors and translation inaccuracies. This is a full translation. Creative liberties are taken for characterization and smoother translation process. Cybird owns everything. Re-blogs are appreciated, but please do not post my translation elsewhere. Thank you for your support! ☾.

Jude: Haven’t forgotten yer promise, have ya?

The muttered words spilled from his lips with a thin smile, and my skin burned hot.

Kate: If anything happens, I’ll call your name, right?

Jude: Not that. The one ya brought up.

(Oh…..)

[Flashback]

Kate: Jude…..I promise you.

Kate: I will never die before you.

[Flashback]

—It was a heartfelt promise I made to Jude.

Kate: I definitely won’t die.

Kate: If I break my promise, you can come after me in hell and get revenge.

Looking straight into Jude’s eyes, I tell him my honest feelings.

Jude: Kinda damned masochist are ya, wantin’ to be tortured after ya die. Are ya some perv with weird tastes?

Kate: I’m not a masochist or a pervert with weird tastes, but a woman who doesn’t break her promises.

Lit. a woman/man who doesn’t have two words. This is an old proverb Kate is using.

Jude: Don’t want yer naive hogwash ‘bout bein’ in love. But…..

Jude: Yer bein’ gutsy, ain’t so bad after all.

Kate: ……..

The words he spoke so bluntly were also exuding something very similar to kindness.

(Even though he pushes me away, he still worries about my life.)

That's the kind of person Jude is.

(I had no idea what he was thinking before, but...)

Now, I have come to understand so much more about the heart that hides behind his cruel and ruthless behavior.

(So much so, that I find it endearing….)

My heart tightens as I think of Jude.

Kate: Jude.

Jude: What?

(What I’m about to say, will likely torment him again.)

(However—)

Kate: You said that love’s a curse, right?

Kate: So, what I'm about to tell you, may become a curse to you.

Kate: It might just end up being something that torments you.

—Curses and love are one in the same.

Everything in this life is like a thorn pricking and causing him pain.

Kate: I understand that—

Jude: If ya get it th—

Kate: But still…

Interrupting him, I grabbed Jude by his hand to keep him connected.

Kate: I don’t want you to give up either.

Kate: I want you to keep shouting at the moon forever.

My voice trembles with my selfish thoughts.

(Here it goes….)

Kate: Even if it pains you.

Jude: ………..

As I stared at him with unwavering determination, Jude's gaze took on a sharp sword-like glint.

Jude: D’ya even know what yer sayin’?

Kate: Of course I do.

Kate: I love you.

Kate: …..Because really, all I can think of is you.

I can confidently say that the thing that shines brightest in my heart, is my feelings for Jude.

(I will do whatever it takes to keep you in this world.)

Jude: …..Are ya daft?

Kate: I don’t care if I’m daft or not. So, just…..

Ellis’ Voice: Jude, Kate.

(Oh….)

Jude: ……Yeah, comin’.

Jude takes his hand off the wall, and shakes my hand away.

The figure that had covered the moonlight disappeared, and feeling heartbroken and lost, I quietly grasp my hands.

The specified meeting place was the laboratory.

Stepping into the dark room with Jude and Ellis, a hand stops me abruptly—

Kate: ……!

I restrained my voice that tried to rise.

All I could see was a blood soaked man sitting in a chair.

Ellis moved closer and gently touched his neck.

Ellis: …..There’s no pulse.

Jude: It’s that git……

Kate: Do you recognize him?

Jude: He’s the crime exec I’m s’pposed to meet today.

(What—)

Ellis: Someone killed the man you were supposed to meet up with?

Jude: …..Tch, s’that’s their play.

At that moment, the sound of multiple footsteps was heard from behind.

???: Don’t move, hands in the air….!

We were immediately surrounded by armed men.

The man at the front — with his shining, blond slicked-back hair, and muscular physique, stepped forward before us.

Then with his hands clasped behind his back, he spoke loudly.

Senior Officer Gilbert: We are the British Army. I am Senior British Army officer, Gilbert Murphy.

He is likely a general or a field officer during this time period, but I chose to title him Senior Officer since it's not specified.

Senior Officer Gilbert: You are charged of conspiring with a criminal organization to develop and smuggle missiles.

Senior Officer Gilbert: Jude Jazza, member of Her Majesty the Queen’s private army, Crown, you are hereby under arrest.

Jude: ………..

The military officer lifts his chin slightly, and several soldiers detain Jude.

(Jude!)

As I was about to run over, Jude's sharp gaze stopped me.

Jude: ………

Then he silently mouthed with his lips, “keep quiet.”

Ellis: Jude.

Jude: Ellis, don’t do nothin’.

Jude then stops Ellis, who is about to use his cursed ability.

Allowing himself to be tied up, as Ellis and I watch helplessly.

Kate: Why the British Army?!

Ellis: …..He was probably set-up.

Ellis spoke in a hushed voice.

(A setup…..?)

We were acting on the basis that the crime group was working with the British Army.

However, the British officer named Gilbert, said that it’s Jude and the criminal group who are conspiring to commit crimes.

Additionally, there’s the executive of the syndicate dying in front of us.

(And there’s something else that bothers me.)

The existence of Crown is a top secret that only a few people know about.

And yet, this British military officer just mentioned Crown.

(So, besides the syndicate and the British Army, a third party is call the shots?)

My heart makes a terrible sound.

(……Calm down. Think, who definitely knows of Crown’s existence?)

Her Majesty, Crown, me, as the Fairytale Keeper, and—

What came to me was a memory from when I had just become the fairytale keeper.

[Flashback]

Kate: Victor, who are the Privy Council?

I was being shown some of the reports that had been written by Crown members up to that date.

I found an account that caught my attention and asked Victor about it….

Victor: The official name is 'Her Majesty's Most Honorable Privy Council.'

Victor: Well, in short, they’re the higher-ups of the court, who have the privilege to give advice to Her Majesty.

Kate: They’re aware of Crown’s existence…..Does that mean they’re allies of Crown?

That’s when Victor made a complicated expression.

Victor: In a sense, we are essentially in a cooperative relationship, as we both serve Her Majesty.

Victor: However, the Privy Council is not pleased with the Crown. Kate, you should be wary of them.

[Flashback Ends]

(Seriously—)

Just as I held my breath, I heard footsteps...

Privy Councilman: You’ve captured Jude Jazza……Haha, well done!

A man in a suit appeared before us.

Ellis: That badge on his chest...it's the Privy Council’s.

(That man’s from the Privy Council......)

Jude: The hell’s a big wig from the palace doin’ in a place like this?

Privy Councilman: I discovered a certain fact related to your research.

Privy Councilman: That you Crown people are going to start a war against Britain’s allies.

Jude: …………

Privy Councilman: And then you’ll sell them the weapons that you’ve researched and developed yourself…..isn’t it an outrageous ploy?

Privy Councilman: It’s a most despicable act of treason, not only against Her Majesty the Queen, but against the British people here in England.

Although it was a brief, I have spent a lot of time with Crown on a daily basis, so it didn’t take me long to grasp the situation.

(The criminal group and Britain did make contact.)

In that sense, Nica’s information wasn’t wrong.

However, the contact wasn’t for the purpose of working together.

(It was to frame Jude.)

This whole scheme was planned and orchestrated by the Privy Council.

All so the Privy Council can destroy the Crown—

Jude's research is the perfect bomb to expose Crown as an evil entity and crush it on its head, by winning over public sentiment.

The moment that thought occurred to me.…..my hands started shaking with frustration.

(I can’t believe the desire to fulfill his promise to his sister is being treated like this….)

(What should I do?)

(What can I do in this situation….)

Senior Officer Gilbert: What about this other man? I see that he's on the Crown register.

Privy Councilman: Speak to him as a suspect. However, don’t use violence or do anything that could put us at a disadvantage.

Privy Councilman: Jude Jazza fell into my hands.

Privy Councilman: Crown will soon be forced to dismantle any way.

Privy Councilman: Ohhh……it’s repulsive that these wicked deviants serve Her Majesty!

(…...Just like I thought. The Pricy Council wants to dissolve Crown.)

(I have to do something.)

However, one wrong move and it could lead to Crown’s demise.

As I frantically racked my brains trying to think of a way to resolve this situation...

Senior Officer Gilbert: Who is this girl?

An intimidating gaze was directed at me—

A Note Scribbled Next to A Document

…..Kate likes me. Whadda rotten joke. Ain’t her fault that she feels that way. It’s my fault fer thinkin’ there was nothin’ wrong with lettin’ her in. I was complicit, just as guilty — After this, I'm goin' to hell. Doesn’t suit a carefree princess at all. …..Ain’t the least bit funny. 𝒥𝓊𝒹ℯ 𝒥𝒶𝓏𝓏𝒶

[Main Story Master List] [Chapter 17]

Tag list: @sh0jun @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @velisle @nateko @greatwitchsongsinger @injudescoat @aeyumicore @complexivelovely @yuoi-the-magnificent @husbandosandladders @nawlink @justgiulia @vickietickie @greedyqueensfavourite @sharigax @belphiesleftpinkytoe @reimy1164 @barellorkilaam @cosmowgyral @lunaaka @rosalyne08 @8the-perfect-lie8 @voydsoul @goustmilk @kraiyne @midnightsrunaway

T/L Note: For the line in the letter, "I was complicit, just as guilty — After this, I'm going' to hell." This line does not include any personal pronouns and/or possessive particles. It literally translates like this: "Complicit/Accomplice, equal guilt.....-after this, going to hell". So, I am assuming based on context that Jude is referring to himself. However, Jude could also be referring Kate and her outcome due to loving him.

If you wish to be added (and 18+ YO), or removed from my translations tag list, please let me know!

[st4rlight707]

Contact High

HAII this is my first time trying creative writing so i apolgize for the pacing i tried my best so pls be nice!!

Tags: College AU!, Caleb x fem!reader, comfort fic, possessive thoughts, drug use, swearing, smut!!

(also let me know if there are any other tags I should add!!) and the playlist is a lil something i put tg and listened to while writing!!

12:47 a.m. That’s what the clock reads when I finally look up from my phone. First night of spring break, and I’ve spent it bedrotting and doomscrolling instead of studying—fully aware exam season is lurking just around the corner.

I sigh, peeling myself off the bed, and wander downstairs for a glass of water. That’s when I saw him.

Through the kitchen window above the sink, out on the back patio deck, sits Caleb. A black hoodie pulled low over his head, his face dimly lit by the flicker of a lighter as he shields the flame from the late March breeze. A blunt rests between his lips.

My Caleb.

He’s smoking? Since when does he do that? Is this his first time?

He checks his phone absentmindedly, the glow illuminating the underside of his face. For a second, I just watch him; at least 3 minutes pass like that, with me watching him scroll through whatever has his attention on his phone, smoking like it’s just another night. All I can wonder is, how long has he been smoking? When did he start smoking? Who taught him how to roll a blunt? The thought of him smoking out girls at parties or in his dorm at the DAA creeps into my mind.

I forcefully slide the back patio door open, suddenly feeling enraged by my own thoughts. Caleb jumps a little, surprised by the noise, and sees me standing there. He gives me a look of a kid who just got caught doing something they aren't supposed to.

"Shit, Pipsqueak, you scared me," he says with a smile tugging at his lips, and sets the blunt down onto the ashtray in front of him. "Since when do you smoke?" I say, pulling his hood down and crossing my arms, the irritation in my voice undeniable. “Why are you mad?” Caleb asks, grabbing my wrist and pulling me into his lap. He smells like weed and cologne, his eyes red and his lids heavy from the high. "`You ask like I just committed a crime," answering my previous question. "I don’t do it that often, just… when my brain won’t shut up," he continues.

"So you're out here smoking alone? And what's keeping your mind racing this late anyway?" My eyes flicker to his phone; I can’t help but wonder if someone at school—a girl— is influencing my Caleb.

