#It's like being cold but not wanting to put on a coat for whatever reason

[kkusuka]

more roommate simon!

i love the idea that simon thinks he's super open and available with his emotions and reader thinking he's really cold and disinterested. is he ooc? yeah. do i care? no. if you want cannon ghost, play the game!

simon riley doesn't know when you became so important to him.

the only reason he even put out the ad for a roommate was because his landlord though he'd moved out while he was away and he'd rather have some bird in his place than deal with that again.

you were just so easy; showing up to the coffee shop (where you requested to have your first meeting just in case he was some crazy murderer) face flushed, strands of hair all over the place, and sweater a mess; rushing to explain how you got sprayed by a sprinkler on your walk over then chased by a dog. and just as you repeat sorry for the 30th time simon thinks he's in love. you're officially his roommate 30 minutes later.

but it's so out of character for him. he hasn't been around anything other than hard ass military men since he was a teenager. fuck, he's killed hundreds of men in his line of work, tortured thousands more. (he doesn't like to think that that's why he's so drawn to you. that you're so different from who he has to be, someone he's been for so long, that being around you lets him breathe. that he feels like he can actually sit and enjoy his moments away from the field in your tiny manchester apartment.)

he thinks it actually started with the decorations.

the small trinkets you let around the common spaces when he was away. it starts with your room obviously; fairy lights above your bed that spills light into the hallway when he comes home in the early morning hours, paintings on the wall that eventually flow over into the living room, the small plants in your window sill that you ask him to water one day after you leave for work.

then the dinner table suddenly has checkerboard placemats and a vase of flowers that change with the season. and his run-down couch has decorative pillows and a throw blanket (both words he learned from you when he questions what the fuck is on his couch). then the bathroom in the hallway gets a new soap stand, and a mat is placed at your front door, next to the shoe organizer and coat rack.

so he starts buying things too; the penguin plushie in the supermarket window, the vase that matches the curtains in the living room, and a small skull magnet to rest on the face of your fridge.

and before simon knows it his dreary, cold apartment actually looks lived in. and instead of coming home to a dark hallway and an empty fridge, your flower lamp is on, some random show from the 90s is playing, and there's food on the table.

he gets to know you more than he thought he would; he knows what foods you don't like, the books you're reading and the ones you refuse to read again, and even that dick from work he promises to take care of if he bothers you again (it's evident that you think it's a joke and not something that he would genuinely do but simon doesn't think he's ever been more serious).

but he never lets you know too much about him, you don't need to know about it and the less you find out the better.

then came dinners, actual dinner not just him showing up while you already had food ready. you would ask if he wanted whatever you had made ( 'i'm already making food and i normally don't eat is all anyway, so i might as well share' ). so suddenly he was spending his nights at your table with a homecooked meal and simon doesn't think he could ever let this go.

then he gets sent away again, for way longer this time. he makes sure to update his paperwork, changes his emergency contact, your name swirled onto the spouse line. you were probably as close as he'll ever get to one and if you're there they'll tell you if anything happens to him faster. he doesn't want to think of how nice your first name looks with his last name. and you'll probably never even know, simon's never gotten that injured before and he doesn't plan on it now.

months in the heat of the middle east return him to hard shell of a man he was. coming home caked in dirt, blood speckled on his clothes; he doesn't want you to see him like this, he doesn't want you to know this version of him. and for the first time he regrets letting you come into his life.

you are home when he gets back, 2:30 in the morning and every light is off, he opens your door to make sure. you're asleep, not shocking, cuddled into the giant octopus you won at an arcade. he tries not to move, he just wants to look at you for a little bit.

he wakes up the next morning to breakfast and a new pair of combat boots. he's only home for a week this time, not that he's ever home for longer than a month, and he tries to soak up all of your time. you complain about your car, he's on it. the heater started being testy, that's fine he'll take care of it. he's going grocery shopping with you, he watching that weird hospital show, and he enjoys his time in domestic bliss before getting thrown back into some random country.

somehow that all led him here. laying in a hospital bed with two bullets lodged in his shoulder with you sitting in some shitty chair pulled as close to the bed as you could.

"so uh, i'm mrs. riley now?"

"yeah, ya are. 'av been for a while."

[gatorbites-imagines]

Bl00d k1nk remmick or just remmick headcanoans

Remmick x male reader 

Ficlet 

I dont really know much about the history, but I can still horn it up. What is reader? No idea. 

I tried to leave it vague where and when this takes place, but readers mother at least had knowledge about some Irish folklore, like the Fear Gorta.  

Imagine Remmick kinda looks like that fetus voldemort thing in the beginning of this. 

not proofread, cuz i couldnt be bothered.

TW for blood, gore, etc.

Maybe living alone hadn't been your best idea, but you had never had much of a choice. No family, and nobody was gonna take someone like you in. Born out of wedlock, to a mother who prayed to gods the “right folk” shunned, and a father who had not even been baptized. In the eyes of everyone you were as bad as any demon. 

Maybe they were right about the devil, of being hunted and lost, losing it all to a being who would only play with you before it took your soul. Your father died because of his greed, and your mother because the townspeople feared her, even after using her to cure their sicknesses for years. 

Whatever it was, devil or not, you could somehow run your little farm all on your own. Not that anybody would work for you in the first place, but it was enough. Your mother had always warned you about spirits, about the undead. Like the fae, or the Fear Gorta. 

Perhaps that was why you helped him when you first saw him. You had always been told that the Fear Gorta appeared in the shape of a starved man, stumbling along, whimpering for any help it could get. And that not helping it would cause bad luck for a long time to come. 

You had never believed much in your mother's beliefs and magic, mainly learning her herbology to use it yourself. But this felt real, the same way it had felt real when you saw them kill her. 

He looked burnt, like the piece of meat you had left on the fire for too long, because one of your goats had gotten stuck in the fence that one time. Gaunt too, like somebody who hadn't eaten for a very long time. 

“Please, stranger” rasped the figure, one you were still half convinced was a spirit of some kind. But if he wasn't a spirit, and just an unfortunate soul, then it was still your duty to help him. 

“Come on, I live not long from here” you had said, going as far as to pull your coat off your shoulders to drape of his blistered skin as you helped him up into your buggy. It was night, he must have been freezing, which made you hurry up as you pulled the wagon up the old dirt road. 

The air felt heavy, like something was pressing on your very soul as your small home grew closer. Your beloved farm dogs barking up a storm. Normally they would quiet down when they noticed it was you, but tonight they kept up their howling, sounding more and more distressed. 

“Don't mind em, they just don't like strangers. Last time other folk came here it was to try and burn it down” you half joke, glancing back at the maybe man, maybe spirit. Finally, you could see his eyes, and they made something heavy run down your spine, like thick cold molasses. 

Your skin felt cold and clammy as you parked the wagon near your front door, but for some reason you kept going. Kept moving as you unlocked it, almost carried the man inside and placed him in your rocking chair near the few kindles left from earlier, kept moving as you lifted supplies inside. 

The entire time you spoke, talking about this and that, about the farm, nature, the creek you had discovered nearby when you were a child that somehow always had fish, even during winter.  

When everything was put into place, you had wanted to find something to eat or even drink for your silent visitor. It was then that you realized how quiet it was, had he already died? On the way here, he had at least wheezed every now and then, but now it was quiet. 

“Mister?” you softly ask as you step closer, feeling your heart clench. At least you got to give him a warm place to finally let go, that must have been enough, right? You should have wrapped him in the wool skin you kept, so he could have been warm before finally letting himself rest. 

Had your mother been alive, then she would have beat you bloody for even allowing something like this inside your home. But she was long gone, there had barely been anything left to bury back then. 

Your hand was just about to rest on this scrawny man? Beings? Shoulder, when he moved. The yell couldn't even leave your lungs before something clamped down on your neck, a terrible burn spreading through your entire being as your back slammed against the floor. 

It felt like being stabbed, because of course you knew what that felt like. Your hands felt useless even as you clawed, punch and yelled, your voice gurgling as you tasted blood. 

Maybe it was delusion or blood-loss as you felt your vision swim and darken, but you swore you saw the scrawny man's body start growing, thick muscles cording across his being and hair bursting from his almost bald scalp.  

Was... was he moaning? Were those claws he was licking? Coiling his too long tongue around his own fingers to suck up your life essence as he audibly panted like a hound. 

“aint you the most delicious thing I've ever tasted” he moaned, voice rough and otherworldly, eyes like those of an animal when caught in the light. What was this? Why weren't you dead? 

There was a chunk missing from your throat, one this thing had swallowed as he slurped and lapped at your pulsing jugular vein. One he had punched a hole through with his sharp teeth like cloth caught on barbed wire. 

But you weren't dead, even as you felt your back soaking through with your own blood. Even as whatever this was rutted his naked body against you like an animal in heat. 

“Like ambrosia itself. Where did you come from, my dear?” he moaned in your ear, voice rolling like a bubbling lake, or perhaps rather a rolling pot of oil, one you were about to be thrown into. 

“Seems you were made just for me” he almost giggled, his rutting speeding up as he ground his cock against your blood-soaked slacks. You could barely see, but your heart kept racing, gushing blood from your neck with uneven spurts, each audible splatter making your attacker whiner and moan as he slobbered it all up. 

At some point he growled, something so inhuman that you shivered, gurgling through your own blood as it poured from your mouth. You barely noticed the splatter of his own essence that he spilled all over your front, as the being sank his teeth into the other side of your neck, tearing into it like a starved man. 

“I claim you. You have given yourself to no other idol, so now you are mine” he whispered, lips brushing against your ear.  

It was hard to focus as his lips pushed against your own, his blood-soaked tongue slithering into your mouth to lap up the pool of blood gathering there. There was some sick part of your brain that found this arousing, enough to make your eyes flutter for just a moment. 

“Yes... just for me” he huffed, even though you had a feeling he had no need to breathe. 

The world spun as he finally pulled back, strings of blood and drool hanging from his mouth and your wounds, his grin like a fox that had just devoured the most delicious of chickens. As he stood above you, his naked body soaked in blood, your blood, some part of you twitched with a heated feeling you couldn't identify. 

“Rest now. I will return, don't you worry” was purred, the words melting together into one muffled tone, as your eyes finally rolled all the way back, a part of you certain you would die, punished for helping a stranger. 

Only for your eyes to snap back open, blinded by the sun shining in through the windows, the whining and barking of your farm dogs at the door.  

Your neck didn't hurt, had it all been a dream? A nightmare? Some erotic fantasy from the depths of your mind? 

Thats what you thought, until you sat up, your entire body sticking to the floor. When you looked beneath you, it was all coated in blood, there was so much it must have been enough for two or three people. 

Scrambling to your feet, you stumbled towards the one tiny mirror you owned, hands flying to your neck. No wounds, as if nothing had happened. If not for the blood, you might have thought it all a fantasy. 

You didnt burn as you opened the front door, letting the bright rays of the sun wash upon you. What were you? No human should bleed that much, or survive for so long? What had been the thing that tore into you like that? Had rutted against you and moaned like it had been paid for it. 

Remmick, something in the back of your mind whispered. Remmick, Remmick, it repeated.  

A cold shiver ran down your spine as your eyes turned towards your cellar doors, an underground cellar your father had once dug. The lock was broken on the ground, splatters of blood leading towards it.  

Your heart lurched, but there was something else inside you. Something hot, hungry, burning in your gut as blood rushed south. “Remmick...” you mumble, voice scratchy and dry.  

Maybe you should dig up your mothers' old books and notes, but you would have to go into the cellar for that. Maybe your new guest could help you look for them. 

[stardusksx]

ೀ⋆｡ ˚ ALWAYS COME HOME. aaron hotchner x bau!reader

summary: hotch seems to be doing everything in his power to get hurt, and that scares you. ( takes places directly after the events of 5x02 )

not my gif! credits to creator <3

warnings: angst, fluff, bau!reader, established relationship, reader is a touch insecure in the relationship but hotch reassures, f*yet, no use of y/n, mentions of self-destructive/suicidal behaviour, arguments, happy ending because i’m not self-destructive :) ( word count: 1.85k )

You didn’t know how late it was, just that the sky had long since darkened and your body ached from the seemingly endless day. But it wasn’t the twilight hour that had drained you— it was watching your boyfriend carelessly stride into a hostage situation like he was simply going to get some groceries.

