#I think he’s longed for a warm home and someone to genuinely come home to and love and share his home with

[jenanigans1207]

1/6/25: Recover

“Dean, sit down.” Cas orders from where he’s standing at the kitchen stove, spatula in hand. He wields in the same way Dean does when he’s lecturing someone and cooking at the same time and Dean thinks both ruefully and in amusement about all the habits he unintentionally passed along to Cas. “I am perfectly capable—”

“Just let me check.” Dean insists, going to stand from the barstool he is perched on at the counter. “You’ve never made soup before.”

“Dean,” Cas says and this time there’s a clear warning in his voice. It’s deep and rumbly and probably the voice that Cas used to guide armies when he was an angel and instill fear into those who dared stand against him. To Dean, it’s completely harmless, and he stands up anyways and crosses to stand right behind Cas, peering over his shoulder.

Cas huffs a dramatic sigh to match his dramatic eye roll as Dean nestles his chin onto Cas’s shoulder and stares down into the pot. It’s quiet for a long moment before Dean nods a little, pressing a kiss to the side of Cas’s neck. “Looks good.”

“I have been alive for millennia,” Cas insists with frustration. “I think I can make some chicken noodle soup.”

“First,” Dean says, raising a finger to tick off his point. “When you were an angel for those millennia,” He drops his voice with a grin to mimic Cas’s and earns a half-hearted elbow to the ribs. “You didn’t eat. So none of those years count. Second,” he ticks off another finger, “Even if they did count, you’re not an angel anymore, so none of your angel experience counts. And you don’t have mojo to fix burned soup.”

“I would hardly have wasted my grace on burned soup.” Cas argues as he places the spatula back into the soup and begins stirring.

Dean allows himself to be dislodged, but he doesn’t return to his seat at the counter. “You consider feeding me unburned soup a waste?”

Cas doesn’t even bother to give him a verbal response, instead sending a withering glare over his shoulder to make his point. Dean grins at him, wide and full of genuine joy. It lasts all of about two seconds before he’s suddenly sneezing, reaching for the box of tissues that Cas had kept within a foot radius of him at all times for the last two days. He wipes at his nose miserably, reminded how raw it is from how much he’s been blowing it, and then he sulks back to his seat.

Once he’s seated comfortably at the counter again, Dean crosses his arms and pillows his head on top of them, making sure he can still keep Cas in his line of sight. Cas glances over his shoulder occasionally, watching as Dean settles in.

After a minute of silence, Cas asks quietly, “Are you feeling any better at all?”

“A little,” Dean answers, but now he sounds stuffy and the dubious look Cas sends him indicates that he hears it as well. “I’m just fucking sick of this.”

Cas takes one last glance into the pot before carefully stowing the spatula on the spoon rest that Dean had insisted they get for the kitchen as soon as they had made the bunker their permanent home. Once he’s set the spatula down, he crosses the room easily, one hand coming to rest between Dean’s shoulder blades and moving in small, soothing circles. Cas has always been warm and it feels good to Dean’s aching back and sore muscles. Cas’s other hand threads gently into Dean’s hair, brushing it away from his face and scratching gently at his scalp. It’s all Dean can do not to groan aloud and melt into a complete puddle underneath the stool.

“I’m sorry you don’t feel well,” Cas says for what has to be the millionth time, though it has never lost even an ounce of its sincerity. “Just give yourself a couple more days to recover and then you’ll be back to normal.”

“You said a few days a few days ago.” Dean mumbles, but his eyes have slipped closed and there’s not any actual bite to his words.

Ever since he’d gotten sick, everything had been stupidly difficult. But in this moment, feeling Cas so close to him, smelling the soup that Cas was making just for him— well this is the best Dean has felt in a few days. He had fought it at first, insistent that he knew how to make chicken noodle soup and was perfectly capable of making it for himself. Cas had sat him down and told him with absolutely no room for argument that Dean took care of everyone else and now it was his turn to be taken care of. Any rebuttal Dean wanted to make to that died on his tongue somewhere between the stormy warning that was in Cas’s eyes and the coughing fit that had taken the words right out of his mouth.

And so he had relented, although it had taken a few days to get around to the soup because Dean hadn’t felt up to eating much at first. He’d spent most of his time curled up in bed, head pillowed on Cas’s lap, warning him repeatedly that he was going to get sick, too, if he stayed around Dean. Reminding him that he was human now, and human ailments were something he had to worry about. But Cas had insisted on staying and Dean really hadn’t tried that hard to push him away because he liked the comfort and the company.

And if he ended up making soup for Cas next week because Cas inevitably got sick— if he ended up rubbing circles into Cas’s back while gently brushing his messy hair off his fevered forehead, well, that was a trade Dean was willing to make. He could be taken care of if he needed to be, but only if it was by Cas.

[kedsandtubesocks]

With everything we’ve recently gotten about Gojo’s family I really do believe that once he decides you’re it for him - you become his everything and his heart

But you’re his family now too

And what I mean is that his home is with you, the warmth & love of making new family traditions and even sharing in yours becomes sacred, you and him get to create a new loving space together

He not only gets to experience all of this with you but because of you

So you become his warm welcome home, the family he comes home to, his resting place

[cumironi]

SAY HIII! TO THE CAMERA s. geto

☆ sum. stay quiet and keep him warm and hard, while he is playing video games, that’s the order. but it seems like too much hardness making you lose control of your body.

warning. non-sorcerer au, roommate geto, spank, cōck-drunk reader, petnames, dirty talk, overstim, praises, fem! reader, sugu gets annoyed when you can’t stay still, he’s annoyed because you make him lose, lol, tats-spank, háir-pulling, choking, bit exhibitionism.

there’s something deeply comforting about having geto suguru as your roommate, a kind of unspoken reassurance that no matter how life twists and turns, you have someone in your corner. he’s not just kind; he’s the kind of person who’s genuinely considerate, remembering the little things that most people overlook. his gentle humor fills even the quietest moments with warmth, and his manners, always so natural, make you feel valued and understood. he’s the type of person who holds open doors, who waits for you when you linger on your way home, and who genuinely listens when you speak, as if your words are the only ones that matter.

living together, you’ve come to depend on him in a way that feels both new and familiar. in the late hours of the night, when silence settles over the apartment, there are moments of connection that you’ve never found with anyone else. he's seen you in every state — the vulnerable, raw moments when you’re barely holding it together, the giddy highs when you’re spilling over with excitement, and even the quiet days when all you need is to be near someone without saying a word. every joy and every sorrow, he’s there, a constant presence, filling the empty spaces of your life.

over time, though, there’s another unspoken need that starts to creep in. it’s there in the lingering glances, the way your touches linger just a moment too long, the awareness that builds between you both, each brushing touch leaving a faint trace of longing. you’ve found yourself drawn to him, in a way that goes beyond friendship, a desire simmering under the surface that you don’t dare voice. it’s been a while since you’ve had anyone to share that kind of closeness with, and every time he’s near, you can feel that need building, that craving that he seems to sense. and that ‘desire’ you crave so much, geto is there with an open arms and. . . open legs.

it was one of those days a mix of emotions swirling, a growing desire that had been building in the space between you two, bubbling to the surface. without overthinking it, you found yourself outside geto’s room, feeling a thrill as you opened the door without knocking. you were wearing only your skirt and a simple bra, skin tingling under the weight of anticipation.

geto was at his computer, focused on whatever he had been doing, but as soon as he heard the door creak open, he turned, spinning his chair around slowly. his gaze swept over you, eyes darkening with a spark of something unmistakable as he took you in. he let out a low whistle, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he leaned back, clearly enjoying the view. “well,” he drawled, his voice a touch rougher, “looks like someone’s feeling bold today.”

his own appearance was casual but undeniably alluring. he wore only a pair of loose grey sweatpants, his toned chest bare, catching the soft light from the room. his long, dark hair fell loosely around his shoulders, framing his sharp features and giving him an almost untamed look that made your heart race faster. he watched you with a steady, appreciative gaze, that familiar, playful glint in his eyes turning to something deeper as his eyes traced over your form.

“you here for something, or just planning to drive me crazy?” he teased, his voice low, dripping with that lazy confidence he always wore so effortlessly. you felt your cheeks warm as you stepped into his room, but you didn’t waver, letting your gaze flicker over his chest, taking in the way his muscles shifted.

“i think you know exactly why i’m here,” you replied, keeping your voice light but letting the meaning behind your words settle between you. his smirk widened, and he straightened, reaching a hand out to you, his touch gentle but insistent as he pulled you closer.

his hand brushing your waist, guiding you to stand between his legs. his other hand came up to rest on your hip, fingers tracing small, lazy circles along your bare skin as he looked up at you.

god, the way he looked at you, with that sultry gaze sweeping over every inch of your body, made it nearly impossible to keep your composure. his fingers traced lazy patterns on your bare skin, each touch almost enough to send a shiver down your spine. the air between you two felt thick, electric, as if it held every unspoken thought, every lingering glance and desire that had built up over time. you could hear the faint hitch in his breath as you stepped closer, closing what little distance remained between you.

“is that right?” he murmured, voice low and rough, his tone thick with barely concealed amusement. “and what did i do to earn this little visit? not that i i’m complaining.” his fingers toyed with the edge of your skirt, tracing a slow line up your thigh that sent waves of warmth through you, each touch building a sweet tension that had you leaning in, craving more.

you couldn’t help but hum in response, letting your fingers glide over his bare shoulder blade, feeling the warmth of his skin, the solid strength beneath your touch. your other hand found its way to his hair, threading through the long, dark locks that framed his face so perfectly handsome, your fingers lingering as you gently pulled him closer.

“it’s not what you did,” you replied, your voice a low, teasing murmur, your lips close enough to brush against his ear. “it’s what you can do.” the words hung between you, dripping with anticipation, each syllable filled with a promise you knew he could hear.

geto chuckled, a warm, low sound that sent a shiver down your spine. he leaned into your touch, his hand sliding up under your skirt, fingers splaying against your skin, and you could feel the heat of his palm, the barely suppressed tension in the way he touched you.

“oh?” he drawled, tilting his head so his face was dangerously close to your bellybutton. his lips grazed the shell of your skin, his breath hot against your skin. “and what exactly is it that you need me to do, pretty girl?”

before you could answer, his hands found your waist, gently but insistently pulling you down to sit on his lap. his arm wrapped securely around your bare waist, the other hand still warm and steady on your thigh. you felt yourself sink into him, the heat of his skin against yours, the way he held you close with that effortless confidence.

you leaned in, lips close to his ear as you whispered, voice teasing but edged with a hint of urgency. “you know exactly what i want, suguru,” you murmured, your fingers tracing along his collarbone, feeling his breath hitch as you spoke. “stop pretending to be stupid.”

a lazy smirk tugged at his lips, his gaze darkening with satisfaction as he tightened his hold on you, his hand slipping higher on your thigh, tracing lazy circles that sent a spark of anticipation through you. “oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice rough with restrained desire, “i’d never be that stupid.”

geto shifted his hips, the heat of your bodies pressed together, his hand sliding slowly to the curve of your hip. there was a raw, unabashed hunger in his eyes, his gaze traveling over every inch of your exposed skin, taking in every subtle shudder, every quickening breath.

he pulled you even closer, desperate, and you could feel the tension building between the bitten of you as his other hand slid further up your skirt, his knuckles brushing over your inner thigh, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. his hand squeezed your thigh, fingers digging into your skin, an unspoken promise that sent a shiver of anticipation through you.

“if you want something,” he murmured, his voice a low, rough whisper, “all you have to do is ask.” then he leaned in, his lips trailing a warm path from your collarbone up to your shoulder, and you could feel the low rumble of his voice against your sensitive skin. he nipped at your ear, his voice a dark, lustful murmur. “beg me for it, sweetheart.”

his lips traveled back down to your neck, teeth scraping against your skin, and a small gasp escaped your lips as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. his lips curled into a satisfied smile against your flesh, and his hand slid even higher up your thigh, the heat of his touch searing through you.

“beg me,” he repeated, his voice low and gravelly. “beg me to give it to you… and i’ll give you everything you need.”

and he lies.

you sit on his lap as he games, his cock buried deep inside you, you trying to stifle moans as occasionally he thrusts up into you, barely— either too distracted by his stupid games or he just being his usual self, a fucking jerk and a tease. “such a gooood girl, baby,” he growls lowly into your ear, muting his microphone. after all, he didn’t want his teammates hearing what a good little toy you were being, taking his cock like you were.

how had things turned out like this, you wonder? you were the one that was supposed to be teasing him, not the other way around. now you were the one, stifling whimpers and moans, and almost begging him to fuck you.

“s-suguru, p-please..” you whimper.

he ignores you completely as he goes back to his game, turning his microphone back on, saying, “son of a bitch, you fuckers can’t do anything right, can you?” you wiggle your hips on top of him, trying to get him to pay attention to you more, and his hand comes to rest briefly on your thigh, squeezing it tightly. a warning to knock it off. but you continue doing it. you had to take things back under your control, and what better way than by wiggling your hips, feeling him brush up against your sensitive spot, and letting out a quiet whimper.

he mutes his microphone again, letting out a warning growl, and lowly says, “y/n.. stop moving and be a good girl for me, hm?” his voice is dangerous, a sign to dare you to move even just a beat. but youuu, you tilt your head back, peering back into his face, and smile innocently. “i-i don’t know what you’re talking about, suguruuu. . .”

your back was facing him as you sat on his lap, elbows resting hard on his computer desk. only you cute pink skirt wrap loosely around your waist with no underwear. your bare nipples pressed against the hard surface. geto’s fingers dig into your thigh, holding you still as he continues playing his game, ignoring your attempts at seduction. his breathing grows heavier, the scent of his arousal filling the air between you. he’s clearly struggling to focus on the match with you writhing atop him like this.

“y/n... i swear if you keep this up, i’m going to bend you over my desk and fuck you senseless,” he warns through gritted teeth, voice menacing. despite the threat, there’s an unmistakable note of desire lacing his words.

“now be a good girl and sit still,” he warned, his hand reaches up to grab your hip, pulling you down harder onto his throbbing erection and continue to cockwarming him while he’s playing games with his friends— stupid gojo satoru. a choked gasp escapes your lips as he grinds up into you, stretching you deliciously around his girth.

his grip tightens on your hip, guiding your movements to grind yourself against him even more. he doesn’t care who hears anymore, his mind consumed with thoughts of claiming you right here and now. his game character takes a hit from an enemy player the moment you do a harsh slammed on his cock, causing him to curse loudly into his mic.

“fuck! ’m distracted,” he admits before cutting himself off mid-sentence, realizing just how loud he’d been. he quickly mutes his mic once more, though he makes no move to stop grinding you against him. “that’s what you wanted, isn’t it, y/n? for me to lose focus so i could finally give you what you've been craving.”

his hand slides up your spine from your hip, gripping your neck firmly enough to let you know he means business. “i’m not going to repeat myself y/n, stop fucking moving.” his other hand comes up to slap lightly against your ass after retreating from the keyboard, leaving a warm imprint on your skin before he pushes your chest further to his desk and continues to play his game. gasp!

geto’s dominant grip on your hips and neck sends shivers down your spine, your body responding instinctively to his commanding touch. the sharp slap on your ass makes you gasp and gasp, the sting mixing with the pleasure of having your bare bottom exposed to him.

despite his warnings, you can’t help but subtly rock your hips, seeking friction against his thick length still buried deep within you. your upper teeth sinking lowered on your lower lips, a subtle way to hide the desperate moaning. your breath hitches as he pushes you harder against the desk, the cool wood a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body beneath you.

as geto focuses back on his game, you find yourself leaning forward more— your nipples touching the cold surface making you shiver, bracing your hands on the edge of the desk under you. this position allows you to sink deeper onto his cock, your inner walls clenching reflexively around him.

with each subtle roll of your hips, geto lets out a low groan, his focus waverting from his game momentarily. he pulls you closer, forcing his cock deeper inside you until you feel every inch of him pressing against your most sensitive spots.

“fucking hell, y/n...” he curses under his breath, trying to maintain some semblance of control. but it’s clear that he’s losing the battle against both his own desires and yours, even against his own stupid games. he smacks your ass again, this time harder, leaving a bright red mark on your flesh.

“be still!” he demands, his voice laced with both frustration and lust. his fingers dig into your neck, applying pressure just shy of pain. the smack on your ass sends another jolt of pleasure through you, your body arching back against him instinctively. the mix of pain and pleasure leaves you panting, your pussy clamping down on his cock as if begging for more.

despite his command, you can’t seem to obey. instead, you press your breasts further into the desk, enjoying the sensation of your hardened nipples rubbing against the cool surface. each movement sends ripples of pleasure coursing through your body, intensifying the ache building between your legs.

“suguru... please,” you whisper, your voice barely above a whimper. the desperation in your tone is undeniably begging. geto’s grip on your neck tightens, his thumb brushing over your pulse point rhythmically as he fights against the urge to simply throw caution to the wind and claim you right then and there. instead, he focuses back on his game, cursing loudly when his character takes another hit.

“shit... y/n, shut up before i really lose my shit,” he growls, punctuating each word with a deep thrust of his hips. his cock surges deeper inside you, hitting that sweet spot that makes stars burst behind your closed eyelids. his other hand losing the touch of his keyboard for a beat to sending a slaps down on your ass again, this time in slow deliberate strokes meant to draw out your pleasure. he’s punishing you for making him lose focus, but also rewarding you for being such a tease.

geto’s punishing thrusts send waves of ecstasy crashing over you, your nails digging into the desktop as you struggle to hold back cries of pleasure. the slow, deliberate slaps on your ass echo through the room, each impact sending tingles racing up your spine.

“ahh!” you manage to gasp out between ragged breaths, your pleas growing more desperate as the coil of tension inside you winds tighter and tighter. the combination of his thick cock stretching you open and the relentless stimulation to your sensitive ass has you teetering on the brink of climax. you can feel the telltale fluttering in your core, signaling your impending release.

geto’s jaw clenches as he battles to keep his composure, refusing to let go and indulge in the sweet release that beckons him. his fingers waltz down from your neck to the curve of your hip, tightening on the soft flesh, his grip bordering on bruising as he holds you in place, denying you the friction you crave.

“not yet, y/n... you don’t get to come until i say so,” he rasps, his voice strained with the effort of restraint. his hips buck upward sharply, burying himself to the hilt inside you for the countless times and grinding against your clit with a forceful thrust.

he repeats this motion several times, using your body for his own pleasure, before pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in with brutal intensity. the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by your muffled moans and his guttural groans.

the rough treatment only fuels your desire, pushing you closer to the edge with each powerful thrust. your pussy clamps down on his cock, milking him for more as you ride the wave of pleasure he’s forcing upon you. the way you roll your hips like you are either desperately looking for the climax you’ve been craving for the past hours, trying to get revenge for keeping you waiting, or just simply trying to suck his soul— geto are fine either way.

“pleaseee. . . sugu’—’m gonna cum,” you stutter out, the words trailing off into a series of whimpers. your inner walls clench and flutter around his cock, pulsing with the intensity wanting of your release, “please, ’m sorry,” you cry. your body convulses, each tremor rippling through you as you cling desperately to the desk.

geto grunts, feeling your walls clamp around him, urging him towards his own climax. but he refuses to give in just yet, determined to make you pay for distracting him with your teasing. “not good enough... beg properly,” he commands, his voice a low growl. he slams into you again, driving his cock even deeper than before, stretching your inner walls to their limit— kissing your cervix each time. his hand moves from your hip to your dripping cunt, his fingers delving into your wetness, stroking at your swollen clit.

he keeps up this merciless pace, alternating between hard thrusts and swift withdrawals, driving you to the brink of madness. your pleas become more frantic, your body trembling under the onslaught of sensations. “please— let me cum, i need to...” you gasp out, your voice hitching on each word as you fight to maintain coherence.

each stroke of his fingers against your clit sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, amplifying the ache in your core. the combination of his thick cock pounding into you and his skilled fingers working your clit has you teetering on the precipice of obliviation.

“i’m sorry, i’m sooo sorry— pleasee...” you sob, your plea turning into a keening wail as you about to reach your pea only for geto to lift you up off his cock before slamming back into your pussy— playing with your climax and just generically being an asshole.

geto leans over you, his hot breath fanning across your ear as he whispers darkly, “not yet... not till you learn your lesson.” with each thrust, he aims to prove his dominance, showing no mercy as he punishes you for your disobedience. his fingers never relent from their torment of your clit, adding fuel to the fire that’s consuming you from within.

he reaches around to grab your breast, squeezing it roughly before pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. the sharp pinch sends an unexpected surge of pleasure coursing through you, making your back arch off the desk and the game long forgotten.

“beg better...” he taunts, knowing full well that he’s playing with fire. without saying a word to his friends, geto left his game to open his computer camera. he grab a fistful of your hair to pull your face away from the desk. a soft light illuminating your face. geto smile to his camera as he saw your fucked-face, ruined by your tears and your mascara.

he pulls you closer until your back touches his sweaty chest before snake his arm under your thighs and opens your legs wider to his camera. “say hi, to the camera y/n,” he whisper in your ear as he rest his chin on shoulder. your breath comes in short gasps, each thrust of his cock sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. the split pinch on your nipple only adds to the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

you whimper, your voice choked with unshed tears. the sight of his hand gripping your hair tightly sends a shiver down your spine, reminding you who’s in control. with the way he pressing your back against his chest, knees straight glue to your chest, you can’t help but squirm on top of him. his heavy breathing in your ear, the warmth of his body against yours—it’s all too much.

“hi. . .” you manage to choke out, your voice barely audible. the words are directed towards the camera, but they’re laced with desperation and pleading.

geto chuckles, dark and mocking, at your feeble attempt to address the camera, his amusement evident in the way he tightens his grip on your hair. he increases the tempo of his thrusts, his cock pistoning in and out of your drenched cunt with ruthless efficiency— visible to the camera of his computer.