“Pipsqueak, relax,” he says, voice low. He seems to pick up on it immediately. He always does; Caleb could always just read me like that. He runs a hand slowly down my leg like he’s trying to calm whatever displeasing thoughts were buzzing under my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "Yeah, uh… guess I didn’t expect to get caught by you, of all people." He scratches his head a bit, clearly trying to play it off, but embarrassed from being caught red-handed. "So you are embarrassed." Unable to resist teasing him in a state like this. “A little." He says, tips of his ears visibly red, "I mean—you’re like the one person I didn’t wanna see me like this.”

A dull pang of guilt settles in my chest.

He didn’t say it in a way that was defensive or ashamed—just honest. Like he really cared what I thought. And for some reason, that hits me harder than I expect.

“Why won’t you try taking a hit? It’ll be fun,” he suggests, leaning in a little, eyes still low. “Let me show you how to let go for a second."

It wouldn't kill me to try it once, right? Plus, I'm with Caleb, and he wouldn't let anything bad happen to me.

Sensing I’m close to giving in, he grins just a bit wider. “There she is,” he murmurs, reaching for the blunt. He relights it, it had gone out sitting untouched in the ashtray—and brings it to my lips.

“Just breathe in slowly,” he says softly. “I got you.” The first inhale burns. I cough—hard. Caleb lets out a quiet laugh, clearly amused. “Damn, Pipsqueak,” He pats my back, his palm warm through the thin fabric of my shirt "I didn't think you'd hit it that hard" "Holy shit, do you get use to that?' I asked in between smaller coughs. Lungs still stinging from the smoke, his touch lingers, his hand gently rubbing in slow circles. Comforting. Casual. Except it’s not, not to me. "Eventually," He says

Goosebumps race down my spine as he takes the blunt back, fingers twisting the ends of my hair—almost absentminded. The closeness wouldn’t usually faze me, but it feels different now. Caleb takes another hit and turns his head away to not blow the smoke in my face.

Maybe it’s how his shoulders have filled out in the past year. Or maybe it’s Tara, my dormmate, constantly pestering me about how I need to catch a dick.

She was always saying things like, "How have you been living with a guy that hot and haven't jumped him in the laundry room already?" I always rolled my eyes, swore it wasn’t like that. But now?

Now he's sitting here with smoke curling out of his lips, his hoodie riding up just enough to show a sliver of skin and the faint line of his happy trail disappearing beneath his waistband, twisting my hair between his fingers like it’s a habit, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. And now I can’t stop noticing how his hand looks resting on my thigh—bigger, steady, and familiar, but not in the way it used to be.

I can feel my heart start to race after this realization, but I'll blame it on the THC entering my bloodstream before I acknowledge my attraction to my childhood best friend. “You’ve changed,” I mumble before I can stop myself.

Caleb raises a brow, exhaling smoke as he glances over at me. “That a good thing or a bad thing?” "I don't know," I admit, a bit too honestly. He gives me a look I can't quite decipher. "Tara's been getting to you, hasn't she?" My head shoots up to give him a look. “Shut up.” “I’m right, though,” he grins, all smug and a little too satisfied with himself. “She’s been planting ideas in that pretty head of yours.” His hand trails up from my back to massage my neck as he offers the blunt back to me.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” I take it from him and confidently take another hit. He laughs softly, eyes still on me. “Look at you, getting high with me on the back porch like we’re in a coming-of-age movie.” I look away, trying to hide the blush that found its way to my face, but he can feel the heat creep up my neck anyway.

His fingers find the ends of my hair again, rolling a curl around his knuckle. This used to feel safe. Simple. But now... with his thigh pressed against mine and that look in his eyes...

I feel a heat start to build between my legs, and I shift awkwardly, squeezing them together in a weak attempt to ease the tension. Sitting in Caleb’s lap definitely isn’t helping physically or otherwise. He picks up on this, too. "Are you uncomfortable?" voice low but cautious, like he’s not sure if he should move or stay perfectly still.

“No,” I say, maybe too quickly. “just... adjusting.” He raises a brow “adjusting, huh?” “Don’t start,” I mumble, face flushed. He chuckles under his breath, teasing me. His hand settles lightly on my hips, fingers flexing just a little like he’s testing the waters.

“I mean if you wanna get up,” he says, quieter now. “You can.”

I don’t move. “You want me to?” I ask, in almost a whisper. His grip on my hips tightens just slightly—not enough to hold me there, but enough to say I don’t want you to. “No,” he says finally, voice rougher than before. “Not really.”

He takes another hit from the blunt—just a stub now—and something reckless stirs in me, probably fueled by my high or my jealousy issues. Or maybe it's the way I’m suddenly aching, clenching my thighs against the growing tension low in my belly.

Before I can even process it, I shift to straddle Caleb, now fully facing him, heart pounding in my throat. I can feel him—his clothed erection brushing perfectly against my core, sending a sharp wave of heat through me.

“Shit,” he mutters, his hand instinctively moving to my thighs. “What're you doing, Pipsqueak?” I don’t give an answer, I just reach for the blunt, and bring it to my lips. One long, slow inhale.

His eyes go wide, pupils blown and glossy. “Fuckk,” he breathes. And before he can say anything else, I cup his face in my hands, leaning in, and exhaling the smoke into his mouth, lips barely brushing. Caleb inhales the smoke like it’s second nature.

His hands slide higher, gripping my hips firmly, and he pulls me down against him—my whole body pulses at the contact, heart thudding so loud now I’m sure he can hear it.

"Fuck," he murmurs, his voice raspy from the smoke. “You have no idea what you're doing to me right now.” I bridge the gap between our lips and kiss him passionately, throwing my arms around his neck to pull us closer together. The blunt falls somewhere forgotten behind me as I grip his hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered.

His lips are warm and a little dry from the blunt, and I can still taste the smoke on his lips. Caleb makes a soft sound in his throat, almost like a groan, and pulls me in tighter. His fingers dig into my hips, not hard, just enough to ground us both like he needs proof this is really happening. I feel the muscles in his thighs tense beneath me, feel the way his body presses up into mine.

The high makes everything feel softer but heavier. More intense. I can’t even tell if I’m breathing too fast or not at all.

His lips leave mine only to trail kisses along my jaw, then lower, stopping to whisper against my neck, “You’re driving me insane, Pipsqueak.”

Good.

If I could climb inside his skin, I would. I love that no one else gets to see this version of Caleb—the real him—the Caleb who laughs when I say something dumb, the Caleb who treats every bump and bruise like he’s my personal doctor. The one who lets me crawl into his bed after a nightmare and never says a word about it the next morning. The one that’s mine, even if neither of us has said it out loud..

Dragging him impossibly closer as I kiss him deeper, rougher, until our teeth bump and his breath shudders against my lips. His tongue slides against mine, and I groan into his.

I grind against him again, slowly, deliberately. Feeling just how hard he is, cock barely restrained by the thin fabric of his basketball shorts. Caleb's hands find their way under my shirt now, cupping my breast, and I arch into him shamelessly. His thumbs brush across my nipples a few times, now stiff under his fingers. I bite back a gasp, burying my face into his neck. The scent of smoke and skin feeling familiar and dizzying all at once.

“You feel so fucking good, baby” he mutters, voice rough and half-broken, and I can feel the tension in him—he’s holding himself back. His hands move down, gripping my ass, guiding me to rock against him again. Faster this time. Harder. “You don’t even know,” he says, the words thick with need.

I smile, just barely, drunk on power and weed and him. “Then show me.” He kisses me again, my hips rolling on instinct, chasing the friction that has my head spinning and my toes curling.

Neither of us says a word, but everything is loud—the sound of our breath, the low hum of music still leaking from his phone speaker, the rustle of fabric, the creak of the patio chair beneath us.

Every time his hips push up to meet mine, it gets harder to stay quiet. He drags my shirt higher, mouthing at my collarbone, then lower, lips grazing the top of my chest, leaving heat in his wake, he groans into my skin.

“You’re mine,” I whisper without meaning to.

Caleb pauses for just a second, breathing hard against my chest. “Yours,” he repeats, voice rough and low. “All fucking yours.”

My breath hitches, the words settling deep inside, and I kiss him again. ike I’m trying to brand the taste of him into my mouth. Our rhythm slips into something more desperate, more frantic. My hips grind down harder, slower, dragging out the friction that’s quickly unraveling me. His cock presses up, stiff and hot through his shorts, perfectly aligned against the ache between my thighs

Caleb’s hands slip beneath my ass, kneading the soft flesh, using his grip to control the movement—rolling his hips up to meet every grind of mine. I moan into his mouth before I can stop myself, and he swallows the sound like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

“Fuck, Pipsqueak,” he breathes against my lips, voice wrecked and loving. “You’re so wet—I can feel you through everything.”

“You gonna come like this?” he whispers, lips brushing mine. “Right here, on my lap, just from grinding on me?”

I nod, barely managing the motion, my whole body trembling with how close I am. “Caleb—” I gasp, digging my fingers into his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor me.

“I got you,” he says, holding me tighter, pressing his forehead to mine again. “I’ve always got you.”

I roll my hips once more, and everything in me goes white-hot, crashing and clenching around nothing but need. I moan into his neck as the orgasm rolls over me, wracking my body with shivers and aftershocks.

Caleb holds me through it, never letting go, murmuring something against my temple—something I can’t quite hear over the pounding in my chest, but I feel it. Every word. Every touch.

When I finally come down, still trembling in his lap, he pulls me close, pressing a lazy kiss to my cheek. His hand strokes my back in slow, steady circles, grounding me again.

“You’re really not getting up now,” he says with a crooked grin, voice hoarse and smug.

And I don’t want to.

Not tonight. Not ever.

[heartyluv]

🍎 ᯓ ✈︎ ⊹ 🍃 ࣪ ˖

Note: We’re all adults here, but I just want to emphasize that the behavior Caleb will show in this is only acceptable in FICTION! We all love a little crazy, so long as it’s fake LOL ♡

Rating: Explicit - !!Minors DO NOT interact!!

Warning: Smut, possessive actions and language

Word Count: 3,141

Summary: Caleb doesn’t appreciate another man thinking he can have what’s his and hates that you act like you don’t belong to him.

Reader/Possessive!Caleb

Caleb has done and will always continue to do any and everything that will make you happy. It’s why even though these two weeks of him visiting was supposed to just be time for you two to catch up and hang out, he didn’t hesitate to tell you that it’s okay to have some friends come by to celebrate your birthday.

It’s rare for him to have this much time off and he’s nothing if not a selfish man, so being able to have breakfast, lunch, and dinner every single day, finding things to do around the city, and laying in the house watching movies for hours alone with you, was time well spent in his book. But, he knew you were someone who loved, someone who likes to create memories, so he encouraged you to invite as many friends as you’d like so that you wouldn’t feel bad about it. He’s spent every single birthday of your life with you since you both were kids, some alone and some with others, but this was the first time it would be with people he’s never met before.

After you had moved and gotten a new job, you had to make new friends and while you’ve known them for only a year and a half, they were pretty cool.

“It’s your birthday, pipsqueak. Whatever you want to do, I’m all for it,” he told you with the most endearing smile.

And he truly meant that. Caleb would die for you, he’d kill for you. And that’s not an exaggeration.

Need him to kill a man for touching you? He’ll do it.

Need him to make something look like an accident just because someone got on your nerves? Consider it done.

He’d never tell you he’d go that far. You’re too sweet, it would scare his pretty girl. But it was always a part of him he had ready, just and only for you.

He watches you with a warmth in his chest as you fly back and forth through your townhouse, making sure all the snacks are ready and decorations are set. He takes the time to admire your pretty sky blue dress that rests right above your knees. It hugs your body just right, but not too much. It’s perfect, particularly because you’re wearing it, but even more so because the square neckline gives your breasts just enough wiggle room to bounce with each step you take. Every subtle jiggle makes him want to bend you over the counter and defile you in the most filthy way possible.