He hadn’t said anything to you about his plan. Hadn’t said anything to anyone. Instead, you had to stare at his back— devoid of a bullet vest— in disbelief as he disappeared into a house occupied by a child serial killer and his son, the unsub who had been profiled as mentally unwell and unstable. It had been too late to stop him, too late to ask him just what in the hell he was thinking.

You could ask him now. But you didn’t have the energy to argue, so instead you said nothing. You quietly shrugged off your coat as he followed you into the shared apartment, hanging it on one of the pegs.

“It’s a bit late to cook anything, do you want to order in?” he asks, lingering in the doorway.

You hummed noncommittally, placing your bag on the table and unpacking a few items you’d need to put back in the safe later.

He paused. You tried to act like there was nothing amiss. “Or we could get the lasagne out of the freezer that Jessica brought over last week?”

“Whatever you want.” You respond, and the silence lingers for a few contemplative beats. You don’t glance up at him.

“Are you angry at me?”

You inhale, hands halting in their movements. You hadn’t expect him to bring it up— he’d been one track minded lately, so consumed by foyet that you’d started to think something trivial like you giving him the cold shoulder would fly under his radar. And even if he had noticed it, you didn’t think he’d care. With losing his son, being taunted by a serial killer, you wouldn’t blame him for having little capacity for anything else.

You look at him. His brows are furrowed. You look away.

“I’m fine. ” You answer simply, going back to racking through your bag for something— what, you weren’t even sure now, but some insecure part of you didn’t want to have this conversation. Like he had bigger things to be concerned about than your feelings, and you could already see how it was going to go down. He was hard to reason with when he was like this.

But he also wasn’t one to let things go unresolved. He spoke your name pointedly. When you glanced at him, he hadn’t moved from his position near the door, briefcase discarded by his feet.

“Fine. Yes, i’m angry, Aaron.” You continue rooting around your bag, “What you did was reckless, and you could have been hurt or—” you could have been killed. It hangs in the air between you, unsaid but obvious. Over a month had elapsed since he’d been hospitalised after the foyet’s attack, and you hadn’t really had an outlet for all of the fear that had flooded you over those days. It hadn’t been about you— he was the one who needed the comfort, or, well, as close to comfort as Hotch would accept. In reality, he’d been so focused in on finding Foyet from the minute he woken up that you hadn’t even had a moment to express it to him. And that was okay. Really, it hadn’t been about you. But god, when there was a moment you didn’t know if he’d ever wake up, it was the worst you had ever felt in your life.

He was quiet for a moment before he said, in that blasé way of his, “But i wasn’t.”

The words infuriated you. A sharp burst of anger clawed it’s way through your veins, you whipped around to face him. And there he stood— arms folded, brows furrowed in that assessing way of his. Sometimes, just a little bit, you hated how stoic he could be.

“But you could have been!” You snapped, “Obviously, seeing you walk in there like you have nothing to loose is a fucking problem to me, Aaron. It's like you’re trying to get killed. So i’m not just angry, i’m terrified. As if worrying about Foyet being after you isn’t enough, you're purposely putting yourself in harm's way.”

He watched you for a moment, giving away nothing. But you’d learned him over the years, know the way that he thinks. Even when he isn’t talking, isn’t blinking, you could tell what was going on in his head. Yet, sometimes, you needed him to show you. It was exhausting always having to infer. “I made a call,” He spoke your name like he was reasoning with you, “It’s what i thought was best in the situation, and i’ll admit that the outcome wasn’t what i’d hoped for. But I stand by it— someone needed to try and get through to the unsub.”

“I don't think you gave it much thought at all, actually.” You bit back sharply, taking a step towards him, “No vest, no conferring with the team, no communication about your choice of actions. Tell me, what is best about that? Because i’m god damn sure that a couple of months ago you would have never done something so erratic.”

And there it was— the topic you’d been tiptoeing around, what this was really about. No one wanted to dictate how he was navigating everything with Foyet, but as time ticked by, his actions were starting to become more and more worrying. Of course, all of it was going to affect him. But this was a path of self destruction.

“Well a couple months ago I made calls that led to a bus full of people being murdered and Morgan knocked out cold while a psychopathic serial killer could have quite easily ended him. So, excuse me if I had to make some adjustments.”

“So that’s it? You expect me to just watch you put yourself in harm's way and pat you on the back afterwards? Great. That’s just perfect, Aaron. It’s not like I love you or anything. It’s not like it makes me physically sick at the thought of you…” Your hands fly up in exasperation. He watches and watches and watches. He’s always so, unbelievably, calm.

There’s one brief flicker, a barely noticeable swallow in his throat. But his stoicism does not fracture. “All of those lives are not worth the price of mine. If I have to put myself in harm's way, then so be it.”

You blink at him incredulously. He stares back.

“Unbelievable.” You mutter, a scoff leaving your lips. You step away, wishing to look at anything but him. “I’m going to get changed.”

You don’t wait for him to reply. He probably doesn't anyways. The bedroom door shuts behind you, frustrated tears that had been building up finally flowing freely. You kicked off shoes and items of clothing, stepping under the shower head and letting ribbons of hot water cascade down your skin. It felt, for a moment, like you could relax.

But then you remembered how he might not have come home. How he could have been in some morgue instead of the next room. The water became too hot, suffocating, and you hastily shut off the tap and stepped away from the lingering steam.

You’re exhausted, and part of you just wanted him to fold you into his arms and tell you that it would all be okay. But you couldn’t expect that of him now. It was Aaron who needed the support. And you could be that— tomorrow, when the freshness of your frustrations had time to dim and you could look at him without thinking about how close you’d been to losing him. Now, you need to sleep.

Stepping out into the bedroom, you expect it to be vacant. But instead he sits on the edge of the bed, quickly looking up when he hears the door crack open. You avoid his eyes as they watch you rummage through draws for your clothes.

He says your name. You pretend not to hear. He says it louder. You pause, but do not turn to him, and the soft sound of his feet against the carpet precedes the feeling of his presence behind you. His hands slide up your forearms, and suddenly a sob was trapping itself in your throat.

“Honey…” He whispers, willing you to face him. Reluctantly, you turn around, avoiding his gaze. His hands engulfed your face anyway and coaxed your eyes to his.

“You could be the only thing left in my life and that would be all the reasons in the world to make sure I came back home.” His thumbs wiped away tears you hadn’t realised had been shed, “I’m sorry that I scared you. If it was the other way around I'd—” He shook his head, “I don’t know what I'd do. If i’m honest, all i’ve been for the past month is afraid. Of losing Jack, of losing you. I don’t know which way is worse— that Jack is away from me and I can't be the one who protects him, or that you’re right here and I still might fail to protect you. I don’t know how to think about anything else.”

He pushed away damp strands of your hair, “I don’t want to die. I don’t. I just suppose that all I'm thinking about is catching Foyet that every second I spend away from searching for leads is another second I could be too late in saving someone I love. I think it’s why I rushed into that house, i just wanted the case over with so I could get back to Foyet. But I shouldn't have done it. You’re right.” He inhaled, “I want this all over with. I want us to be able to spend the weekend taking Jack to the park, and I want to tuck him into bed at night knowing I'll be making him pancakes in the morning. And I want to wake up next to you for the rest of my life knowing that nothing could take you away.“

“I want that too,” You said softly, “And we’ll get there, I know it. But please, I need you to take care of yourself. I can’t lose you, Aaron.”

“You won’t. I promise.” He assured, conviction laced in his words. Then, “I love you.”

One hand still on your face, the other reached down to pull you into him by the small of the back. It had been so long since your kisses had been anything but fleeting that the feverishness in which he pressed his lips to yours caught you by surprise for a moment. But, god, it was everything that you needed.

Arms wrapping around his neck, you melted into him like it was the easiest thing since the beginning of time. And even if he had doubts about his ability to protect you, there would never be a place in the world where you felt more safe than in his embrace.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

cigarettes after sex

tags: mullet!stan pines, fem!reader, mentions of alcohol and smoking, nsfw, sexual themes, depression, ptsd, drunk sex, hurt/comfort, fluff and angst, inspired by cigarettes after sex songs, so I recommend to listen some while reading that :)

Stan hasn't been himself since the portal swallowed Ford up.

His life is ruined, his mind is ruined, everything is ruined. Every single night, he’s hunched over the journals, Ford’s stupid, cryptic notes that Stan can’t figure out, can’t understand, but wants to. It's like trying to read in the dark. He knows there’s something in them, some answer, but it’s out of his reach and every time he thinks about his brother being gone, his chest tightens, that guilt slamming into him so hard he feels like he can’t breathe so he drowns in his own tears. 

Stanley knows he’s not the smart one, never was, and now it feels like he’s lost every chance to make things right. The lab is his prison. The cigarettes are his only escape, one after another until the ashtray overflows, the smell of smoke permanently clinging to everything in this place. His eyes burn from lack of sleep, the bags under them deep and dark and he doesn’t bother to clean himself up anymore. What’s the point? He’s all alone. Again.  

Tonight, something changes. He can’t sit in that goddamn lab for another second, can’t stare at those useless pages with his head spinning. So, he stumbles out into the cold and ends up at the bar down the street — the only place still open this late. 

When he walks in, he’s already halfway drunk and you spot him immediately from across the room. It’s not hard; the guy’s a walking disaster. His coat is rumpled, hair a tangled mess, and his eyes are empty, hollowed out like he’s already lost something far more important than money. You've seen a lot of people sink to the bottom, but this guy sank even lower than most.

Stan doesn’t notice you at first. He barely notices anything as he stumbles up to the bar, hands trembling as he grips the counter. His cigarette hangs loose between his fingers, half burnt and about to fall, but he’s too out of it to care. He leans heavily against the bar, head down like the weight of his own body is too much.

“Whiskey,” he grumbles. “whatever’s cheap.”

The bartender glances at him, sizing him up with a frown. Stan looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks, hasn’t eaten much either. It’s written all over him, the sag of his shoulders, the unsteady sway when he tries to straighten up.

The bartender slides the glass toward Stan, but before he even picks it up, he’s already mumbling something under his breath, little grin pulling at his lips. “Don’t think I got the money for this, pal.”

He downs the drink in one go, barely wincing as the burn hits his throat and for a moment, you think he might get away with it. But the bartender’s patience is wearing thin. He scowls, leaning in with narrowed eyes, clearly not in the mood to deal with Stan’s shit tonight.

“I’m not running a charity here,” the bartender snaps. “you pay or you leave.”

Stan grins, and it’s the saddest, most pathetic thing you’ve ever seen. “What, no freebies? Guess I’ll have to put it on my tab.” he laughs, but there’s no humor in it. 

The bartender looks about two seconds from throwing Stan out on his ass and for some reason, you find yourself moving before you even realise it. Sliding off your seat, you walk over. Stan doesn’t notice you until you’re standing right next to him, and even then, his gaze is unfocused, blurry as fuck. 

Before things get ugly, you step in, sliding a couple bills across the counter, “I’ll cover it.”

The bartender takes the money without a word, though you can feel the tension of the situation, he’s definitely bothered and not in the mood. Stan looks at you, bleary-eyed, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re real or just another hallucination. His mouth twists into that lopsided grin again, but there’s something softer about it this time, like he’s genuinely surprised someone bothered to step in.

He’s too drunk to notice the bartender’s scowl as you grab him by the arm, hauling him to his feet. He stumbles, almost dragging you down with him, but you manage to keep him upright, though just barely.

“Hey, thanks, sweetheart,” he slurs, blinking at you like he’s trying to clear the fog in his head. “didn’t know I’d be gettin’ free drinks tonight.”

He tries to stand up straighter, but the alcohol’s got a firm grip on him. His body sways dangerously so you reach out, grabbing his arm to keep him steady. He’s heavier than you expected, way too much, his body leaning against yours as you pull him away from the bar.

“Come on,” you mutter, dragging him toward the door. “let’s get you out of here before you piss off anyone else.”