“that’s iiiit... look pretty while you’re getting fucked,” he murmurs, his voice a husky whisper that sends chills down your spine. he watches you through the screen, purple eyes glinting with a predatory gleam as he observes your reactions. his free hand trails down your body, exploring every curve and crevice with possessive intent. he cups your breast, giving it a firm squeeze before smacking it hard enough to leave a red print on your skin.

“still think you can distract me?” he asks, his tone laced with challenge.

your body quivers under the onslaught of sensations, each thrust of his cock sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you. your heart pounds in your chest, each beat echoing the rhythm of his thrusts. “n-no—can’t, i won’t,” you stammer out, your voice choked with emotion. the sting of his slap on your breast makes you flinch, but it also intensifies the heat coiling in your lower belly. despite the pain and humiliation, you find yourself pushed closer to the edge, teetering on the brink of orgasmic bliss.

geto smirks at your admission, pleased with the submission in your voice. he drives into you harder, relentlessly in his pursuit of your pleasure—and your punishment. “mmm, good girl... now cum for me,” he orders, his voice a seductive mix of command and promise. he lets go of your hair to grasp your throat, applying just enough pressure to ensure your attention remains focused on him and nothing else.

the hand that had been smacking your breasts now finds its way between your bodies, rubbing circles onto your clit while still keeping a firm hold on your throat. he watches intently, observing how your face contorts in pleasure, enjoying the sight of you succumbing to his will.

“let me hear it... let me hear how good it feels when i fuck you senseless,” he demands, his tone leaving no room for argument. “come on baby, i know you are dirty girl.” your entire being focuses on the sensation of his cock plunging into you, each thrust hitting spots inside you that send waves of pleasure crashing through your body. the pressure on your throat and the stimulation of your clit combine to push you closer to the edge.

a strangled moan escapes your lips, your voice breaking as you try to comply with his demand. “it- it feels so good— so fucking good...” you pant, your words punctuated by gasps and whimpers. your pussy clenches around his cock, desperate for release as you cling to the last threads of sanity.

geto grins at your words, satisfaction washing over him as he feels your pussy tightening around his throbbing member. he tightens his grip on your throat slightly, forcing a choked cry from your lips.

“that’s it... that’s my good girl,” he praises, his voice a deep rumble of approval. he quickens his pace, each thrust becoming more powerful and deliberate. the sound of your moans and the sight of your flushed face spur him on further. he wants to see you unravel, to witness the moment when pleasure overtakes reason. “cum for me... show me what a fucking mess i’ve made of you,” he grunts, his fingers rubbing furiously against your clit, eager to draw out your climax.

your body trembles on the brink of release, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. the feeling of his fingers circling your sensitive clit sends you spiraling into oblivion. you throw your head back to his shoulder, closing your eyes as you feel your toes curling and your legs shaking in the air. stars running around behind your eyelids and burst into fireworks.

a loud cry rips from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you, your cunt clenching tightly around his cock as wave after wave of pleasure courses through your body. your limbs feel weak, your mind foggy as you ride out the intensity of your climax.

“oh god, oh godddd...” you whimper, your body wracked with sobs as you struggle to regain control as geto watches you through his screen. geto relishes the feeling of your cum spasming around his cock, begging to milk him dry and sucking his cum out, and paint your velvet walls white. he lets out a low groan, his own climax building rapidly.

he continues to rub your clit mercilessly, determined to prolong your pleasure even as he approaches his own peak. his grip on your throat loosens slightly, allowing you to breathe raggedly. “look at you... crying and coming like a fucking whore,” he mutters, his voice thick with lust. he gives one final, deep thrust, burying himself completely inside you as he releases his seed deep within your womb.

your body continues to convulse with aftershocks of pleasure, your cunt still clamping sporadically around his cock. the sensation of his hot cum filling you up pushes you over the edge once more, another wave of ecstasy washing over you. through tear-filled eyes, you gaze up at the screen, meeting geto’s intense purple stare. your mouth hangs open just a wee, panting heavily as you struggle to process the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

“fuck, suguru,” you whimper, your voice hoarse from crying out during your orgasms. your arms fall limply to your sides, unable to support your weight any longer. you’re utterly spent, drained of all energy and willpower, finally. all you can do is sit there on his lap, impaled on his cock, as he fills you with his essence.

geto watches you intently, drinking in the sight of your ravaged expression and trembling form. he keeps his cock buried deep inside you, relishing the feeling of his cum slowly leaking out of your used hole.

he finally releases your throat, his hands moving to cup your breasts instead, squeezing them gently as if testing their weight. he strokes your nipples with his thumbs, teasing them back to hardness. “such a beautiful mess,” he whispers, his tone filled with pride and satisfaction. he reaches up to gently wipe away some of the tears trailing down your cheeks, his touch surprisingly tender given the rough sex you just endured.

once he’s satisfied with your appearance, he leans back in his chair, pulling you against his chest as he cradles you in his strong arms. he strokes your hair soothingly, humming a soft melody that seems to vibrate through his body and into yours.

“so beautiful,” he coos, his voice a warm caress against your ear, eyes meeting yours in the land of his screen. “shame we’re only roommate,” he smiling softly before kissing your forehead. your body molds against his, seeking comfort and reassurance after the intense session. struggling the way your body trembling, with the energy left you move to face him, nuzzle into his neck and curl up on his lap, breathing in his scent as you slowly come down from the high of your multiple orgasms.

you let out a soft sigh, your breath tickling his skin. despite the tenderness of the moment, you can’t help but feel a pang of sadness at his words. as much as you crave his touch and desire him intensely, you know that this is all it can ever be—a secret tryst between roommates.

“yeah, what a shame,” you murmur, your voice barely audible. you trail off, not daring to finish the thought aloud. you know it would be futile to hope for more, to dream of a future where suguru could be yours openly and without shame. geto holds you close, his arms encircling your waist possessively. he tilts your chin up with one finger, forcing you to meet his intense gaze.

“don’t look so sad, kitten,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “we have this, don’t we? these moments, just you and me...” he leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, sensual kiss. his tongue delves into your mouth, exploring and claiming every inch of you. when he finally pulls away, you’re both left panting softly.

“i know it’s not ideal,” he admits, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. “but it’s better than nothing, isn’t it? at least we can have this... this connection.” he smiles ruefully, a hint of melancholy in his eyes. “and who knows?”

you nod slowly, trying to convince yourself that yes, this is enough. it’s not ideal, but it’s something—something real and raw and incredibly satisfying. you capture his hand and press it against your cheek, holding it there as you gaze into his eyes. “yeah, whatever,” you agree softly.

you lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his palm before releasing his hand. you snuggle back into his embrace, feeling contented and oddly fulfilled. maybe this was all you needed after all—to share these stolen moments with geto, to experience the depth of emotion and physical intimacy that he alone could provide.

geto’s smile widens at your acceptance, relief washing over him with hummed followed along after. he wraps his arms tighter around you, pulling you flush against his muscular frame. “whatever indeed,” he chuckles, the vibrations of his laughter resonating through your body. he nuzzles your hair affectionately, inhaling your scent deeply.

“i’m glad we understand each other, kitten,” he says softly, his voice tinged with warmth. “now, how about we take a nap? i think we’ve earned it after that intense session.” he settles back in his chair, cradling you in his lap as he reclines comfortably. his cock, still semi-hard, presses against your ass, a constant reminder of your recent activities.

“just rest here with me,” he whispers, stroking your back soothingly. “let’s recharge our batteries for the next time.” geto grins, a devilish glint in his purple eyes. “what a sweet shit-talker,” you mutter, too tired or maybe too much of a coward to say it out loud.

the soft insult making the raven-haired man snort, “well, aren’t you a cynic?” his hand moves to stroke your hair, his touch gentle yet firm. “but hey, even the biggest cynics need a little sweetness now and then, right?” he chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. “and besides, i’m just looking out for my favorite roommate.” he winks, his smirk playful yet dangerous.

you roll your eyes, attempting to put up a facade of indifference, but you can’t stop the small smile that tugs at your lips. “oh, so i’m your favorite, huh?” you retort weakly, leaning into his touch. “i must be so honored.”

he lets out another of those low laughs, the sound sending a shiver through you. “oh, you should be,” he says, his voice lilting with playful arrogance. “i don’t just let anyone sit on my lap, you know. you should count yourself lucky, sweetheart.”

you let yourself relax in his embrace, the warmth of his body surrounding you like a comforting blanket. his hands continue their soothing motions, roaming over your back and hair, lulling you into a state of blissful contentment. despite your exhaustion, a cheeky thought crosses your mind as you snuggle closer to him.

“favorite roommate, huh?” you tease, your voice low and sultry. “i thought i was your only roommate.”

geto chuckles once again, his chest rumbling against yours. “ah, semantics,” he replies, his voice a mix of amusement and feigned nonchalance. “details, details. my favorite… my only… same difference, really.” he pulls you even closer, his arms encircling you like a warm, muscular embrace. “besides,” he murmurs, his lips finding the sensitive spot on your neck. “you're the only roommate i need.”

you couldn’t help but smile, feeling the warmth of his chest rumbling with his quiet chuckle, his voice laced with that familiar mix of amusement and teasing. his arms tightened around you, drawing you closer until there was hardly any space between you, his embrace both comforting and exhilarating.

as his lips found that sensitive spot on your neck, a soft sigh escaped you, and you leaned into his touch, letting your fingers trail gently along his shoulder. the way he held you, the warmth of his breath against your skin, everything felt like second nature, the kind of closeness that only he could bring.

snuggling closer, you let out a quiet laugh, your eyes half-closed as you nestled against him. “cheeky bastard,” you murmured, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you relaxed into his arms. his warmth enveloped you, and you closed your eyes, letting the moment wrap around you like a gentle haze.

his lips curved into a smirk against your skin, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your back. “damn right i am,” he replied, his voice low and amused. he shifted in his chair, his muscular arms flexing as he pulled you even closer. you were practically pressed flush against him now, the heat of his body seeping through your skin, a comforting and exciting presence.

geto hums, a pleased sound that vibrates through his chest. his fingers continue their gentle, soothing motions, tracing invisible patterns on your skin, as if he’s trying to memorize every dip and curve of your body. “but i prefer the term ‘charming, irresistible bastard,’ thank you very much,” he replies jokingly. “and besides, you like it when i’m cheeky.”

a laugh escapes you as his words sink in, a warm, playful sound that melts into the air around you. “i don’t know where you got that idea,” you reply, your voice light with mock indignation. “i never said i liked it when you’re cheeky.”

but even as you deny it, your arms find their way around his bare waist, pulling yourself closer, and you can feel his warmth seeping into you, steady and grounding. the rhythmic beat of his heart thumps under your ear, a soothing lull that makes the rest of the world feel like it’s melting away.

with a soft, relieved sigh, you let yourself relax into him, the tension slowly leaving your body as you settle in his embrace. it’s moments like this—his warmth, his quiet hum, the way his fingers trace gentle patterns on your back—that remind you of how safe and at home you feel with him.

geto's lips curve into a satisfied smirk as he feels you relax against him, as if he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you. his arms wrap even tighter around you, enveloping you in a comforting embrace.

“mmm,” he murmurs, the sound of a low vibration in his chest. “deny it all you want, sweetheart. but we both know you secretly find my cheeky behavior adorable,” he punctuates his words with a light nip at your neck, a teasing gesture that sends a shiver through you.

[rafecameronssl4t]

73 Questions with Vogue || Drew Starkey x actress!reader

Summary: just you participating in 73 Questions with Vogue and it goes viral!!!

Warnings: fluff!!!

Word count: 1,935

A/n: It's been so long since I've written a Drew fic!!!!!!! Also I got inspired by my previous acc's fic so if it seems familiar to some of you who followed me from there, don't come at me, I loved the idea too much lol. CAN SOMEONE PLS SEND ME REQUESTS FOR DREW FICS???

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

"Hello!" You greet the interviewer with a bright smile, swinging open the door to reveal him and his camera. "Hi, Y/n! Mind if we come in and ask you 73 questions?" he asks, his tone friendly and warm. "Yeah, of course! Come on in," you say, stepping aside and holding the door wide open, gesturing for them to enter as the camera pans through the foyer of your house. The space is beautifully designed, with soft lighting that gives it a cozy, inviting atmosphere.

"Wow, what a gorgeous house you have," the interviewer remarks, his voice filled with genuine awe as his eyes take in the sophisticated yet comfortable décor. "Thank you!" you respond, the compliment warming you as you flash a radiant smile. "Is this your favourite house?" The interviewer asks, already settling into the rhythm of the questions as you lead them down the hallway and into the open-plan living area.

"Yes, it definitely is. It's in my home city, and Charleston means so much to me, just like this house does," you say, your eyes lighting up as you gesture around. The view of the beach through the large windows makes the space feel even more special. "I love the view," the interviewer comments, looking out at the sunset that bathes the room in warm golden light. "The sunset looks amazing from here."

"It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?" you say with a soft chuckle. "I love spending time in this room specifically. It feels like a little sanctuary." You both share a laugh, enjoying the peaceful moment. "What's your morning routine like?" The interviewer asks as the camera follows you through the coastal-themed living room toward the kitchen. You pause for a moment, thinking about your answer.

"I haven't had much of a routine the past few months because of work, but currently, I wake up to a strong cup of coffee and a walk through downtown," you share with a soft smile. "It’s become a little ritual to clear my mind before everything gets too busy." As you stroll through the warm, inviting spaces of your home, the camera captures the personal touches that reflect your personality—a mix of elegance and laid-back comfort.

A question about your career comes next, and you happily share some behind-the-scenes anecdotes from your latest film. "This," you begin, the affection in your tone unmistakable, "is a magnet Sydney gave me when we wrapped filming Immaculate earlier this year." You glance at the picture, a grin spreading across your face. "It’s a photo of the two of us in our nun costumes... let’s just say, not doing very nun-like things." You laugh, the absurdity of the memory still fresh, and hold the magnet up for the camera to focus.

The image shows the two of you mid-laughter, each holding a cigarette with exaggerated defiance, your habits slightly askew, as though caught mid-rebellion. "What's the best compliment you've received?" the interviewer asks, a hint of curiosity in their voice. You pause, your expression thoughtful. "Oh, that's a tough one," you say, your lips curling into a playful smile.

"I think the best compliment I’ve ever gotten was when someone said, 'You're like Meryl Streep… but, you know, with fewer Oscars.’" You chuckle, shaking your head in amusement. "It was the kind of backhanded compliment that made me laugh for days." The interviewer laughs along with you. "That’s a good one," he says, clearly entertained. As you make your way towards the outside deck, the interviewer continues with another question. "Texting, calling, or FaceTiming?"

You grin as you lean casually against the railing, looking out at the beach below. "Oh, definitely FaceTiming," you say with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I’m terrible at replying to text messages. I’d much rather see people's live reactions, y’know?" A more personal question comes next, and you smile thoughtfully as the interviewer asks, “How do you handle the pressures of fame?”

You nod, taking a moment before responding. "I lean on my family and friends—they keep me grounded. And I remind myself that pressure is a privilege. It means people care about what I do, and that means a lot." Your voice softens as you speak, the sincerity of your words clear as you step into your home office, showcasing the awards and accolades lining the shelves. The conversation turns to your personal life, and a warm, affectionate smile spreads across your face.

"Congratulations on reaching your two-year anniversary with Drew!" The interviewer says with a grin, and you beam in response. "Thank you!" you reply, your eyes sparkling as you think of him. "Drew is incredible. He’s my biggest supporter, my partner in everything, and honestly, just my favourite person. It’s been such a special journey since starting my career, and I’m so grateful to have him by my side."

"What's the key to a successful relationship?" He asks. You pause as you walk through the hallway, your gaze softening as you think. "I think it’s communication and a lot of patience. No relationship is perfect, but being able to talk things through and genuinely listen to each other makes all the difference." You smile, adding, "Oh, and laughter—if you can laugh together, you can get through just about anything."

The sound of the front door creaking open interrupts the moment, and a familiar voice rings out, instantly making your face light up. "Oh, there’s Drew right now!" you say, smiling brightly as you move toward the foyer. The camera follows you, capturing the scene as Drew enters, with Nellie, your cocker spaniel, bounding beside him. "Hey, baby," He greets you as he slips off his sunglasses, pulling you close for a tender kiss

When he pulls back, his eyes widen slightly as he spots the camera. "Oh, 73 Questions with Vogue?" he asks, a playful grin tugging at his lips. You giggle, nodding your head. "I forgot you were doing that today," he chuckles. “Go ahead, continue your interview," he adds with a fond look before walking off with Nellie. As the camera returns to you, you make your way toward the stairs, glancing over your shoulder to find Drew already on the floor, happily playing with Nellie.

A soft giggle escapes your lips, captured by the camera momentarily fixated on the fleeting connection. "What's something people don’t know about you?" the interviewer asks, pulling you back into the conversation. You pause, thinking for a second. "I’m actually allergic to most flowers," you reveal with a sheepish laugh. "Really? I wouldn’t have known," the interviewer responds, clearly surprised. "Oh, absolutely! When we film Outer Banks, they have to shoot around the flowers, or I'd be a sneezing mess," you confess, casually walking backward while maintaining a steady gaze with the camera.

The tour continues through luxurious walk-in closet, filled with designer attire. “What’s your pet peeve?” You laugh, shaking your head in mock exasperation. "Oh, definitely when people chew loudly. It’s like nails on a chalkboard for me. Chase is notorious for doing it on purpose, so I avoid him during my lunch breaks," you add, giggling at the memory. "Where was the best vacation you’ve been taken to?" the interviewer inquires as you step into your shared bedroom with Drew, the ocean stretching out just outside the windows.

"I think I’d have to say Vienna with Drew for my birthday," you say, smiling over your shoulder as you look out at the view. “A song you replay often?” "Hm, I think Charlie, Last Name Wilson," you say with a grin, rifling through the records. "It never gets old, and it’s super catchy." You smile as you pick it out. "Most of you guys would know that this song is also Drew and Austin’s favourite, so we always play it on set," you chuckle. "Does the rest of the Outer Banks cast like it too?" the interviewer asks, laughing along. "They don’t have much choice," you joke with a grin.

"Is there anything from any set that you've taken home with you?" The interviewer asks eagerly. “Oh, I love this question!" you exclaim, opening a drawer to reveal a variety of souvenirs. "This is the bag my character 'Whiskey' from Glass Onion owned," you say, showing off the brown frill bag. "And here’s a pack of Italian cigarettes from Immaculate, they’re just props, by the way," you add with a wink.

You pull out a cowboy hat. "This one’s from Tom on the set of Billy the Kid," you explain. "And this," you say with a smile, holding up a ring on a necklace. "This is Rafe's ring, the one he gave my character." "What a beautiful photo of the two of you," the interviewer notes, pointing to the large black-and-white photo of you and Drew at a Vogue photoshoot above your bed.

"It is! That day was actually so special for us. We both got the call saying we’d been cast in our respective roles that we’d been auditioning for," you explain, your face lighting up with nostalgia. The interviewer then asks about Drew’s upcoming movie. "Speaking of which, Drew’s film Queer is coming out very soon. Are you excited to watch it on the big screen?" "Yes, of course!" you say, your voice full of pride.

"I was so incredibly proud of him when he got the role. He was definitely excited too, especially since it’s, you know, the Luca Guadagnino." You chuckle. "I got the privilege to actually be on set for a bit, and it was amazing. Plus, I got to catch up with Daniel," you mention. "It was really nice to see him again." You smile, the pride evident in your expression as you talk about Drew's accomplishments.

The conversation is interrupted by a gentle knock at the door, and both you and the interviewer turn your attention toward it. Drew’s head peeks around the corner, his grin lighting up the frame as the camera zooms in on him. "I made some iced teas—yours is half and half," he says casually, stepping into the room with a tray holding two glasses. You can’t help but beam as he hands you your drink. "Aww, thanks, babe," you say gratefully, your fingers brushing his for a brief moment as you take the glass.

Drew hands the other glass to the interviewer, who looks pleasantly surprised. "Wow, thank you, Drew!" he says with a wide smile. "Of course," Drew replies warmly before glancing at you. "Let me know if you need anything else," he says, shooting you a quick wink before stepping out of the room. The camera lingers on him for a beat as he walks away, capturing his effortless charm.

You take a sip of the iced tea, the cool, refreshing taste spreading through you as you let out a content sigh. "Is this something you drink often?" the interviewer asks, clearly curious. You nod enthusiastically. "Oh, absolutely. I like mine half and half, and I drink it like 24/7," you say with a chuckle, the glass still in your hand. The interviewer grins before asking a more personal question. "I can tell Drew is very thoughtful. What’s your favourite trait of his?"

You laugh softly, caught off guard by the difficult question. "You can’t make me choose—I love everything about him!" you say with a playful grin, your tone light but sincere. The interviewer chuckles along with you, clearly charmed by your response. "Okay, okay, fair enough. But if you had to pick just one thing that comes to mind?"

You pause for a moment, your expression softening as you think. "Hmmm," you hum, swirling your iced tea absentmindedly. "I love the little things he does," you begin, your voice warm with affection. "Like how he always remembers my coffee order or when he leaves me little notes when I’m on set. It’s those small, thoughtful moments that really mean the most to me."

The camera captures your tender smile, and the interviewer smiles himself, visibly touched by your response. "That’s so sweet," he says, his tone genuine. "It really is," you smile, a soft, almost bashful grin spreading across your face. "He’s the best boyfriend I could have ever asked for," you say, your tone filled with warmth and sincerity.