Caleb has had… a hard time during several moments while he’s been here. His hand and cock have never been so acquainted in his life. He’d make sure you were sleeping before he went back to the guest room and stroked his length with a pair of your panties that you threw in your hamper. Breathless and embarrassingly desperate, he moaned your name under his breath as his cum shot out of his body. He’s ruined about three pairs— pairs that he has no intention of giving back.

He imagined you sucking his cock that time you went out for ice cream, imagined how pretty your pussy would look filled and covered in his cum when he saw how it strained against your shorts because of how you were laying on the couch one night. It even went as far as imagining how you’d look with his baby in your stomach.

Twins— you two would have twins if he ever got that lucky, he was sure.

But he’s kept himself in line, at least in front of you. Caleb knows you’re a smart girl, he knows that you’re not oblivious to his flirting and subtle actions, but he wasn’t too sure if you felt the same way. It’s why he’s never made a move, too scared that you’d try and reject him. He couldn’t have that, he wouldn’t accept it. The dynamic you two had was safe and he’d keep it that way for as long as he has to. He’d remain the Caleb that you say “plays too much” if you let him continue to do what he’s been doing.

“Caleb, is the grill good to go?” you ask him as you slide your flip flops on. Your voice is like hypnosis in the way he loses himself in your words. It’s a simple question, but the way you say it, the way you speak period, enthralls this man.

“Yup,” he confirms. “I already got some steaks on it like you wanted, remember? They’re almost done.”

You admire your bestest friend in the world as he walks from behind your kitchen counter in his sleeveless white shirt and black jeans. You’re just so thankful for him and everything he’s done for you today and over the years in general.

“You’re the best,” you groan and that makes Caleb’s jaw tense. Down, boy, he scolds himself.

“I know, I know, he gloats. “Your friends almost here?” He steps closer to you and plucks a piece of confetti from all that you’ve sprawled all through the kitchen.

Before you can answer, the bell rings. “That answers my question,” he chuckles. “Let me get it for you.”

You nod and thank him, shaking your nerves out. This is the first time your new friends are seeing where you live too, so you just want everything to be perfect and hope they like it all.

Caleb steps to the side to let them in and you smile. He nods to the three women and two men that enter with ease before shutting the door. He lets you greet and thank them all for coming, but it’s the guy with his hair tied in a bun that gives your best friend pause. When he kisses your cheek, Caleb damn near sets the whole place on fire.

Standing in the living room, you introduce Caleb to them and them to Caleb. His face is friendly, calm, and even. But then he gets his name.

Kendall.

The one with the fucking nerves to put his lips on your precious skin. And you welcomed it. You leaned into the son of a bitch without hesitation and that… that’s something Caleb doesn’t like at all.

You don’t like being touched by people, even more so when it comes to a man. But you let him touch you, let him kiss you, and smiled about it.

He needed to calm down before he lost himself in your home on your birthday.

It’s as the hours went by though, that Caleb started to be physically unable to play nice. Kendall kept touching you, kept getting close, whispering shit in your ear that could not be that fucking funny. It was a natural reaction for Caleb to get between you both and to call you over when Kendall got too close that made him legitimately contemplate shooting him.

He wanted to ask you what all of this was about. You told him everything and he would remember some man named Kendall if you mentioned him. Why hadn’t you? Were you hiding something?

The things that Caleb was really thinking had him fuming inside, but he can’t ruin your birthday. He’d never dream of it. It’s why he has to figure out how to separate you for a moment because he needs answers and waiting until all these people leave wasn’t going to happen. He needed answers now.

So he decided to use your caring nature to lure you upstairs by acting like he wasn’t feeling too great. It took no more than five minutes of him being absent for him to hear you tell everyone to wait on the small deck outside while you checked on him.

“Caleb?” he heard two soft knocks on his door. “You okay? Can I come in?”

After granting you permission, you shut the door behind you. Admittedly, you were confused to not him seem so bothered by the headache he claimed to have when you saw him sitting on the bed.

“How are you feeling?” you still asked. Maybe he didn’t want to worry me, you thought.

“What’s the deal with Kendall?” he asks flatly, his elbows resting on his knees. His eyes look up to meet yours and his gaze is every bit of intimidating.

“What do you mean?” Now you’re going to upset him. He hates when people play dumb, even more so when he knows who he’s talking to is one of the smartest people he’s ever met.

You can sense his irritation, but why he’s like that? You don’t know. “He’s…” you hesitate. “He’s just a guy I went out with for a few dates, but we’re not official or anything.”

Ah. So Kendall is a problem, Caleb thinks. “And why didn’t you tell me?” Caleb interrogates.

“I didn’t think it was necessary. You don’t tell me about every woman you’re with,” you challenge. “Besides, it’s nothing serious.”

You’re right. He doesn’t tell you. Because he hasn’t looked at another woman since his senior year of high school.

“It’s serious enough for him to keep putting his hands and lips on you.” Caleb’s voice raises ever so slightly, but not enough to startle you.

“Okay, what the hell is your problem?” you snap. “I know you want me to be safe and whatever, but I’m grown Caleb. Grown as hell. You don’t get to try and… and be this protector over things that are naturally bound to happen.”

Caleb’s head tilts and your words feel like ice down his back. “I do get to,” he stands up, towering over you. “I’m always going to protect you. Have you not understood that by now?”

His steps are measured and calculated as he gets closer to you. You’re not intimated enough to back up, though. Yet.

“But this isn’t just about protection, pipsqueak.” His voice lowers and the way his tone flattens makes him sound… tired. And he is. He’s tired of acting like your every thought, action, idea, and movement, doesn’t dictate what he’s going to do. Tired of acting like he’s not supposed to be the only one to know what your skin feels like against his lips and the only one to know every inch of your mind, body, and soul inside and out.

“I have to get back downstairs. I don’t have time—”

“I don’t give a fuck about those people.”

Your eyes widen. You don’t even know what to say. So you don’t say a word as you turn around and try to leave, but he’s quicker than you are, bracing his palm flat against the door. The loud thud makes you jump and the heat of his body behind you is more noticeable than ever.

“Do you know how long I’ve kept my mouth shut?” he mumbles. “How long I’ve tried to let you… come to me, naturally?”

He leans down, his lips dangerously close to your skin. “I never wanted to be too forward. I didn’t want you to feel overwhelmed.” His lips graze your skin. “Cornering you is what I didn’t want to do. But it seems like it’s necessary in order for it to get through that pretty little head of yours that you have always been mine… That you have always belonged to me.”

“Caleb—”

“Do you know how many times your smell alone makes me want to touch myself?” he admits and your breath hitches. “How many times I’ve imagined what you’d feel like wrapped around me for the first time?”

You can barely register everything he’s saying. Your legs feel gelatinous and you can never seem to gather enough breath.

“I’ve been so patient, so accommodating for years. And you give that son of a bitch downstairs what I’ve been deserving of?”

Your hands press against the door as he pushes himself closer to you.

“I didn’t… I never knew—”

“Bullshit,” he cuts you off. “You’ve always known. I know you did. It’s why you wore less around me as time went on, why you kept teasing me, hinting at my feelings for you.”

He’s right. You know he’s right. You’ve had a thing for your best friend for longer than you can admit. But going further than friendship with Caleb felt dangerous. If it didn’t work out, in the end you’d lose the only person who meant the most to you in the world. It was easier to try and get over him—unsuccessfully—for all these years than risk it.

His cock presses against you and the fact that you can feel him through all these layers of clothing makes you throb. “Tell me you don’t want me…” he dares. “I’d tell you that I’d walk away and never bother you again, but I’m done lying to you, pipsqueak.”

He grinds against you, making you ball your flat hands into fists as you whimper. “You want my cock just as much as I want you. Your body is telling me everything your mouth won’t.”

His hand grazes over your thigh as it snakes down. He other grabs hold of your thigh, hiking it up and pressing you against the door and you let him. His hand slips in between your legs and his fingers trail down your panty clad pussy. “Tell me yes, baby,” he whispers as he nips your ear. “Let me give you what you’ve denied us both for too long.”

You nod. Of course you do. Your body shudders as his strong hand creeps inside the fabric. Your mouth falls open and nothing but breath comes out as he gathers your wetness and brings it to your clit. Gently, he circles the tight bud against two fingers, kissing your neck as you press into him.

He’s breathing heavily behind you as you rub against his cock and his ragged sounds make you quiver.

“Oh, hah— Caleb.. That feels..” you moan.

“You’re so responsive,” he praises. His fingers don’t falter, never lose their rhythm, no matter how much he craves some stimulation of his own. Fortunately for him, your hot pussy against his hand and your sounds are just enough for now.

He almost cums in his pants when your hand reaches behind you to grab onto his hair. He grinds against you more, just enough to feel but not enough to finish as you whine as your first orgasm approaches. It’s not long until he’s holding you closer as you start to shake in his grasp. You bite your lip, knowing that even if your friends are outside, you still don’t want to be too loud.

Your head falls back on his shoulder as you finally start to come undone, chasing your high with eagerness. Spent and breathless, Caleb kisses your jaw while you try to come back down to Earth.

His hand slides out of your panties and you watch them trail upwards as he brings them higher and turn your head to see him pop them in his mouth, licking you clean off his fingers.

“I always dreamed that I’d take my time the first time you gave me the privilege to be inside of you,” he says against your neck. “But if you let me fuck you right now, I’m not gonna last and I’m not gonna be gentle. Is that okay, pipsqueak?”

“Yes…” you utter what feels like your first word in hours. Caleb wastes no more time. He’s waited long enough. He spins you around, laying you down on the bed with your hips at the edge.

His pants come down to give him just enough freedom and the sight of his cock makes your already wet and sensitive cunt clench. His tip is flushed with a tinge of red and you gawk at the creamy bead of white that runs down his length. He flips your dress up and he can’t even fathom trying to pull your panties off right now.

He pulls them to the side, looking between your eyes and what he calls safe haven. Guiding himself, he looks to you for approval one more time before he slides into you, your slick making his entry absolutely mouth watering.

His cock grinds against your panties as he starts slow, just to get you used to him. He can’t even form a coherent sentence or thought. Between how good you feel and the way the fabric strokes him roughly, he feels like he’s on another planet.

His pace increases as he feels you relax and the way he fucks you isn’t loving, it isn’t gentle. It’s powerful and it’s every bit of consuming. He’s showing you that you’re his, that you will always belong to him. His hips are merciless as he slams into you and his hands are no different as they roughly grab at your hips.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he pants. “Tell me you belong to me. I need to hear you say it.”

“I-I’m yours..” Not only do you tell him what he wants to hear, but you believe it. You believe him. “Oh god, Caleb, please don’t stop,” you beg him. If he wasn’t so determined to make you come again, he would’ve buckled right then and there because of how sweet you sound.

“I own you just as much as you own me. Do you understand?” He spreads you wider, bracing his forearms beneath your knees. Your breasts jump quicker at the way he’s nearly fucking you through the mattress. He just wishes he had you fully naked to get the whole experience.

“Fuck.. Yes, yes I hear you…” Your eyes roll back as you grip the cover beneath you.

“Allow another man to touch you…” he starts, licking his lips. “…and his blood will be on my hands,” he warns through hooded eyes.

That should terrify you. It should make you scream at him to pull out and to get away from you. Instead, it has your pussy shamelessly sucking him in deeper and he’s so deep that you almost struggle to breathe. The erotic sound of skin slapping together and his balls against your ass is enough to have you falling apart for him for the second time.

“Maybe my girl isn’t as innocent as I thought,” he teases. You want to retort, but it’s impossible right now.

“Shit, I’m gonna.. where do you want me?” he chokes out.