Stan stumbles along beside you, his steps unsteady, barely able to keep himself upright. He’s mumbling something under his breath, words too slurred to make out, because he’s so fucking drunk, but you can tell it’s nothing good. Outside, the cold hits you both like a slap to the face. The winter air is brutal, biting through your clothes and cutting through the haze of alcohol that’s been clouding Stan’s head.

“Jesus, it’s freezing out here,” he mutters, blinking against the cold. His breath comes out in visible puffs, his flushed face suddenly looking even redder in the harsh chill. Then he looks at you. “So what, you my babysitter now?

This time you have to shove him back against the wall just to keep him upright. His back hits the cold brick with a dull thud, and he lets out a low, drunken laugh, his head tipping back to rest against the wall.

“Ohh, you gonna pin me here? gotta say, I’m not usually into this kinda thing, but for you, sweetheart, I might make an exception.” his body sags, leaning heavily into the wall as he looks at you with half-lidded eyes. “or are you just waiting for me to do something stupid?”

Your brows furrow at that, irritation flaring in your chest. “What are you talking about?”

He’s a mess, a complete disaster, but there’s something about him that makes it hard to walk away. Maybe it’s the way he’s still trying to crack jokes, even when he’s clearly drowning in his own misery. Maybe it’s the way his hands tremble, even though he’s trying to play it off like he doesn’t care.

He’s quiet for a moment, his eyes half-lidded as he stares up at the sky. Stan chuckles. “Well, I could just. . . y’know. Throw myself off a cliff. Put an end to all this crap. What’s one more dead Pines, huh?”

He’s not joking anymore. There’s something raw in his voice, he sounds way too hurt, too honest, too broken that makes your stomach twist. You don’t really know what to answer on that. You aren’t that good at supporting people, but supporting drunk guy? He’ll barely hear what you’ll tell him. 

You pull a cigarette from your pocket, lighting it up with quick movements, because cold air stinging your fingers. Stan watches you through half-lidded eyes, his breath visible in the frigid air.

“Hey,” he mutters. “mind if I bum one off ya?”

You hand him a cigarette without a word, and he takes it, his fingers still shaking from cold or. . . as he lights it. He leans back against the wall, the smoke curling around his face as he exhales slowly, closing his eyes for a moment.

Neither of you speak after that. There’s nothing to say. You don’t know how to start a talk either. Is it even needed?

Stan’s a complete mess, the kind you don't want to get too close to. But as you stand there, cigarette smoke curling between your fingers, you can’t tear your eyes off him. He’s slumped against the wall, looking like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders or maybe that’s just the whiskey. You wonder why the hell you bothered to drag him out here in the first place. He’s a disaster and his weird comments aren’t helping, they just disturb you.

You take another drag, feeling the bitter taste of nicotine hit your lungs, and for a moment, you think about just walking away. He’s not your problem. You’ve done your good deed for the night and the cold air is starting to bite at your skin. Just leave him here. He’ll figure it out, or. . . he won’t. Either way, it’s not your concern.

But just as you’re about to turn and go, Stan mumbles something under his nose. It’s faint, too quiet to catch.

“. . . should’ve never messed with the damn portal.”

You blink. Portal? The word echoes in your mind, that’s surprising, intriguing. What the hell is he talking about? You glance at him again, but his eyes are fluttering shut, his body slumping further against the wall.

“Hey,” you say, stepping closer. “what did you just say?”

Stan’s lips move, but no sound comes out, he’s completely out of it. Your eyes widen in shock as you say “hey, man” louder to get him back to his senses, but before you can react, his knees buckle and he collapses, dead weight against the cold ground.

“Holy shit!” you drop your cigarette, your hands immediately going to his shoulders, trying to shake him awake. His head lolls to the side, completely out cold

Of course. Of fucking course! He’s drunk off his ass, hasn’t slept, probably hasn’t eaten anything substantial in days. You run a hand through your hair, staring down at him, your mind racing.

You’re not sure what the hell to do with this guy. You don’t even know him. But something in your gut twists, something telling you to stay, to not leave him lying here like this. 

***

He’s strange, sure. But why does that word “portal” keep sticking in your head?

Days pass, but your thoughts keep drifting back to him. That night, his ramblings, the look in his eyes before he passed out. You shouldn’t care. He’s just some guy, a random drunk you stumbled across. But you’ve always been a curious person. You keep thinking about how broken he looked, how utterly wrecked he seemed and you wonder what could’ve driven him to that point.

You’re out in town again, aimlessly wandering the streets of Gravity Falls, and without even realizing it, you find yourself back at the bar where you met him. It’s the same cold winter night, what makes your body shake from chill no matter how many layers you’ve got on.

You stand outside with a cigarette, your breath mixing with the smoke. Your mind’s still on him, on that weird stranger. You can’t help but wonder if he’s alright. Probably not? Guys like that don’t bounce back easy. 

You take another drag, exhaling slowly, your thoughts swirling. You think about how he stumbled around, barely able to stay on his feet, and for some reason you smile. It’s ridiculous, really. He’s such a loser. But there was something strangely. . . cute about it all. God, why are you even thinking about him

Suddenly, the door to the bar swings open, and a familiar figure stumbles out into the cold. You blink, and sure enough, it’s him. That drunk weird guy. Same red jacket, same disheveled look, but this time he doesn’t seem quite as far gone. Still drunk, but not teetering on the edge like last time.

The bouncer gives him a shove, muttering something about not coming back without cash and Stan nearly trips over his own feet before catching himself. He stands there for a moment, muttering insults and then his eyes land on you. His gaze lingers, squinting through the haze of alcohol, and recognition slowly dawns on his face. He straightens up, well, as much as a guy like him can, and adjusts his jacket, trying to look somewhat presentable.

“Well, well, if it ain’t my guardian angel,” he says with a grin.

You raise an eyebrow, flicking the ash from your cigarette. “didn’t know angels had to drag drunks out of bars.”

Stan laughs, but it’s more of a low chuckle. “do I know you? I feel—“ he hiccups. “fuck, feel like I should know your name. . .”

“I never told you, dummy.”

Stan stares at you for a moment, processing that, and then he smiles wider. “Ah, right. Guess I can’t forget what I never knew.” he winks, but it’s sloppy, and you can’t help but smile back.

He takes a step toward you, leaning against the wall beside you. “Y’know, I gotta thank ya for payin’ for me back there. ‘Specially since that whiskey was crap. Worst I’ve had in years.”

You snort, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “Yeah, and that’s why you drank all of it, right? real convincing, man.”

He chuckles again, running a hand through his brown hair. “What can I say? Gotta give every drink a fair shot. Even the bad ones.”

You shake your head, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite yourself. The guy’s a mess, sure, but there’s something oddly charming about his complete lack of shame. He’s so human. Flawed and ridiculous, but human. And funny.

For a while, neither of you say much, just standing there under the night sky, the snow crunching beneath your feet as you walk slowly down the street. The cold bites at your skin, but it feels less harsh with him beside you, talking about nothing in particular. He rambles about the bar, about the bartender, about how he’s been kicked out of worse places, but there’s an ease to it, like he’s just talking to fill the silence.

And for some reason, you don’t mind it. His company is strangely nice. Despite everything.

As you walk, you glance over at him, still trying to figure out what it is about this guy that’s gotten under your skin. He’s weird, yeah. Definitely not what you’d call put-together. 

He catches your gaze and smirks, a little lopsided but softer this time. “What, you like what you see?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Not even close.”

***

Over time, you start to see Stanford Stan more regularly. It's never planned, never some formal arrangement. He’s just there, outside that same dive bar, smoking under the dim streetlight or wandering down the streets with his red jacket pulled tight against the cold. And every time, you find yourself walking beside him, talking about nothing and everything.

It’s not like you’re close, not really. He doesn’t open up, never gives you much more than surface-level comments or dumb jokes to deflect anything too personal. You only know what he lets slip, and even that feels like more than you should. He insists his name is Stanford, though something about it always sounds. . . off. 

Stanley thinks he’s idiot. It’s a role he’s playing, a mask he’s not ready to take off, won’t take for for the next thirty years.

One night, after you’ve met up for what feels like the hundredth time, you finally ask him why he’s always drunk when you see him. It’s been bugging you for a while, how every time you meet, he reeks of whiskey and stale cigarettes, eyes glassy, speech slurred, sometimes flirting with you or winking dumbly at you. You’ve tried to ignore it, but tonight the question just slips out.

Stan pauses, cigarette halfway to his lips. You think he’s not going to answer, but then he takes a drag, exhaling slowly before speaking. “Helps me think,” he mutters. “keeps the noise out.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Noise?”

He shrugs, leaning back against the wall, his eyes scanning the street. “Yeah. The crap up here. Some people got quiet minds, y’know? Not me. Gotta slow it down.”

It’s vague, cryptic. You don’t push for more. You’ve learned by now that pressing Stan doesn’t get you anywhere. He only shares what he wants, and even then, it’s always layered in something else, sarcasm, a joke, some offhand comment that makes it hard to tell what’s real and what’s just him deflecting.

Nevertheless, there is something in the way he says it that does not leave you indifferent. The way he looks when he mentions his thoughts, as if there's something more hiding under the surface that booze and cigarettes can't hide. You wonder what’s rattling around in his brain, what kind of shit he’s trying so hard to drown out.

Time passes, and your strange friendship, or whatever it is, continues. Nothing changes. You meet up, you talk, you walk through the streets of Gravity Falls, smoking and trading stories. Stan makes jokes, you laugh, and somehow, despite everything, you find yourself growing more comfortable around him.

But he never lets you in, not really. You can only guess at what’s going on in his life, at what’s driving him to the bottom of a bottle every time you see him. It’s frustrating in a way, how closed off he is, how he seems determined to keep everything buried. There’s a part of him that’s afraid to let you see the real him, afraid to show just how broken he really is.

You start to ask him more personal questions, though he always dodges them with some half-assed joke. Like the time you asked him about his hair. His mullet, to be specific. It’s a mess, now unruly and overgrown, and you can’t help but wonder why the hell he refuses to cut it. 

“Why don’t you change a haircut?” you ask teasingly. “you look like you haven’t touched it in years.”

Stan just grins, flicking his cigarette into the street. “Ah, what can I say? Chicks dig the mullet.”

What you don’t know is that Stan’s too scared to look at himself in the mirror.

The way he avoids mirrors, the way his eyes flicker away if he catches his own reflection for even a second. It’s not about the hair, it’s about something deeper. Every time he sees his reflection, it’s not his face he sees, it’s Ford’s. If he cuts his hair, changes anything, he’s worried he’ll lose himself completely, that he’ll become the brother he’s spent his whole life running from. It’s not something he’d ever tell you, though. That’s way too deep for the guy who lives behind a wall of bad jokes and alcohol.

Stan never talks about his past. You’ve asked, but he always deflects with a joke or changes the subject. The most you’ve gotten out of him is when something goes wrong, he drops something, or his stupid car won’t start, or even when he just stumbles over his own feet. He’ll shake his head, muttering to himself, “Screw-up. Always been a screw-up.” It’s weird, like it’s the only thing he knows how to be.

It bothers you. You don’t get it. Yeah, he’s a mess, but this weird obsession with calling himself a screw-up, like it’s some kind of mantra, doesn’t make sense to you. You don’t know where it’s coming from, but every time he says it, you see a flash of something bitter in his eyes, like he’s heard those words so many times they’ve become part of him.

What you don’t realize is that those words are burned into him. His father used to call him a screw-up, over and over until it became his identity. And then there was Ford, his golden child of a brother, the smart one, the successful one. Stan’s always felt like the lesser of the two, never quite measuring up, always stuck in his brother’s shadow. He’s spent his whole life trying to live down to that title, like it’s all he’s worth. Stan was a kid, who heard those words over and over until they stuck, until he couldn’t see himself as anything else.

You can’t fix what’s already broken. But that doesn’t stop you from trying. Something about Stan makes you want to help, even though you know you can’t. He’s too far gone, too buried in his own mess. Still, you keep coming back. Maybe out of curiosity, maybe out of some sense of hope.