The interviewer watches you with an amused smile, clearly endeared by the dreamy, almost schoolgirl-like look on your face as you think about Drew.

~

The Vogue 73 Questions interview quickly becomes an internet sensation, captivating fans. It was everywhere. Clips of your candid answers and sweet, unscripted moments—especially the one where Drew casually walked in with iced tea—became the ultimate proof of why you were Hollywood’s darling. Within hours of its release, the hashtag #73QuestionsWithY/n trends worldwide.

The comments section was flooded with fans losing their minds over the glimpse into your life. "Can we talk about how Drew KNOWS her iced tea order by heart? If this isn’t relationship goals, I don’t know what is." "Y/n casually being gorgeous, funny, and real in her Charleston dream home? I’m in love." "The way Drew looked at her when he walked in… I CAN’T. He’s so whipped, and I’m here for it."

Memes circulate, celebrating your witty remarks and playful demeanor, while your thoughtful insights and open vulnerability spark heartfelt discussions. The part where Drew sneaks into the interview with iced tea becomes a fan-favourite, with many dubbing it "the cutest boyfriend moment of the year."

“I love how real she is,” one fan tweeted, accompanied by screenshots of your answer about Drew’s little notes and coffee orders. Another post with a screenshot of you laughing at Drew’s confused “Oh, Vogue’s here” reaction read, “You can just tell they’re best friends. I want a love like this.”

The media couldn’t get enough, either. Everyone from gossip sites to prestigious magazines weighed in on how you’d managed to blend the glamour of your career with the warmth of your personality. The buzz reignites interest in your past projects and elevates anticipation for your upcoming ones. Your social media following soars as fans, old and new, praise your ability to remain grounded despite your success.

Meanwhile, Drew’s small but sweet cameo sparks renewed admiration for your relationship, with countless threads and videos dedicated to celebrating your bond. “Y/n and Drew are proof that true love exists,” one viral tweet declares, garnering thousands of likes and retweets. Another fan edits together a montage of your cutest moments from the interview, set to a romantic song, which quickly racks up millions of views.

Drew couldn’t stop teasing you about how viral the iced tea moment had become. “You’re lucky I didn’t walk in shirtless,” he joked one night as you scrolled through TikTok, finding yet another edit of you two. “Please,” you said, giggling, your hand affectionately stroking Nellie, “half the internet would’ve fainted.” “Half?” He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I think you’re underestimating me, babe.”

[pathologicalreid]

burn notice | s.r.

in which your workplace is targeted by a group of extremists, and Spencer tries everything to keep you safe

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: fighting, threats, arson/explosion, politics, mass casualty event, sole survivor, greek mythology my beloved, public transit word count: 2.34k a/n: i genuinely think my laptop is going to start smoking if i leave it on for much longer.

You pull your knees to your chest, sitting on the floor next to Spencer’s desk while he speaks with Hotch about the case. JJ waves at you solemnly before she heads out of the bullpen, leaving you as the last person. Setting your chin on your knee, you close your eyes and wonder how things got so messed up so quickly.

Someone was threatening your work, the threats weren’t directed at you personally, but with the way Spencer was acting, it might as well have been. The BAU had been called in by D.C. Metro yesterday, and that was when Spencer started acting overprotective.

The letters were demanding all of the money from a political action campaign, something you couldn’t give away. The money wasn’t yours to give. “Are you alright?” Spencer asks, having made his way down to his desk.

Accepting his hand up, you sigh, resting your cheek against his chest when he pulls you in for a hug. “Just a long day,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his waist and finally letting yourself relax.

He chuckles lightly at your colossal understatement of the day’s events, gently rubbing your back before he goes to pick his messenger bag up, slinging it over his shoulder before taking your hand, “What do you say we order something out for dinner?”

You hum in response, “I think it’s pretty obvious that neither of us is in the mood to cook.” You don’t even need to bring up the fact that it’s eight p.m., you could be heading home at five and you still wouldn’t have it in you to cook a meal. You slip your hand in his while you’re heading to the elevator, waving briefly at Hotch as he locks up his office.

Spencer lets you sit on the metro, standing until it’s time to switch lines and he finds a seat while you’re headed to Farragut North. You rest your head on his shoulder, wondering if the food you ordered on the phone was going to beat you to the apartment.

You’re half asleep by the time you get to Van Ness, and Spencer practically drags you behind him as you exit the station and walk back to the apartment. As you expect, your food is waiting for you on the welcome mat, complete with the handwritten note from your favorite delivery driver, “God, this smells good.” You say, holding the warm take-out containers in your arms while Spencer opens the front door.

Setting everything on the kitchen counter, you retreat briefly to the bedroom to change your clothes, pulling on an old t-shirt before returning to the kitchen, taking your container, and sitting on the couch. “Are you going to work tomorrow?”

With food in your mouth, you nod at Spencer, watching him sit down on the other end of the couch. Swallowing, you shrug, “It’s election season, Spence. This is one of my busiest times of the year.”

“But there’s a group of people threatening to blow up the building that you work in,” Spencer reminds you, mixing up his food with his fork.

This isn’t the first time you’ve had this conversation today. “At the end of the day, it’s up to my boss to decide whether or not we get to take the day off or if we have to go into the office, and he said that anyone who doesn’t come in tomorrow gets fired.”

Spencer’s gaze narrows, “I quite honestly don’t care. I’d rather we go to having a single income than have you die in a domestic terrorism incident” He points his fork at you, “And for what it’s worth, your boss is an asshole.”

You huff in recognition, now that was something you were well aware of. This job was supposed to be your way in. A stepping stone on your way to being a liaison in the White House, but the world had started to slow down from the moment you entered the world of politics. Every ounce of excitement that you had felt when you first moved to D.C. was fleeting.

Work sapped joy from your life, and everyone around you knew it.

Fiddling with your chopsticks, you dig around in your takeout container for a carrot, “Do you think we could talk about something other than work?”

“I can’t stop thinking about how tonight might be my last night with you,” Spencer says morbidly, aggressively stabbing at his container. It was Spencer’s greatest blessing and his eternal damnation, being able to think so quickly and operate in a way that left his peers miles behind.

He saw the solution so plainly in front of him, standing in his pool of water with a fruit tree creating a foreboding shadow above him, but every time he reached out with the answer, you retreated. “DHS didn’t think it was a credible threat,” you murmur, setting your food down on the coffee table so you can attempt to have a real conversation with him about this.

Spencer huffs in response, the hair blowing strands of his hair around his face, “DHS isn’t emotionally involved in this case.”

You tilt your head to the side, “Do you think maybe you’re too close to this? What did Hotch say?”

“Fuck off,” he snaps. It was an instinctive reaction to your pushing, but that didn’t make the sting any less painful.

Crossing your arms in front of your stomach, you shrink back into your side of the couch, “Is that what you told Hotch, too?” You watch his reaction, the way he presses his lips together in acute shame for what he said to you, but he won’t take it back, and he won’t apologize for it. Not right now, at least.

He’s just afraid, you try to remind yourself. Spencer’s terrified of something happening to you and he has some sort of deep-seated inability to process fear, so when he gets scared, he gets mean. Right now, he was taking his fear out on you, and if something was going to happen to you tomorrow, you didn’t want him to spend his time lashing out.

You turn on the TV, flipping to a program that the both of you like before going back to your dinner, manifesting that the tense silence between the two of you turns peaceful before it’s too late.

“Hey, what are you thinking about?” Nadine asks you, nudging your side gently with her elbow until you snap out of your fugue. “Are you heading home for dinner?”

Checking the time on your watch, you nod absentmindedly, “Probably,” your voice is rough from lack of use, spending so much of your day just staring at election models. You have the privilege of being the only employee who lives close enough to be able to go home for meals—you’d packed a lunch, but you have to stop at home for dinner.

In an unsurprising turn of events, your team was staying late at work tonight. You’d already texted Spencer to let him know, but you doubt that he even looked at your message. “Hey, at least no crazy person came and blew up the office,” she continues, noticing your melancholia.

You laugh without humor, a dry empty sound in response to your co-worker tempting fate. “Yeah, at least there’s that,” you respond, noting the strange air that remains in the suite, people are still thinking about the threat, even if they’re too scared to say it aloud.

Walking back to the office after making a sandwich at home, you pull your phone out of your purse and try to haphazardly type out an on my way text to Nadine, but when you send it, it doesn’t go through. Shaking it off, you drop your phone back in your purse and keep walking, sirens passing on the street as something goes on in the city. You think about texting Spencer again but decide against it—it’s better to give him his space.

A passing pedestrian knocks into you, getting you to lift your head to frown at him, but he just keeps running forward, not even bothering to throw a sorry over his shoulder.

“Is that building on fire?” Someone asks, and your heart sinks into your stomach at the question, picking up your own pace as tufts of smoke billow into the sky, suspiciously close to where your office is.

There’s a mob forming behind the police line, people who were in the middle of their commutes home when they found something to gawk at. Even people who choose to keep walking are rubbernecking, making double steps to look at the building for a split second longer. “Isn’t that the councilman’s office?”

“No,” you breathe, watching the flames as they only grow. The crowd clutches their pearls as people ask about people jumping from the building, your friends who would rather jump and possibly survive than burn to death. People run past you to get closer while you can’t do anything except watch in horror.

It’s not until one of the windows shatters that you move again, the location of the window right next to where you and Nadine had been standing earlier. You push through the crowd, trying to reach the police barricade as people ask Metro PD for answers.

You try to duck under the police tape before someone pushes you back, “No!” You cry, “No, no, no! Please let me through! I work here,” you try to explain through gasping breaths, “This is my job! These are my friends!” You shout over the ruckus, the smell of the fire filling your senses.

“Ma’am, ma’am,” one of the officers talks down to you, “We’re under strict orders from the FBI that no one is allowed to get through.” His voice doesn’t have an ounce of sympathy in it, and it pushes you closer to the ledge.

You point at him accusingly, “Fuck your orders! Let me talk to the FBI!” Desperation oozes from you in every direction as the crowd steps away from the crazy woman shouting about the FBI. “I know them all,” you plead, “just let me talk to them!”

The officer holds his hands out, “Ma’am, I don’t want to have to remove you from the scene.”

But you’ve already moved on from him, noticing a familiar cascade of dark hair on the other side of the barricade, “Oh my god, Emily!” Your voice is comparable to a shriek as you try to get her attention, “Emily, please!”

Relief floods your chest as her head snaps in the direction of your shouting, a confused look quickly morphing into shock as she recognizes you. “Let her through,” She calls to the officers, looking at you as if she’s seen a ghost. “What’s going on?”

You run to her first, adrenaline thrumming through every part of your body as you point to the two officers who made an enemy of you, “Those two won’t fucking listen to me!”

“We thought you were in the building,” Emily says, her tone is eerie, almost haunted.

Gasping for air, you wave your hand around at the building, babbling something about dinner and the walk while she continues to monitor your surroundings.

She places her hands on your shoulders to stop you from bouncing around, “Y/N, Spencer thinks you were inside the building.”

It’s like she’s knocked the hair out of your lungs, you shake your head, “I wasn’t. I was at home. I left for…” your voice trails off at the realization that at this very moment, Spencer thinks you’re dead. At the very least he thinks you’re trapped inside of that building when you very likely could’ve been at the apartment that you share while the fire was set.

“Reid!” Emily calls into her radio, rolling her eyes in frustration, “He took his earbud out.”

You tug at her arm, “Where is he?” Your voice broke, grief flooding your eyes as she communicated with the team.

She nods her head to the left, “He’s on the north side of the building.”

Not even waiting for her to finish her sentence, you took off in a full sprint, ignoring other people looking at you like you’re insane because the only thing you can think of is getting to Spencer. “Spencer!” You shout, your voice ragged from running, throat swelling with emotion as you scream for him.

JJ sees you first, “Reid!”

And you see him. It looks like Derek’s holding him back, stopping him from running into the building when you call out again, “Spence!”

He turns just in time to catch you, nearly toppling onto the ground as you launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him while he holds you so tightly that your feet lift off of the ground.

“Yeah, Emily,” Derek says into his radio, “We’ve got her.”

Your hands tremble with an assortment of emotions as you grip the straps of his Kevlar vest, depending on him to keep you standing, “I’m okay,” you babble, “I wasn’t in there.”

“I’m sorry,” Spencer responds, burying his face in your neck, you hold him impossibly tight as his tears hit your skin, eliciting a sob from the back of your throat.

You gasp, “I know. It’s okay. I’m okay,” you repeat like a mantra, a collection of words that needs to be tattooed on his brain. “We’re okay,” you tell him, smiling faintly as he walks backward to an ambulance, neither of you faltering in your grip of the other.

It seems like every cell that made up his body is shaking as he holds you, “I’m so sorry,” he apologizes again. This time it’s deeper. He’s apologizing for his behavior, sure, but he’s apologizing for this event.

A cry bubbles in your throat. Everything was gone. Your friends were gone. The last two years of your life burnt to ashes.

And when you lose your footing and you otherwise would’ve fallen to the ground, Spencer keeps you up, his grip holding you together—keeping you close.

[levisjinchuriki]

always will be - toji fushiguro

summary: you know the key to a man's heart is through his stomach. toji is no exception

warning: fluff!!!!!!, kisses

written separately, but can be read as pt. 2 of more to love!

toji had always been intimidatingly fit. his sharp abs, toned arms, and broad chest reflected years of discipline and a lifestyle that demanded he stay in peak condition. it wasn’t something he flaunted—walking around shirtless in his own home was just how he lived. he didn’t think much of it, and neither did you.

after deciding to move in together, subtle changes crept into his life, ones he hadn’t anticipated. every night, he came home to a hot and ready meal. you always made sure it was his favorites, learning his preferences without him needing to say much. and the snacks—that was his biggest weakness. you were thoughtful enough to have something sweet or savory on hand, excusing it by saying “just in case you get hungry later.”

now, as toji pads around your shared home, shirtless as always, you can’t help but notice the differences in his physique. his abs are softer now, the faintest hint of a tummy forming where there used to be none. his arms, still strong, have lost some of their definition.

the late-night snacks you share, the hearty dinners you insist he eats after long days, and the lazy mornings spent curled up in bed instead of at the gym— all of it has added up.

at first, toji doesn’t think much of it. he’s always had a big appetite—one you happily indulge. but over the weeks, the changes become harder to ignore. his pants fit a little snug, and the shirts that once fit comfortably now cling to his chest and stomach.

toji glances down at his stomach, giving it an experimental poke. his finger sinks into a soft layer that wasn’t there before. he grunts in realization, muttering to himself “guess i’ve been slacking.”

but it’s not slacking—it’s comfort. love. the ease of sharing a life with someone who makes him feel whole.

“babe” your voice calls sweetly from the kitchen. “breakfast is ready!”. the smell of sugar and cinnamon hits him as he makes his way to the kitchen. and then he sees it– the biggest, gooiest cinnamon roll he’s ever laid eyes on, sitting proudly on a plate you’re setting on the table.

“you’re trying to fatten me up, aren’t you?” he accuses with a smirk.

you glance up, genuinely confused. “what are you talking about?”. cooking for him has always brought you joy.  watching him devour every meal you set in front of him, finishing with a satisfied hum and going up for another serving makes you feel like you’re doing something right. he’s never complained once, and the empty plates he leaves behind are all the validation you’ve ever needed.

toji gestures at his waist, where the elastic band of his sweatpants sits noticeably tighter than it used to. “these don’t fit anymore”.

your cheeks flush. you know full well you’re the reason for the changes, but it’s not something you feel guilty about. if anything, it makes you proud.

“not my fault” you protest, crossing your arms with a playful pout. “you’re the one who goes back for thirds”. your eyes wander over him, noticing how his facial features have softened in the time since you moved in together. his jawline isn’t quite as sharp as it used to be, and there’s a slight fullness in his cheeks now—a small change, one you can’t help but adore.

it’s not just his body that’s softened. there’s a new ease to him, a sense of comfort and peace that wasn’t there before. it shows in the way his shoulders relax when he walks through the door, in the way his laughter comes more freely these days, and in the warmth of his teasing smirk now.

“i think it’s cute” you add softly, your lips curving into a warm smile. you mean it, too. toji might not have the razor-sharp physique he once did, but he’s still the man you fell in love with—strong, handsome, and completely yours.

“cute?” toji raises an eyebrow. “i’m supposed to be intimidating, not cute” he retorts, his deep voice tinged with mock offense. but even as he says it, he knows the truth—he’s gone soft being with you, in more ways than one.

“yeah” you tease, stepping within reach. you stroke his cheek with your thumb. “but you look happy”. 

you’re not wrong. for the first time in his life, toji feels truly content. he doesn’t have to keep his guard up or keep himself for the next battle. instead, he has you, a warm home, and a life that no longer feels like a constant fight for survival.

if it costs him a few extra pounds, he can live with it—because for the first time, it feels like he’s really living.

he smiles, the sincerity in his expression reaching his eyes. “i am happy” he says quietly.

your heart swells at his admission, warmth spreading through your chest. your own smile mirrors his as you lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. 

“you better be. or i’ll stop feeding you” you tease after pulling away.

toji’s eyes narrow, his brows drawing together in a warning. “don’t you dare”. 

before you can react, he pulls you into his lap, guiding your back against his chest with ease. his grip tightens around your waist, and you settle into him, feeling the heat of his body pressing against yours. you both share a few playful, soft and lingering kisses before toji reaches for his breakfast. 

he breaks off a piece and offers you the first bite, feeding it to you with such tenderness. his lips hover near yours as he leans in to steal a quick kiss, humming in appreciation of the sweet frosting that sticks to you. 

if you’re being honest– you’ve noticed the changes in him. the extra pounds that have slowly added up, the snug fit of his shirts, the softness in his once-defined features. but it’s not something that bothers you. in fact, it only makes you love him more. the softening of his body is a symbol of the comfort, the safety, and the ease he’s found with you.

you rest your head against him, loving that he’s comfortable with you, comfortable in this space you’ve created together. toji doesn’t have to be the intimidating, hardened man he was before. he’s allowed to relax, to soften in all the best ways.

“i think you look perfect” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

the edge of toji's smirk falters. perfect. it's not a word he’s used to associating with himself. toji knows his scars, his flaws, the rough edges he’s tried to smooth out over the years. perfect was for things he never thought he could have, for people he never thought he deserved.

but here you are, saying it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

toji tightens his grip around your waist, pulling you closer until there’s not an inch of space between you. he doesn’t speak right away. instead, he lowers his head, his nose brushing softly against your temple, as he repeats the sentence in his head.

“you really think so?” he asks, his voice hesitant.

you tilt your head to meet his gaze, your smile warm and unwavering. “of course. you’ve always been perfect to me. always will be".

the sincerity in your voice is enough to ease his worries. he believes you, knowing you'd never lie to him. he doesn’t know how to respond—how to put into words what your belief in him does to his heart.

so instead, he leans in, brushing his lips against yours. he's gentle, even as he deepens it. it’s not just a kiss; it’s a thank you, a promise, and a confession all rolled into one.

“guess i can live with that” he murmurs against your lips, his smirk returning, softer now. there’s a warmth in his eyes, an acceptance of something he’s still trying to believe.

---

a/n: thank you for reading. happy new year!! <3 what are your resolutions this year?

[heavenbarnes]

Thinking of being Ghost's fiance and making invite the 141 over for dinner to finally meet them and he begrudgingly accepts because anything to make u happy and they're still trying to wrap their heads around the fact that he's engaged

mmm omg your mind 🫶🏼

finally getting older bf!simon to have the 141 around your dinner was the equivalent of pulling teeth.

come to think, pulling teeth would’ve been easier.

“well fuck me for wanting to meet the people the man i’m marrying spends 90% of his time with”

“sweet’art y’know i don’t like bringing work ‘ome”

then you’d gone and put your hands on your hips with just one (1) eyebrow raised-

and the lads were knocking at his fucking door.

“gidday- don’t fuckin’ start w’me”

“some bloody way to greet y’guests, big man”

as he corralled all their snide little remarks about “didnae know ye’ owned a nice shirt” everyone managed to find their best behaviour upon your appearance.

it might’ve had something to do with the stunned silence.

when he’d begrudgingly invited them, they’d all been in a little bit of shock- first of all, ghost had a fiancé? second of all, ghost is letting us into his home?

then it all round off with, third of all-

ghost’s fiancé was a fucking looker, that’s for sure.

sweet, nice, bloody easy on the eyes- how the hell had he managed that?

you were just happy to meet the closest things to friends that simon had.

price took lead by drawing you into a hug, thanking you for your hospitality. followed closely by a sweet talking gaz who was already making your cheeks warm with his manners.

naturally, johnny had to chime in with some stupid little-

“nae wonder L.t disnae want us knowing about ye’, i’d keep ye’ all t’maself too”

he’s too slow to avoid simon’s flat palm coming up the side of his head, but it doesn’t dissuade him much.

he’s peachy fucking keen to meet you.

simon eats his tea with a tense jaw, rolling his eyes every time someone makes you laugh a little too long, tells another ‘embarrassing’ story about him.

he also keeps his palm firmly on your knee, nervous twitch of a thumb running circles over your skin.

when you pop out to the kitchen to fix dessert, they’re on him like starved dogs.

“all this time and not so much as a bloody photo?”

“kinda’ photos i’m gettin’ aren’t f’you lots eyes”

johnny nearly falls out of his seat.

you can hear them whispering all the way from the kitchen, for a bunch of SAS guys- they’re not very subtle.

simon’s got one ear on the shit chatter coming from his team and the other on the kitchen, waiting for the slightest sign that he might be able to join you.

it comes- in the form of a gasp from you followed by “ow fuck”

simon’s out of his seat like a bullet.