“Inside,” you whisper. “It’s okay.”

That’s all he needs for a few more thrusts to have him spilling his seed into you. He fucks his cum deeper, rubbing your overstimulated clit as he watches the look on your pretty face. Once he stills, he takes a small amount of time to admire the sight before him of his fucked out girl.

He wants to stay inside of you longer, but you two have already been absent long enough and he doesn’t want you stressing.

Gently, he hisses as he pulls out and puts your panties back into place with his cum seeping though the fabric, making an absolute mess that makes him feel primal.

After he pulls your dress back down, he fixes his own clothes and pulls you up.

He doesn’t hesitate to kiss your lips, licking at your mouth. He smiles against you and that make you do the same.

“We’ll talk more tonight,” he promises as he kisses your nose.

“Caleb, there’s cum in my panties. I can’t go downstairs like this,” you say is disbelief. Secretly you love it, but you’re not telling him that.

“And it’s going to stay there,” he wraps his arm around your waist. “C’mon, it’ll make me feel better.” His smile is mischievous and you roll your eyes.

“Don’t be like that, pipsqueak. It’s your birthday.”

You punch his chest. “Oh, go to hell.”

He laughs. “I love you, too.”

[harmless-variety-of-garden-snake]

It Could End So Sweetly

I finished the pre-canon different first meeting fic where Tommy mistakes Buck for a bunker bunny and gave it a title and ignored other WIPs I started way before this, whatever whatever. Even though it was supposed to be a porny one-shot, it's now four chapters and an epilogue. Do I blame the discord server? With all the love in my heart: yes, absolutely. You can read the first chapter on AO3 here (rest to be posted every day or two), and here's a preview that you may have already seen from a wip post:

Tommy's the last one of the group to leave the bar, because he's been trying to figure out if he's going home or if he's going to meet a guy who's been messaging him on Grindr all night. The guy's cute—what Tommy can see of his face—and claims to just want to suck someone's dick and have them leave. He'd rather not double back, since the guy's place is pretty close to the bar, so he's nursing another beer and leaning against the bar while he gives the guy another twenty minutes to message back.

“Uh, excuse me?” a slightly scratchy voice says from his left.

Tommy looks over and sees blue and then pink. Blue eyes, pink lips, a deep pink birthmark—just about one of the prettiest faces Tommy's ever seen.

“Sorry,” the guy says, his head ducking a little like he's shy. Jesus, Tommy can feel his heartbeat spike up and goes a little woozy with it. “I, uh, didn't mean to be a creep, but are you a firefighter? I saw your friends, and most of them were wearing their station shirts.”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, turning his body to face the pretty boy who seems so young but stands eye-level with Tommy. A quick glance over him reveals a strong, wiry build and the longest legs Tommy's seen outside a runway. “We're all based out of Harbor Station.”

The guy’s eyes light up, and his smile is like a shot to the heart. “Wait, really? I heard about that place. They do ground and air support, right?”

Tommy smiles, lets himself be a little cocky. “Yeah, that's right. I'm one of their pilots. I fly choppers, mostly, but we do air tanks and stuff, too. You a firefighter?”

“Oh, uh, no,” he admits, his cheeks flushing.

“You a cop?” he asks, and the guy shakes his head.

Tommy's met his fair share of bunker bunnies, but they tend to be smaller and less his type. Mostly because they're almost always women, in his experience.

“Just a fan, then?” he teases, and the flush deepens. He wants to see how far down it goes, what it looks like under one of his hands.

“Guess you could say that.” He scratches the back of his neck before holding out his hand. “I'm Evan.”

“Tommy,” he replies, shaking his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Tommy.”

He likes the way he says his name—a little nasal on the first syllable, like he's from back east somewhere. Tommy wants to hear him whine it. 

“So what do you do, Evan?” he asks, picking up his beer and taking a drink. He doesn't miss the way Evan’s eyes track the motion.

“Right now? Bartending, a little bit of construction. Just trying to pay rent. LA is expensive,” he says with visible exasperation.

“Yeah, it's definitely that,” Tommy agrees. “Where were you before LA?”

Evan considers the question with a smile. “Right before or originally?”

Tommy leans his elbow on the bar, getting a little in Evan's space and smiling when he doesn't move away. “Both?”

His pretty pink bottom lip ends up between his teeth for a moment. “Well, I'm from Hershey, Pennsylvania originally—not where they invented chocolate—and then I was in Peru before this.”

Tommy tilts his head, giving a considering noise and trying not to be too charmed. “Sounds like there's a story there.”

Evan shrugs. “Yeah, but it's not really an interesting one. How long have you been a pilot?”

“Thirteen years. Army pilot before I was a firefighter,” Tommy says, trying not to invite questions by sounding casual about it. Unfortunately, Evan seems incredibly curious by nature. “So what brought you over here? My spot at the bar, I mean.”

The flush is back, making his face glow. “Well, I realized you were all firefighters—it’s mostly cops in here right now. And I saw you, and I thought, ‘Man, that guy's probably got an insane lifting routine.’ I've been trying to strength train, but I'm not starting with a lot.”

Tommy chuckles, remembering the days when he used to innocently ask guys about their workout routines. Usually before he blew them in a gym bathroom and walked away like nothing had ever happened. “It's pretty intense, yeah, but the job helps. Heavy equipment. Plus, we have a gym at the station, and I have a small gym set up at my house. But I don't think you have anything to worry about.”

Evan smiles, shy and sweet. “Yeah?”

He takes a calculated risk and reaches out to wrap his arm around Evan's bicep, squeezing carefully and feeling the way it flexes under his hand. “Yeah, feels like you're doing a great job.”

He doesn't miss the way Evan’s pupils dilate a little or the peek of tongue that darts out between his lips. Tommy feels like he's going to throw this kid against the bar and start grinding against him. He's breathing heavier, and so is Evan. 

“You wanna get out of here?” Tommy asks, and Evan nods with wide eyes.

tagging @sweaters-and-silly @ceeceekayblog as requested. <3

[hollowmem]

Off limits

GN!Reader and Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

I decided I will continue the challange, and i will try to do it every day until the end of this month so wish me luck

Day 15: You are Soap’s sibling. And it’s your first time on base. Soap has told everyone you are off limits but Gaz captures your attention immediately.

Coming home from college was supposed to be relaxing. A breather. But by day four, you were pacing around the living room like a caged animal. The quiet town, the familiar streets — it all felt too small, too slow.

You called your brother.

"I'm losing my mind," you said.

Soap chuckled through the phone. "Didn’t take long, huh?"

"Come on, let me visit you. Just for a few days. You owe me for not coming to my graduation, by the way."

There was a pause. Then, a sigh. "Fine. But behave. And no flirting with anyone. I mean it."

You rolled your eyes. "Flirting? With your coworkers? Please."

You arrived on base two days later.

Soap met you outside the gates, looking like someone who hadn’t slept in three days but still had enough energy to throw you in a headlock the second you got close.

“Still short,” he said with a grin, ruffling your hair like he always did when you were younger.

“And you still smell like gunpowder and bad decisions,” you shot back.

He laughed, threw his arm around your shoulder, and guided you through the base. Soldiers walked by, some doing double takes — probably just curious about the civilian suddenly strolling in like they belonged.

You got to the common area and Soap clapped his hands loudly. "Oi! Eyes over here."

A few people looked up from their gear, their coffee, their lives. "This is my sibling," he said, voice raised. "They’re off limits. That means no staring, no flirting, no… whatever the hell some of you are thinking right now."

You gave him a look. "You done?"

"Almost," he said, then turned back to the room. "I know some of you think rules are suggestions. Let me be clear. This one’s not." And that’s when you saw him.

Leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, watching you with that kind of quiet curiosity that made your skin prickle. Not in a bad way. Just… like he saw everything. Dark, thoughtful eyes. A perfectly trimmed beard. Confident without being cocky — well, maybe just a little cocky.

Gaz.

His lips tugged into a slow smirk as your eyes met. He gave a small, respectful nod, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Soap followed your gaze, saw who you were looking at, and groaned out loud.

“No. Absolutely not.”

"Who is that?" you asked innocently.

"Gaz," Soap said flatly. "And he is none of your business."

"Relax, I was just asking—"

"I know that look. You were not just asking."

You peeked over his shoulder. Gaz was still watching, clearly entertained.

Soap muttered under his breath. "Bloody hell." You smiled.

Maybe this trip wouldn’t be so boring after all.

The rest of the day was a blur of buildings, rules, and half-serious lectures from Soap. But your mind kept drifting back to him. The way he watched. The way he didn’t flinch under your brother’s little speech.

By the time evening rolled around, you were sitting alone outside the barracks, taking in the quiet. The stars were clearer out here. Air smelled like dust and oil and metal.

"You’re braver than most," a voice said from behind you. You turned, heart doing that annoying little skip thing. Gaz.

He walked over, calm and easy, hands in his pockets. "Most people steer clear after a Soap warning."

You raised an eyebrow. "And you’re not most people?"

"Guess not." He smiled, then tilted his head. "So what brings you to the war zone?"

"College got boring. Home is too quiet. Besides he owed me. Figured I'd visit the one place I probably shouldn’t be in."

Gaz chuckled. "Yeah, you picked a hell of a vacation spot."

You looked at him for a long second. "You always this bold?"

"Only when someone tells me not to be."

You smirked, biting your lip. "My brother will kill you."

"Yeah," he said, shrugging casually. "But it'd be worth it."

You didn’t say anything — just looked at him until Soap’s voice bellowed from somewhere nearby.

"GARRICK, I SWEAR TO GOD—"

Gaz winced. "That’s my cue."

He gave you one last grin before walking away like nothing had happened.

And you? You were already planning your next conversation.

You stayed outside for a bit longer, letting the night cool settle on your skin, trying to wipe the ridiculous smile off your face. But it was hard — mostly because you could still hear Soap stomping around the base like a pissed-off guard dog, muttering something about “cheeky bastards” and “bloody hell.”

Eventually, you wandered back inside, acting like nothing had happened. Soap was waiting in the hallway.

“I told you not to talk to him.”

You blinked. “I was sitting. He talked to me.”

“Did you talk back?”

“Would it have mattered if I didn’t?” You smiled sweetly. He groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Why are you like this?”

“Genetics. Look in a mirror.” Soap didn’t even bother replying. He just walked off shaking his head.

The next few days turned into a dance you weren’t quite sure you knew the steps to. Every time you passed Gaz in the hallway there was a look. Not one of those obvious, ‘I want you’ looks. No — it was subtle. And Gaz? He didn’t push.

He didn’t sneak around or make bold moves when your brother was gone. He didn’t try to impress you with stories or dumb lines. He just… showed up. Said hi when it counted. Walked with you when no one else did. Asked about your major, your favorite music, the last good book you read. Like he actually gave a damn.

And that somehow made it worse. Because now it wasn’t just about the way he looked. It was about the way he listened.

One afternoon, you were in the mess hall grabbing a coffee when he slid into the seat across from you.

“No Soap in sight?” he asked, eyeing the door dramatically.

“He’s in a meeting,” you said. “Threatening people, I assume.”

“So, I’ve got a full ten minutes before he comes charging in like a pissed-off rhino?”

You laughed. “Maybe less.”

Gaz leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Then I better make it count.”

You sipped your drink, trying to play it cool. “You really like pushing him, don’t you?”

“Not my fault he’s got good looking sibling.” Your cheeks burned, and you didn’t even have time to come up with something witty because that’s exactly when Soap burst into the mess hall. Gaz didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even look guilty.

He leaned back in his chair, all cool confidence, while you tried to not visibly panic.

Soap’s eyes locked on the two of you. “Unbelievable.”

“Relax,” Gaz said, grinning up at him. “We’re just talking.”

Soap raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got two seconds to disappear, Garrick.”