***

Another night, another round of drinks. The two of you sit at the bar, glasses clinking against the wood, the air is filled with the smell of cigarettes and alcohol. Stan’s already a few drinks in, and you’re not far behind. You laugh at something he says, probably another dumb joke, but you’re not really paying attention. Your mind is clouded, your body is hot from drinking, and before you know it, your gaze slides over his lips.

It’s stupid. You’re both drunk, and this is Stanford, the guy who can barely keep his life together, let alone maintain a relationship. But the way he looks right now, disheveled and messy, his lips curling into that cocky grin, makes your heart race.

His lips. Your lips. Apocalypse.

The kiss happens fast, messy, without warning. One minute you’re sitting there, and the next, his lips are on yours, rough and dry. It’s not graceful, not soft. It’s desperate, like he’s been holding something back for too long, and now it’s all spilling out at once.

The kiss deepens, but you don’t care. His mouth moves against yours, hungry, needy, like he’s searching for something, like that’s what he needed all those years. Human touch and someone else's warmth.

You’re both drunk, of course. Maybe that’s the only way it could’ve happened. 

Stan tastes like smoke and cheap liquor, the bitterness lingering on your tongue as his hands slide up your back, pulling you in. You can feel the heat of his body, the way his chest presses against yours.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if this is a mistake, stupid drunk accident. But then he kisses you harder, his hand tangling in your hair and all thoughts of logic fly out the window. This isn’t about fixing him. You don’t care about anything except the fact that Stanford, the complete disaster of a man you’ve somehow gotten tangled up with, is kissing you like the world’s about to end.

His hands are rough, clumsy as they cup your face, and it’s all heat and desperation, like neither of you know what the hell you’re doing, but you don’t want to stop.

You’re not sure how it happened so quickly, one second, you were sitting at the bar, laughing, your lips crashing into his, and now you’re pressed against the cold wall of the bathroom. The neon lights of the bar barely make their way out from under the door, flooding the room with a dim glow as Stan presses you against the sink.

Stan kisses like an animal, like he’s trying to lose himself in the moment, drown out everything that’s weighing on him. Like he’s searching for some kind of escape. The alcohol has dulled his brain, but not enough to make him forget. He needs something more, something real to pull him out of the relentless spiral of thoughts, of portals, journals and the constant gnawing guilt.

Stan needs to lose himself in something, anything else. And tonight, that something is you.

His big hands are on you, one sliding up your back, fingers curling into your hair, tugging you even closer as he deepens the kiss. He groans into your mouth and you feel how his hard cock presses through his jeans as he pushes you against the sink in the bar's bathroom. You feel like you’re burning from the inside out, every nerve igniting under his touch, his mouth trailing down your jaw, leaving a scorching path along your skin.

You barely notice when the door creaks open, someone stepping into the small, dimly lit room.

“Bathroom’s occupied, unless you wanna watch, but that’ll cost you.” Stan snaps, irritated as he glares at the stranger. The man stutters away quickly and the door slams shut with a loud bang. 

Before you can say something, he’s kissing you again, hard, desperate, rough, demanding. 

You moan into his mouth, tangling your finger in his brown hair, tugging him closer, and the word slips out between your breaths. “Stanford. . .”

Stan freezes and that name seems to knock all the alcohol out of his blood. It feels like something heavy and wrong between you, Stan's gaze is blank, like he's not here at all. It’s his brother’s name, the one he’s stolen, the one he’s buried himself under. You look at him and see something in his eyes. Regret. Guilt. That endless pain that’s been eating at him for as long as he can remember. You don't know what's going on, but you want to solve this damn mystery so badly. What's wrong with this man?

But then it’s all gone, replaced by that cocky grin.

“Stan’s fine, sweetheart. Trust me.”

His hands fumble with your pants, yanking them down roughly, desperately, his fingers massaging and rubbing you through your underwear. You’re already soaking, practically trembling from his touch, and he groans when he feels it, his fingers sliding through your wetness.

“Shit, you’re so wet for me,” he growls. “fuckin’ perfect, baby.”

You moan, head tilting back, the sensation overwhelming as he slides two fingers inside you, rough and fast. He’s not gentle, not tonight, there’s no time for that, no point for that too. He’s desperate and it shows in the way his thick fingers pump into you, the heel of his hand pressing against your clit in the most delicious way.

“St-Stan—“ you moan, looking down at his fingers thrusting into you.

“Please, don’t say it, don’t say that name,”meanwhile, Stan thinks, hoping your drunken mind has figured it out.

“—fuck me,” your last words make him breathe a sigh of relief. Good girl. And then he’s yanking your panties down as he have you bent over the sink, your palms pressing into the cold porcelain and you barely have time to register the sound of his belt hitting the floor before you feel the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

“Fuck,” he mutters as he lines himself up. “I’m gonna fuck you right here, right now. And you’re gonna let me, aren’t you?”

You moan, nodding, pressing back against him, desperate for the stretch, to feel him inside you because your brain can't think of anything else but getting fucked hard in the bathroom of a bar. “Please, Stan— please, use me!”

And he obeys, slamming into you, burying himself deep in one rough, brutal thrust that actually hurts, but your drunk state doesn’t care much. You gasp, his cock fills you so completely you can barely breathe, you cry out, your body arching, but Stan's hand is holding you back, pressing on your back to keep you in place and he groans. It’s overwhelming you, a mix of pain and pleasure and you can’t stop moans that escapes your lips as he starts to move, his cock sliding in and out of you with rough thrusts.

“Huh, oh jesus fuck, baby, yer tight,” Stan grits out between ragged breaths, his voice hoarse. He pulls back only to slam into you again, harder this time, his hips snapping against yours with a brutal rhythm that has you gasping. 

“Staaann—!” you whimper his real name again, your fingers gripping the edge of the sink for dear life, his cock so deep it’s like he’s claiming every part of you. “Oh, fuck-fuck-fuck!”

“my fucking god, baby,” he groans, his dick hitting that spot deep inside you that has your body trembling. His fingers find your clit, rubbing in quick circles as he fucks you harder. “you feel so fuckin’ good, doll, so tight around my cock.”

Of course, there's a mirror hanging over the sink, and Stan glances up, wanting to see your fucked-out expression, how gorgeous your face looks when he's pounding into you like this. But, almost spitefully, his eyes land on himself instead. He wants to look away, he should look away, but something makes him stop. For the first time in years, the reflection staring back at him is someone else. Not his twin. Not his nerdy brother. No, not Stanford. Ford would never end up like this. Never get so fucking dirty.

Stan sees himself for what he is. What he's become. Hair disheveled, drunk, filthy, fucking in a bar bathroom. Ford would never be like this. Stan, you piece of shit, you're a disgrace to your brother's name, Stanley thinks.

But then your moans reach his ears, pulling him back, reminding him where he is. Thank God the bar music is loud enough to cover you. He blinks, realizing he's let the pace slip, and his hands tighten on your hips, his grip hard enough to bruise, grounding himself.

You’re a mess of moans and gasps, your body shaking, your warm walls tightening around him as the pleasure builds. “Stan— fuck, I’m gonna—”

Stan leans into you as much as the position allows, one hand tangling in your hair, tugging hard enough to make the roots sting, though in your drunken haze, you barely even feel it.

“Do it,” he growls, his breath hot against your neck. “Cum for me. I wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

And you do, the orgasm rips through you, your body convulsing as you cry out, your walls squeezing around him what makes Stan groan, his fingers digging into your hips, thrusting harder, faster, chasing his own release. You can feel him throbbing inside you and then he’s pulling out, his hand wrapping around his cock as he strokes himself, his cum spilling hot and thick onto your skin.

***

The days began to stretch into weeks. Time wasn’t something you paid attention to anymore, not since that night. You could still feel him sometimes, his rough hands ghosting over your skin, the taste of whiskey and cigarettes lingering long after he’d left, his groans, the way he said your name. It hadn’t been anything gentle or romantic that night, just bodies lost in drunken hunger. And after that, you hadn’t seen much of him since, not like before.

You couldn’t help but wonder if maybe that night had ruined something between you. Maybe it had been a mistake. Maybe he’d felt nothing, and you’d been stupid to think it could’ve been anything more. The way his lips had pressed against yours, hungry, desperate, hadn’t felt like love. He was drunk, did he even know who he was kissing? Your anxiety was growing, your thoughts were fighting one another. It wasn’t love. It had been something else entirely, it was raw and messy. You knew it wasn’t love, just a night. It wasn’t tender or slow; there were no whispered promises of endless love, marriage, kids, whatever “all happy” people have. Just a desperate fuck, not some grand confession of feelings. Whatever had been between you before — it felt like it was ruined, as if that thing in the bathroom had burned everything else to ash.

Stanford had disappeared, leaving you with silence and your own thoughts, and you believed that he regretted it. Maybe it was just too much for him. 

However, Stanley, he couldn’t shake the feeling of your lips on his, the way they were so warm, because no one had ever kissed him with that kind of passion before. He wasn’t used to that, to being touched like that. His entire life, he believed nobody really liked him. Not like this. Hell, even his own family had given up on him at some point. Except for his mom, she’d always tried to love him, even when he couldn’t love himself. 

He tried to ignore the way his chest ached when he thought about you, tried to drown it out with more cigarettes, more drinks, he tried, but failed because nothing worked. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face. Stan was getting attached to you, he knew it, even when he didn’t want to admit it. Even without alcohol, without the nicotine to calm his nerves, he knew he wanted you and your presence. It wasn’t just lust. It was something deeper, something that scared the fuck out of him because he wasn’t used to it. And maybe that’s why he’d been avoiding you. Because how the hell was he supposed to deal with feelings he didn’t even know how to name? Stan always felt that people didn’t love him, they tolerated him.

With you, for the first time in a long time, Stan had felt like he mattered. Like he was seen.

It scared him a lot.

***

Spring came early that year, and with it, the world outside the window seemed to come to life. Gravity Falls blossomed with colors you hadn't noticed before — the world is painted in bright greens and soft pastel tones, flowers made their way through the ground, as if the whole town was shaking off the cold and waking up. And that's when you saw him again.

You weren’t expecting to run into Stanford like this, not here, not in daylight, when spring is blooming around you. He was standing at the edge of the road, hands shoved into his pockets, a slight frown on his face like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be here. But then his eyes met yours and he didn’t look away this time.

There was no alcohol, no bar lights casting shadows on his face. Just sober Stan, the man who had kissed you with so much need that it had nearly broken you.

“Hey,” he called out and you immediately responded with excited “hi!” you smiled, he stood there, waiting for you to come closer. When you did, there was a long pause, neither of you quite sure what to say. His eyes flicked down nervously and you noticed it then, the subtle change, not too noticeable. Had he fixed his mullet a bit? It wasn’t much, but it was. . . cleaner. Neater, like he’d put in just a little more effort. Like maybe he had been planning on running into you.

“Uh, you wanna grab some coffee or somethin’?” Stan asked, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, clearly trying to play it cool, but the way he shifted on his feet betrayed him. He was nervous. Actually nervous. You hadn’t seen that in him before. “I figured we could, ya know, talk. Maybe. If that’s somethin’ you wanna do, of course.”

You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

That’s how two of you ended in a small café nearby, the conversation light at first, both of you avoiding that specific term about. . . Doesn’t matter. 

It was much easier to talk about the weather, or the weirdness of Gravity Falls, or how spring had made the town feel alive again. But every now and then, your eyes would meet and you exchanged awkward laughs and smiles.

“So, uh. . . I gotta ask,” Stan started. “did ya notice somethin’ different?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think for a moment before grinning. “Your hair? you mean you actually put effort into it?”

He smiled back at you. “Yeah, well, figured I’d try to clean up a bit. Y’know, look a little less like a bum.”

You laughed, feeling warmth blooming in your chest. It was such a small thing, but it felt significant to you. Like he’d actually cared enough to try for you, impress you maybe. And that meant more than you could say.

***

Nights bled into days and days slipped back into nights. Time seemed to blur together, the moon swapped places with the sun over and over. And here you were, tangled in the sheets of Stan’s bed, staring at the ceiling, while the moonlight filtered through the triangle-shaped window, the soft glow of it lays over your face, feels like the world outside was holding its breath just for you.