“what’s wrong- what ‘ave y’done?”

you know the 141 are watching, doesn’t take a genius to see the way they’re all craning their necks around the kitchen doorframe.

“i’m fine, si- just a little burn from the pan”

“lemme’ see, gimme’ y’hand”

so the 141 see their ghost, unshakeable mountain of a man- a face they never see-

and they see his face, and they see genuine fear on it.

they see simon.

your simon.

“i’m telling you it’s fine, si”

“i’ll make that call, alright”

and they’re all looking at each other across the table, trying to decide whether to be impressed or even a little jealous- they’re leaning towards jealous.

so instead they settle on taking the absolute piss out of him.

not that he minds-

before you could even reach your chair he was pulling you into his lap- having you eat dessert perched on his thigh.

as you settle back into his chest, you could swear you feel him laugh.

that hand settles back on your knee again but there aren’t nervous circles anymore.

more like gentle squeezes.

your simon.

right at home.

[avocado-writing]

hi!! I read your fics and I love your writing style! I was wondering if you could do something with a human reader, maybe she works in a bookshop or she’s a teacher? And it’s all cute because he finds her genuine??? Maybe some angst because she finds herself in danger? Idk sorry I’m rambling I just wanted something with a human reader 🧍🏻‍♀️💐

the place where the pages meet

logan howlett x bookseller!reader

4k words, rated explicit.

cocky!logan; awkward!reader; excessive book references; threat of physical violence (quickly averted); anti-mutant language & sentiments; smut (oral - reader receiving, penetrative sex). minors dni. thank you @saradika-graphics for dividers!

The sky is heavy with the promise of rain, and you suck your breath in through your teeth. It’s fifty-fifty on days like these: either people will seek shelter in your little store, or they’ll scurry away with the fear any purchases they make will get soaked and ruined.

God damn it, what kind of fool opens an independent book shop in New York?

You’re the kind of fool, apparently. Still, it’s your home, both figuratively between all the old paperbacks and literally with your tiny apartment on the top floor. Barely more than a studio, but enough for you. A piece for yourself carved out of this world. 

Outside it starts to pour. You sigh. Well, at least you know you’ll get one visitor today.

Charles, your dear friend and long-time financial supporter of your store, had called earlier to let you know that the usual face wouldn’t be coming to grab his order. It’s a shame, you like Ororo, enjoy sitting and sharing a pot of oolong with her on quiet days. Also she could have chased away this terrible weather for you. Ah well. 

“Who can I expect?” you’d asked. 

Charles had laughed, a warm and friendly sound. 

“Ahh, you’ll know Logan when you see him.”

You don’t know what you’d do without Charles. Between orders of rare books for his personal collections and en-masse copies of classics for the kids, he pretty much keeps this place running for you. Bless that man, honestly, because you’re not sure where you’d be without him. 

The sound of someone pulling up outside has you putting down your book and turning towards the shop window. 

A pickup truck parks up by the kerbside and you watch the man in the driver’s seat emerge into the rain. He cuts a fine figure, tall and strong, but you don’t get a good look at him until he walks through the front door. 

Oh no, you think, he’s handsome. 

Leather jacket now pocked with raindrops, very obvious white vest beneath it showing off his broad chest. He shakes like a dog to get the moisture out of his hair as he stamps his boots on the doormat, pausing only briefly to scrutinise its no admittance expect on party business slogan. 

“Logan?” you ask. He looks up and when his eyes first meet yours? Oh, a fire is sent down your spine. 

“Yeah,” he confirms, looking around to take in the place. You can’t tell if he’s impressed or not. He has a remarkably neutral face, careful, the sort of man who doesn’t want to give anything away about himself. 

“You’re… here for Charles’ books?”

He’s sauntering over to the counter now. Cocks an eyebrow. It goes right through you. Fuck. 

“That’d be me.” There’s a beat. “Why, you think someone’d try and steal them?”

“People can steal books!” you say, defensively. 

“People named Logan who you’re clearly expecting?”

You bristle, because he’s got you. Something flickers over his face for a second: a smile. 

Oh no, you think, he’s handsome and he’s an asshole.

Huffing, you fish the box out from under the desk and groan with effort as you lift it up. Logan takes it from your grasp as if it weighs nothing at all. Your fingers touch as you do. You try to ignore it.

“Thanks,” he says, easily.

“Mm. Mind the rain. It’d be a shame if you slipped.”

A proper smile crosses his face then, but he turns away too quickly for you to let it sink in. The bell on the door chimes as he heads back out into the rain.

Well, you hope you never see him again.

By the same time next week, you’re really hoping you see him again.

You’ve sort of not been able to get him out of your mind. He was kinda prickly, sure, but a welcome break from the mundanity of your life, and pretty good looking to boot. It’s probably just a pipe dream. You’re sure it’ll be Ororo again, and you can go back to the easy pattern of seeing your dear friend. That’s okay. You’re fine with it. Who needs a handsome man? You have your books, you have your store, you’re happy.

Yeah. You’re happy. 

Imagine your surprise, then, when you hear a motorbike outside your shop.

You must be blessed with street parking, because Logan pulls up right outside again. Same jacket, same well-worn jeans. He catches your eye through the window and you’re sure they glisten. You pretend to be engrossed in your book but it’s not fooling anyone, the words swim into soup on the page as you see him approach.

The door goes; he approaches the counter. Closer this time, you can smell him. Tobacco and leather. Fuck it’s good.

“You should wear a helmet,” you say, trying to be flippant. Logan lets out a single, solitary note of a chuckle from deep in his chest.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks for your concern, though.”

You feel your cheeks heat up and try to hide it by looking for Charles’ order again. It’s a single book, a first edition you had to go through the backwater book depositories to hunt down. You’re the best at what you do, though, so it was no real problem. It’s why he always comes to you.

“Here you go. Let him know I’ll try and find the sequel if he’s interested, too.”

“Sure.”

Once again your fingers touch as you hand the book to Logan. No. No, this is too quick! You want to keep him here for a little while longer. He looks so out of place between the wonky shelves and hanging plants, it’s just perfect.

Your mouth tries to say two things at once: can you tell Charles I’ll have his other order ready same time next week, and, do you like to read often? 

Instead what comes out is, “can you read?”

You must wince when you ask the question, because Logan stands there transfixed. Baffled, just for a second.

“Can I… read?” he repeats slowly. 

I’ve failed you, I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t stop your mouth in time, says your brain.

“I didn’t mean… of course you read… I just… I didn’t want to assume… maybe you didn’t like books… erm…”

“Yeah, I read,” he says softly, as if you are an old dog and he is putting you out of your misery. You fucking wish he would. Jesus Christ, it’s like you’ve never spoken to another person before.

You can’t find a way to recover this. Your cheeks are on fire. You’re going to explode and burn down your store. Oh authors, you are so sorry for using all these works as kindling.

You expect Logan to turn on his heel and walk out but he… doesn’t. Instead he takes a step back so that he can look at the shelf nearest to the desk. Runs his fingers across the spines before picking one. It’s slim, no more than the width of his finger; he puts it on the counter and fishes his wallet out of his pocket.

In the Miso Soup by Ryū Murakami. You ring him up, punching the price into your old cash register, give him his change. His palm is soft as you drop coins into it. 

“See you next week,” he says, stashing both his book and Charles’ inside his jacket. 

“Okay,” you say, amazed you’re able to get any words out, and watch him walk away again.

He does see you next week.

The sun’s out, so he’s sans jacket, and oh fuck you can see how his arms are like treetrunks. The way this man has you reacting is unhealthy. You try and focus on the hardback in your hands but all you can picture is those veins which are bulging on his biceps, begging you to come and get to know them better.

“You’re always reading huh?” 

His voice makes you jump a little, you’re not expecting him to be so close. You look up. He slides his sunglasses up into his hair. Fuck it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Would you trust a bookstore owner who didn’t read?” you ask, bristling with the need to defend this little shop and your place in it. He holds his hands up in the universal sign of peace.

“Not an insult, just an observation.”

You sink back from attack mode, walls still a little high, but definitely coming down.

“How did you get on with the Murakami last week?”

Logan takes a moment to consider this, trying to piece his answer together in a way which won’t offend you.

“I liked it until the last chapter.”

You sit up in your chair. 

“Yes! A lot of people say that. It feels like it ends sort of abruptly, but if you just appreciate it for what it is, it’s a good book.”

He smiles a little as you speak. You fucking love talking about books, to a degree some people find absurd. You don’t want to babble though, so you force yourself to end your observations there.

Logan nods at the book in your hands.

“What are you reading now?”

You lift up your book so he can see the cover: A. S. Byatt’s The Djinn in the Nightingale’s Eye. 

“It’s very good! Byatt has such a wonderful way of writing. I love fairy tales and there’s such a wonderful voice in this one. They made the titular story into a movie a couple of years back, it’s quite good actually, it has Tilda Swinton in it.” You’re floundering. Don’t stray too far from the normal lines of conversation. Mouth, for fuck’s sake stay on course, begs your brain. It doesn’t. Instead you ask, “do you… like Tilda Swinton?”

Logan raises an eyebrow and you know this is a man who has never once had to consider the question of whether or not he likes the actress Tilda Swinton. 

Mouth still talking. MOUTH STILL TALKING, your brain screams. It’s true. It is. You were too busy being horrified to notice.

What your mouth says while being unchaperoned is, “There’s a little single-screen theatre nearby doing a showing of it this week, actually, do you wanna come with?”

DID YOU JUST ASK HIM OUT. DID YOU JUST ASK HIM OUT?!

Logan doesn’t seem to know what to make of that. He seems just as shocked that you’ve asked as you are. But then, just as you want to cast yourself into the street so that a passing garbage truck might take pity on you and sweep you away, he smiles. It’s slow, but it makes him look so much hotter.

“Sure, why not.”

Oh mouth you genius. I shall never doubt you again.

“Oh, okay, great! Uhh, are you free Friday?”

“I can be. What time’s the screening?”

“Seven. Meet me here at six-thirty?”

“It’s a date.”

Fuck, it is a date, isn’t it. It’s a date!

Logan stands there, awaiting something. You’re confused for a beat, then go up on your tiptoes, aiming your mouth towards his.

“As much as I appreciate the gesture… Charles’ book, honey.”

Hmmm, okay. Still time for the earth to just swallow you whole then, actually.

You sort of don’t expect him to turn up. You wouldn’t go on a date with you, all awkward edges and uncomfortable words. And he’s… the coolest fucking guy you’ve ever seen. 

Of course he won’t turn up. Of course he won’t. 

He turns up. 

He’s waiting for you outside the store, leaning against a lamppost, dressed in flannel and smelling like subtle cologne. You can’t help lighting up when you see him and hope you’re dressed suitably - your nicest pair of dungarees and a tight-fitting jumper. 

“Hey! You made it,” you say. 

“‘Course I did,” he replies with a little smile. Oh, you’re giddy. 

“C’mon, it’s not a long walk. It’s a nice night too.”

He lets you chatter as the two of you make the brief journey, content to have you talk his ear off about business and books. He’s happy to answer any questions you ask him about himself: what he does for a living, how he knows Charles, if he’s got anything else on his to-read list. The two of you skirt around the most obvious thing: if he lives at the mansion, he’s definitely a mutant. You can’t quite get the courage to ask him about it. Seems easier to just let it lie, so you do. It’s not that important anyway, you think, you like Logan, with or without any extra bits. 

When you arrive at the little hole-in-the-wall cinema, he gets the tickets and the popcorn and the drinks. You do your best not to feel absolutely pathetic by his side. Surely everyone here knows you’re punching above your weight with this absolute grade A specimen of a man? You’re so busy looking around the foyer to make sure nobody is staring that you almost don’t realise when he takes your hand in his.

“You with me, honey?” he asks, soft, low. You swallow thickly and nod because for once, you can’t find the words.

It’s not a very full screening, which is just fine, because you’re happy to be alone with Logan in the dark. You share a bucket of popcorn and a secret little thrill runs up your spine every time your fingers brush together. When that’s finished, he puts his arm around the back of your chair and you snuggle up against his side, cursing the damn plastic cupholder in the middle forcing you to keep a distance. 

One hundred and eight minutes. They’re not enough. You want to be here forever. But eventually the credits roll, the lights come up, and Logan has to pull his arm back; you hope the reluctance in the withdrawal of the gesture isn’t just your imagination. 

“What did you think?” you ask, standing up and stretching. Logan follows suit, mulling over the question. 

“It was… cute,” he decides. “I can see why you like it.” 

You beam. 

“I can lend you the book if you want. It goes into way more detail about the main character’s life at the start, it’s very stream-of-consciousness but I really enjoy it? It’s different to the other stories before it but definitely worth reading. I think that…”

You’re outside now, under the streetlights, fingers tangled easily with his, and when he stills you’re pulled to a stop too. 

“Hmm?”

He drops his grip on your hand so that he can put one under your jaw, tilting your head to get a better look at you. Your heart beats violently. He can definitely feel it. He knows. You don’t care. Fuck, he’s so near. 

“You talk a lot, huh?” he asks. It’s not unkind, the smile on his face is one of fondness, and all of your skeleton turns to jelly as you fucking melt under the affection in his gaze. 

“Please shut me up,” your beg comes out as a whisper, and he does. 

His lips are rough against yours, guiding, but sweet. The hair on his face tickles your cheeks. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and bring him down to kiss him with more enthusiasm. This is not a public-appropriate display of affection, and someone honks their car horn at you both, but it just serves to make you laugh against his mouth and keep going. His hands slide onto your hips and hold you tight against him. Possessive. Wanting. Covetous. 

“You know,” he says when he pulls back for air, still running his lips along the line of your jaw to the hinge beneath your ear, “when Charles told me I should go and get those books, he said I’d like the person who runs the store. Didn’t expect you to be such a gorgeous little thing, though.”

You, gorgeous! Logan thinks you’re gorgeous! You could do a fucking cartwheel in celebration. You don’t though, you’d probably give yourself a concussion. 

His hand goes to his pocket and his brow furrows and, for a second, you panic. Has he started regretting kissing you already? Another quick kiss calms that down though, settling the simmer of worry in your stomach. 

“I think I left my wallet in the theatre. Hold on, I’ll grab it, then I’ll walk you home?”

“Only if you come in with me,” you breathe, and once again your mouth has taken the reins on that one. Logan huffs a laugh, a little incredulous, but mostly pleased at your gumption. 

“Okay, sweetheart. Okay.”

He leaves you standing there, feeling all tingly. This is happening. It’s fucking happening! Sometimes the stars align for a book nerd and a handsome guy wants to come up to their studio apartment. You thank Jesus, Buddha, Arthur C. Clarke - whoever is listening, they fucking deserve it. 

“You gonna fuck that mutant?”

The voice sends a chill down your throat. 

The trio of guys standing behind you do not look friendly. The biggest one, the one standing in the middle, sneers at your panic, crossing thick arms over a broad chest.

“Well? I asked you a question.”

You screw your courage to the sticking place, puffing up a little. 

“Don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you spit back, hoping that vitriol will deter them. It does not. Instead, they close in, hyenas around a cadaver. 

“Never had a human dick you down good enough, huh? Need a little help? C’mon baby, we’ll show you.”

He reaches out to grab your arm. You let out a noise of panic. 

At the same time, Logan’s fist collides with his face. 

The guy is sent stumbling back, spitting out a globule of blood. His friends step away with panic in their eyes. Logan moves in front of you, his bulk your shield, three metal claws extending from between his knuckles. 

Yeah. Mutant, huh?

“I think you were just leaving, pal,” says Logan in a voice which doesn’t bear messing with. The man bares his reddened teeth. 

“The fuck do you think you are, mutant scum--?!”

He lunges for Logan and the breath is sucked from your lungs when you see he’s pulling out a fucking knife, but another punch sends him flat on his ass. The blade clatters across the street and into the gutter. His friends grab either one of his arms and half stand him up, half drag him away.

“Shit, it’s not worth it—!” is their conclusion as they disappear into the night, shouting back expletives, blood trailing from their leader. Logan shakes out his fist, flexes his fingers; claws retract. He turns to you, slowly. 

“You okay?” he asks, hurriedly checking you over. You nod. 

“Y…yeah. Shaken.” you confess. 

“C'mon. Let’s get you home,” he sighs, and from the cadence of his voice you can tell he’s worried the night has been ruined. You place your hand on his bicep. 

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you still… will you still come up?”

He softens. 

“If it’ll make you feel safer, sweetheart.”

It does. 

And that’s how you find him sitting on your well-loved couch in between your needlepoint pillows, looking around your tiny home as you make a pot of coffee to share. 

“Jesus, you’ve got more books in here than in the store,” he mutters. 

“Well, some of them I couldn’t part with. I like them too much. And, as you pointed out, I am always reading.”

You look around at the shelves stuffed into your flat, the dozens of them holding hundreds of novels, plays, poems. You love them all dearly. They all hold a special piece of your heart, you can remember where you were when you read most of them. (Downstairs while manning the desk is often the answer). 

“Oh, even this?”

You can hear the smile in Logan’s voice. He’s holding up a copy of Fifty Shades. You scoff, rolling your eyes. 

“Christ, I read that as a professional courtesy to the art of bookselling. Got it for fifty cents at a thrift store. It’s crap. If you want some good erotica I can recommend…”

The sentence lingers unfinished. Logan raises his eyebrows. 

“You can recommend what, huh?”

The coffee is ready. You can smell its rich scent enveloping your little apartment. An idea forms. Creates a heavy anticipation on your tongue. Your brain screams at you. 

Locked. Loaded. Fire, mouth, fire!

“… then I’d recommend you take me to bed,” you say.

Logan stares, eyes wide. You’ve had an immediate effect on him. His pupils dilate. 

“I… honey, after earlier, I’m not sure if you should…”

You cross the room and sit on his lap, an easy feat when his legs are so thick and inviting. His sentence stops as you press your mouth to the pulse in his neck. Kiss. 

“I’m a consenting adult,” a kiss on his cheek, “who’s invited you into their home,” a kiss on his brow, “and is asking you to take them across their painfully tiny apartment and fuck them. If you don’t want to, that’s okay, but Logan? I’ve been game ever since you first walked in from the rain.”

He looks up at you to double check that you’re telling the truth, then kisses you with such ferocity that you squeak. 

You do not make it to the bed. 

He undresses you there on the sofa in the middle of your bookshelves, between Brontë and Austen, beside Carter and Rushdie. Your clothes end up in a messy little pile on the coffee table. It gets kicked and the pile of literary magazines slide to the floor as Logan moves to take off his shoes, letting you drag his jeans down and off of him, cupping his cock in his boxers.

Fuck. Thick, heavy, large, you want all of it. All of him. 

He leans you back against your kitschy little pillows with book quotes on them and pulls your dungarees off, an act both ridiculous and endearing. He catches your knee in his hand and begins to kiss up your thigh towards your underwear.

“Fuck,” you whisper as he presses a kiss to your sex over the fabric. He grins up at you from between your legs. 

“That was the plan.”

He fucks you with his mouth like a man starved, luxuriating in the little sounds you make for him, pressing fingers inside you without any effort at all. You cum all over his knuckles embarrassingly quickly. He looks sorta smug. 

“Baby, when was the last time someone took care of you…?” he asks, licking a stripe along your sex to taste what he’s done. You huff. 

“Too long. You gonna fix that?”

It’s a challenge and he takes it as one. You strip off his shirt, making sure to get a good feel of his muscles as you go, kissing his pectorals and abs just because you can. He slides inside you with one thrust, one of your legs in a crook at his hip; the other with its ankle resting on his shoulder. He starts moving and the couch shakes but all you can do is cling on for dear life to the crocheted blanket. 

“Holy shit… so fuckin’ tight… aren’t you just the most gorgeous thing…” he hisses. You reach up enough to tangle your fingers in his hair and drag him down for a kiss, sloppy and charged with heat. His hand moves in between your legs and you cum for the second time that night, hissing with satisfaction as he spills inside you. 

You collapse onto the sofa together, your heavy breaths harmonising. When he pulls back to kiss you this time it’s softer. With intention. With reference. 

“Uh, you know, they’re showing To Kill a Mockingbird next week. Maybe dinner beforehand, if you’re interested?”

He laughs affectionately and you can feel the rumble in his chest.

“Sounds good. You’ll have to lend me the book first.”

Fuck yeah. You’re never doubting your mouth again. 

Taglist: @falsewordz@malfoys-demigod@belilwen@mildly-salted@tvwebs@childeslegstrap@getmeoutofhell@s1eep-o@just-a-beatlemaniac69@yrthr@momopad@sugarplumz100@captainjinkx@madspads@acrosstheunivcrse@yeethaw13@na-is-salty@florduarte@hunterispunk@starfleetteddybear

[redrose10]

I hope everyone likes it and thank you for your patience!

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Snake Hybrid Yoongi x Female Reader

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, euthanasia, doctors office and sickness, mentions of mating/breeding but no smut, abandonment

Word Count: 6,432

Yoongi stared out of the passenger window watching an unfamiliar world roll by him.

“She’s a really good person, trust me. She’ll take good care of you and she won’t hurt you.”, Taehyung spoke from the drivers seat trying to calm his friend’s nerves.

“You said she was scared of snakes. I give it twenty four hours before I’m back at the adoption agency because she was too scared to have me in her house.”

It wouldn’t be the first time Yoongi was adopted and then swiftly returned.

The first time was when he was in his early teens. He had just been put up for adoption for the first time. It didn’t take long for someone to come in and show interest in him, a young mother had adopted him as a companion for her two kids thinking she was being a cool mom by getting them a snake hybrid instead of the usual dog, cat, or bunny ones.

Yoongi arrived to their home happy and ready to be there for the kids in any way he could only for them to scream and run in fear as soon as they saw the snake hybrid. He was returned first thing the next day after spending the night locked up and alone in the garage.