Gaz stood slowly, coffee in hand, and gave you one last look. It wasn’t flirtatious. It wasn’t cocky. And it hit harder than any smirk ever could. He nodded once and walked off, just as calm as he arrived.

You turned to Soap, arms crossed. “Seriously?”

Soap pointed toward the door. “You. Out. Now.”

You held in your laugh until you were out of the room. Because Gaz was right. He was definitely worth it.

The next day you tried to play it cool, keep your head down, but it got harder and harder not to glance over your shoulder every time you heard boots in the hallway, hoping it was him. You and Gaz had only had a few small conversations since you came to stay on base. But every glance he gave you said more than the words ever did.

And now, it was your last day on base.

Your bag was packed. The transport would be leaving within the hour. Soap had promised to walk you to the gate, but he’d gotten pulled into a quick briefing, so you wandered the corridor one last time. Quiet. Almost empty.

And then, just as you turned a corner — there he was.

Leaning casually against the wall, arms folded, like he’d been waiting. You stopped in your tracks, heart lurching in a way that annoyed you and thrilled you at the same time. “You leaving?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah. In like… twenty minutes.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just looked at you — that soft, thoughtful kind of look that made the air feel different. Then: “Gonna be weird not seeing you around.”

You smiled. “Gonna be weird not getting yelled at for just looking at you.”

He chuckled at that, then took a step closer. Not enough to break any rules, not enough for anyone to accuse either of you of anything. But enough that you could lower your voice.

“I was thinking…” you said, reaching into the pocket of your jacket. “Just in case we don’t run into each other again—”

You held out a folded piece of paper. Small. Simple. Unassuming. He raised an eyebrow but took it without hesitation.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Guess you’ll have to open it later,” you said, smiling as you stepped back.

He looked at the paper, then at you. “You sure?”

“Nope,” you said honestly. “But I’d regret it if I didn’t.”

Before he could say anything else, you turned and walked off.

Didn’t look back.

Didn’t need to.

Because when he finally unfolded the note, alone in his room later that night, written in your handwriting was your number… and beneath it:

“You owe me a coffee”

[bvrnesher]

Hey!! I just stalked all of your jason grace fics and omg they’re all so wonderful!! I was wondering if i cohld request some headcanons for jason grace and a daughter of hades/pluto? sfw and nfsw if you’re comfortable? if not don’t even worry i will take whatever you feel comfortable with writing cause i love how you characterize him in your fics/headcannons! thank you so so much and no rush 🫶

❝ Jason x Hades child ! ❞ ― jason grace !

tap here for chb masterlist ! here for reqs info

summary: jason grace x child of hades/pluto (both sfw and nsfw) ! dating/sex

— ✦ pairing: jason grace ! hades/pluto reader.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ꪆ ✦ 𑊁 ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

— ୨ৎㅤ˳ SFW ㅤ

Jason is intrigued before he’s even in love. You’re not loud or flashy, but something about you lingers—like the moment after a thunderstorm, like silence that means something. He notices the way people pause around you. The way you hold space. The way your gaze is quiet, not cold. And he wants to know more.

You make him feel safe without even trying. It’s not that you’re overly nurturing or soft—it’s that your presence is anchoring. When Jason’s mind spirals—when he’s overwhelmed by expectations or the weight of his title—you’re the one who grounds him. One sentence from you, one glance, and it’s like the storm settles.

He’s the sunshine. You’re the shelter. He’s warm and golden and kind, always smiling for everyone else. But you? You don’t need him to perform. You’re the one person he doesn’t have to be "okay" around. You don’t demand vulnerability—you just make space for it. And that changes everything.

You’re both more alike than people assume. People expect you to be cold, just like they expect him to be perfect. But Jason has his quiet edges, his pressure points, his cracks—and you have your dry humor, your loyalty, your love for the little things (grave flowers, quiet walks, warm drinks). You get each other.

Jason notices every soft thing about you. The way you hum when you're distracted. How your lips curve in this barely-there smile when you’re amused. The careful way you close doors. You’re the daughter of death—but to Jason, you’re life in every small, specific way.

He’s a little in awe of your power—but not afraid of it. You could summon ghosts, split the earth, send nightmares running—but Jason sees the way you carry that strength like it’s a responsibility, not a weapon. He respects it. He respects you. That quiet reverence runs deep.

You have a secret soft spot for his dorky charm. When he smiles too wide, when he gets flustered and rambles, when he brings you flowers he clearly picked in a panic before meeting you—it melts you. You act unbothered, but your heart’s doing somersaults.

You’re very still. He’s always in motion. So sometimes, he lays his head in your lap just to be near your calm. You run your fingers through his hair while he talks through battle plans or childhood memories or nothing at all. And when he falls asleep there? You let him. Every time.

You balance his guilt. Jason carries so much of it—failed missions, fallen friends, mistakes he blames himself for. You don’t try to “fix” it—you just sit with it. A quiet, comforting presence beside him. And slowly, with you, the weight gets a little lighter.

Dates with you are simple—but unforgettable. Stargazing on rooftops. Reading together in the library. Sharing silent walks through the forest or the Underworld garden you tend. No noise, no pressure—just two souls finding comfort in each other’s company.

When he’s with you, Jason feels known. Not as a hero, not as a son of Jupiter, not as a leader—but as himself. You see through all the layers. And the fact that you stay, that you choose him—not for who he’s supposed to be, but who he really is—that means more than he could ever say.

Your first kiss doesn’t come after a battle—it comes after a quiet moment. Maybe you’re sitting by the fire after curfew, sharing warm drinks, just existing in that soft silence the two of you fall into so easily. Jason’s telling you something real—not dramatic, just personal—and he turns to look at you like he always does: steady, gentle. And something in you just clicks. You lean in. He meets you halfway. The kiss is slow, careful, like neither of you want to startle the moment. When you pull back, he smiles—really smiles. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

The first time he sees you laugh—really laugh—he falls a little harder. You rarely show that full, open emotion. So when something catches you off guard and you laugh so hard you have to cover your mouth, Jason just stares, stunned and totally in love. You tease him for it. He denies it. But later, when you're alone, he admits, “That sound could raise the dead.”

He’s fiercely protective—but never possessive. Jason is used to being the shield, the sword, the protector. But you? You’re capable. Powerful. So his protectiveness shows up in other ways: bringing you tea when you forget to eat, brushing snow from your shoulders after a quest, standing quietly beside you when someone’s trying to intimidate you—just being there without taking your agency away.

You wear his hoodie. He wears your ring. You love the way his oversized Camp Half-Blood sweatshirt smells like cedar and ozone. He never takes off the obsidian ring you gave him—even if it’s lowkey enchanted to keep spirits away. “You just want me safe,” he says, rolling it on his finger. “That’s enough for me.”

You two are the definition of the 'silent understanding' couple. You’ll catch each other’s eyes across a crowded camp event and know exactly what the other is thinking. Jason’s the only one who can read your “I’m overstimulated and need to leave” look; you’re the only one who can spot his “I need help but won’t ask” face. One raised brow from you, one tiny nod from him—that’s all it takes.

He gets along surprisingly well with your Underworld aesthetic. Jason didn’t think he’d be into bone rings and black lace until he saw them on you. Now? He’s helping you shop. “This one’s cute,” he says, holding up something dark and dramatic with zero shame. You arch an eyebrow. “Cute, huh?” “Terrifying. But cute.”

You kiss like it’s sacred. Not in a performative way—in an intentional way. Your hands on his face, his arms around your waist, his body leaning into yours like this is the only thing that matters right now. And when he murmurs your name between kisses? You melt. Every. Time.

He introduces you as “his favorite person.” It makes you blink. No dramatic “girlfriend,” no title-dropping “daughter of Pluto,” no possessive “mine.” Just: “This is my favorite person.” You tease him about it for weeks. You love him for it forever.

He has dreams about you before he admits he loves you. They’re always small: you sitting beside him, reaching for his hand, pulling him into warmth. When he wakes up, heart pounding, he knows. The next day, you’re sitting beside him like nothing’s changed. He says, quiet and breathless, “I think I’m in love with you.” And you just smile, like you’ve been waiting for him to catch up.

You show affection through actions—he shows it through words. You fix his armor. You brush hair from his face when he’s resting. You carry an extra water bottle just in case he forgets. Meanwhile, Jason is out here calling you “gorgeous” and “love” like it’s your name. He’ll hold your hand in public without thinking. Whisper soft affirmations when you’re lying together, half-asleep. “You make me feel like I can finally breathe.”

Your relationship is built on earnest trust. You let him see the parts of you that feel too heavy for anyone else. The darkness. The fear. The grief. And Jason? He listens. He stays. He doesn’t try to fix it—just holds your hand and says, “I’m right here."

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ꪆ ✦ 𑊁 ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

— ୨ৎㅤ˳ NSFW

He shouldn’t want you this much—and that makes it worse. You’re power wrapped in darkness. Ancient blood in your veins. The very opposite of everything he was trained to worship. And yet? Every time you touch him, every time you look at him like you could drag his soul to the Underworld… he gets harder than he’s ever been.

Jason is such a service sub and he doesn’t even realize it. He’ll start with his usual confidence—pressing you to the wall, whispering that he wants to take care of you—but the second you grab his jaw, tilt his chin up, and say “On your knees, storm boy,” he obeys like it’s instinct. Lightning cracks in the distance. His pupils blow wide. His knees hit the ground. How could he ever deny you something like that?

Your aura turns him on. The cold that follows you. The faint scent of cypress and pomegranate. The way your eyes glow like the River Styx when you get possessive. He acts unaffected—straight back, tight jaw, ever the soldier—but when you touch him? His breath hitches, and his cock twitches like it knows what's about to happen.

He lives to worship you. Slow kisses on your thighs. Hands gripping your hips like he’s trying to keep from floating away. He’ll eat you out like it’s sacred—eyes closed, lips soft, moaning into you like your pleasure is prayer.

He gets rough when you let him lose control. You tug his hair, whisper “Show me what that Roman training taught you,” and suddenly he snaps. He pins your wrists above your head, growling “I’ll give you everything.” And he does—thrusts punishing, kisses bruising, your name a mantra on his tongue.

He’s got a hand kink. Your rings. Your long, cold fingers wrapping around his throat. The way your thumb brushes his bottom lip before you push it into his mouth and say “Suck.” Jason whines. You find his hand in yours after the fight, during missions, before bed—and you know: this boy is yours.

Aftercare is holy. Jason craves your softness after the chaos. Your lips at his temple. Your hand on his chest, grounding him. He needs to feel your power in quiet ways—your arms around him while his body still trembles, your voice calling him baby like it’s the only thing that matters. His world narrows to you, every time.

He has recurring dreams about you in full god-mode. Crown of bone. Voice like velvet death. A trail of spirits at your heels as you beckon him to kneel. He wakes up panting, cock straining against his shorts, and the next time he sees you, he can’t meet your eyes—because, aww, he's too flustered for that.

He lets you mark him. Teeth at his neck. Fingernails down his back. A faint bite over his heart.

Jason adores the power struggle. One second he’s slamming you onto the bed with lightning crackling in his fingers—and the next, he’s begging beneath you, your hand in his hair, your voice a promise: “You’ll never leave me, will you?” He doesn’t even hesitate. “Never. I’m yours.”

You don’t overpower—you unnerve. There’s something about the way you watch him when he’s talking, or the way your hand drifts low on his back when you’re alone. It’s not forceful—it’s the slow, creeping certainty that you want him, that you’ll take your time getting there, and that when you do? He’ll be wrecked.

You make Jason work for it—but not in a teasing way. You’ll kiss him until he’s breathless, pull away, and just look at him like you’re not done yet—but he has to ask. And gods, he does. A soft “please” against your throat, his fingers tightening on your hips, his forehead pressed to yours while he breathes out, “I need you.”