Things between you and Stan had shifted in ways you hadn’t expected. It wasn’t quick or loud. At end, Stan let you get closer, but piece by piece, he was afraid you might notice if he let you too far in all at once.

The first time Stanley let you hug him, really hug him, was late in night. You weren’t sure how it had happened, it wasn’t planned, you reached for him first. You didn’t even think about it, just pulled him close. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him carefully at first, waiting for him to tell you to stop. But he didn’t. Stan stiffened at first, because the idea of being held was foreign to him, something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to do. Then his face buried against your shoulder, and at first, you thought he was just tired, resting, taking what he needed and nothing more. But then you felt it. The dampness against your skin.

You realized with a sinking heart that Stan was crying.

It wasn’t loud. No sobs, no gasping breaths. Just silent bitter tears soaking through your shirt, his grip tightening on you like he was afraid you might disappear, just like his brother. His body trembled slightly, now he couldn’t hide anymore. It broke something in you, seeing him like this, this man felt so small in your arms. 

He clung to you like a child, because no one had held him in years. No one, no one had hugged him like this since he left his family.

You sighed and held him tighter, feeling his tears soak into your skin. Stan wasn’t just crying about tonight, he was crying for all the years he’d spent running, for all the times he’d pushed people away because it was easier than getting hurt. He was crying because, for the first time in so long, someone was holding him, and it wasn’t just physical, it reminded him of what it felt like to be cared for. To not be alone. 

Your hand gently stroking the back of his head, letting him melt into you like the child he probably hadn’t been allowed to be in years. Decades, maybe. For the first time, Stan didn’t feel like the tough man you knew him as. He felt small, fragile, like he was that little boy again, the one who had been left behind, pushed out of his family and told to figure it all out on his own.

Stanley pulled back, wiping his face roughly with the back of his hand, embarrassed as he looked down. But you didn't give him time to think again and regret his actions, you didn’t let him feel that shame for long. You reached for the pack of cigarettes on the table, handing one to him without a word. Stan took it and you lit it for him, the soft click of the lighter the only sound in the room.

You sat together in that silence of the night, both of you smoking. You weren’t drunk this time and that made everything feel more real, clear. It wasn’t about the cigarettes, though. It was the quiet between you, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel uncomfortable or awkward. Stan wasn’t running anymore, he could finally relax, finally let himself breathe. 

He looked up at the night sky, at the Milky Way stretching above you and smiled then, just a little, but it was there. A real, sincere smile. You hadn’t seen that on him before, not like this. It wasn’t the cocky grin he wore after dumb compliments or the smirk that followed some joke. This was softer. Stanley stared at the stars, his eyes reflecting the distant light and you wondered what he was thinking about. But while he was smiling, you were calm. 

Stanford, real Stanford, he’s always been somewhere up there. In the stars, in the galaxies, in other world, always lost in science and mathematics, in things Stanley never really understood.

Nights passed like this more often, where it wasn’t about the rush of everything. He didn’t have to keep running anymore, didn’t have to keep pretending he didn’t care. He’d gotten soft around you in a way that surprised both of you, but it felt right. He could relax now. He could let himself be vulnerable.

One night, after the smoking had long stopped, after the silence had stretched between you in that comfortable way again, the two of you ended up in his bed. Not in the desperate lust way you had before, but in a way that felt natural. Like this was where you both belonged, in each other’s arms.

Stan was lying on your chest, his head resting against you as you calmingly ran your fingers through his hair, the brown strands slipping through your hands. He let out a long, contented sigh, relaxing into your touch. 

You felt his breath against your skin, the slow rise and fall of his chest in sync with yours, and that made you understand just how fragile he really was. He never was the tough guy he always tried to be. Stanley Pines was was just a man trying to figure out how to feel again.

Stan’s arms wrapped loosely around you, holding on but not out of desperation this time. Just out of comfort. Out of need.

You smiled softly, your fingers still tangled in his hair. “I’m not going anywhere, Stan.”

And for the first time, he believed it and smiled.

***

It wasn’t in Stan’s nature to lay everything out in some big, romantic gesture, not now. This will happen later when he gets older, much older. So there was no official conversation, no ‘what are we now?’ that hung awkwardly in the air.

It happened one evening, at dusk, because at this time of day people always become more sincere and honest, the two of you sitting on the back porch, sharing the silence in the way you’d grown to love. He had that usual cigarette between his lips, the glow of the ember flickering in the dark and you were watching the stars. That's when he said it, which in his language meant “I love you”: 

“I think I like you best when you’re just with me and no one else.”

That was his way of telling you. You didn’t need him to say the word love. You understood him well enough by now to know that what he felt was real and that was all you needed. 

You didn’t ask him to clarify, didn’t push for more. Stan was never someone you could push. Instead, you waited. You knew he would tell you everything in time. He just needed to get there on his own, at his own pace. 

Sometimes he’d disappear into the lab, working on some thing he barely explained, shrugging it off with that typical grumble about science and mathematics. “It’s all bullshit anyway,” he’d say, tossing his hands in the air. “I ain’t ever understood that crap.”

“Not like my brother, he’s the smart one.” Stanley continued in his thoughts. 

Then you started noticing the small changes. The way the bottles that once cluttered his desk and the corners of the shack were fewer now. He still drank, yeah, but not like before. He wasn’t drowning himself in it anymore. It was like he was learning, little by little, how to exist without that forever haze of alcohol clouding his thoughts, feelings and memories.

Stan was still scared though. He was scared of a lot of things, scared you’d leave, scared you’d find out something about him and realise you couldn’t stay. And then there were the nightmares. The ones he never talked about, but they were all the same, repeating every time. You’d wake in the middle of the night to find him tense beside you, his breathing uneven, his hands gripping the sheets as though he was trying to hold on to something slipping away. 

That haunted him. The portal, always the portal. He’d never say it, at least not now. He’s not ready yet. He’s terrified that somehow, you’d be pulled into it too, just like Ford. That one day you’d be gone and he’d be alone again, abandoned forever. 

But when your lips touches his in slow kiss, when you brush your fingers through his messy hair and kiss his forehead, all these fears are washed away. You’d hold him close, feel his body relax against yours and slowly, slowly, his breathing would steady as the nightmares faded. There he stops dreaming about portals and disappearances. Instead, he sleeps deeply, peacefully, like a normal human being.

In the mornings, he’d stay in bed longer than you, his eyes still closed when you slipped out from under the covers. He’d stretch, arms reaching out lazily, that rough voice of his so sleepy. “Sweetheart, come right back,” he’d mumble. “i’ve been waitin’ for you to slip back in bed.” he’d smile when he’d feel your warm body next to his.

That’s what made you fall in love with him harder.

The way he was always a bit softer in the mornings, not yet fully awake and not needing to be. He wasn’t running anymore. Not from you, not from himself. For the first time in what felt like forever, Stan was learning what it meant to just be. To exist in the quiet moments. He still smoked, but it wasn’t to escape anymore, it was just a part of him, something familiar, habit. 

Stanley had spent so much of his life running, from his past, from laws, cops, states, from his brother, from his mistakes. But with you, for the first time, he wasn’t running anymore. He was staying.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Roses are red... [W. W]

Willy Wonka x fem!reader

word count: 1.8k

[Timothée masterlist]

If you want to request something, leave it in my inbox!

A noise in the distance was responsible for waking you up from your not-so-pleasant sleep in the hard, cold bed that you had been using for almost a year. Could it be Scrubbit? It was too late for her to be doing anything, you thought, much less in the bedroom section. With some curiosity you slipped your cold feet into the even colder shoes to turn on the lamp on your table and left the room with the intention of discovering what that was.

Hallways always made you nervous and the thought of encountering something unpleasant made you even more uneasy, but you tried to keep your mind occupied with something else as you moved forward step by step. Seeing nothing outside the rooms, you continued down the spiral stairs and that was where you finally observed the cause of the commotion: a crouching body that made you jump in surprise.

“Mr. Wonka?” you whispered when you noticed the burgundy coat and this time it was your turn to startle.

“Oh, it's just you,” he laughed, a little more relieved “What are you doing here?”

“The noise woke me up. What are you doing here?” you asked back, seeing him fully dressed and with his shoes on.

“Trying to get out. I need to get an ingredient to finish tomorrow's chocolates” he explained to you.

True, tomorrow would be the big day where you guys would do your best to present your friend's chocolates to the world. You had to admit that at first you hadn't been fascinated by the idea, but after seeing all the good things that this had brought for the entire group you were more than willing to continue supporting in whatever way you could. That was why the next day you would sneak into the gourmet galleries during the day to help operate the shop that Abacus and Noodle had managed to rent. And you could tell that Wonka could barely contain his excitement.

“How do you plan to go out at this time?” you asked, as it was obvious that your usual exit through the laundry tube wasn’t an option.

“There's a space big enough for someone to get out in that part, see?” he murmured, pointing with his cane at a gap above the front door “I just need to get a good grip on this rope and I can climb up there. I will pull it to the other side and before dawn I will climb again.”

“And what if Scrubbit sees you?”

“She won't,” Wonka whispered, completely sure of himself. There was a brief silence between you, where you just looked at him with a certain claim and he returned that look with an amused "Do you want to come with me?"

"What? No!"

"Come on! It will be fun"

“I'm in my pajamas,” you said through clenched teeth.

“Then put on different clothes,” he quickly resolved, with a smile that was too enthusiastic for your liking. Looking at your doubtful expression he added: “It will only be a few hours, don't you want to get out of here?”

Although you were a little hesitant, after thinking about it a little and with the help of the man's hopeful expression you ended up being convinced. Making as little noise as possible you went up to your room to dress properly and when you returned he was already sitting on a step, waiting for you.

“I hope you know what you're doing,” you whispered close to him, half excited and half scared to death by what you were about to do.

You had gone out before, of course, but you knew that doing it at night was even riskier for many reasons you didn't want to think about right now.

He went first, just to check that everything was safe, and then you followed him, albeit with a little less grace. When you were above the door he reminded you to pull the rope for the time to return and when you looked at the height at which you were the idea of going down became less promising than at the beginning.

“Jump and I'll catch you” he exclaimed, noticing your frightened expression and you took a moment to try to calm down by breathing deeply.

You analyzed your options and thought that in that position you would have to go down anyway, and it was preferable to do it outwards, so without thinking too much about it you made a sign to the boy and then threw yourself forward with your eyes closed. You heard him exhale in surprise and the next thing you felt were his arms holding you, perhaps too tightly, as he feared you were going to fall suddenly.

"Are you okay?" he laughed softly, quite close to your ear. Upon hearing that you opened your eyes only to meet his, as green and beautiful as a pair of emeralds.

“Yes, everything is perfect” you sighed, and then he gently placed you on the floor. Without even expecting it you had already giggled too.

“Okay, go ahead.”

Without questioning him, you began to walk behind him and when you were a couple of streets away you were able to breathe more calmly, as if the weight of your captors had been reduced on your shoulders. Due to the schedule of your visits abroad, you hadn’t had the opportunity to appreciate the beautiful lights around you and you were sure that at that moment you looked like a child fascinated by them.

“They're pretty, right?” Wonka asked, confirming your hypothesis completely. Seemingly he had been watching you look at the decorations.

“They are,” you answered timidly. “What precisely are we looking for?” you asked next, still a little distracted by the environment, but trying to get his attention away from you.

“Some young rose leaves to make an infusion for the chocolate roses. I saw a full garden near the park the other time, when we were returning to the laundry. I think they can be useful”

“Are you feeling nervous?” you murmured gently, giving him your full attention now as you crossed your arms to keep some warmth. “About tomorrow.”

“A little… well, a lot actually. But in a good way,” he smiled “The truth is that I have never felt so nervous and excited in my life. All this is like a dream come true”

“I hope it’s perfect,” you murmured and you said it with sincere faith.

You had tried so hard to achieve all this that you were not only looking to do it to pay off your debt with Scrubbit, but also to see your new friend happy. And how would you not want that? Seeing him happy was a wonderful sight.