Then shortly after, he was adopted by some guy. They had an alright relationship for a few months until his new girlfriend came over. She took one look at Yoongi and gave the ultimatum of her or the hybrid. The guy chose her and Yoongi was dumped on the side of the road several days later.

Yoongi never had a real home even before those events. After being bred in a lab as part of an experiment he was used for research for many years. Kept in a room that was too small and not nearly warm enough. Fed barely enough to keep him alive. Poked and prodded for hours on end and threatened with euthanasia if he dared to act with aggression.

Then a couple weeks ago he overheard the director of the shelter he was currently being housed in. The guy made it clear that he was tired of wasting money and resources on an adult snake hybrid that no one was ever going to adopt. One of the volunteers at the shelter, Taehyung, begged and pleaded with the owner to give him more time to find a home for Yoongi. Taehyung had become somewhat fond of the stoic hybrid, but unfortunately didn’t have the time, space, or money to adopt him his-self. Ultimately the owner gave him two weeks to find a permanent home or it was the end of the line for him.

And that’s how Yoongi found himself in the passenger seat of Taehyung’s car on his way to meet some woman who he overheard is terrified of snakes yet for some strange reason agreed to adopt someone who has half the DNA of one.

You paced around your house trying to busy yourself and avoid the feeling of dread that was building up as you knew Taehyung was getting closer. You really regretted agreeing to adopt a snake hybrid. Ever since you were a small child you have been terrified of snakes. Even the sight of one could bring you to tears. You didn’t have much experience with snake hybrids either since they were pretty rare to begin with and you definitely never went out of your way to meet one but you imagined you wouldn’t like a hybrid anymore than a a pure snake.

Taehyung knew this. He also always said you had a heart of gold which he used to his advantage when he gave you a whole sob story about Yoongi’s life and everything he had been through. You did feel bad for him and genuinely did want him to have a good home. You just wished his new home was going to be on a luxurious island while he was being pampered and that it wasn’t going to be with you.

Taehyung had assured you that you wouldn’t even know Yoongi was half snake. He said he was calm, quiet, kept to himself. He ate normal food just like any person.

You cringed at remembrance of the awkward moment with you asking if you were going to have to store a bunch of dead mice in your freezer but he assured you with a smile that Yoongi would be happy to eat whatever you were but if you wanted to do something extra special then get him some tangerines as a treat. They were one of his favorites but gave him stomach aches so he couldn’t have them often.

There was also the issue of your cat, Alice. You felt bad for even thinking about it but you were genuinely concerned with having a snake hybrid under the same roof as a house cat. But again you were informed that it wouldn’t be an issue and that Yoongi actually loved cats even if he would never admit it. One of his best friends growing up was a cat hybrid named Jimin.

After a couple days of thought you finally agreed to let Yoongi stay with you. But you were severely second guessing that decision as you heard a car pull into your driveway. Your anxiety immediately sky rocketing.

Taehyung entered your home and quickly swallowed you in a big hug as he usually did.

“Y/N, this is Yoongi. Yoongi this is Y/N.”, he said getting right to business seemingly a little short on time.

At first glance you really couldn’t tell he was part snake at all. He was slightly shorter than Taehyung and only a little taller than you. His reddish orange hair really stood out as a surprise. You don’t know why you imagined him with jet black or maybe even green hair but then you remembered from the info packet you were sent that he was a corn snake and from the little bit of research you did before your fears got the best of you too much you remembered the colors of a standard corn snake and it made sense after all.

His eyes were a deep brown and didn’t appear snake like as you had imagined…one of your biggest worries. Something about their eyes was always so unsettling to you. You didn’t really see any terrifying fangs or a forked tongue. He had a cute button nose. No scales that you could see but Taehyung did mention he had some small scales sprinkled around his body. When you cringed Taehyung was quick to inform you they looked more like a cool tattoo than actual scales so you wouldn’t freak out if you ever were to see them. After all this Yoongi looked like any average guy about your age. You dared to even say he was attractive.

“Hi. Nice to meet you.”, you whispered.

“Yeah you too.”, Yoongi nodded feeling uncomfortable with how uncomfortable he could tell you felt.

Taehyung quickly said goodbye mumbling something about traffic and the rain and a hard ass boss so he left rather quickly even though internally you were pleading with him to not leave you alone.

“Umm so I guess I can show you to your room.”, you said wanting to escape the awkward silence.

Taking him upstairs you swung open the door making room for Yoongi to follow in after you.

“I’m sorry it’s not much. But I got you a bed and there’s a desk over here. Taehyung said you like to write so I got you a few new notebooks and some fancy pens. And uh maybe we can get you a tv or something but in the mean time you’re welcome to watch tv downstairs whenever you want.”

Yoongi looked around the room. He had never had his own bedroom before. The most he ever got was a corner of the basement and if he was lucky they might hook up a heat lamp for him. This was incredible and he didn’t really know how to respond but he also knew there was no way he was going to trust you even with all of this. Especially when he could sense how terrified you were just from standing next to him.

“Okay well I’m gonna go cook dinner. Um let me know if you need anything.”, you said before quickly exiting the room.

Yoongi waited all night and all of the next day to hear the familiar words he dreaded but had gotten so used to. Then one day turned into two and then into a week and then into three weeks and so on. You never mentioned anything about kicking him out or taking him back to the shelter. You offered him several meals a day even though he politely declined not needing to eat as much as you. When he did eat he preferred to do it privately and he appreciated that you respected his space. He kept to himself most of the time. He didn’t want to do anything to upset you and cause you to send him back. He could still feel the tension radiating off of you any time he did walk into the same room.

You were starting to feel terrible that you were still so scared of him. He had done nothing to make you think he was any kind of a threat other than the dna that created him which he had zero control over.

He was polite. He cleaned up after himself. He even took on some chores around the house like vacuuming and cleaning the litter box, two of your least favorite things to do.

You smiled as you remembered the day you came home to find him frantically tearing apart your house. Your blood pressure rose slightly worried that this was him beginning to act out until he dropped to his hands and knees to search for something under the couch. “Here kitty kitty kitty.”, he said shaking the treat bag.

When you finally asked what was wrong, it turned out that he couldn’t find Alice for their daily nap session so he was worried she had escaped when he took the trash out earlier. He had been looking all over for her. Your fear subsided and was replaced with admiration at the panic he was going through over the thought of loosing your cat who had since become his cat too. You were able to calm him down and show him her usual hiding spot in your closet where thankfully she was peacefully curled up in ball oblivious to the hysteria she caused him. He scooped her up mumbling something about never scaring him like that again and that now he needed double the nap time just to calm his nerves.

It warmed your heart however you still couldn’t shake the constant reminder that there was a snake in your presence.

Likewise Yoongi, while slowly warming up to you, was still waiting for those words. Every night when he crawled into his big fluffy bed that was in his slightly too cold room that he was too afraid to tell you about he wondered if the following day would be the day it all ends.

He really liked living with you. You left him to do his own thing most of the time. You gave him more food than he could eat. You even went out of your way to buy him a birthday cake when he said he had never had one. His birthday wasn’t for another six months but he ate the cake happily not wanting to let you know he thought it was disgustingly sweet and he hoped you would ever find out that it made him sick later that night.

You purchased him a bunch of new clothing when you noticed he wore the same two outfits over and over. He didn’t want to know how much you spent because it would only make him feel guiltier. He didn’t think he deserved it.

You even drove him an hour across the city so he could hang out with Jimin for a while. He didn’t expect you to and he was shocked that you did, especially when he could sense your unease from being so close to him through the whole car ride.

Yoongi did have to admit he was a tiny bit jealous when you welcomed Jimin into a hug with open arms, not that he was really a hugger himself to begin with. But watching you be so relaxed around Jimin as you scratched his fluffy cat ears and giggled when he used his tail to tickle your nose made Yoongi feel a tinge of hurt. No one ever wanted to cuddle with a snake.

He could tell that you were slowly warming up to him but you were still cautious thanks to his dna. He wished more than ever that he could be cute and fluffy like Jimin, maybe then his life would’ve been much easier.

When the two of you returned home that evening he decided that he was going to attempt to cuddle. He had never done it before but watching you cuddle Jimin made him long for that comforting touch.

So he waited until he smelled the popcorn and he heard the television click on. He waited a few minutes to not make it super obvious that he had been waiting for this moment. Then he took a deep breath and shoved his shaking hands into his pockets so you wouldn’t see them and went downstairs to where you were located.

“What’s up?”, you asked after noticing him awkwardly standing in the doorway.

He shrugged, “Nothin, just thought I’d come watch a little tv.”

He sat on the couch next to you but made sure there was enough space that you weren’t touching so not exactly cuddling.

You were scrolling through the movie options when came across the Harry Potter films.

You were completely shocked when Yoongi said that he had never seen any of the movies so you excitedly hit play and handed him the bowl of popcorn to get a handful.

As the movie went on and you really got into it Yoongi started feeling his confidence increase. Slowly but steadily he started inching closer and closer to you until his body was just mere centimeters from yours.

Then he heard the gasp. He panicked thinking maybe you were freaked out that he was so close to you and he instantly regretted everything. He tried to scoot away but you grasped onto him burying your cheek into his shoulder. You kept your head swiveling between looking at the tv and looking at his neck. Your hands had instinctively grabbed onto his and you were fiddling with his fingers. He could sense that your heart rate had significantly increased from the few minutes before.

When he looked up at the screen he saw what was the cause of all of this. Harry Potter was talking to a very large Burmese Python. Then the glass was gone and the snake started slithering out of its cage and onto the ground as people screamed in fear. Yoongi could feel you tensing up as you squeeze his hand a little tighter.

Once the scene was over and the snake was no longer on the screen he waited for you to release him but you never did, instead you snuggled in a little closer and took some of your blanket placing it on his lap so he settled into the couch and tried to take in every single moment of his first ever cuddle session.

When the movie ended and you finally released your grip on him shyly admitting that you hadn’t planned on that Yoongi started to laugh. He realized something he hadn’t before.

“What is so funny?”, you asked amused.

“Nothing…nothing.”, he said unsure if he should bring it up.

“Seriously Yoongi. What is so funny?”

“Well I just realized something. Y-You got scared about the snake in the movie. And then spent the rest of the movie cuddle up to a…a…a snake hybrid. I just thought that was kind of funny.”

You thought about his words for a moment before chuckling yourself, “Yeah I guess I’m lucky you’re just so cute and cuddly.”

Your eyes widened and before he could respond you quickly grabbed your things and headed up stairs feeling overwhelmed with embarrassment.

Yoongi sat there for a moment basking in your words. In his life he had been called many many things but cute and/or cuddly we’re not it and it was you of all people to say those words. He loved it but it also terrified him in ways he never felt before.

Ever since your little cuddle session things were kind of awkward between you. You were stuck between really really liking him and wanting to spend every minute of the day next to him but no matter how hard you tried you still had it in the back of your mind that he was part snake and that you weren’t sure if you should have those kind of feelings towards him. And Yoongi was stuck between realizing he was falling in love with you and not wanting to get hurt because he knew you would never ever feel like that towards him. So he started distancing himself from you.

He had been doing his best to be as easy and simple to live with as possible. He didn’t tell you about how his room was a little too cold or how he had a little rash from the lack of humidity in his room. He didn’t tell you how all of the onions you always cooked with gave him heartburn. He was too afraid to anger you in some way for fear that you would return him.

But then one morning he woke up with a little issue that was getting harder and harder to ignore.

Ever since the first child ran in fear when they saw him, Yoongi begged the shelter director for contacts. He said they would help him get adopted. He had always worn glasses to help with his poor eyesight but he wanted the contacts to help conceal the snake like quality of his eyes. His red irises and large black pupils often made people look away in fear or uncomfortableness but with the contacts he looked human. His intimidating eyes replaced with soft brown ones that looked warm and welcoming instead.

He had been down to two pairs and since the director made it clear that he was no longer spending any money on him he was too afraid to ask for more.

So for the last couple of months he had been wearing the same pair 24/7 and much past their expiration date too nervous of what you would think of him if you saw his true form.

The thought of you running in fear made his heart hurt just a little bit more than he’d like so he wore the contacts even at night just in case.

Then this morning he woke up with swollen eyes that were bright red and hard to keep open. Every time he blinked it felt like he was being stabbed with a burning hot knife. The fear of permanently going blind started creeping into his mind.

To make things worse he could hear you calling his name from downstairs. Reluctantly he went to find you.

“Hey I’m going to the grocery store and just wanted know if there was anything you neeeedd…Oh my God!! Yoongi are you okay? What’s wrong?”, you said quickly walking over to him to get a closer look.

“Yeah yeah I’m fine. Just some allergies or something. You know Alice practically sleeps on my face all night.”, he chuckled.

“Um I think maybe I should take you to a doctor just to be safe. This looks worse than allergies.” Yoongi tried to protest but you were already on the phone calling the first office that Google provided. Thankfully they had an opening later that same afternoon.

“Nervous?”, you asked noticing his leg bouncing up and down for the last several minutes.

“Yeah I uh I don’t do well at doctors.”, he said which wasn’t completely a lie. He had spent the first half of his life being treated poorly by people in white coats so he grew to be uneasy around them, this time though he was more nervous about what the outcome would be once you saw his true form.

“Min Yoongi.”, the assistant shouted into the crowded waiting room.

“Need me to go with you or are you okay by yourself?”, you asked.

Yoongi had never even thought about that and suddenly he felt a huge sense of relief, “I can go in alone. It’s no big de-.”

But he was cut off by the same assistant, “She’ll have to come back with you. Sorry it’s a requirement for all first time patients.”

Yoongi and you both nodded and followed her back into one of the exam rooms.

“The doctor will be right in.”, she smiled before closing the door.

Taking in the view of the room you started to worry that maybe you accidentally booked a pediatric hybrid doctor. The room was decorated with brightly colored music notes and cute drawings of different animals. One of those motivational posters with a picture of a cat hung on the opposite wall. You were about to pull out your phone to double check when the door swung open, “Good afternoon. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long. My name is Dr. Hoseok Jung but you can call be Dr. J, Doc, Hobi, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

He walked in not looking like any doctor you’ve ever seen before. He was wearing jeans with neon paint splashes on them paired with matching neon Jordan’s and a tshirt you were pretty sure was from Gucci. No white coat and the only indication of who he was being the name tag he wore clipped to his shirt. He had a big bright smile as he shook your hand. You caught yourself wondering if he accepted human patients too because he seemed so bright and bubbly.

“You must be Y/N and you must be Yoongi! So, what brings you in today?”, he said clasping his hands together.

Yoongi too shy to speak looked to you for help.

“Oh uh well he woke up today with his eyes pretty irritated. He says it’s allergies but I just want to make sure it’s nothing serious.”

Hoseok studied Yoongi for a moment, “Hmm yeah I can see that. Well first I have some quick standard questions to go through. I just want to see if anything stands out as unusual or anything. Yoongi you’ll probably have to answer most of these yourself.”

He started typing away on his laptop before he paused to look at Yoongi, “Alright so just to confirm you are 31 years old, a male, and a corn snake hybrid. Is that correct?”

“Yes that’s correct.”

“Perfect! And how long have you lived with Y/N?”

“Probably like ten-ish months now.”

“Good…good.”

“Eating okay? Sleeping okay? Enough energy to get through the day?”

“Yeah yeah everything is fine.”

“Alright and no aches or pains other than your eyes?”

For a moment Yoongi thought about bringing up the painful rash he had since the humidity in his room wasnt right but he didn’t want to irritate you or scare you any more than you already were going to be so he decided against it?

“No, just my eyes.”

“Well that’s good. And lastly how is your libido?”

Your eyes widened and Yoongi nearly choked on his spit, “I’m sorry what?”

Hobi smiled unfazed and clearly used to getting that kind of a reaction. He continued, “You know your sex drive…your want to mate…your desire to breed? Would you say it’s below, above, or just about average?“

“I uh I um uh I…average I guess.”, he mumbled. His poor cheeks were nearly as red as his hair and you felt so bad but couldn’t get over how cute he looked like that. And then the doctor asked a question that embarrassed you just as much.

He was typing away on his laptop, “Mmhmm. Mmhm, that’s good. One more super duper awkward question and then we’re done. Do you notice an increase in your sexual desires when you spend time around an ovulating female?”

You kept your eyes focused on the silly cat poster in front of you not wanting to make this any more uncomfortable than it already was by looking in Yoongi’s direction.

You didn’t hear him verbally respond but the doctor must have gotten the answer he needed because he closed his laptop and walked over to the sink to wash his hands. Your cheeks felt hot and were probably just as red as Yoongi but thankfully no one mentioned it.

Okay this might hurt for a bit but I want to get a better look.”, he said pulling out a small flash light and shining it into Yoongi’s eyes while he gently tried to pry them open.

You felt awful watching him flinch in pain.

“Yoongi when was the last time you removed these contacts?”, the doctor asked.

He chewed on his lip for a second trying to buy some time, “It’s been a while. A couple months at least. I used to take them out for a little here and there but I’ve been keeping them in all the time lately.”

“I see…and are they colored contacts?”

He simply nodded.

The doctor was slowly piecing everything together as he started washing his hands again before reaching for a pair of gloves.

“Unfortunately they need to come out. You have quite a nasty infection going on.”

Curiously you watched on as the doctor put a few drops into Yoongi’s eyes to help them relax a little so he could get out the contacts. Hobi helped him wipe his eyes and then added a few more drops to give some additional relief.

Yoongi blinked a few times before trying to look anywhere but at you.

“I’m going to put a little of this gel in your eyes. We’ll give you a prescription to take home along with some eyes drops. Y/N, if you want to come over here I can show you how to apply the gel. He’ll probably need help with it.”

You nodded before taking a few steps over and stopping in your tracks. It was the first time you had seen his natural eyes. Gone were the soft brown eyes that you had slowly come to know and fell for. They were replaced with red iris’s surrounding large black pupils, the irritation only making them more prominent. There was definitely something snake like about them yet they were beautifully unique. You were a little taken back but you reminded yourself who you were looking at and his eyes didn’t change who he was.

And even though your brain was trying to admire them your body had other plan and Yoongi definitely took notice.

The way you moved to stand behind the doctor as a way of protecting yourself.

Your feet slightly turned and pointed towards the door like you were ready to escape.

He could sense your blood pressure had risen.

His worst fear had come true. But not only were you scared of his true form and he would most likely be heading back to the shelter, he also felt his heart breaking because he knew he was going to be going the rest of his life knowing he loved you and you only saw him as a monster.

The doctor showed you how to apply the gel and he gave you a couple bottles of drops. Yoongi was going to have to wear his glasses for a few weeks until his eyes cleared up and then you could take him to order some new contacts. He even gave Yoongi a bottle of medicated lotion “just in case” any skin issues were to come up and he gave you a pamphlet on how to properly care for a snake hybrid which you appreciated.

The drive home was silent. Yoongi declined your offer of dinner even through you suggested his favorite chicken place. You assumed it was probably because he was still embarrassed about all of the questions earlier so you didn’t pressure him and went home instead.

Yoongi spent the rest of the day locked in his room while you read through the info packet from the doctor. By the time you were done you felt like a horrible irresponsible person. You had thought you did enough research but you were really mistaken. Poor Yoongi was probably freezing and no wonder the doctor gave him a special lotion. The doctor had seen this before so he knew that his room wasn’t providing what he needed and was going to cause him issues.

So bright and early the next morning you headed out with a list of things to purchase to try and make Yoongi’s room more comfortable for him.

At the same time Yoongi was already up and packing. He only packed up the clothes he had arrived with not wanting to take anything you bought for him other than a couple pairs of socks that were really soft and fuzzy, he hoped you wouldn’t mind.

He also grabbed the stuffed mouse you had won him in one of those claw machines at an arcade. It had a pink bow and you had named her Petunia. He found himself holding onto the little mouse at night and he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep without it.

He realized that it was getting quite late and that you were nowhere to be found. He searched the house and started wondering if maybe you were so scared you couldn’t even spend the night under the same roof as him.

Right as he was about to grab his bag and just leave on his own he heard the door open and you come barreling in. He could hear the crinkle of bags and boxes banging against the wall. You were clearly talking on the phone.

“Yeah I know Tae, thanks for telling me by the way…

Of course it was a mistake!…

I’m terrified! What if something happened?…

Okay yeah but still…

Well I’m just saying that it was something you probably should’ve brought to my attention when you asked me about adopting him…

I was so stressed all night. I left as soon as I got up this morning…

No way! I’m not doing that any more…

I’m gonna fix it right now actually. I just got home…

Okay bye…”

Yoongi could feel the familiar sensation of tears beginning to cloud his eyes although this time it hurt more than usual. Whether it was because his eyes were already irritated or because he knew this was his last chance or because he really liked you and didn’t want to leave…he wasn’t sure, maybe it was a little of all three.

He tried to compose himself sensing your footsteps coming towards his room but you were quicker than he was. He already had his coat on when you knocked, “Hey mind if I come in so we can talk?”

Yoongi nodded his head.

You took a seat at his desk and turned to look at him.

“Wow your eyes already look a little better…Wait! Are…are you crying? What’s wrong?”, you asked rolling the chair closer to him.

“Nothin, what time are we leaving?”

“Leaving? What do you mean?”

Yoongi scoffed, “You’re taking me back to the shelter aren’t you? I heard you talking to Taehyung.”

You felt your heart drop and your own eyes started filling with tears. You should’ve been more careful knowing everything that he had been through and that he could hear exceptionally well especially through the thin walls.

“Yoongi no no no. I’m not taking you back to the shelter. Quite the opposite really.”