You don’t need to be loud to be in control—you guide. Tilt his chin up with two fingers. Slide onto his lap with slow, deliberate confidence. Say “Stay still.” Not because you’re demanding it—because he wants to. And when he whimpers, when he bucks his hips despite himself? You just smirk and whisper, “I said still, baby.”

You like making him flustered. Not humiliated—just undone. You pull him close, mouth at his ear, and say the filthiest things in your softest voice. Tell him how good he makes you feel. How hard he is for you. How pretty he looks when he’s this desperate. He hides his face in your neck and moans like he’s praying.

You match his intensity—not with force, but focus. Eye contact that doesn’t break. Movements that are deliberate and intimate. Sex that feels like a shared language—one where you both speak in touch and tension and want. He’s used to being in control. With you? He surrenders because he chooses to.

You don’t shy away from mess, from need. You kiss him through the whines. Grip his hands when he grabs at you. You ride the moments when he’s too overwhelmed to think. And when he looks up at you with dazed, wide eyes like you’ve ruined him? You just say, “You can give me one more.” And he does.

[al-1-na]

⋆.˚🦢⋆𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬⋆.˚🦢⋆

⋆.˚🦢⋆

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Zach Maclaren x Reader

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Romance, Slow Burn

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: Smut / Minors DNI!!!, p in v, fingering, unprotected sex (don’t do that unless you want kids guys)

⋆.˚🦢⋆

⋆.˚🦢⋆

You didn’t expect to crash into someone—literally—while sprinting to your 10 a.m. economics class, but of course, that’s exactly what happened.

Papers flew, your coffee exploded like a latte volcano, and your body collided with what felt like a brick wall. Except the brick wall had arms. Warm, steady hands that gripped your forearms to steady you.

“Oh no—are you okay?” a deep voice asked, full of concern, with the kind of gentleness that made your skin flush.

You looked up, and there he was: Zach Maclaren. Campus soccer star. Ridiculously kind. The guy every girl (and a few professors) seemed to have a crush on.

And you’d just nailed him in the chest with a flying textbook and half a mocha.

“I—yeah. Sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going,” you stammered, brushing your hair out of your face.

He chuckled softly, looking down at the dark coffee stain spreading across his gray hoodie. “Looks like you weren’t the only one. My hoodie might never recover.”

“I’ll pay for dry cleaning,” you blurted, and then immediately regretted it. Who even dry cleans hoodies?

To your surprise, Zach just smiled wider. “Nah, it’s fine. Gives it character.”

You laughed. “Right. ‘Mocha Explosion’ is all the rage now.”

That moment—awkward and messy—somehow became the beginning of something you hadn’t seen coming.

⋆.˚🦢⋆

Over the next few weeks, you and Zach kept running into each other. In the library. At the coffee shop. Once, even at the laundromat. It was like the universe was pushing you together, one accidental encounter at a time.

What surprised you most wasn’t that he remembered you—it was how interested he seemed. Not just in making small talk, but in actually knowing you. Asking about your classes. Your opinions on books. Your ridiculous obsession with late-night conspiracy theory podcasts.

One night, after a study session turned pizza run, you sat on the hood of his car, looking out at the quiet campus. The air was crisp. Leaves rustled in the wind, the trees half-naked as autumn gave way to winter.

Zach leaned back beside you, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows. “You ever feel like you’re pretending? Like you’re playing a role everyone expects you to play, and one wrong move, it all falls apart?”

You looked at him, surprised by the rawness in his voice. “All the time,” you admitted. “Especially here. Like I have to be the ‘driven student’ or the ‘fun friend’ or whatever version of me people think I’m supposed to be. It’s exhausting.”

He turned to face you fully, eyes soft. “With you, I don’t feel like I have to pretend.”

Your heart stuttered.

“Same,” you whispered.

Something shifted in the air between you, unspoken but palpable. Like gravity pulling you together. He leaned in slowly, giving you time to move away. You didn’t.

The kiss was quiet. Gentle.

⋆.˚🦢⋆

Zach's lips were soft and warm against yours, his breath hot against your skin. He deepened the kiss slowly, his hand sliding up your thigh and under your skirt, his fingers brushing against your panties. You moaned into the kiss, your hands tangling in his hair as you pressed closer to him. He pulled away slightly, looking into your eyes with a hunger that made your stomach flip. "I've wanted to do that for so long," he murmured, his voice husky.

"Me too," you breathed back, your fingers digging into his hair.

He leaned in again, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips before slipping inside, tangling with your own. His hand slid up your thigh, brushing against your wetness through your panties, making you gasp. You arched into his touch, needy for more.

"I want to feel you," he growled, his hand sliding under your panties and into your wet folds. He teased your clit with his thumb, making you moan and squirm against him.

You whimpered, your hips bucking against his hand.

He chuckled darkly, his fingers moving faster, rubbing and circling your clit. "You like that, don't you? My fingers inside you?"

"Yes," you gasped, your head spinning.

"Tell me what else you want," he said, his voice low and demanding.

"I want you inside me," you moaned, your hips grinding against his hand.

He groaned, his fingers moving faster. "You're so fucking wet for me."

He stood up suddenly, pulling you with him. He kicked the car door open and lifted you onto the seat, his lips never leaving yours. He pulled off his hoodie and tossed it aside, revealing his broad chest and defined abs. He unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down, freeing his hard cock.

"God, you're so big," you breathed, your eyes widening at the sight of him.

"I'm all yours," he growled, his hand wrapping around his cock as he positioned himself between your legs.

He slowly pushed inside you, filling you up completely. You moaned, your nails digging into his shoulders as he stretched you. He began to move, slow and steady at first, his hips rocking against yours in a rhythm that made you see stars.

"You feel so good," he groaned, his eyes locked on yours.

You moaned, your head falling back against the seat.

He picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder and faster. His hand slid down to your clit, rubbing and teasing it as he pounded into you. You cried out, your body shaking with pleasure.

"I'm close," he growled, his cock throbbing inside you.

"Me too," you gasped, your body tightening around him.

He groaned, his cock pulsing as he came inside you. He collapsed on top of you, his chest heaving as he caught his breath.

"That was... amazing," he panted, his lips brushing against your ear.

"I've never...," you started, but couldn't finish the sentence.

"Never what?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

"Never felt like this," you whispered, your eyes filling with tears.

He kissed you softly, his hand stroking your hair. "Neither have I."

⋆.˚🦢⋆

[petty-richonne-rj-fan]

Rick Grimes Junior Chronicles

Fishing, Camping, and Lamaze class.

“ Junior pull!” Rick yells, holding the fishing pole, along with his son; both of them pulling against the force that guarantees a feast for tonight. Junior is on break from school, and Rick aligned his time off with Junior’s days off, so it was no better time to have a fishing and camping trip. They are about 20 miles outside of the Commonwealth, a spot he and Michonne found when they decided to go on a run a month ago. Just the two of them, reliving the old times when they had to go on runs, and did not have the ample resources that they now have. Even now, this fishing trip is a bonding experience for the Ricks, but deep down, Rick wants Junior exposed to the rawness of the world, teaching him to make it on his own, and not becoming desensitised to ease and privilege. If you teach a man to fish…

This entire trip has been amazing and refreshing for The Ricks. They've spent two days out here in the wilderness, just the two of them - The Ricks. They set their camp out near the lake, Rick teaching Junior survival tips and tricks, reminding him of how he used to do this with Carl. And when the sun went down, Junior climbed into his father’s sleeping bag, wanting to be as close to his favorite person as he could be. Rick fell asleep with a smile on his face, cuddling the best gift he and Michonne gave to each other.

“ Dad!” Junior yells, holding the fishing pole as hard as his little seven years old hands allow. A minute feels like forever, when you're trying to catch your first fish, but the line snaps, the fish escapes, and Junior tumbles into the dirt, disappointed.

“ Hey buddy, there's always next time,” Ricks says, smiling at the way Junior frowns and pouts, looking exactly like his mother whenever she doesn't get her way. He sees this frown whenever he uses up all the hot water in the shower, or when Junior prefers his dad to tuck him in at night. He remembers one time, at 3 AM, they heard Junior screaming in the middle of the night. Nightmares of losing his dad, taunting him in his sleep. Michonne screamed that she was on her way, and the boy replied, “ I want daddy.” The frown she had then is the frown her son has now, and as much as Rick loves that the boy is 95% Rick Grimes, he cherishes the 5% that is Michonne Grimes.

“ Dad, I almost had it.”

“ I know, but sometimes, you lose some,” Rick says, squatting to his son’s level, wiping the dirt from his little boy's face. Rick stares at his boy, truly baffled at how Michonne’s genetics didn't even try.

“ I wanted to give mama a fish,” he pouts, looking down at his dusty jeans. Ever since Junior met his dad, he undertook a new wardrobe. He only wears blue and black jeans, cowboy boots, and whatever color or form of shirt his dad is wearing. Right now, Junior is in a brown shirt and so is Rick.

“ How about we try again?” Rick laughs, adjusting the boy's hat, and Junior smiles, headed to grab his dad’s fishing pole when the walkie talkie makes noise.

“ Daito to The Brave Man,” it sputters, and The Ricks dive toward the walkie, eager to hear the center of both of their universes.

“ Mom,” Junior says, grasping the walkie, and a stern look from his dad reminds him to use code names.

“ It's Little Brave Man,” Junior says, sitting on his dad’s lap who sits on the foldable chair.

“ Hi baby. How is the trip,” she asks, and Rick can detect the smile in her voice.

“ It’s good. Dad and I are having so much fun! Dad taught me how to make knots, traps, and how to hunt. I almost caught my first fish but dad says we’re going to try again. Dad let me tell ghost stories last night,” he says knowing his mom wouldn't allow it, and the finger placed to Rick's lips reminds Junior that it was supposed to be their little secret.

“ Did you have nightmares?” she ask softly.

“ No!” Junior quickly defends, and Rick stifles the laugh because though he knows his son is obsessed with him, he knows part of the reason he felt a little body squeezing in his already small sleeping bag, was because the scary wind outside of their tent reminded him of the scary wind that was talked about in the third ghost story.

After a few minutes of catching up, Michonne asks to speak to Rick in a way that means she just needs it to be her and Rick, so Rick sends Junior off to repair his fishing line. Rick settles into his foldable chair, imagining how she looks today. A month ago, she signed up for lamaze class with the CommonWealth’s best Midwife, Mrs. Tyler. Rick would be with her now, but it's hosted by the Midwife Legend, who is a much older and traditional Southern woman who does not let men attend. She is so old fashioned, she doesn't allow men in the labour and delivery room; suffice to say, she won't be delivering Rick and Michonne’s baby girl, but she was good at what she does, so Michonne decided to take her class. Rick listens to her lament on how strict Mrs. Tyler is, holding his laughter in.

“ Why are you whispering?” he ask.

“ Because I am hiding in the bathroom,” she says urgently and Rick can't help but release the laughter he’s been holding in, at the thought of his fearless wife, hiding in the bathroom from an 89 year old Southern sweet old lady. She pushed him out of a helicopter, blew up the CRM, gave birth to their baby all alone, and yet this old woman is scaring her. Rick's joy attracts attention, a walker coming into view, snarling toward them.

“ Hold on, Michonne,” he says resolutely, exchanging the walkie down for his gun, when Junior grabs his little hatchet from his belt buckle.

“Junior, wait!” Rick yells, thankful Michonne can't hear the commotion of what's going on. Suddenly his heart stops, and his body is transported back into a realm where his oldest son lay defeated by a walker bite. It's like a movie that plays before Rick's eyes, as he watches his son knock the walker to its feet, before puncturing it in the brain. He should be happy. He knows he should. His son knows how to defend himself and survive. But his son’s independence reminds him of what he missed. Rick wanted to be there to teach him to walk, to hear him babble and boast to Michonne that Junior said dada before he said mama. Rick knows that he’s guilty for babying his son, but that's his son whose life he missed out on. That's his baby and if he wants to baby him, he can. But the boy standing over the walker, wiping blood off of his arm reminds him that he is growing up right before Rick's eyes.