"Are you cold?" he asked, noticing that your figure was slightly curled in on itself. Apparently he was noticing a lot more than you would like.

"Only a little"

You were going to add that you were fine with it, but suddenly he stopped you by jumping in front of you and when you were about to ask what was happening, he undid the scarf around his neck to wrap it around yours. His movements were careful and the closeness forced you to hold your breath, only for your nostrils to then be flooded with the boy's aroma combined with the cheap detergent with which he had surely washed the garment.

"Better now?" the man smiled and since you didn't have time to assimilate the situation you just nodded, without stopping looking at him just because he kept looking at you.

You thought maybe this was what it would feel like to hug the boy, even though you had never done it, and then you hid your nose in the soft fabric. It had purple and green patterns on a gray background, quite pretty actually.

“The… the park. It’s there,” you stammered, pointing to a point behind your friend.

When he turned around he could see the rose bushes in the distance and let out an exclamation of joy, while his warm hand sought your wrist to guide you in their direction, causing a shiver to run through your entire body.

When you walked through the place and reached the plants he knelt next to the bushes, starting to rant about how functional these flowers would be, whether it was their leaves, the color, the shape... he listed more and more qualities, but you just could focus on the feeling on your neck and the warm ghost of his fingers on your skin.

And in that moment it was as if you had suddenly noticed something about him that you hadn't noticed at first; that there was some tenderness in his features that made you feel nervous or maybe it was his thin, skillful hands walking through the branches or even, daring to sound exaggerated, you would say that you suddenly noticed how handsome he really was. How did you notice it until now?

He said something and then you asked him to repeat it, since you had been too busy watching him to pay attention to his words.

“I asked you if you think any would be useful,” he said again. You took a look at the bush in front of you and pointed towards the first specimen you found, hoping that the talk would take away the thoughts that had invaded your mind.

To your surprise it turned out that the rose you had pointed out was quite pretty and, according to the requirements you remembered, it was perfect for the man's purposes. After congratulating your choice, he took out some scissors from his hat and carefully cut out the flower, to keep it in the same piece of fabric as the others that he had already selected.

“These roses will make the best chocolates, I can already imagine it,” he said with some pride, looking at the pile of plants you had. You hadn't even looked when he cut so many.

"They are beautiful"

"Yes, they are. And this one is for you."

If you had managed to get rid, even for a moment, of romantic thoughts towards him, right now he wasn't being very cooperative. Not when he was offering you the prettiest rose with such a sweet smile.

Why was he doing that? You did not know. Maybe he was just being kind and grateful, like he was most of the time.

“Huh, thank you, Mr. Wonka…”

“Be careful, he still has some thorns,” he warned you, “And stop calling me Mr. Wonka. “We are friends and my friends call me Willy.”

A small smile invaded your face and it was lucky that you were able to hide the blush on your cheeks with the excuse of inhaling the scent of the rose. It was exquisite, by the way.

“Then thank you, Willy,” you corrected yourself, to which he showed a satisfied expression.

And then a pleasant tickling invaded your stomach because, whether they were real flowers or chocolate flowers, it would always be a pleasure to receive such a cute detail from such a cute boy.

[brain4stew]

HIII!! I saw you take requests and I just had to send one in to ya :D you seem so cool btw but anyways here I go lolz

May I request Mafioso and 1x1x1x1 (separately) X GN! Reader general dating HC’S? Like what they would do for their partner, what dates they would take them on, basically all the things in their love life :)

Thank you if you do this!! I’ll probably send in another request once I have any more ideas, this was the best I could think of :,)

Hi hi! Tysm! You’re also cool!! 🫶🫶

Of course, do not hesitate to ask me! I’ll see what I can do and get done! Take the time you need to think, and do whatever you need to do! And please do remember to eat and drink when you can and want! 🫶🫶

(As I’ve stated in the other posts, I do not entirely know the characters personalities and so, but I will try and make them NOT OOC!)

Anyway! Headcanons under the cut! ;

(Mafioso)

• To say that you and him are dating, that’s surprising. I have no idea how you managed to do it, but you did.

• He loves you, really! He takes you on walks, to the parks, and to the stores when he has time! (Just hope that Eunoia lets him take a break that is…)

• I don’t think he’s much of a PDA person, but when he is, you might be shocked, if not happy.

• He’s quite clingy behind doors, as he knows that he’ll be safe from whatever and whoever. He’ll hug you, hold your hands, and maybe even cuddle you!

• Out in public, he’s a bit more guarded, as he doesn’t exactly know who is a threat or not. He does however, hold one of your hands at the very least.

• If he sees you’re cold, or you say that you’re cold, you can bet that he’ll take his coat off, and put it over you. You look adorable in his coat, that he sometimes finds himself just, staring, in awe.

• For dates, I think he’d rather go in private. Like lounging in your apartment, cuddling and watching movies, eating together, and maybe sleeping together! (Not the nasty kind, that’s not what this post is about…)

• If he sees you’re cold struggling with something, you can bet that he’ll be careful, and there for you. Whatever it is you’re struggling with, he’s there for you.

(1x1x1x1)

• First off all, HIM?! HOW?! WHY?! That man is basically the embodiment of hatred!

• How you two ended up dating is… A mystery to say the least. (He accidentally killed you when you took a hit for Elliot in one of the rounds, and he got hooked for some reason.)

• He is NOT a PDA person (thing?), but, behind closed doors, just drag him to a couch or bed, and he’ll go limp against you.

• Just hug, cuddle and pat his back/head, and he’ll be putty in your arms… (In secret of course!)

• He mostly prefers dates in your apartment, as he doesn’t want his minions to see you, or him, being affectionate with each other. Nor does he want other people, or, pests, as he calls them… To see either.

• This guy, I kid you not. He’ll be a menace if you and him were to watch any type of horror movies together. You can pause the movie, just to go to the bathroom, and when you get back to the couch? He’s gone. (He’s somehow behind you, so, just turn and hug him, and he’ll be stunned for a moment, before grumbling in feign annoyance.)

• Unfortunately for you, or the both of you… If you’re struggling with something, he does NOT know how to help you. As he’s quite literally the embodiment of hatred… He’ll stay by you however, but, he won’t be able to speak, or do anything when you’re struggling.

• (You can hug him if you’re struggling with something, he doesn’t seem to mind it. As long as you’re okay and happy, he’ll allow it.)

[aurorasgate]

Halo luna, i hope you have a great day and night. If possible, for falling in love event, can i request for sylus with 'forgiveness + rough to soft kiss' ?? Thank u in advance. ❤️

sylus x reader | hurt/comfort, 'sweetie' and 'sweetheart' used but no specific pronouns used for reader

falling for you event (event requests closed)

thank you so much for requesting something for my event 🥺🩷 my chest hurtsss after writing this i hate fighting with my mans but i also just love to put them through it hehe

the usual welcoming warmth that you felt whenever entering sylus’ room is quickly overtaken by the cold ache in your chest and when you throw back the door behind you, you expect the sereneness of the room to ripple and waver at the sound of the door slamming shut, like a boulder being thrown into a still lake, but when there is only a dull thud, the room remains intact and unmoving. as though it had been waiting for your return.

like it was just as much yours as it is his. the place you felt the most safe. a room covered in reminders of the very man who you didn’t want to really be around when you’re feeling like you are now and was yet the one person you wanted to hold you and make you feel okay more than anything else.

you don’t need to look back to know sylus is on your heels, having caught the door in it’s force back, not easily giving in to letting you go after the start of a.. difficult conversation. because if you admitted this was very much turning into a fight, you might be the only thing faltering and breaking. 

“there’s no reason to slam the door shut, sweetie,” his voice carries a calm indifference that you just can’t match or appreciate right now. 

it feels like too much. like he’s not taking you seriously. as if your worries and words don’t matter. like maybe it’s all stupid anyway and even if you could convince yourself it is, it wouldn’t stop you from feeling this way.

you make it to the foot of the bed when you’re unable to stop your words, your overwhelming emotions pushing them from where they muddle together and coat your lungs in heaviness. you speak quickly, feeling the venom tingle uncomfortably on your tongue and the heat of the air between you with each uneven breath.

“apparently there is sylus! unless you didn’t hear me when i said ‘forget it’?” finally you look back at him, seeing him standing tall by the closed door, scarlet eyes not leaving your frustrated gaze. 

still so calm. so in control when you weren’t and you didn’t know if it was making it better or worse. “we were in the middle of a conversation -”

“a conversation i no longer want to be a part of!” the angry tears begin to burn in the back of your eyes, ready to escape if only you hadn’t held them back with all your might.

“that isn’t how this works.”

you scoff, feeling your chest constrict. “that’s real rich coming from the man who does whatever he wants without worry to what anyone else thinks or wants or how things are supposed to ‘work’. but only you can get away with that, right?”

a heart beat passes, quick and echoing with the breaking of your own when you wish you could take it back already and somehow still scream but sylus doesn’t give the distance between you another moment to grow colder or longer before he’s in front of you, far enough to give you space, to run if you wish, but close enough you’re within arms reach. 

you can’t help but take a step back in surprise, the back of your knees hitting the edge of the bed frame and pinning you there. this close, you can see the truth of his emotions laid bare before you; the way his chest rises and falls with heavy breathes. the knit in his brow and the way it makes the rose color of his eyes nearly tremble. the deep frown on his lips in a way you don’t think you’ve seen before. the hands that are aching to reach out to you but don’t let themselves move from his side. 

his tone is deep and low when he breaks the silence. “is that really what you think?”

“and if it is?” your voice falters on you more than you wish it would but you couldn’t help it even if you had the strength too. it’s quiet, a shaking murmur that brings with it the escaping of the tears pooling in your eyes. laced with the truth of what lay in your heart. the start of this all.

sylus takes a step closer to you, feeling relief wash over him when you don’t move away this time. “then i’m sorry i haven’t done better at showing you just how much i think of you and your wants and your worries.” his touch is beyond gentle as he caresses your cheeks with his thumbs, catching each of your tears and wipping them away with aching tenderness most might not think him capable of. “how i consider every choice and the ways it will affect you - us.”

he kisses you hard then, without warning and without holding back. it's full of tongue and a light knock of your teeth and before you can register what’s happening, you’re pressed firmly between the mattress and sylus’ broad frame, your hands in his silver hair pulling him impossibly closer.

you can barely get out his name between kisses and the swipe of his tongue into your mouth as you call out for him. the intoxicating taste of him melting on your taste buds replaces the uncomfortable tightness in your chest with a humming buzz of warmth and love and a heat that spreads from your head to your toes.

you swear you can feel your hearts beat as one through your clothes, from the rapid rhythm you both knew well with each other to something softer, slower, but just as consuming; proof of your devotion to get through anything and with the pure truth of his words. the kisses you share easily follow suit, turning to gentle little things, chast and almost fleeting in their softness but neither of you could not be pulled away for long.

sylus says your name through unsteady breaths, holding you as if you might slip through his grasp, kissing you like he certainly had all the time in the world to do so, his lips perfectly slotted against yours and you were so very willing to return them. “will you let me make it up to you sweetheart?”

main masterlist

[sigma-alpha-writer-chad]

Grow Up, Would You? [Josh Washington]

“I don’t know if you’ve changed any since middle school but I really hope you’ve learned the difference between pranking somebody and just being a fucking bully.”

You can also find this story on Ao3!

Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five

[CHAPTER FOUR]

I step off the bus shivering, holding myself for some kind of warmth. "Hooooly shit..." I huff, my breath swirling in front of me before dissipating into the air. Behind me is Samantha Giddings, stepping off the bus in a much warmer state.

"I have an extra jacket, Jordan," she offers.

"H-How far is the lodge?" I chatter. Sam laughs and places her back pack on the ground as the bus drives off.

"Far enough," she says, pulling out a dark grey zip up. It was thin, but it was better than nothing. "I can't believe you forgot your coat."

"Somebody at the station stole it when I went to the bathroom," I mumble, letting go of my own bag. "I think I have a hoodie, though, too." I unzip my own back for my thick, light pink hoodie. I pull it on over my head before sliding the jacket on over it.

"Feel better?" Sam smiles. Her hands are on her hips as she waits for me. She looks like an impatient mother.