“But…but you’re terrified of me. My real eyes make you uncomfortable. I can tell and you shouldn’t have to be scared in your own home. I heard you talking to Taehyung.”, he sniffled, “It’s fine. I’m used to not being wanted so you can just drop me off at the shelter or I can walk. I don’t mind.”

You watched him gently wipe away the wet streaks on his cheeks. “Oh Yoongi…”, you said moving over to the bed and wrapping your arms around him and squeezing him tight, “I’m sorry that I made you feel like that but you are wanted. I do want you Yoongi.”

He started crying even harder into your shoulder. His body convulsing with sobs as you tried to sooth him through your own tears.

After a few minutes he began settling down so you took his hand in yours.

“Yoongi I…I know I’ve put a big emphasis on the snake part of you but honestly I stopped caring about that a long time ago. I just didn’t realize it until recently. I like you Min Yoongi. I…I uh I might even love you. I’m sorry that I didn’t do enough to make you feel welcomed here.”

He sniffled, “But what about the stuff on the phone?”

“The stuff I said to Tae was about how I didn’t know that your room needed to be a certain temperature with specific humidity levels and I feel terrible that you’ve been suffering all this time. I was mad at him for not warning me and mad at myself for not being brave enough to do the research I should’ve have before you moved in. I’m sorry Yoongi. But if you want to stay here then I want you here too.”

His face was still buried in your neck but you could feel him nod his head bringing a smile to your face.

After you gave him some time to calm down you asked him to help carry everything you had bought upstairs to his room.

When you were all done setting everything up he had a brand new heated blanket that had several different settings, a new humidifier, and a space heater for when he needed a little extra warmth. You had an electrician coming in the following week to see about the options for installing a heat lamp or something similar onto the ceiling so that he could feel the warmth directly on himself much like a snake would do. You had also picked up some vitamins and a special body wash to help with his skin.

Which reminded you, “Oh! We should put your drops in. Dr. Jung said it was important not to miss a dose.”

Yoongi shook his head, “It’s okay. I can do it myself.”

“I know you can but if I help you it’ll be faster and more precise.”

Yoongi was hesitant but let you take him to the bathroom where all of the products were located.

He sat down on the floor with you on the edge of the tub as you fidgeted trying to get the bottle open.

You put one drop in each eye and told him to keep them closed before the second round.

“Once your eyes clear up we can go order you some new contacts if you want. You can get the clear one or colored ones. It’s up to you. But you don’t have to wear them all the time you know. If your glasses are more comfortable you should wear them, especially at home.”

“I don’t want you or anyone else to be scared.”, he whispered.

“Who cares what other people think. Their opinions don’t matter and I’m not scared of you Yoongi. Besides, I think you look really cute in those glasses.”

You smiled as you watched the blush crawl across his cheeks, “What else about me is cute?”, he playfully asked.

You added the second round of drops, “Well I think it’s cute how you try to hide the way you say your S’s so they don’t sound so snake like. And I think it’s cute how you do a little happy dance every time I stock the freezer with cookie dough ice cream. And I think it’s cute how you have the chubbiest little cheeks.”

You tried to give them a squeeze but he quickly swatted your hand away, “they’re not chubby.”, he pouted which only proved your point more.

After getting cleaned up you both plopped down on the couch ready for another movie night. Alice also joined this time, quickly taking her favorite spot in the center of Yoongi’s lap. You had already accepted that she was now his cat and you were merely the food bringer homer. But you didn’t really care. They were both happy which made you happy.

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and you had no problem cuddling in as close as you could get.

“Hey Y/N.”, he suddenly spoke as you were scrolling through the movie options. You lifted your head to look up at him.

“ Th-Thank you…for everything.”, he smiled feeling like he had a true home for the first time in his life and it just happened the be with the woman he loved, “I just wanted to make sure I told you that. I don’t think I’ve really said it since I’ve been here.”

“Don’t thank me. You deserve it. I’m just happy you’re here.”, you said before giving his cheek a kiss and snuggling back in to his side.

“Ohhh what about this one?”, you exclaimed.

Yoongi looked at the screen and then at you with his eyebrows raised, “Snakes on a plane? Seriously Y/N? That sounds like a terrible idea.”

You shrugged, “Yeah you’re right. I’ll probably get too scared and have to find someone to cuddle with the whole time and then I know I’ll definitely be too scared to sleep later so I will for sure need to find someone to cuddle with and keep me safe all night.”

You started scrolling again but it didn’t take long for laughter to fill the room as Yoongi took the remote from you and quickly scrolled back to the movie. He hit play and settled back in before pulling you close against him and placing a small kiss to the top of your head, “Luckily I’m here to cuddle any time you need it.”

@illnevertrustmyselfagain

[mrchiipchrome]

Te Amo

W.C. - 2.7 k

a/n: alexia is genuinely so grrr I can't even.

------------------------------------------------

A night on the town was all you needed after a long day of flying, packing up your stuff and trying to settle into the city you now had to call home. Moving from North Carolina to Barcelona wasn’t something you were expecting to do, but when the biggest club in the world came calling, you answered.

Seeing as you were one of the best midfield coaches in the world at only 29 years of age, it shouldn’t have been surprising that Barça had come calling, wanting to make their midfield even stronger than it already was.

Paying the taxi man substantially more than you probably should have, you were already a bit buzzed from pregaming, that mixed with your extremely limited knowledge of the Spanish language left you to overpay for the cab and look at the bouncer all confused when he spoke rapidly. 

Finally settling at the bar, you order some drink you’ve never heard of in your life, looking around at the faces of the people closest to you, it doesn’t take long for you to spot the hottest girl you’ve probably ever seen staring at you from across the bar, the woman bringing her hand up to wave at you. Waving back, you get your drink within minutes, leaving you to sip at the strong alcohol and feel the buzz quickly returning to your body, all warm inside from the heat inside the building and from the alcohol coursing through your system.

Looking around the room, you don’t notice the almost familiar woman continuing to study you, looking at your features intensely, the casual smile on your face doing something to her.

The glass in your hand is soon empty and after another one, you’re positively drunk as fuck, so drunk in fact that the hand sticking out for you to take almost goes unnoticed.

The smile on the pretty girl’s face is seductive and you get lost in her gorgeous hazel eyes as soon as you look into them, the flush to her cheeks suggesting she’s as intoxicated as you, if not more. Either way it didn’t matter, looking up at her expectantly as if you’re telling her to actually make a move.

“Vamos.” She nods her head towards the dance floor, ‘what’s the worst that can happen’ you think to yourself as you take her hand and let her pull you along to the dance floor. She was familiar, you just couldn’t place where you’d seen her before, but you knew that you’d seen her before somehow, somewhere.

Her hands land on your waist, pulling your body close to hers, too close for two people who had just met. Spanish women had a lot more confidence than you would have thought, not that you minded for even a second.

The thumping music changes, a sensual song coming on for everyone wanting to grind on someone, the woman’s front pressed tightly to your own as she starts to sway you both around, moving her hips in a way that had you enchanted. Her hands slide up your body, touching every curve and dip hidden beneath the dress shirt, fingers soon finding their way to the back of your neck and the hair at the base of your head.

Now it’s your turn to put your hands on her waist, your bodies moving as one to the song blasting through the speakers, her lips meeting your neck as her head slotted into the space between your neck and shoulder. It’s a bit ticklish but you don’t mind.

Your hands slide a bit lower, landing at the bottom of her back, just above her butt, and she hums loud enough for you to hear over the loud music blasting in the club. Her eyes meet yours just as she pulls her face away from your neck, her plump lips moving to the lyrics of the song and you’re absolutely enticed.

But then, all of a sudden, her lips stray from forming the words of the song, two words escaping that you frankly had no clue about the meaning of.

“Te amo.” Is all you can hear over the music, hands still holding her body close to yours as confusion flashes across your face, once again not knowing a lick of Spanish. As her drunken gaze takes in your expression, she seems to simply think that you couldn’t hear her, not very surprising seeing as you could barely hear your own thoughts. “Te amo.” She repeats, cheering on as the song changes, swaying her hips to the beat leaving you to try to catch up.

Thinking the girl had posed a question, you just respond with the thing you felt was the most appropriate, a simple;

“Nah.” 

Now it’s her turn to look confused, her face inching in closer to yours in order to understand better, at the same time her arms tighten around your neck, trying to keep you close to her. After a second or two she repeats herself for the third time, now just thinking you were a bit stupid or something.

“Baby I can’t understand you, you gon’ have to speak up.” Speaking your native language, the lady in your arms doesn’t seem to understand you, not surprising seeing as you were in Barcelona and not the US. She’s chest to chest with you now, her nimble fingers scratching at your head, her face close enough to your own for you to be able to smell the alcohol and something fruity on her breath.

“Baby, let up a lil’ n’ relax, I ain’t gon’ run away. Like this.” Taking her hands with your own, you slowly pull your bodies apart, pretending you don’t notice the strangled noise escaping her throat. Twirling her around a few times, you can feel the way her body relaxes under your hands, and you pull her body back to yours, dancing in sync with her.

The intense look she was giving you pulled the words you barely even understood from your mouth, your mind completely blank, the only thoughts revolving around the sexiest woman you had ever seen.

“Te amo.” You tell her, southern accent putting a cute twang on the words, a small smile pulling at the corners of her wine red lips leading to a smile of your own being produced, even if you didn’t really know what you had told her. In the back of your intoxicated mind something told you that it means something along the lines of ‘I love you’.

By now, her hands have migrated back to your neck, and in a split second decision you decide to take one of her hands in yours again, leaving her to let her hand slide downwards towards your waist. Fingers leave goosebumps in their wake on skin they don’t touch, a barrier of pent up sexual tension and fabric restrict her fingers from meeting the warm skin under your dress shirt.

Her other hand’s fingers thread with your own, her head now coming down to rest on your collar bones, the soft skin of her cheek meeting the skin of your upper chest area. Electricity courses through your veins at the contact and you almost pass out because of the pure tension between you two.

A second passes and then, out of nowhere, the brunette pulls away from your hold, the space where her hand once was now cold, her hand still in yours.

Dragging you across the dance floor, you allow the beautiful woman to take the lead once more, blindly trusting her as the door to the club comes into your line of vision. By now you’re both running, the door pushed open quickly as feet pound against the ground, and you both laugh, a hearty laugh, a drunken laugh.

No cars drive by, a perfect calm night with all the rowdy teenagers in the clubs with the tired adults looking for a quick hookup, and for once, you feel at peace. The woman holding your hand, not even looking as she crosses the street, is your peace. 

The missing piece in the puzzle that is your life.

The sand beneath your shoes sinks as you try to keep up with the hazel eyed beauty, cool breeze coming from the sea in front of you as she lets go of your hand, pulling her shirt over her head after skidding to a halt, sand flying in all directions.

You watch as more skin gets revealed, unbelievable abs, strong back muscles, muscular thighs and broad shoulders, your gay mind short circuited at the display of the absolute powerhouse of a woman she was.

In your stupor, the only thing you could think of doing was back away, get a reasonable distance before she rid herself of everything. Yet as her warm hand moves to take hold of your own again, everything you’d ever learned disappeared from the confines of your mind, blindly following her every word like she was your messiah.

“Stay, please.” Her accent was a bit wilted and peculiar, but so extremely homely that you barely knew what to do with yourself. “Relax, ey?” She repeats your words from before, nothing but pure confidence in her voice as her fingers start to pull the ends of the shirt out of the top of your pants, feeling her fingertips against the skin of your stomach.

Her hands fiddle with the buttons on your shirt for a few seconds before she decides on just ripping it off, the quicker and much better way to get it off you. Looking on in pure shock, the mystery girl pushes the now destroyed shirt off your strong shoulders with a cheeky smile covering her face, the white material landing in the pile of clothes already forming bedside you both.

Pushing your slacks down your legs, you soon throw them into the clothes pile, barely even noticing the woman moving closer and closer to you until her hands land on your waist, goosebumps now visible to the naked eye. She leans in closer to your face, using her grip on you as leverage to get higher up, her lips less than a centimeter away from your own, moving back ever so slightly as you try to connect your lips.

“Te amo.” Her raspy voice sends shivers down your spine, her lips practically speaking onto yours with how close together they were. “Dilo.” That was something you recognised, one too many summers spent with your aunt in New Orleans to not pick up some french, the Spanish language awfully similar.

“Te amo.” You respond, by now just wanting her full lips against your own, your hands on her cheeks, thumbs stroking against her cheekbones, stomach filling with butterflies full of anticipation. Her giggles fill the air, and as she runs away from you and towards the sea, you can’t help but giggle too, the absolutely absurd situation making you that much more giggly.

It doesn’t take long for your long legs to catch up with her despite her athletic build, her drunk uncoordinated body slowing her down significantly. Almost tackling her to the ground, you pick the girl up and throw her over your shoulder like she weighs nothing, running into the sea as she giggles and tells you to put her down in the limited amount of English she knows. 

“Oh I’ll put ‘cha down alright.” About knee deep in the water you stop, leaning down slightly and almost throwing her into the cold water, diving down just after her so that she couldn’t splash you, feeling the rippling water above your head.

Your head goes up above the surface just after the brunettes, and you’re treated to the sight of her pushing her hair away from her face, biceps flexing in the moonlight. Swimming towards her, she reaches out for you the second you’re close enough for her to touch, her hands not really knowing where to start, flitting all over your body barely taking the time to actually feel your skin under her fingertips.

“A’ight, you gotta keep them hands to yourself there, pretty lady. I bite.” She looks at you all innocently and you’re barely even convinced that she can understand what you’re saying. Laughing at the thought, you soon leave her behind as you start to swim, your hands gliding through the water like that's what they were made for, slowing down ever so slightly to let her play catch up. 

Your feet just barely meet the sandy bottom as she finally catches up to you, her hands threading around your neck, pulling you closer to her like she did in the packed club, only this time she actually kisses you.

Her lips feel like heaven against yours, so divine that you think you’re dreaming, for nothing on earth was so perfect like the girl in your arms was. But as her legs interlock around your waist, you’re sure that your mind couldn’t conjure up something as perfect as her, everything in you screamed yes as her tongue poked at your lips.

Gasping as her thighs squeeze around your hips, the woman practically devouring you takes the chance to slip her tongue into your mouth, exploring the entirety of your mouth with her tongue.

You both moan into the kiss, your hands coming down to rest on the backs of her thighs so that she wouldn’t fall off into the water, not that there would be any risk of that happening, with her legs gripping onto your waist for dear life.

Pulling back, she doesn’t let you go that far before her lips are on yours again, moving in such a way that draws you in even further.

‘Shit, she’s got me hooked’ is the only thing running through your mind when your hands move up her back, undoing the clasp of her bra…

—------------------

Waking up to a raging hangover, half of your new bedroom thrashed and no woman from the night before might be the top 10 most confusing ways to wake up, realizing your alarm has been beeping for the past hour though added a certain little bit of spice to the whole morning.

“Fuck, fuck, shit. I am so late.” Rushing around and putting all your clothes on, you barely notice the dark purple hickies littering your neck, definitely telling a story of how you spent your night.

The last thing you do before you leave your apartment is picking up your satchel with all your so-called ‘homework’, and then absolutely legging it out of the building.

Luckily enough for you, the training grounds were a walking distance away from your apartment building, leaving you to get there in record time.

Panting, you enter the building by flashing your employee ID to the scanner before once again legging it in search of room A221 where the first meeting of the day would be held, the meeting for you to meet all the players you were going to coach.

Bursting into the room, pants almost falling down your legs, some serious bed head, humongous purple splotches on your neck, mismatched socks and a few buttons undone, you officially looked a mess on the one day you weren’t supposed to.

Flattening down your hair subtly, you walk towards the front of the room where the head coach is looking at you funnily.

“I’m so sorry sir, my alarm didn’t go off.” He nods his head, accepting your apology before turning to the women in the room, introducing you to them all as you’re looking for something in your bag.

“Girls, this is your new midfield coach, Y/n Y/l/n.” They all nod a little half approvingly, finding the whole situation funny if anything.

“Hello everyone, I know I look a mess but just disregard that for the time being, I just wanted to say that it’ll be a pleasure working with every single one of y’all-” Finally looking up from your hands, you see the girl from last night staring right back at you, a satisfied smirk on her annoyingly pretty face.

Oh so that’s where you knew her from.

How the fuck were you going to be able to not think about recreating your perfect night together everytime you see her? Fucking up before even starting your new job had to be some sort of record. 

[comatosebunny09]

— cw: adult content, cheating, shitty fiancé, self-indulgent madness, mdni — notes: i can’t sleep, and @alfredosaws got the gears turning in my head. sorry if this isn’t your jam. i was horny and needed to torture myself. — now playing: see through - amelia moore

Imagine Sylus as your real estate agent, showing you and your fiancé around a potential home.

Your fiancé doesn’t seem too interested, busy typing away on his phone or occasionally stepping out to answer phone calls. You titter nervously, explaining to Sylus with a wry smile that your fiancé is a very busy man.

Still, Sylus continues showing you the rest of the house, pointing out parts that would appeal primarily to you.

“You see here? The master bedroom contains an en-suite bathroom with enough counter space to house all your skincare products. ”

“The bathtub has jets. Perfect for when you want to unwind after a long day on your feet. You look like you shoulder the world. You deserve to take a load off with a warm, soothing bath.”

“The sunroom would be great for your plants. You look like you have quite a green thumb. You strike me as a cultivator. A nurturer. Someone who should learn to sit down from time to time.”

“The counter space in the kitchen is immaculate. Perfect for when the love of your life wants to cook breakfast or have you for dessert.”

He’s so very flattering and handsome, and you find yourself falling prey to his charms. You rein yourself in when your fiancé returns, still as detached about the house as ever. You ask him for his opinion, to which he shrugs you off and remarks that he’s happy if you’re happy. Conveniently, his phone rings again, and he walks outside to take the call.

Sylus gives you a pitying look as if he knows there’s trouble in paradise. You smile awkwardly to dispel his worries.

Sure, your fiancé isn’t always present in your relationship. And maybe you agreed to his proposal out of fear, thinking you would lose out on your white picket fence if you refused him. But, who are you kidding? You haven’t felt like yourself in years. Haven’t genuinely smiled in a very long time, and your fiancé hasn’t helped improve your self-esteem, nitpicking when you’re a little bloated or leave the house without makeup.

You’ve recently caught him entertaining other women on his socials, and he would quickly gaslight you, exclaiming that you were looking for reasons to be upset. Deep down, you know he isn’t good for you, and you deserve better, but a sick part of you believes he is your punishment for some crimes you might’ve committed in a past life.

Sylus has read you like a book, and you’ve only worked with him for two months. You feel more comfortable in his presence than the man you’re about to marry, having known him much longer.

“Come with me, sweetheart,” says Sylus, his voice a sweet, sticky dolce as he takes your hand into his larger one.

He guides you up the spiraling staircase towards the main bedroom and lures you into the massive walk-in closet. And when you’re swathed in the darkness after he shuts the door behind you, he backs you up against a wall, your breaths intermingling whilst his mouth hovers over yours.

“You poor thing,” he whispers next to your ear, the hairs scattered across your body standing on end, pleasant tingles ricocheting through your extremities. He takes your hand in his, pressing it against the cool, textured wall overhead, tenderly twining your fingers together. “That Narcissist doesn’t deserve you, now does he?” His lips graze yours, the sensation making your legs tremble like a fawn.

“I can see it in your eyes.” A weighted palm smooths over your side, a devastatingly powerful knee sliding between the fat of your thighs, pilfering the breath from your lungs. He touches you with a reverence you’ve never known. “You don’t love him, do you? Not when I can touch you like this.”

He takes possession of your jaw, breathing hot and open-mouthed against your lips, nuzzling your noses together. And you’re dizzy, the closet suddenly feeling so cramped, and the warmth of his body permeating through the layers of your clothes. “You’re so beautiful. You deserve so much more. I can give you so much more. May I kiss you, sweetling?”

Despite the voice screaming somewhere far off in your mind that this is very much wrong, you find yourself nodding sluggishly in the darkness as if he can see you slowly turning to putty in his palms. He chuckles, the vibrations of it making your tummy flutter like you’re cresting down a hill.

Wordlessly, he pans in, startling you with a gentle kiss at first. Something deft and ghostly, so soft you wouldn’t believe it happened. When you make a gentle keen of protest after he pulls way, he takes that as his cue to kiss you again, this time more firm and full-bodied, the rigid pane of his body slowly anchoring you to the wall. 

Your unoccupied hand slides over his spine, concluding its excursion at the small of his back, and he’s strong here. Sturdy as if he could lift you one-handed if he so pleases. The idea makes you whimper, and he swallows the pretty little noises he invokes, his sweltering tongue pushing into your mouth to map out every ridge and crevice. 

He slips a warm, weighted palm into the crook of your knee, drawing your thigh up to rest on his hip. And, with this new angle, he presses fully against you, the stitching of his slacks scraping pleasantly over the inner cut of your thigh. He releases your hand once moored to the wall to hoist you into his arms, one of your heels clattering to the floor. Ten shaky fingers bury themselves in his hair, sifting through tufts of soft white to draw him ever closer to deepen your lip-lock. 

Despite the spacious closet, it’s growing uncomfortably warm. Too many clothes are in the way, so you tug his shirt from his slacks. Your fingers blindly scramble over his shirt buttons, eager to feel the smooth, supple glide of his skin beneath them. He chuckles something throaty and enrapturing, kissing you velvet-soft as his desire awakens to press against your thigh.

“So eager, aren’t you?” he husks, breaking away from your lips with a sticky click to blister your jaw and carotid with languorous kisses. “Has he ever touched you like this? Kissed you like this?” 

You crane your head back, your skull lightly thudding against the wall behind you. Your lashes shutter. The feeling of his mouth dragging over your skin and his weighted body nestled between your thighs is too much and yet not enough. You cling to his back, your grip white-knuckled, mouth parted slightly with wanton pleas for more more more.