Suddenly, Rick remembers the walkie and knows that Michonne will worry if he doesn't return fast, so he gestures for Junior to come back to his fishing line, noticing how the boy avoids his gaze the whole time. Rick returns to his foldable chair, taking a deep breath to level his heart rate, retaining a demeanor that wont alarm his already troubled and annoyed wife.

“ Hey baby, I’m back.”

“ Is everything okay? RJ?”

“ Junior’s fine, now tell me about Mrs. Tyler,” Rick says, eager to change the subject.

“ What happened?” Michonne says, not letting this go.

“ It was a walker. It was far away and in the distance - I killed it,” Ricks face is sour, hating lying to his wife. And after a few more seconds of assuaging her worry, they return back to Michonne’s day of drinking slimy and disgusting drinks because Mrs.Tyler swears it’ll give her a healthy pregnancy.

“ Honey, I'm coming to get you,” Rick says, starting to rise.

“ No! I can handle this myself.”

“ You don't have to handle this yourself, honey-”

“ I know, but even though I feel like a teenager with a strict parent, she has been very helpful. I’ve learned alot from her so maybe it's best that I stay. Besides, I'm afraid of what she might do when she sees you rescuing me. Oh shit. She’s onto me. I gotta go. Tell Junior to be good. Love you, bye,” Michonne says quickly, her voice exiting the walkie. Rick holds it dearly to his chest, pondering his next steps. He needs to talk to Junior, he knows he does. A rain droplet falls on his arm, and he looks up and sees dark clouds forming. He grew up on a farm and can predict the weather better than any meteorologist.

“ Junior, let's go and rescue your mama.”

It's night time when The Ricks arrive at the east end of the Commonwealth. The drive from the campground was quiet, and not just because Junior fell asleep in the backseat, but because Rick had to focus. A storm was brewing, one that meant power outages, and stocking up on food from the pantry.

Now, The Ricks stand outside on the porch, waiting for Mrs.Tyler to open her door, so that they could rescue Michonne. Eventually, it slowly opens, revealing a very pregnant Michonne who is shocked to see her boys.

“ What are you doing here?” she excitedly whispers, going for Junior first, kissing his forehead, and hugging him tightly.

“ She’s gonna kill you,” she smiles into Rick's kiss, cradling his bearded cheek, and holding Junior’s frame with her other hand.

“ I’m not scared of Mrs.Tyler,” Rick says, his hand sliding down Michonne’s back.

“ Rick, you're not fighting Mrs.Tyler. She’s an old lady. Besides, I don't think you would survive.”

There they stand, Michonne holding her little boy who has an expression on his face that she'll investigate later, as Rick holds them both. They jump, startled, when Mrs.Tyler calls Michonnes names from inside of the house.

“ You better go,” Michonne says, pushing The Ricks down the steps.

“ Honey-”

“ I’m serious, she’s going to kill you if she -”

“ Mrs. Grimes, who are these people?” An older lady appears in the doorway, and Rick sizes her up, wondering how Michonne has been scared of her.

“ Uh - this is my son, Mrs. Tyler. Rick Junior, my baby that I was telling you about. And this is Rick, my husband,” Michonne says, standing in front of them.

“ Well, what are y’all standing out here for, you’ll catch a cold,” she says, making them follow her inside, as Michonne rolls her eyes, holding Junior’s hand.

It's an old farmhouse, reminding Rick of his grandma’s house when he was little. He loved visiting his grandparents as a child, him and his brother Jeff, playing practical jokes on his grandma who could give it as much as she could take it. His feisty old grandma is where he learned how to predict the weather and curse like a sailor. Suddenly the 89 year old woman feels like home, reminding Rick of people, family who he has not had the pleasure of thinking about since The Turn. He decides that he has no reason to be afraid of this country lady who looks like his childhood memories, understanding why his city wife finds her to be intimidating.

“ You know, you ought to dust in here,” Rick says mischievously, teasing the older woman, and suddenly he feels Michonne's elbow jabbing him.

“ You know, you ought to have named your son anything but Junior. Very unoriginal. Sounds like the boy comes from a couple of narcissists,” she says, leading them into the living room, and Rick laughs, falling in love with this lady, more and more.

“ Here you go,” Mrs.Tyler says, aggressively handing Rick two large blankets.

“ What is this for?”

“ you're staying here,” She says resolutely, slowly walking to pull pillows from a dresser.

“ Oh that's not necessary-,” Michonne starts.

“ It is storming out there.”

“ Oh it's just a little rain, we’ll be fine.”

“ You weren't born in the country, girl. That is more than a little rain, and if you don't want your little boy flying away in the wind, I suggest you get comfortable. You in there, and you two in there,” she says confidently, pointing to two different rooms for them to sleep in.

“ Uh- I’d like to stay with my Wife,” Rick over exaggerates the fact that Michonne is his wife, understanding people like Mrs. Tyler. His mother was the same way. In the South, Boyfriends and Girlfriends don't sleep in the same rooms. Not even if they were your fiance. Only spouses could.

“ Well, you and your WIFE,” she replies sarcastically, taking note of the emphasis Rick put on Michonne being married to him.

“-won't die if you sleep separated for one night. You made this little boy and have another one on the way. By the looks of it, you two could use a break from each other. Men in different rooms. Your boy is free to go to whichever parent he wants to," Mrs. Tyler says, her tone insinuating that there will be no negotiating. She disappears into the hallway giving them privacy, as Rick swallows his annoyance.

“ I see what you mean, Michonne. She is scary,” he says loud enough for Mrs. Tyler to hear down the hall.

“ But I want to sleep with both of you,” his son says, bringing him back to the situation. Michonne steps up, kissing her boy goodnight, already knowing that he can't sleep with both of them, and if given the opportunity to choose, he’ll always choose his dad.

“ You listen to daddy, you hear me?” she says, kneeling to her son's height, and he nods his head softly, falling into her embrace. She kisses his cheek, his forehead, his nose, all over his face- a kiss attack- the way she would do when he was a newborn, when he had chunky cheeks. Back then he would laugh heartily, that deep baby laugh that gave a person baby fever. Now, he grimaces, pretending to be disgusted.

“ Mom,” he whines, wiping her kisses away, and trying but failing to wipe the smile away too.

“ ‘Mom’” she mocks, rising to wrap her arms around her husband, intimately pressing her bosom into his chest. He secures his arms around her waist, kissing her deeply, inhaling her breath. He hasn't slept with his wife in two days, and now he has to go another day.

“ Dad. Mom.You're being gross-” Junior whines, holding the blankets, and Michonne pulls away from Rick, wiping at his mouth, not releasing him yet.

“ I love you,” she says, staring deeply into his eyes.

“ I love you,” he says in his soft bedroom voice, only reserved for her, going back to softly pecking her lips, when he remembers the bump between them. He takes a step back, kissing her growing belly, before grabbing Junior and walking into their room for the night.

Now, Rick ponders the events of the day as he watches the dirt fall from his body into the shower drain. The warm water sedates him, feeling relaxed after his heart almost fell out of his chest today when Junior handled that walker. He formulates his thoughts and words, knowing that once he’s out of the shower, he’ll have to talk to Junior. He makes quick work of drying himself, and lotioning his skin with some sandalwood cream he’ll steal for himself when Mrs. Tyler isn't looking. After putting on some large pajamas Mrs. Tyler lended him, he calls Junior into the bathroom to brush his teeth, noticing the boy's hair.

“ Junior, when was the last time you washed your hair?” Rick asks, seeing a build up of dirt trapped in his locks, no doubt from their camping and fishing trip. Junior spits out the toothpaste, and pauses his brushing to answer his dad.

“ uh mama washed it last week.” he says, returning to cleaning his teeth. It's amazing what children get from their parents. Junior has gone his whole life never knowing his father, and yet he couldn't escape being Rick if he tried. Yet there are tiny moments that remind him that Michonne contributed to their baby- like the boy’s love for dental hygiene. Rick laughs to himself, thinking about how Michonne’s dental hygiene is the story of their love. The beginning of their story. Michonne’s dental hygiene and what followed after Rick wanting to satisfy her is the origin of Junior’s life. Rick owes that toothpaste his life.

Rick comes to kiss his son’s forehead.

“ When you're done with that, I'm gonna wash your hair-”

“ Daddy-”

“ No arguments, Junior. You’ve got dirt from the trip still in your hair.”

So now Rick stands above the sink, standing over a Junior who lays on the counter, his head dipped into the sink. He never thought to wash hair this way, but he saw Michonne do it, and now it's how they clean the boys hair. Rick lathers the shampoo he just finished using in his own shower into the boy’s locks, washing the dirt away, and shampooing the boy's scalp. He laughs to himself, purposely flicking a little bit of water on the boy's face, Junior animatedly calling his dad, trying to pretend he isn't having a good time. Trying to pretend he hates it when his dad shampoos his hair.

Eventually Rick finishes, and now sits on the closed toilet, Junior standing between his legs, moisturizing the boy's curls. Junior keeps his eyes closed, enjoying the massage, when a look of perplexion returns to the boy's face.

“ What is it?” Rick asks.

“ I know you’re mad at me - for getting that walker,” Junior says, and Rick stops his movements. He looks at him long and hard. Junior stands, a towel wrapped around his shoulders, in a shirt that is so big, it almost goes to his ankle, clothes that belong to Mrs. Tyler’s dead husband, Ricks presumes.

“ I’m not mad at you, son,” Rick says softly, gesturing for Junior to help him close the cap on the bottle; his one hand another thing that brings them closer together. Rick is independent, and capable of handling life on his own, but he can't help but notice the way Junior loves to help him button his shirt, or open bottles, or put on his boots. Rick has gone his whole life being tolerated, only to go half on a kid who thinks he hung the moon.

“ You're not mad?” the boy looks into his fathers eyes, relief washing over him,

“ No, son.” Rick says, a soft smile forming on his lips.

“ So, why did you panic?”

“ You’re my son, I am always going to panic.”

“ But I wasn't in danger, daddy. I had it-”

“ That doesn't matter, son. For the rest of my life, you will always be on my mind. Whether I am asleep or awake. When your mama told me about you for the first time, you were on my mind, and every action I did after that was for your safety.”

“ But dad-”

“ No buts, Junior. One day, when you grow up to be a man, and if you decide that you want to be a father, you will see what I am talking about. You never stop worrying about your kid. Besides, you’re too young to be handling walkers-”

“ No I’m not, dad.”

“ Junior-”

“ No, I'm not dad!” he practically yells, startling rick. And if this were any other situation, Rick would be stern with him for raising his voice, but something is on the boy's mind.

“ You know. When I was in class, back in Alexandria- they would talk about people who changed history. People who changed the world. You were always at the top of that list. And when I realized that the hero in my history books was my father, that I was his son and I was named after him- I knew that I had something to live up to - big shoes to fill.”

“ Junior, you have no shoes to fill. I am a character to them, but to you, I am your dad-”

“ You’re both! You're the man who pours the milk in my cereal every morning, who goes on school field trips with me, and lets me eat the last waffle. But you're also the man who led Alexandria to safety against the Saviors. You blew up the bridge to save everyone. You chopped off your hand because you couldn't bear not seeing mama in your dreams anymore. You changed the world. You are my hero. And I want to be just like you,” Junior says, his voice cracking, a tear rolling down his face, and Rick’s heart shatters into pieces. He pulls the boy into his embrace, enjoying the feeling of Junior's Face snuggling in the nape of his neck, imagining what that would have felt like when Junior was a baby. He would've loved to play fight with 2 year old Junior. He would've loved feeding Junior bottles at 2 am, while Michonne caught up on rest. He would've loved blowing bubbles in his belly, and wiping his nose during the colder months, and finding matching swimming trunks during the warmer ones.