"Much. Thank you," I sigh. We officially begin our long climb to the lodge.

"Chris didn't take you with him?"

"No, Josh wanted him to come early to help get things set up, so I just rode the bus."

"I see." A silence falls between Sam and I. I really like Sam for what I know about her, but neither of us considered the other a friend, so there was an air of awkwardness as we walked. "So, you and Chris," Sam starts. "You're cousins, right?"

"Yes ma'am," I nod.

"So, you know each other really well, or what?" I shoot Sam a look of confusion.

"Uhm, yeah, he's my best friend. Why?" A smile creeps onto my face. "Should I hook you up, or...?"

"No! No, haha, Jordan," Sam's complexion was already rosy from the biting cold, but I swear I could nearly see the steam from the snow rising from her face. "I'm just trying to make conversation. Shit, you remind me of my mother. She's been trying to get us together for... whatever reason." I laugh and nearly fall over a lifted branch. The mountain was feeling steeper as we continued on.

"Chris is a really good guy. He used to be kind of douchey when we were younger, but he's really grown into himself. He definitely pulls his annoying pranks, still, but it's highly preferable to the old things he and Josh used to get up to." Sam nods. She's much more athletic than I am so she's a bit further ahead of me now.

"Speaking of Josh, what's your guys' deal?" She stops to let me catch up.

"Our deal? What do you mean?"

"I mean I can't tell if you hate each other or have never wanted to be with another person so much in your life." This time, I do fall over, slipping on some ice and falling face first into a hill of soft snow. It's deep enough that I sink in, the white powder covering my ears enough for Sam's laughter to be muffled. She helps me up, snorting once, which makes me laugh a little, too.

"Uhm, well," I start, my mouth suddenly dry. "He was my bully, growing up." Sam tilts her head before beginning to brush the snow off me. "Made me cry a lot. The hating each other is much closer than... the other thing you said." She hums in response.

"I don't know, there's always been this way he looks at you," she says, just above a whisper. We continue to walk, the cable car building now in view. It doesn't take long before she's starting to pull ahead of me again. "I can't put a finger on it, myself, but it's just... different." I can't help but notice Sam's expression, one of confusion and... frustration? I narrow my eyes at the back of her head.

"Probably just your average disdain, or whatever."

"Nothing average about that guy," she retorts. "I don't know."

"He made my grade and middle school life a living hell. Would've been high school, too, if I didn't choose to go to a different one just to avoid him." Sam turns to look at me, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Oh, so he bullied you," she says, biting her lip. "Like, really?"

"His first prank on me was putting rats in my locker," I laugh. It's not funny, being scared by fat rats in your locker - but in hindsight, I can't help but laugh.

"Where'd he get the rats from?" Sam asks, smiling as if she wasn't sure if she was allowed to find amusement in my story.

"Biology class," I answer. "Though I'm not sure how he actually snuck them out of there under the teacher's nose."

"Impressive, honestly." Sam sighs. We finally make it through a gate and to the cable cars, where Chris waited with the key. 

"Hello, ladies," He greets, bowing dramatically. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" I bow back, but Sam does not.

"The cable cars, Chris," she says. She's smiling yet she seems unamused. He sighs, continuing the dramatics, and puts the back of his hand on his forehead. 

"Ah, another wench, ignoring me, yet pleased to exploit my services... This world is dark as ever." He turns, swinging his arms, and goes to the door to open it for Sam and I. Sam rolls her eyes and follows Chris.

"Why did Josh have you come back down here just to let us in?" I ask, taking my seat in the car next to Chris. I was thankful we didn't have to wait for its arrival. 

"The Washingtons keep everything locked up to avoid squatters," Chris explains. "You guys are the last up, so, I'm riding back with you." 

"Oh, man, we're last?"

"By an hour or so, yeah." The rest of the ride is silent, the three of us looking out the window at the view. After a while, we eventually make it to the top of the mountain.

"Goddamn it I'm so cold," I huff out as the doors to the car open. "Let's hurry up and get inside, PLEASE!" Chris and Sam laugh at my urgency, trailing behind me as I start into a jog, passing an old picnic table. The lodge slowly comes into view as I continue down the trail, and I smile. I see somebody, and I move a bit faster to catch up. 

I can't help but frown when I see who it is.

"Hi, Josh." I greet. Josh turns around, a smile on his expression. When he notices it's me, though, it disappears.

"Hi, Jordan, glad you could make it," he says through gritted teeth. I hear Chris sigh when he spots Josh and I interracting.

"You guys are so confusing," he says, slapping Josh on the back before draping his arm over his shoulders. He turns to Sam. "One minute, this guy sits next to her INSTEAD OF ME at a pizza place and is being nice, and the next-" Josh tries to shrug him off.

"Chris, would you get-"

"And the next," Chris talks louder to negate Joshua's protests. "He's talking to her like she ran over his dog. Look at the rage in his eyes, man!" I wrap my arms around my shivering figure.

"Can we please go inside?" Josh rolls his eyes, finally stepping out from under Chris's arms and motioning me to follow him in. Sam and Chris exchange a look I can't catch the meaning of.

"Jordan!" Beth squeals. Josh flinches at the noise, but a smile begins to take it's rightful place on his lips. Beth wraps her arms around me in a tight hug, nearly knocking me down.

"Hi, Beth," I laugh, catching my balance and returning the greeting. "Do you greet everyone like this?"

"Yes!" Hannah answers for her sister as she joins in the embrace. Her head snaps to Josh. "Did you say hello, Joshua?" He rolls his eyes.

"Yes, I said hello."

"Did you hug her?" My eyes widen at Hannah. Both her and Beth have not let me go. Before they force Josh to hug me, I butt in.

"There's no need for-" it's too late. Hannah grabs Josh by his shirt and pulls him into the group hug. He groans, but complies, knowing it's futile to battle his younger sisters. He's careful not to touch me.

When they finally let me go, I sigh in relief and smile at them. "It's good to see you."

"We're so glad you could make it," Beth smiles. She adjusts her beanie as she leads me to the couch in the huge living room. "Are you cold?"

"Oh hell yeah," I laugh. "And of course, thank you for inviting me. It actually means a lot." Beth 'aw's at me as she sits down. There's a fireplace going, so instead I move to sit at the edge. It burned, but not too much. "Where's everybody else?" I ask, looking around me. 

"I think they're just settling into their rooms," Beth answers. "Josh and Hannah are probably in the kitchen. Do you want to see where you're sleeping?"

"Later," I say, smiling at her. "I'd like to warm up first." She smiles back at me.

"Sure thing. Do you mind if I take your bag to your room?" 

"You don't have to do that."

"We're your hosts! I want to." I laugh softly and nod. Beth happily stands from her spot on the couch to take my bag upstairs to wherever they had me sleeping. As she disappears from view, Emily and Mike pass her on the stairs, followed by Ashley and Matt. 

"Oh, she's here! Didn't think you'd make an appearance," Emily says, looking me up and down in annoyance. 

"I said I'd be here," I respond softly. My eyes turn to the others behind her. None of them make eye contact with me, staring instead at the stairs they walked down. 

"One can still hope you changed your mind!" Emily sighs in a mocking tone, a sarcastic smile on her face. Jess appears, walking quickly down the stairs past Emily and moving to you.

"Hi, Jordan!" Jessica greets me warmly, giving me a quick hug. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't completely shocked at this. Jess was never outright mean to me, but a kind, excited welcome was the last thing I'd expected from her. I'm not one that's familiar with perfumes, but whatever Jess was wearing smelled immaculate.

"Uhm, hey, Jess," I respond. "You smell really good." Mentally, I'm slapping myself. Was that weird to say? She pulls away from the hug. Her smile is wider, now.

"Oh, thank you! It's actually brand new, I bought it this morning before I -"

"Excuse me!" Emily huffs, attempting to shoulder check me as she goes to the couch. I'm able to dodge it, being checked enough to know when it's about to happen. I sigh heavily. She went completely out of her way to do that, I'm nowhere near the couch. I'm so close to asking what her deal is when Jess continues.

"Emily is my girl, she's actually really great she's just, like, really tired or something. I don't know. Try to not take her too seriously, okay?" she takes both of my hands into hers and looks me in the eyes.

"...yeah, okay," I agree. She thanks me before turning to go sit on the couch with the others, her twin pony-tails bouncing. I awkwardly wave at them all. Ashley smiles meekly and nods while Matt offers me a small wave back. Mike glances at me and nods so slightly I can barely see it, which I can only assume is at my own mercy.

"Okay party people," Josh starts, walking back into the living room. "Now that we have everybody here..." Chris, Sam, and the twins follow behind him. "Thank you all for coming. Drinks are in the kitchen... Now let's get fucking wasted!" Josh throws his hands into the air and mock cheers while the others whoop. I step back until my back is to the wall, trying to stay out of the way as everyone heads to the kitchen.

I'm not sure why I'm trying to hide. It's not like I wasn't invited. It's not like I'm not welcome - though, I can't help but feel that I'm not. Other than the twins and Chris, nobody seemed to actually enjoy my presence. I decide that, for now, I'll stay near the fire.

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

"Jordan!" Chris calls, walking to me with a drink in his hand. "Are you cooked yet?" I look up from my phone to see him. He was walking just fine, but it was just crooked enough for me to know he was tipsy. It had been two hours since Josh had announced drinks were available, and no one appeared to have wasted a second.

"Cooked?" I smile, confused. "What do you mean?"

"What do I mean?" he sits down next to me, his drink nearly spilling. It was filled to the brim. "You've been around this fire all night! Are you going to come hang out, or, what?" I cross my arms and shrug.

"I think you'll be okay without me."

"But I want you around," Chris says, softly. "You're my family, I love you. And I love having you around, and I love having my friends around." He drapes an arm over my shoulder, and I lean into him. "Having my favorite cousin and all of my friends in the same place is honestly just amazing for me." I sigh again, my walls crumbling.

"Fine, I'll hang out." Chris springs up in excitement. This time, he does spill his drink. I'm not familiar enough with alcohol to know what it was, but the smell tells me it's strong.

And half of it is on my jeans.

"Oh, shit, Jordan, I'm sorry," Chris apologizes. I laugh and tell him not to worry as Hannah comes over to me.

"I'll show you where your room is, if you want to change!" she offers. I nod, and she begins leading the way. Once we're up the stairs, she stops and turns to me.

"What do you think of Mike?" she asks, her tone hushed but excited. My eyebrows raise in surprise.

"Mike? Emily's boyfriend?" I ask. I look around as if Emily could be hearing us. "I don't know, I feel like speaking his name will curse me to eternal damnation." Hannah laughs and pushes my shoulder. As quickly as we stopped, we continued down the hall. When we get to the last wooden door, she opens it for me. I thank her as I walk in, and she follows to sit on my bed while I kneel at my bag.

"C'mon, tell me what you think! He's handsome, right?" She's a bit louder now that there's no way we can be heard.

"Yeah, I guess so," I admit. It was common knowledge.

"Oh, my God, you guess so? Jordan, he's so dreamy." Hannah flops back onto my bed and sighs, as if lovestruck. As I find a pair of pants, I stand and side-eye her. "His hair, his eyes, his muscles? I just CAN'T!" She smacks a pillow onto her face and squeals in excitement.

"I guess he's also taken," I say. Hannah removes the pillow and rolls her eyes. "But, he seems nice. I don't know. Not really my type." At that, she sits up like Michael Myers. I feel instant regret as I knew what she was going to ask me. I start to pull my pants down, covering myself as much as possible.

"So, what is your type?" I sigh for what feels like the millionth time that day.

"I don't know, Hannah, I never really paid attention to that sort of stuff."

"There has to be something, Jordan," Hannah insists, standing up as I pull on a pair of grey sweatpants. "Eye color? Hair? Bald? Do you like muscles? C'mon Jordan, give me something!" I look in the mirror and take off Sam's jacket and my oversized hoodie, ignoring Hannah for a moment as I thought about what my 'type' was. My t-shirt is form fitting, but not skin tight.

"I like green eyes," I offer quietly. It's the first thing I can think of, and I hope that will satisfy her. I look at her in the reflection of the mirror and there's something in her expression that worries me.