But before he can grant your request, your fiancé’s voice beckons to you through the empty, sturdy walls of the house. The spell that befell you disperses, reality careening in. You push against Sylus’ lean chest with the heel of your palm, panting and gasping, squirming to be let down. Sylus reluctantly heeds you, gently setting you onto your feet. 

He helps you slide back into your discarded heel, kissing your ankle on his way back up, and you try to ignore how your body burns like an inferno at the attention. It takes all of you not to snatch him towards you once more, to kiss him and demand he take you, right then and there, with your fiancé calling for you downstairs. But, as much as it pains you, you feel remorse for how far you already let things go. 

Fixing your clothes and hair to some semblance of neatness in the darkness, the pair of you exit the closet. You don a rehearsed smile, answering your fiancé that you’ll be right down. Searing, slender fingers encircle your wrist before you can descend the stairs. You acknowledge Sylus with a look over your shoulder. He fixes you with a feverish stare that burns like a flame, revealing a deep desire for you. And the realization shoots straight to your center as his mouth draws into an unflinching line. 

Something in your chest pinches and pulls. And for a moment, you consider what your life would be like if you’d given yourself more credit and granted yourself a little more grace. But you brush away your thoughts, fixing Sylus with an unconvincing smile before pulling away from him to descend the stairs into the arms of your loving, soon-to-be husband.  

[aventurineswife]

Hi! I had this idea a few days ago so I was wondering if you could.

The hsr characters (Aventurine, Sampo, Childe and Scar) have a child with the reader, the detail is that their child is quite attached to them both, so they cry if not both with him or he will grab his manga with teary eyes so he doesn't leave. Is this a funny scenario? I created it, take your time for this request!

{💤🩵} anon

“I want my Daddy!”

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Childe x Reader, Scar x Reader, Family Bonding, Fluff, Domestic Life, Parental Love, Comfort, Reunion, Emotional Scenes, Tender Moments, Father-Child Relationship, Slice of Life.

Warnings: Light Angst, Mentions of Separation, Child's Fear of Abandonment, Emotional Vulnerability.

A/N: BRO WHY AM I GETTING SO MANY DAD AVENTURINE REQS ALL OF A SUDDEN?! LIKE I JUST FINISHED WRITING THE DAD AVENTURINE FIC!! 😭 I guess, time to cry fr 😕💔 Also, I changed it a bit since I had hard time understanding the req(I'm dumb sorry) so I hope you don't mind!

The soft light of your shared apartment filtered through the blinds, casting golden streaks over the plush carpet where your child, a tiny bundle of energy and love, sat cross-legged. Their favorite manga rested in their small hands, though the pages were blurred by the teardrops welling in their wide eyes mirroring Aventurine’s. They hiccupped, looking at you pleadingly.

“When’s Daddy coming home?” they asked, voice trembling. You crouched down, smoothing their hair, identical to their father’s, and offered a warm smile.

“Soon, sweetheart. He’s just working hard to bring us something special.” You knew Aventurine’s job often meant long hours and the occasional high-stakes gamble, but he always made time for family.

As if summoned by your words, the door clicked open, and Aventurine’s charismatic presence filled the room. His coat swayed dramatically as he stepped in, eyes lighting up when he saw your child launch toward him, manga forgotten on the floor. “Daddy!”

He caught them mid-leap, twirling them before placing a soft kiss on their forehead. “Did you miss me already, darling? You’re going to make me think I should quit the IPC and stay home all day.” His teasing tone belied the genuine warmth in his voice. He shot you a wink, and together, the three of you melted into a laughter-filled embrace.

The marketplace bustled outside, but the cheery noises of haggling merchants were drowned out by the soft sniffles of your little one. They sat curled up on the couch, clutching their manga as though it could conjure Sampo back from wherever his latest “business deal” had taken him. Their eyes peeked up at you tearfully.

“I know Daddy promised to be back,” they murmured, burying their face further into the book. “But what if he got lost? Or—”

“Hey now,” you interrupted gently, brushing their dark blue bangs aside. “You know your dad’s the slipperiest guy in the entire Belobog. No one’s catching him—he’ll be home soon.”

Right on cue, the door creaked open, and in waltzed Sampo, his jacket swinging. “Did I hear someone missing their old man?” He grinned, arms wide as your child bolted toward him. “Ah, there’s my little business partner!”

He spun them around before collapsing dramatically onto the couch with them in his lap. “What’s this? Reading manga without me? Betrayal!” he cried, only to be silenced by their joyful giggles.

You watched from afar as the two reunited, your heart full at the sight of Sampo’s humor and charm seamlessly calming your little one’s worries.

(Header credits)

Your child’s muffled sobs echoed through the quiet of the living room. The little one, with hair that matched Childe’s, sat curled into a ball on the couch, clutching their favorite manga against their chest. Tears rolled down their cheeks, but they were trying to be brave, just like their father always taught them.

“Mommy/Papa, when’s Daddy coming back?” they asked between hiccups, their eyes wide and glistening with tears. You crouched beside them, pulling them close and wiping their tears away.

“Soon, my little warrior,” you promised. “Daddy’s out doing important work, but he’ll be back before you know it.”

As if on cue, the front door opened with a creak. Childe’s tall frame filled the doorway, his bow slung casually over his back. His eyes softened instantly at the sight of your tearful child.

“Daddy!” They leapt from the couch, manga forgotten, and ran into his waiting arms. He scooped them up effortlessly, holding them close.

“Hey there, my little fighter. Have you been holding down the fort for me?” he teased gently, ruffling their hair. “Missed me that much, huh?”

They nodded furiously, their tiny arms clinging tightly to his neck. “Don’t go away again, Daddy.”

Childe chuckled, shooting you a warm smile over their shoulder. “I’ll always come back to you, I promise.”

The quiet hum of the room was broken only by the soft sniffles of your little one, their small hands clutching a manga as though it could summon Scar back. They sat cross-legged on the plush carpet, their mismatched eyes—just like his—glistening with unshed tears. They looked up at you, their lips trembling.

“When’s Daddy coming back?” they asked, their voice barely above a whisper. “It’s too quiet without him.”

You knelt beside them, brushing their hair back gently. “Soon, my love,” you murmured, your tone soothing. “Daddy’s never gone for long. He’s just working on something very important, you know how he is.”

They hiccupped, clutching the manga tighter. “But what if he gets hurt again? What if he doesn’t come back this time?” Their wide-eyed gaze pierced you, filled with an innocent fear that only Scar’s reassurances could truly soothe.

Before you could respond, the door creaked open, and Scar’s voice filled the room, low and melodic. “Hurt? Me? Never. You know your old man is indestructible.”

Your child’s head snapped up, their tears momentarily forgotten as they bolted toward the door. “Daddy!” they cried, dropping the manga to the floor as they threw themselves into his waiting arms.

Scar knelt to catch them, his dramatic flair shining even in this tender moment. He twirled them once before cradling them close, his mismatched eyes softening as he pressed a kiss to their forehead. “Did you think I’d stay away from my two favorite people for long?” he teased, his usual wide smile gentler now. “I told you, didn’t I? No force in this world can keep me away.”

Their tiny arms wrapped tightly around his neck as they sobbed into his shoulder. “Don’t leave again, Daddy. Please.”

He glanced at you over their head, his gaze meeting yours with an unspoken promise. “I’ll always come back,” he said softly, more to you than the child. “I’m not going anywhere.”

[petriquors]

POV: your best friend is in love with you

a/n: post-timeskip, MSBY4, gn!reader

🤍 MIYA ATSUMU 🤍

“Hell no.”

“What do you mean, ‘hell no’?” you whine. “Come on, Atsumu; I haven’t been on a date in months—”

“Because men are animals—”

“You’re an animal!”

Touché, Atsumu thinks, while he stares at your bedroom ceiling. He’s supposed to be helping you pick out an outfit for this first date you have planned for tonight, and, genuinely, he doesn’t like anything you’re picking out. Every outfit looks perfect on you, so much that his heart leaps into his throat every time you emerge from your closet, and that’s exactly why they’re not good enough.

Because you won’t be wearing them on dates with him. Like an animal, you said, he’s territorial; and no one deserves to be going on dates with his best friend when it’s so obvious that you’re meant to be with him.

🤍 BOKUTO KORATO 🤍

Panic sets in as soon as Kotaro realizes what he just did. There were lips. And skin. His lips. Your skin.

All you were doing was giving him a hug goodbye. You hug him all the time, even though he’s started holding you a little tighter; you’ve started to joke that he’s going to crush you with his chest. It’s adorable.

He’s been playing with fire lately, between the tighter hugs, the lingering looks, the fleeting touches to your hands and the small of your back. But now, he thinks that he’s about to get burned.

He kissed your forehead. 

It was just for a second, a quick brush of his lips against your skin while you were in his arms. Now that the hug is over, you’re standing in front of him, smiling.

You pat his arms, smile a little wider, and finally tear yourself away. “See you later, Ko!”

He breathes a heavy sigh while he watches you leave. You didn’t notice. Deep down, Kotaro wishes that you did.

🤍 HINATA SHOYO 🤍

“Hey, sunshine!”

When he hears Hinata shout a cliche pet name at the top of his lungs, Meian picks his head up to watch what’s about to happen, betting that Hinata’s going to get a Sakusa-shaped elbow to the face. Where he expects to see his glowering junior, however, he sees you.

You giggle something in response, and the MSBY captain watches Hinata’s face light up from over your shoulder. You fling your arms around him. He pulls you into his chest. It makes Meian’s heart ache as if someone’s squeezing his hand too hard.

“Sunshine, huh?” he teases Hinata once you’re out of sight. “Since when are you dating anybody?”

Hinata gives him a blank stare. “We’re not dating. That’s my best friend.”

Meian can’t help the way he rolls his eyes, or the dry, disbelieving chuckle that falls from his lips. “Yeah, sure they are.”

🤍 SAKUSA KIYOOMI 🤍

The weight of a month-long training camp falls on your shoulder when Kiyoomi’s head rolls to the side. “Missed you,” he mumbles, eyes closed.

He’s next to you on your sofa, after he dragged himself to your apartment first thing when he got back—before even going to his own place.

He had shampoo and a spare change of clothes already packed, anyway. And when Kiyoomi, exhausted from the frustration of a new routine, shows up at your door, who are you to deny him a warm shower and a shoulder to rest his head on? It’s what best friends are for, you told yourself. 

Little do you know, that’s what he told himself, too, but he was trying to convince himself that’s all this is, and absolutely nothing more.

“‘M glad you’re home,” you murmur, patting his wet curls.

There’s a tiny, upward twitch to his lip. Best friends, he reminds himself. That’s definitely all this is.

[nikki0606]

since we were kids | Bakugou X Reader

oneshot; (goes from angst -> fluff)

And there goes yet another day of Bakugou bullying Midoriya, your childhood friend. Of course Bakugou is your childhood friend too, but you sort of snapped it off with him when he started being the devil to Midoriya.

"You don't need to step in, (Name)-chan." Midoriya tells you, "I'll handle it. Kacchan's not that harsh... "

"What, do you need him to kill you for you to understant?" it hurts you to see Bakugou behave this way- the boy who once gloated to you about having a great quirk and being the strongest was now using it to hurt others.

"I need to buy a new notebook." Midoriya stops walking, "It won't take me long. Why don't you go ahead, I'll catch up later. I'll get a warm up run that way too."

You agree and Midoriya hurries off towards the closest stationary.

"Tch, how do I get into U.A. if I get caught doing this shit." an all too familiar voice sounds approaching towards the exit of an alleyway to the side.

Immediately, a frown settles on your face. 

It's been long since you've had a personal talk with Bakugou- you stopped communicating with him ever since he started being a bitch because it broke your heart to see him that way.

Remembering the old days only makes it worse because all that you've felt for him ever since the beginning doesn't seem to fade off- you're hurt by Bakugou's behaviour, yes, but you can't hate him.

But just for Izukkun's sake-

You've made your mind to confront him today.

After all, him telling Midoriya to jump off the roof was crossing the line.

Without another second of allowing worry or doubt to fill your brain, you hurry into the alleyway to come face to face with the ash-blond boy and his two lackeys following behind.

"Bakugou-san." you've been addressing him formally and crudely since a little while now.

"Whoa whoa," the lackeys behind Bakugou who were once your friends too now narrow their eyes in disgust, "looks like someone left her little frail bunny for a while."

"Tsubasa-san." your lips press, "What a pleasant way to initiate conversation after years. How mannered you were back when you were a kid, I wonder where that little boy went." your eyes roll over to Bakugou last second.

After all, your words are just as genuinely meant for him too.

"Let's talk, Bakugou-san."

He tilts his head, eyes dangerously focused into yours. Bakugou walks all the way up to you and towers you to intimidate you and although there's a part of you which somewhat fears what he's become, you know he wouldn't actually hurt you.

All these years of you stepping in when he bullies Midoriya and he's never once caused a scratch on you, though the same can't be said for Midoriya.

"What do you want, dumbass?" the sheer annoyance in his voice is enough of an indication for the other two boys to walk further away from the both of you and give Bakugou his space.

"I... need to talk to you." you avert your eyes to the side momentarily but then force yourself to look back in his eyes, "It's about Izukkun- " his eyes twitch, you jolt and immediately continue, "please, Bakugou-san."

"Fuck off." he almost turns on his heels to leave.

"Katsukkun... " you know he'll stop if you use the nickname you gave him years ago. For some wicked reason, it makes your eyes glassier- it's been years since you've let this out of your mouth.

Bakugou halts just as you think he would.

"Katsukkun, please. Stop the bullying, it's not his fault he's quirkless." there's a sad expression resting on your face now that you've retorted to using a sweet memory from the past to stop him, "He's human too, he can have dreams."

"You literally can't fucking forget your oh-so poor little bunny, huh?" Bakugou looks more annoyed than he's ever been at you, "Go bang your head against a wall or something, bitch."

Without another glance, he turns and walks off. And without a second delay, you turn to run home, eyes dripping down tears for someone you'd committed to never cry over again.

It hurts- that little boy who would smile like the Sun isn't there anymore and it hurts.

.

________________________________________________________

.

You walk into class all alone the next day- Midoriya has texted you asking you to go ahead because he will be late. Taking the opportunity, the girls call you over to join their morning gossip session.

"Hamiri-chan got her first kiss today." one of the girls excitedly tells you while Hamiri covers her face in embarrassment.

You're surprised she got it only now considering she happens to be the prettiest in the entire school. Compared to her, you look like that oddly half-painted crowd member from a nursery grade student's drawing.

Could it be... 

An odd thought enters your mind.

But Katukkun hasn't ever shown interest in her publicly. There's a chance it could be someone else... right?

But the thought doesn't leave your mind- the prettiest girl in school would obviously end up with the most popular and masculine boy, right?

Something churns in your gut and a weight rests on your chest.

"It was Kurotero-kun from the other class." Hamiri mumbles a moment later, "We've been hanging out at a park near our houses recently and well, it just happened."

A deep exhale of relief involuntarily escapes you.

"That's two girls in our class who have had their first kisses." one of the girls cheers, "Wait- that, considering you haven't yet had one, (L/n)-chan. We never asked you."

"Yeah." Hamiri turns to you, "Midoriya-kun looks like he'd explode if we asked you stuff like that."

You laugh but pause once your eyes fall into blood-red ones. It's only now that you notice that all the boys in class are sitting quietly and eavesdropping on the conversation, even Bakugou.

"(L/n)-chan's too bold and generous to lie." one of your friends butters you, "She's the greatest after all. So, (L/n)-chan," she traces her finger over your sleeve, "please tell me you've got a dramatic first kiss story to tell."

"Why," you snort, "did Hamiri-chan's story not fulfill your thirst for drama?"

"Nope." she shakes her head, "It was too sappy and too romantic." and Hamiri laughs at that, "You tell us something interesting, (L/n)-chan."

"Have you had a kiss yet?" Hamiri looks interested to know too. 

Apparently, the long silence before you reply with a "no, of course not" gives away the truth. Now you're really stressed about it.

"So someone literally wasted their time on you?" the class' female bully Hinaya steps forward, her voice sweet and sing-songed in front of the boys (Bakugou), "That's odd. Was it that or did you pay the guy to do it?"

"Hinaya-chan." your friend doesn't look happy with this.

"Oh," Hinaya's eyes widen, "you probably just kissed your hand thinking it's a boy, no? That's the only thing you can get after all." and some boys snicker.

Normally, you've always got something or the other to come back with but it just so happens that this is a particularly touchy subject- that shining boy you shared that kiss with is no longer there, he's been replaced by someone you don't recognize anymore.

"Y-Yeah... " your eyes get glassy, you try to play it off cool, "It was probably just a mistake.. "

"Oh my," Hinaya explains with her hands covering her mouth, voice turned into an annoying one she thinks is cute, "I'm so sorry, (L/n)-chan, but if you're accepting it to be a mistake, the guy would have probably wanted to die."

Your lips shut tight, eyebrows crinkled and an uncomfortable squeeze disturbing your chest.

"Aren't you going to reply, (L/n)-chan?" your friends don't understand why you haven't shut her up yet. It's too unusual of a behvaiour from you, "A-Are you crying?"

"N-No." but a tear is begging to roll down your eye. You turn back, hand raising to clean it off and just to save you at the right time, the door slams open and Midoriya slides inside yelling an "I'm late!"

He deflates in shame the moment he realizes the teacher isn't here yet and that he's made a fool of himself again.

.

You'd told Midoriya to head home without you because you needed some time alone and he was considerate enough to not question back. You're alone in the class now slowly packing your things to leave for home.

The sound of the classroom door opening makes you turn.

"Hey, (L/n)-chan." Hinaya walks in with her lips pulled inot a straight line. You hum in response.

"When did your first kiss happen?" she comes over and leans against your desk, "How old were you back then?"

You're not in the mood to have an argument or spoil your mood in any other way so you decide to give her what she wants and end this unwanted interaction quickly.

"We were like five?"

"Oh." there's an odd relief in her voice, "Well, just so you know, I'm gonna get a kiss by Katsuki-kun soon, I'll make sure of it. You can go on and enjoy your quirkless frail little bunny."

"Okay." you sling your bang over your shoulders.

She frowns, unhappy with your response, "You know, you should just jump off into a river or something. You're such an embarrassment."

"What will you accomplish by me doing that?" the headache she gives you is now splitting your head. You look away to at least not see that disgusting expression on her face.

"You tell me." she snaps, "Why the fuck was Katsuki-kun looking so smug when we were talking about your first kiss, huh?"

"What is he, your imaginary boyfriend?" you hate how she uses his first name, "And about that, Izukkun and Katsukkun," you put emphasis on the nickname, "both know who the first kiss was with."

"It was probably stupid." she eyes you head to toe, "Who'd like an ugly shithole like you anyways?"

"Neither would someone like a disgusting, smelly little bitch like you." Bakugou's voice from a little away from the both of you makes you jolt. You momentarily glance towards the door not having realized him coming in.

Bakugou has his hand in his pocket and his bag slung over his shoulder. His usual scowl rests on his face.

"What?" Hinaya's act is on again, "You're misjudging me, Katsuki-kun."

The next moment, Bakugou's hand in an inch away from his face, "You say my name one more time and I'll explode that empty head of yours."

You hate bullies and bullying but boy, you're loving this at the moment.

"But Katsu-" she realizes he's not joking around once there's sparks forming at his hands, "Bakugou-kun... I'm more closer to you than she is, right? And all she does the whole day is slut around that stupid Midoriya."

You sigh, "Calling me things like slut doesn't make you better than me, Hinaya-chan. You're the trash you are and I'm not. You know that too."

She frowns deep, "You're so full of yourself, (L/n)-chan, you're always using your smartass in front of Bakugou-kun. He wouldn't be impressed by that at all. You didn't even ask him if he was okay after the sludge incident yesterday."

Bakugou's expressions twitch uncomfortably at the mention of this incident you're unaware of.

"Sludge incident?" you look between the both of them.

"Hah." she folds her hands at her chest, "Search it up. I didn't need to go to some browser to know."

"You're gonna glorify stalking me now, eh?" a nerve in Bakugou's forehead twitches, "Sly little bitch, I'm gonna fucking end you someday."

While Hinaya protests and whines against Bakugou's hostility towards her, you're busy getting horrified on reading the article about the sludge incident.

"Katsukkun- " you begin, eyes widened in nothing but worry, "why didn't you tell me? Why didn't Izukkun tell me either- what the fuck?"

Bakugou doesn't reply, he only grabs your arm and drags you out of the classroom leaving Hinaya behind standing in shock to whatever he's said to her before you started to talk.

He continues to drag you all the way out of school into a small, secluded cafe thereby not allowing a word to leave your lips until the both of you are seated under warm yellow lights in a dark aesthetic interior of a surprisingly serene cafe.

"Don't bother me about it." he says, waving his hand in the air in front of you, "I've had enough fucking talks- that old hag wouldn't even shut up."

"Are you okay?"

"The fuck?" he looks annoyed, "You think something would happen to me because of some shitty villain?"

"No, I mean... it was still a villains attack, right? There's always some sort of minor PTSD or something of the sort." you know it's just that he's not willing to talk about it. The bags under his eyes give enough of how healthy his sleep has been the previous night.

"Stop fucking doubting me."

"I don't." you find yourself shifting closer to him, "I'm just worried... sorry if that's annoying you."

It's been some time since your words have been as soft to him. Honestly, you miss moments like these a lot- moments when it was just the two of you sitting in front of each other back when you were little and kept on talking.

This was the setting when he had once pulled your face closer to his and kissed you when you'd only been five. 