“ Buddy, you don't have to put yourself in danger to be like me. You are me.”

“ I wasn't in danger, though dad. I knew you were behind me, and if I needed help, all I would have to do is call you,” he says, leaning into his dad’s chest, and suddenly it hits rick. He and Michonne created a child who is half a person who took down the CRM and half a person who ripped someone's throat out. Junior never stood a chance at being a normal and a regular kid. Rick doesn't want to go down the spiral that makes him ponder all the years of the boy's life he missed but he can't help it. The truth is, Junior did have that walker- but oh how he wishes he didn't. How he wishes Junior called him instead, needing him like a two year old would. But Junior isn't two. He is seven and half of two insane people which automatically makes him more progressed than most. Rick can't turn back the clock- Junior will never be a baby again, but his Junior, his baby boy, is here, in the flesh, and from the moment he’s met his boy- he gets to raise him. Rick will do that, he'll teach him how to fight, and how to go on runs, and how to be a leader for the future… he’ll do these things so that he gets to be the person who pours the cereal, and goes on field trips, and makes forts in the living room.

Junior pulls back, with tear stains on his face.

“ I love you dad. You're the best gift that I have ever received,” he says confidently, as if nothing truer were ever uttered. And Rick swallows the lump in his throat, staring into the creation that exists because Michonne made loving her so easy to do.

“ And you’re my best gift, Junior,” Rick says, and he tickles the boy's sides, inviting levity into the moment. They return to the boy's hair, then the boy's skin, Rick lotioning him when he notices how dry the boy's skin is. Junior starts talking about his favorite character in “Invincible.” Comics used to be Michonne and Carl's thing. But the way Junior talks about it, makes Rick vow to read every comic he can get his hand on, so that he can connect to his boy on yet another level. Suddenly, a thought pops into Rick's head.

“ I have an idea.”

Down the hall, Michonne lays restless in her bed, massaging her growing bump, thinking of all the fun The Ricks are having. It's funny. Junior was never a mama’s boy. When he was a toddler, his first words were dada. All he’s ever done was talk about his dad, even when he hadn't even met him yet. It’s like she destined him to be like and obsess over his father, the moment she looked at Rosita almost 8 years ago, confirming the name of her and Rick’s baby. A smile forms on her face, when she realises how happy she is that she was able to gift Rick someone who makes him so happy- someone who he wanted so much.

Suddenly, Michonne jumps, when she hears a noise, instinctively grabbing whatever threatening object next to her. She holds the lamp in her hand like she would her katana, staring at the darkness of her room when her heart almost falls out of her chest. It's her boys, sneaking into her room, both plastering mischievous grins on their faces, and by the looks of it, she knows that it was her husband's idea, and Junior was just eager to be a part of whatever plan his father concocted. Junior is on Rick’s back, whispering, SURPRISE!

“ Rick,” she whispers shocked, as Junior jumps on the bed, excited to be sharing a bed with his parents.

Rick instinctively grabs his wife, kissing her as much as he wants, free to do so, now that Junior is distracted by how comfortable the sheets are.

“ You’re gonna get me in so much trouble,” Michonne whispers in rick's mouth, as he tilts his head, consuming her lips.

“ Just wait until we get back home. You’re really gonna be in trouble then,” he whispers seductively, squeezing her bottom in his hand.

“ You promise?” she whispers passionately and bites his lip. She entertains Rick for a few more seconds, playing with the hair on his chest as he kisses her neck. Eventually she pulls away, knowing where this is headed.

Michonne grabs her boy, smelling his lavender shampooed hair, praising Rick for scratching one thing off her todo list. They whisper, speaking in hushed tones, updating Michonne of their camping trip, Rick Grimes Junior in between both of his parents, their bodies facing their boy and their hands interlocked. Junior makes a joke, and they have to hold their hands to their mouths, both of them, reaching over to kiss the boy's cheeks, just like they would have if he was a newborn, and they were new parents to the gift that they gave each other.

Now, Junior sleeps on top of Rick, Rick's back sitting up and leaning on the bed frame, with Michonne laying in the space of his open arm. She rest her head on his shoulder, playing in Juniors curls, as he softly snores.

“ I know something happened, Rick. When there was a pause on the walkie. It's fine. You both are safe and that's all that matters.”

Rick nods, gently caressing Junior’s back, deciding to tell his wife the truth.

“ He took his first walker,” he says and Michonne’s eyes buck because she doesn't know whether to be happy or sad.

“ He’s too young to be-”

“ I know. It's exactly what I thought. But after he took his bath, I washed his hair. We talked. He’s half of you and half of me, baby. Two insane people, he never stood a chance,” Ricks says, and Michonne eventually agrees, nodding and understanding that everything Rick is saying is true. It's the same for the baby growing inside of her. It’ll be a few more years before Junior becomes a weapon, and a machine. But if Michonne had anything to do with it, those years would have to wait.

“ I know what you're thinking,” Rick says.

“ Yeah?” she looks up into his eyes, kissing his shoulder.

“ He's our baby. Our baby that we were supposed to raise together, the fact that you were alone, pregnant all those years angers me so much Michonne. Those people who we survived with- our own fucking family, turned away from you and I wasnt there to help. They owed you so much.”

“ I know baby,” she says softly, caressing his beard and looking at his lips. She knows how angry it makes Rick that all she had to help her in her most difficult time was Daryl and Rosita. A Lot makes him angry, but they can't go back, so she softly pecks his lips three times, shushing him when she sees how he wants to continue down that dark path.

“ The fact that we couldn't experience his early life together-but I have to find peace in the fact that we get to raise him at 7 and not 14 or even 18. Imagine, if it took that long for you to find me. I have to find peace in the fact that he still is shorter than my shoulders, and crawls in my tent when he is scared, and that he thinks I’m cool and still wants to sleep with mom and dad. He‘s got Michonne and Rick in him. He can't help but be insane. But for the moments that remind me he's just a little boy, I will cherish them forever. Jadis took years away from us. Let's not let her take anymore.”

And Michonne nods, helping Rick to lay back in a way that wont wake up their future heir. He startles a bit, a chain of saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth. Michonne wipes it away, laying his head more comfortably on his fathers chest. She kisses her boy's forehead before kissing Rick one more time, and resting on his shoulder.

“ Goodnght, Rick.”

“ Goodnight, baby.”

[sxmmerberries]

Stolen Bites - kang taehyun x reader

✦ genre: fluff

✦ pairing: kang taehyun as your boyfriend

✦ word count: 1,024

✦ summary: you snack on the ingredients he had set aside for cooking

You couldn't help but chuckle as you peeked from behind the wall, watching your boyfriend cook dinner tonight after he banned everyone from entering the kitchen. You watched as he moved around the kitchen, preparing ingredients and stirring a pot occasionally. As you continued to watch him work, you couldn't help but feel impressed by his focus.

While Taehyun was busy cooking, he suddenly noticed you lurking by the doorway. He looked over his shoulder and caught you trying to hide behind the wall again. His eyes met yours and a small smile spread across his face.

"You know, I did say no one was allowed in here, so what are you doing here?,” He teased, as you came out from behind the door and sheepishly smiled at him. Taehyun couldn't help but chuckle at your sheepish smile, clearly amused by your attempt to sneak into the kitchen.

"I'm just checking in on you," You replied, walking over to him and leaning against the counter, eying on the ingredients.

"And admiring your cooking skills, of course," You added, looking around the kitchen, trying to figure out what he was making.

"Just checking in on me, huh?," Taehyun said, raising an eyebrow teasingly before continuing to chop up some vegetables.

"Don't worry, I won't disturb you. I'm just here to inspect things, you know,” You reassured him with a smile, trying to look innocent.

"And what exactly are you inspecting?,” He asked, clearly not entirely convinced by your innocent act as he stirred the sauce he made for the pizza.

"Oh, you know, just the usual stuff,” You shrugged nonchalantly, trying to maintain your innocent facade, gesturing vaguely around the room.

"Uh huh, sure," Taehyun let out a laugh, clearly not buying your excuse. "And I suppose trying to steal a taste of whatever I'm cooking just happens to be a part of this 'inspection'?”

"Me? Steal a taste?,” You said, trying to look offended. “I would never,” You said dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. Taehyun shook his head, still smiling as he went back to cooking.

You leaned against the counter next to him, watching as he skillfully worked. Despite your attempts to seem innocent, you couldn’t help but keep glancing at the food.

You couldn’t resist the temptation any longer. You glanced around the kitchen, making sure that Taehyun wasn’t looking before grabbing a handful of cheese and pepperoni he had prepared for his pizza.

Taehyun’s eyes widened as he saw you grabbing a handful of the cheese and pepperoni he had prepared for his pizza. “And just what do you think you’re doing?,” He asked, crossing his arms and watching you with a raised eyebrow.

"I don't know what you're talking about," You said innocently, attempting to keep a straight face, holding the handful of cheese and pepperoni behind your back.

"And I suppose the food just magically disappeared then, huh?,” Taehyun just shook his head in amusement, clearly not too bothered by your theft.

You tried to act nonchalantly, but you couldn't help but grin as you slowly started to move the cheese and pepperoni to your mouth. "Yup, just all gone.”

"You know, you're making it really hard to concentrate on cooking when you're stealing my ingredients," He said, though there was a hint of playfulness in his voice as he went back to cooking.

You glanced at the stove, where Taehyun was cooking shrimp with garlic, as the smell filled the air. You moved closer to the stove, pretending to inspect what he was cooking and eyed the delicious-looking shrimp cooking on the stove.

“It smells so good. What are you making?,” You peered into the pan as he was stirring the shrimps.

He chuckled as he noticed your gaze fixed on the shrimp. "I know what you're thinking, and the answer is no. You can't have any until dinner.”

"Fine," You said with a dramatic sigh, secretly amused at how well he was holding up. Taehyun chuckled at your dramatic sigh, shaking his head in amusement as he stirred the shrimp in garlic and olive oil.

"Don't give me that look," He said, stirring the shrimp in the pan. "You'll just have to wait until dinner.”

"How much longer is dinner going to take?," You asked, trying to sound casual. Your gaze shifted to the other ingredients laid out on the countertop.

“Just one more hour,” He responded, making you let out an exaggerated sigh, your eyes still lingering on the ingredients.

As Taehyun continued to cook, you couldn't help but stare at him.You couldn't help but get lost in the sight, admiring the way he moved around the kitchen with ease despite your earlier impatience.

Your gaze slowly shifted back to the ingredients on the counter, and your fingers itched to reach out and grab a few more handfuls. You couldn't resist any longer. Your hand slowly inched towards the ingredients.

Just as you were about to grab a handful, however, you felt a sudden hand on your wrist. You froze, caught in the act as Taehyun looked at you with a fake disappointed look.

"Caught in the act again, huh?," He said, his grip on your wrist firm but gentle. You sheepishly smiled, feeling a bit embarrassed at getting caught, clutching your snack in your hand.

Taehyun chuckled as he saw the guilty look on your face, but his expression softened as he released your wrist. "You're insufferable, you know that?,” He said affectionately.

He took a small bowl from the counter and placed a few cooked shrimp inside which you happily accepted. He then playfully pushes you towards the door leading out of the kitchen, making you frown in disappointment.

"Hey, wait a minute! I'm not done here," You playfully protested as Taehyun continued to gently push you out of the kitchen.

“You're banned from setting foot in here until dinner is ready,” Taehyun's tone was playful, but he was serious about not wanting you to disturb him while he cooked.

“Fineeeeeee,” You huffed in resignation as you made your way out of the kitchen with your little bowl of shrimp.

©sxmmerberries

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