The response he had to this cheeky act was that his parents "did it all the time" and that they say one does it with the person they "love".

Sweetest and cutest confession ever.

It's just too sad that the little boy who said that all to you has turned into the gruff, rude bully sitting in front of you.

Bakugou orders a specific ice cream combination the both of you would eat when you were younger. He doesn't once lift his gaze to look at you after that.

Now, you're left to wonder whether he actually remembered or whether his taste hasn't changed in some nine years.

"About what I had to talk about," he starts suddenly, "about all that happened in class today.. " he is cut off by you mid sentence.

"I know, I know." you heart droops, "I won't ever let anyone ever know that you've had an unfortunate kiss with me. It's alright, you're secret is secured with me, Katsukkun."

He blinks, "What's so fucking unfortunate about it?"

"Huh?"

"What's so fucking unfortunate about it? When I become the number one hero, there's going to be lines of girls wishing to get kisses. Why do you think it's unfortunate, then?"

Your lips open, then close. You stare at him for a moment, "I mean, it's unfortunate for you, right? You were too young to think properly at that time and ended up doing something intimate with someone you didn't actually like."

When Bakugou turns to you, his eyes reflect a certain determination- it's as if what he is thinking at the moment is something he has pondered upon for years and years already.

There isn't even a frown on his pretty face, he only looks concentrated. 

When he opens his mouth, words you'd never expect him to say fall out, "Why? Why did you choose him over me?"

"Who?" but you already know who he is talking about. You swallow, "I chose Izukkun over you?"

He doesn't reply but the look in his eyes gives you all the answers you need.

"I didn't choose him over you," tears form in your eyes, "he's been like a brother to me ever since we were little. It's you, Katsukkun, you're the one who chose to behave like a fucking bitch with him and expect everything to be normal with me after that."

Bakugou looks surprised at that although you feel there couldn't be anything more obvious that this. 

"So you don't like him?"

"He's my friend, of course I do."

"Like, the like like him, dumbass." Bakugou frowns.

"No." you rubs your eyes to wipe off the tears, "I don't like him romantically if that's what you're asking."

"Hah." he doesn't look convinced, "All you do is fuck around with him all day and I'm supposed to feel he isn't anything."

"He's like a brother." you're not liking the way there is a percentage of disbelief in his eyes, "And besides, this all shouldn't really be mattering to you."

"Why not?"

You blink, "Why would it?"

Bakugou's head turns away, his eyebrows raising in what seems to you to be frustration. He pauses for a little, eyes flickering around as though looking for the right words to say, then turns back to you.

"Why wouldn't it?"

Wow, genius. You take all the time of the world just to reply with that?

You choose to keep your thoughts to yourself, however, "Why should it?"

"Why shouldn't it?"

"Why would it?" your tone rises the slightest bit. You don't like this game of questions at all, you don't understand what he's trying to get at.

"I don't know, you tell me." he snaps, "You tell me why it would bother me."

"There's no reason for you to." you frown, "You chose to be the guy who bullies his childhood friends, Katsukkun. There's no reason for you to be bothered if I protect my friend from a bully."

Bakugou inhales and exhales deeply, his eyes rolling over to the side and back leaning into the chair. A few moments of silence pass before he turns back to you.

"Do you really not know or are you just acting?"

"Huh?" 

He shifts and straightens to lean forward, "Okay, listen. I'll say this once... " Bakugou inhales deep, "It... wasn't a mistake."

You blink.

"The kiss." he clears his throat, "I... really liked you back then. We were young and whatever but... it was genuine, okay?"

"How genuine can five year olds kissing be?" the words leave your mouth way too quick, "I mean, we should have been doing something like that at such a young age in the first place."

"We were pretty young." Bakugou's lips tighten, "But that doesn't fucking mean it couldn't have been true."

"Are you sure you liked me back then?" it's bittersweet to know he once had feelings for you.

Bakugou is quiet for a moment. When he opens his mouth again, his eyes are dead focused into yours, "I still do. I have.. e-ever since we were kids."

A spark runs down your body, jaw dropping and eyes widening at him.

"Y-You what?"

He inhales loudly and turns away, "I still like you... I don't like it when you're around that damned Deku the whole day. You're not supposed to be with that loser."

"You like me?" your voice is barely a whisper, "What.. no- wait.. what the- wow. What the fuck, wow."

"You like that?" his eyebrows raise at the floods of red filling into your cheeks, "Are you– what the fuck are you crying for?"

You haven't realized the tears in your eyes until now, "Wh-What... no. I'm not crying.. I'm.." a small cough escapes your lips, "uhm.. so..."

"Mhm?" Bakugou is waiting for the response although he doesn't make it too obvious.

"I... really miss you everyday, Katsukkun." you end up saying, "I miss what you used to be, I can't take the idea of you becoming a bully or a mean person. It hurts."

"What?"

"It hurts so fucking much because I... " you swallow and wipe your tears, "I really like you too. But... I-I can't.."

"Because of him?" his teeth grit, "That Deku–"

"Because you kept on saying you'd be a hero but all you are is a thug, Katsukkun." you snap. A tear rolls down your cheek, "Because it's you whose wrong not him. I can't love a guy who bullies. Feelings for you make me guilty."

Bakugou blinks, "Love?"

"Well what do you expect?" you hysterically laugh it out amidst the tears then swallow, "Other than this one thing, you're great."

"You love me?"

"I do." you nod, hands wiping down your tears, "I really fucking do."

An uncomfortable silence falls between the two of you while you clean your face and try to calm down. It's too odd for you to be crying this way while accepting your feelings for him especially when the both of you are sitting in a restaurant.

"If... " Bakugou is staring at the ground, "If I ignore him... " he turns to you, " w-would you give me a chance?"

You blink, "A-A chance?"

"To be with you?" he straightens, "To be together?"

Something blooms in your chest, "I... " there's nothing you could ever have wanted more, "Yeah. I'd... love that."

"Great." Bakugou falls back into the chair.

You pause, "But that does mean now bullying him or anyone when I'm around. And I don't want any drama."

"Hah." his eyebrows raise, "You're the one who'd be causing the drama, okay? I don't care about stupid drama."

A small tug makes your lips stretch to a smile, "If you be bitch, I'll dump you Katsukkun."

"Well I'll dump you before that." he snaps.

"Oh, so you want to dump me?" you dramatically clutch your heart and pick your thinks up, "I should be leaving then, no?"

"Oi." he grabs your hand and pulls you down, "Stop it. And there you are proving what I'm saying, dramatic, stupid little girl."

"Says the guy who is serious about the girl he kissed when was five." you giggle.

Bakugou frowns, his ears now visibly getting redder, "Says the girl who's in love with me."

[sodavizz]

Hiii! Can you make a Daisuke x Reader, where the reader feels like crap and feels like they're invisible, but then Daisuke comes into their life and helps them find happiness in life?? Any gender is okay, Thank you!! 😭

So many Daisuke asks TvT (someone gotta give me a new character or something-)

— No One Noticed.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Pairing: Daisuke x GN! Reader

Warnings: Darn fluff again

Wc: 600+

--

The world blurred past me like a forgotten dream—gray, muffled, inconsequential. I had long since become a shadow in the corner of my own life. People didn’t see me, didn’t notice when I sat silently at the edge of gatherings or drifted through hallways at work. My heart was heavy with the weight of being unseen.

Until that day.

It was raining—not a gentle drizzle but a torrent that matched the storm within me. I had just turned the corner of the café, balancing my umbrella, when I bumped into someone—hard. My umbrella slipped from my grasp, clattering to the pavement.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” I muttered, not bothering to look up.

“It’s okay. Are you alright?” A voice—soft but warm—cut through the rain.

For the first time in what felt like ages, I looked up and locked eyes with someone. He had dyed brown hair, messy from the rain, and eyes that held a strange mix of curiosity and something deeper.

“I’m fine,” I said, though my voice was flat, practiced.

He smiled—a smile that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds. “I’m Daisuke, by the way. And you?”

“[Y/N],” I replied, unsure why I even bothered.

His gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, and something about it felt… different. He noticed me.

--

Days passed, and somehow, Daisuke kept appearing in my life. At first, it felt like coincidence—another encounter at the café, then at the park where I often walked alone. Each time, he smiled, his face lighting up as if seeing me made his day. I started to realize he wasn’t just being polite. He genuinely wanted to talk to me, to know me.

“You come here a lot,” he said one afternoon as we walked along the park’s quiet trail.

“It’s peaceful,” I replied.

“Or lonely,” he added gently.

I glanced at him, startled. No one had ever said that out loud to me before.

He shrugged, his hands in his pockets. “I get it. Sometimes the world feels too noisy, and the silence feels safer.”

I didn’t respond, but his words stayed with me.

--

Weeks turned into months, and Daisuke became a fixture in my life. We started meeting on purpose—at first for coffee, then dinners, then evenings spent wandering the city.

He had this way of making everything feel lighter, like the weight I carried wasn’t just mine anymore. He never pushed, never pried. Instead, he listened, really listened, and for the first time, I started sharing pieces of myself I’d long kept hidden.

One evening, as we sat on a bench overlooking the city, I finally asked, “Why do you care so much?”

Daisuke turned to me, his expression serious but soft. “Because I see you, [Y/N]. And I think you’re worth knowing. You’ve just forgotten how to see yourself.”

His words hit me harder than I expected.

--

Over time, something changed. It wasn’t just that I felt lighter or happier—it was that I started noticing things, too. I noticed the way Daisuke’s eyes crinkled when he laughed, how his voice grew quieter when he talked about things he loved. I noticed how my heart beat faster when he smiled at me, how his presence made me feel like I was finally home.

I realized I was falling for him—harder than I thought possible.

One night, as we stood beneath the streetlights after another long walk, I turned to him and blurted out, “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

“For seeing me. For reminding me how to be free, and make my own choices in life.”

His eyes softened, and he stepped closer. “You’ve always been worth seeing, [N/N]. I’m just glad you let me.”

In that moment, something clicked. All the loneliness, all the grayness of my past—it faded into the background.

I reached for his hand, my voice trembling. “You know, I think I might love you.”

Daisuke smiled, his fingers tightening around mine. “Good. Because I’ve loved you since the day we met.”

In him, I found more than love—I found life again. And for the first time, I knew I wasn’t invisible. I was noticed, I was seen, and I was loved.

[yamumsyadadd]

We meet again

a/n: talks of homophobia, ignore this if that isn’t your thing.

happy New Year’s Eve, it’s 9pm where I live so this will be my last fic of 2024 ;) stay safe, have fun!

It was a warm evening in Barcelona when I saw you again. I still loved you, not that you ever really knew, or maybe you did. 

You were sitting there in the restaurant with your friends. I was there too, waiting for a guy I barely knew but was giving a chance because my father had begged me to. 

It was the same routine. Giving them a ‘chance’ knowing I’d stopped talking to them. I started to realise that I was waiting for you. A forbidden love. 

You hadn’t noticed me yet, I of course noticed you, I always did. My date arrived and we sat down. He was different to you, they all were. Blonde, clean cut, men. I tried not to glance over at you. 

I engaged in conversation, I smiled, I laughed. I did everything you’re supposed to do on a date. But I couldn’t help stealing glancing at you. 

You got up to use the bathroom and as you walked by my table, that’s when you finally saw me. You stopped dead in your tracks, then slowly made your way to me. 

“Hey I’m sorry for interrupting, I didn’t see you walk in. How are you?” You asked, eyes genuine, truly curious. 

“Oh I’m good. I didn’t see you either!” I laughed even though it was a lie, somehow I find you in every room, every stadium. 

You look at my date and introduce yourself, you never need an introduction, everyone knows who you are but you do it anyway. “I was just heading to the restroom but let’s catch up soon.” You smiled, the kind of smile that isn’t real, just polite. 

“Yeah let’s.” You walk away, and I allow myself to breathe again. I smile at my date and we continue on. I keep thinking about you, I must be a horrible person. A good looking, well educated man sitting in front of me and all I can think about is you, you with the tattoos, the long black hair and cocky smile. The fingers that can make me forget my name. 

When you get back to your seat, we make eye contact, you smile then turn back to your friends. I recognise them all, how could I not. Alexia sits with Olga, Irene with Lucia, Patri and Claudia huddled together listening to whatever drama Maria and Leila have to share. 

There’s this weird thing about loving someone who you never got to love openly. A frightening feeling that your feelings won’t be shared. And a harbouring desire to scream them at you. 

It becomes suffocating knowing it is everything you want but wanting to protect your heart because you’re tired of people not feeling them same or being ashamed. Jenni loved the same way you did, loud, unapologetic and all consuming. No man your father picks could do that. Because no man was Jenni. 

Because of that, it becomes easier to stay quiet. To love from afar, scrolling through her instagram late at night, the shared photos, the messages. To love from a distance is to play it safe. 

My date eventually comes to an end. We get up and walk out, you’re still there laughing loudly. I look back at you one more time and then leave with him. 

I say goodbye to my date, thank him for dinner. He’s a nice guy, and will make a girl happy but he isn’t you. No one is. I don’t know what I’m waiting for, I guess I’m always waiting for you, I shouldn’t though because you won’t come. You never do. 

As I continue my walk home, my phone chimes with a message. I pulled it out, expecting it to be from one of the girls asking about the date, but it’s from you. You texted me a simple ‘get home safe.’ 

I smile, eyes skimming past our last exchange. I text back a simple ‘I will thank you.’ I watch as you start to type more, then it disappears. I convince myself it’s nothing and continue on home and I think about you. I wonder if you think about me too. 

—————————————————————————

It was a tumultuous relationship. Plagued by fighting and jealousy. You were young, only 20 when you met her at some gala your parents were throwing. She was older, closer to 30 than you were to your teenage years. 

You’d seen her before, at one of the many parties your parents had through. She always excluded the same energy, she knew she was hot, and that made her cocky. Always with the same group of people, who you’d come to learn was the football team your parents loved. 

It was the third party they attended that you finally met. You were forced into conversation at the bar, you knew from that first interaction that you were doomed. 

Being gay wasn’t something that was spoken about within your family, they all knew but chose to ignore it. The phrase ‘you just haven’t met the right man’ was burned into your brain. Maybe you hadn’t, but you didn’t want to wait and find out. 

After the last party of the year, that happened to be the Christmas party, you left with her. the way her hand felt on your lower back, the grip her fingers had on your exposed skin, the way she made you chant her name like she was a god. It was addicting. 

Your friends hated her. While she was never outwardly rude to them, you’d always run to them after a fight. Telling them everything she said, leaving out how you were just as bad. But that’s what friends were for, right? 

Most of her friends discouraged the relationship, Jenni loved loudly and unapologetically, you did not. It was two different words, she was a star footballer, older and wiser. You were just some rich kid who had barely started their adult life. 

After a toxic and bitter end to the 18 month relationship, she left for Mexico. Not even bothering to say goodbye. Your heart shattered into pieces. The final words she spoke to you playing over in your mind for months. 

“I’m done loving someone who won’t love me back.” It’s not that you didn’t love her, the opposite in fact, it was that you never said it. She said it within the first few months, and every time it filled you with a sense of dread. 

How would you explain it to your family? The consequences of your love would outweigh anything else, so you kept quiet. 

The multiple parties a year continued on, the Barcelona players continued to come and you’d do everything in your power to steer clear of them. Occasionally it wouldn’t work and you’d be stuck with some of them for a photo or whatever. Alexia and Irene watched you sympathetically, you hated it. 

————————————————————————

Jenni’s pov 

The air in the restaurant was charged. Like two magnets trying to join each other but I couldn’t figure why, until I saw you. 

At first I didn’t think it was you. It had been two years since I last saw you. You were older now, more elegant, still as beautiful as ever maybe even more. But then I realised you were with someone. 

A man, who was the complete opposite of me. He was blonde, no doubt rich, clean cut and probably reached of over priced cologne.

I realised, half way to the bathroom that I’d have to walk past you to get there and took a chance. 

“Hey, I’m sorry for interrupting, I didn’t see you walk in. How are you?” I asked. 

“Oh I’m good! I didn’t see you either.” You laughed and looked down. You were lying. Anytime you lied, you would look down and fidget. It was your tell. 

I introduced myself to your date, wanting nothing more than to be polite but I couldn’t help but feel jealous. For the entire 18 months of our relationship, this is what I wanted. To take you out on dates in the fancy clothes and enjoy the overpriced wine. But he got to instead. 

“I’m just heading to the restroom but let’s catch up soon.” I said, giving a small smile. 

“Yeah let’s.” I turned around and continued on to the bathroom. Gripping the sink tightly to calm myself down. It was ridiculous that after all this time, after all the girls, I still wanted you. I still loved you. 

When I returned to the table, I couldn’t help but look over at you and to my surprise you looked back at me. As I turned back to the girls, all I could think about was you. How it would feel to love you loudly like you deserved, to show you off to everyone. It wouldn’t happen though, it couldn’t. 

Most nights, from the comfort of my apartment in Mexico, I’d scroll through your burner instagram account. The one you parents didn’t know you had, it only had a select few on it and I’d like to think you kept me there for a reason, but it was likely you just forgot. 

I watched you leave with him, his hand sprawled across the small of your back like mine used too. You looked back a final time and then you were gone. Out of sight, but not out of mind. 

I took a few minutes before pulling out my phone, rereading the last few messages we had sent each other before sending a simple ‘get home safe.’ You replied quickly, you always did. I wanted to say more, tell you everything that had happened in the last 2 years, how much I still loved you, how no one was you, but I couldn’t. 

When Leila made a joke about me texting a girl, I shook my head and put my phone away. Alexia must’ve seen, giving my shoulder a squeeze and a sad smile. 

You were the one that got away. Maybe it’s better to love you from afar, I wish you nothing but happiness, even if that means finding happiness from someone else. 

—————————————————————————

The first party of the summer had arrived. As always it was a full on affair. Your parent’s house was decked out, over the top in your opinion. The older you got, the more insufferable these parties became. 

Other businessmen bought their wives and children, both the men’s and women’s team were there, celebrating the end of the season and their spectacle winning run. 

Tuxedos and ball gowns littered the main floor and the garden but you were stuck upstairs. A heavy weight weighing on your heart. You knew, the minute you went downstairs your father would try and introduce you to a man, your mother would be making comments about your appearance and your aunts would join in. 

The sound of knuckles on the door pulled you out of your thoughts. A few seconds later she was there, leaning on the doorway. Her usual cockiness was gone and replaced with what seemed to be anxiety. 

“Thought I’d find you here.” 

“What are you doing here? I thought you’d be in Mexico already?” 

“And miss this? Absolutely not.” She studied you with ease, reading you like a book, “your father is waiting for you. He has some guy he wants to introduce you too.” 

“Of course he does.” You stood up, smoothing down your dress. 

“Why don’t they stick?” Perhaps it was a thought she meant to keep in her head or she was actually curious. 

“What?” 

“The guys your father introduces you too? Why don’t they stick? You’re smart, elegant, attractive, so why don’t they stick?” 

“I don’t know.” You looked down towards the floor again. You knew, she knew, but she wanted you to say it. 

“You’re lying. Why don’t they stick?” She cocked an eyebrow, waiting for your reply. 

“Because none of them are you.” 

It was her turn to ask, and with bated breath she did, “what?” 

“None of them are you Jenni! You think I didn’t love you but I did! I do! My father can set me up with a hundred men but that’s a hundred people that aren’t you. So that’s why they don’t stick, because they aren’t you.” 

Her long legs crossed the room in what seemed to be milliseconds. Her lips smashed onto yours, hands holding your face tightly. It took a moment to register what was happening but when it did you couldn’t help up pull her closer. 

It could’ve been seconds or minutes that you were stuck in this battle of tongues and teeth but when the door opened you shoved her away from you, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

Your aunt Elsa was standing there, out of all the people she was the best one to catch you. Her own family, your father, considered her the black sheep of them family. Never fitting into the mould, wild and free. Loving whoever she wanted, loudly and unapologetically. It’s what you admire the most about her. 

“Your father is about to come up here and get you. You have two options.” You stared at her, confused, “option 1, you leave this room, separately and go enjoy the party. Option 2, you leave this room together, your father would be mad, your mother disappointed, the countless men waiting to meet you too. If you chose option 2, I have a friend in Mexico who can give you a place to stay, because you’ll need it. The fall out from this won’t be good. If you chose option 1, then we can walk out together, I won’t say anything ever and we’ll just pretend.” 

“I don’t want anyone else.” You blurted out, “I’ll have nothing. If I leave I have nothing.” 

“You’ll have me.” Jenni spoke up, “I can support us both, you can live with me.” 

“What if this doesn’t work out? What if it’s too good to be true?” 

“You won’t know unless you don’t try calabaza. If it truly doesn’t work out, then I’m still here. Being the black sheep.” Your aunt winked at you. “Take care of her Jennifer. I have a lot of money and can find you very quickly.” With that she left, you could hear her in the hallway, ushering your father back downstairs. 

“I’m scared.” It came out as a whisper. 

“I know. I am too. But we can do it together. If you don’t want to come to Mexico, you can stay at my apartment in Madrid or we can figure something out. Please just give us a shot. A proper shot.” It wasn’t often that Jenni begged for anything, usually she’d flash her charismatic smile and people would do as she asked. 

“Okay.” 

You left the room, together, hand in hand ready to face whatever was going to happen. The unknown is terrifying. You didn’t know how it would work with Jenni, what the future held, but she was there in your ear calming you down. 

When your father pulled you away she followed, when he exploded saying the relationship wasn’t right, she was there. She stood up for you against your parents, that’s when you realised you shouldn’t have waited so long. 

At the end of the day, all you needed was Jenni. It didn’t matter that your parents barely spoke to you, or that you were outcasted from your family. What mattered was right in front of you.