Mischief.

"I'll accept that for now," she sighs, failing to hide her scheming grin. "C'mon, Jordan, no more hiding. Everybody is already tipsy so they'll totally be way nicer."

"If you say so."

"I do." Hannah smiles at me and takes my hand.

"You Washingtons," I laugh. "What's up with your family and taking people by the hand when you take them somewhere?" Hannah bursts out laughing. When we get to the kitchen with everyone else, her smile is wide.

"What's so funny?" Emily asks, tilting her head. I suddenly felt as though I was in trouble.

"Jordan just pointed out upstairs that the Washington family has a thing with holding hands when we take someone somewhere," Hannah giggles.

"Oh, shit, she's right!" Josh gasps. "Duuuude." Chris bumps his shoulder against Josh's.

"Duuuude!" They suddenly start shoving each other back and forth, everyone else in the kitchen giving way immediately as if this were a common occurrence. I lean over to Ashley, who noticeably leans away as if in disgust. I ignore this.

"Does this happen often?" I murmur. She laughs and seems to relax some.

"Yes." The boys were on the floor now, wrestling and laughing. Hannah is whispering something to Beth, and both of them are glancing at me. If they were trying to hide the topic of their conversation, they had failed miserably.

"...I like your hat." I compliment softly. Ashley seems surprised by this, but her smile doesn't falter.

"Thanks, Jordan."

"AND I AM THE MIGHTY WINNER!!" Josh exclaims, making me jump. He stands up quickly, stumbling some as he does. Once he catches his balance, he places a foot atop Chris's chest. He was playing dead, eyes closed and sticking his tongue out. Josh is breathing heavily and laughing. Everyone in the kitchen applauds, laughing and cheering - Emily, even, though not without a major roll of the eyes. My own smile is wide enough that it feels strenuous.

Josh's face was red from the exercise and his thick, dark hair was messy and disheveled. Though it was usually brushed back, it was tousled to the point where it was stuck to his forehead in sweat. Josh's hair was never in his face, so it was odd to see. He's breathing heavily, his winning smile never leaving his face even as Chris starts to get up.

I don't realize I'm staring until Josh looks up at me, locking eyes with mine. My smile drops. His own falters, but he doesn't look away. I gulp and I can feel my face growing hot with embarrassment. He looks as if he's scanning my facial features, trying to figure me out. For a moment I swear he glances at my body. It's not until Jess suddenly bumps my shoulder and hands me a drink that I'm able to snap out of it. She gives me a wide-eyed 'what was that??' look as she turns back away from me to talk to Mike and Emily. I look over at Josh again, and he's no longer looking my way.

Why was he looking at me like that? I furrow my eyebrows and look into whatever Jess handed me in a red solo cup. I feel a hand on my shoulder and I look up at Hannah. She smiles sweetly at me, raising her eyebrows in excitement. I wonder what she's doing, but when she looks down at my drink I understand she's trying to be encouraging in her own drunken way.

"Jordan, you don't gotta, uhm, drink that, if you don't wanna," Josh says, bumping hips with his sister hard enough to have her stumbling a few feet. "If you don't feel safe, y'know?" He stands up straight and reaches for my drink. "You gotta feel safe when you're under my care." My heart skips a beat and I pull the cup away from his hand. He gives me a surprised yet concerned look. I take a deep breath and put the cup to my lips.

This isn't my first time drinking. It won't be my first time drunk. Around people, however? Yes, this was a first. The only person I've been drunk around was Chris during a couple of our cousin sleep overs in high school. I not only sip my drink, I gulp it down quickly. It burns. It's not good. I knew, right as I took my final gulp, that I was fucked. Everybody had migrated out of the kitchen by now and into different parts of the lodge, leaving Josh, Chris and I in the kitchen. I can already feel the heat from the alcohol begin to buzz around my cheeks.

"Duuuude." says Chris.

"Broooo..." says Josh.

"Guuuuys...." says I. Chris and Josh laugh at me.

I laugh, too, and I feel good.

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

Hey y'all, thanks for reading! I'm really glad to be posting another chapter so soon after the last - and there will likely be another very soon! I'm in the writing zone right now, I suppose.

Taglist: @sc4rrc @mattymxmo @cellyx33 @jenepleurepasbaby @kalynnjonas @spinback-kiva @frankcastlesvest

[samubytheocean]

Osamu body heat hcs

Osamu radiates so much body heat and he’s kind of self conscious about it, especially in the summer. He hesitates to pull you into his arms, because he himself already is burning. He sweats buckets, and it’s a little different from Atsumu because whereas his twin kind of forgets about the fact that he is drenched with sweat, Osamu will visibly be in a bad mood until he is able to take a shower.

He won’t give you hugs after working out, because he doesn’t want you to get uncomfortable. Doesn’t smell bad, because he’s so up in his head about it and does his best to take care of himself, but definitely thinks that he does. I feel like his big hands will be burning, not very sweaty, pretty dry and rough even, but like searing hot to the point he flinches when he touches your relatively cool skin. Builds the habit of randomly placing his hands on the back of your nape when you have your hair up or something, just to mess with you.

All that being said, you bet he’s the best human heater in the winter. Definitely the type of guy who will kick off the covers at night, unconsciously of course, then proceed to crawl on top of you in his sleep when you whine that it’s literally freezing. Also the type to handle cold really well but does terrible with heat. Doesn’t like his hair sticking to his face with sweat, that’s one of the reasons why he liked volleyball so much, because it’s an indoor sport and there’s always ac on.

He will absolutely drive you insane about how he is so fixed on not wearing a coat or a jacket in the middle of winter. He already has a sweater on, and yes it took much convincing to put that on as well because he claimed that his hoodie would be just enough. Also he would take it off, even in a snowstorm, with just the thinnest shirt underneath, if you said you were cold. Not even trying to be a gentleman for you. Just takes it off and puts it on you, asks you if it smells okay, smirks a little at you blinking at him so puzzled about how the hell is this guy not freezing to death, rubs your cheek and say that the sweater seems a little big on you. and proceeds whatever he was doing, in just a shirt, in the middle of December.

Says it was getting hot anyway in the most dead pan face ever, you can’t tell if he’s being ironic. (He really isn’t, and he’s acting even more satire just to mess with you.) What makes you so messed up is that he does not get sick. In any shape or form, it’s pretty impossible for him to catch a cold. He does get migraines when he’s outside for too long, but pretends to not have them just to prove that he does not need another layer. Menace.

Works well for you in some ways in the summer though. Would refuse to put on clothes in the house. Just boxers, and maybe basketball shorts if you’re begging. Maybe. Would argue that he’s doing you a favor, giving you some smexy show for nothing, and yeah you do appreciate the sculpted back and thigh muscles maxed out now with those delicious little bits of fat on full display, only if he wasn’t a complete jerk with the ac settings.

Yeah definitely seems like the guy to unironically hide the controller and actually sulk when you turn the settings down. (Atsumu comes in again here. Anyone with siblings knows what it’s like with the ac settings. Old habits.) It’s always freezing at your house, especially if you come back from work you swear that he is the main reason for global warming (affectionate). He really does try for you, turning it a little higher few minutes before you get home, but secretly loves the way your small frame scrunches up from the chills and huddles up to him, body sticking to him for some warmth. He has always hated how he radiated so much heat, but with your bickering and cuddles, he’s beginning to think that maybe, it was like that all along for a sweet reason. (he’s annoying but he adores u)

[clockmax]

﹒𝐗-𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 | 𝐓𝐀𝐏𝐄 𝟏﹒

← previous | next → | ﹗𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹗

pairing: dilf!Miguel O'hara x babysitter!fem!reader

Summary: In a AU where his marriage doesn't work anymore, he spends time away from his house. In turn, his 'wife' hired you to keep watch over Gabriella. But soon, a infatuation bloomed between someone who you couldn't have.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI. infidelity, mentions of divorce, age gap(19-31), drinking, no use of y/n, oral(f receiving), p in v, mating press, praising, slight breeding kink if you squint, not proofread uhh thats it i think

w/c: 3k

You stood outside in the cold night, the sounds of crickets and other sorts of bugs in the night kept you from silence. It was cold, body shivering as you held your jacket close. Your breath was visible, the cold nipping at whatever skin was left exposed. Your body was flushed from the drop in temperature, winters air cruel. You were absolutely freezing. Yet you stood outside, watching as Miguel counted a stack of 10 dollar bills.

“40.. 50… 60..” The man mumbled, fingers sorting through the cash, “ 70.. 80, there.” 

His hands moved to your own, placing the cash in your shaking hands. Fingers find themselves delicately sorting through the cash, double counting. Miguel Looked down at you, watching as you re-counted the cash.

“That’s the agree amount, right?” He tilted his head, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yes-” *You nod, putting the cash inside your purse.

“Then that’s your pay, I hope Gabriella wasn’t too much trouble.” He gave himself a small chuckle, putting his wallet away.

“It was nothing, really, she isn’t any trouble at all, sir.” For some reason you just couldn’t take your eyes off him, watching his every movement. You felt your body almost become warm against the weather, heart beating faster than it was before. Christ, you couldn’t get more embarrassed on the inside about it though. A crush on your boss’ husband? Really? Even your friends poked at you for that.

“There’s no need to be modest, I know she can be a handful. Kids got so much energy that she doesn’t know what to do with.” 

His hands shuffled back in his wallet again, pulling out another 20, “There’s an extra 20, ‘cause I know,” Handing you the bill, giving a small playful wink.

His eyes happen to wander your body, looking at how you shivered and tugged your jacket closer, freezing hand putting the 20 with the rest of the cash. There was a slight twinge of guilt for having you outside when it was this cold. Muttering something to himself in spanish before he headed for his front door, turning back to you.

“Would you like to come in? I don’t want to leave you in the cold.” The offer felt a little weird, out of place for him. I mean he wasn’t your boss, his ‘wife’ if you could call her that was. But hey, practically the same thing, right?

“Are you sure?” You asked, looking up at him. The offer was still a little strange.

You two didn’t really talk much besides work and a few personal questions, but those were usually 2 minute conversations before you were on your way. Still, none of that stopped your eyes from looking at Miguel whenever you had the chance. It was a stupid crush, really. He was a married man with a daughter, plus he was older than you by a long shot. 

“It’s no worries, I’d rather have someone to talk to while I drink much rather than drinking alone.” Miguel opened the door, holding it as you entered inside.

“Thank you.” You nodded, taking off your coat.

You tried your best not to let your emotions get the best of you. All he needed was someone to talk to, nothing more. Yet your mind couldn’t help but wander with thoughts that, even if you were being interrogated, would never say out loud. 

You settled yourself in on a nearby chair, watching as Miguel walked over to the liquor cabinet, pulling out a bottle of whatever he was drinking, you couldn’t read the bottle, not from a totally different room. Soon enough he walked over to the couch, sitting down with his glass. 

“Will your wife get mad that I’m still here?” You asked, still a little hesitant. 

“Don’t worry about her, she’ll be gone for a long time,” His hands held his glass, taking a sip from it before setting it down, swallowing the liquid, “That’s how it’s been since she met her yoga instructor.”

You tilted your head, confused at the situation. You knew from what you were told that there was a rough patch in their marriage, but didn’t expect to be greeted with cheating.

“Aren’t you mad?” Mumbling a little, still hearable though. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” You quickly ducked your head, looking down in embarrassment for asking such a question.

Miguel let out a sigh, taking another swig of his drink.

“No, I’m not mad. Our marriage isn’t what it was, so we don’t really care about who sees who.” Taking another drink of the alcohol, the liquid running down his throat.

You moved your head back up to look at him,mind running wild with that. I mean, if they don’t care who sees who, you could make your move? But still, weird. He’s technically your boss, and still married, and with a kid. You’re just the babysitter, someone trying to make money for college. 

“Nevermind. What about you, how is college coming along?” He asked, trying to change the subject from that of his now broken marriage.

“Rough, barely making enough with as many jobs as I have to pay tuition.” Leaning back in your chair, hands balling up in your lap.

“Hope every penny is worth it. Everyone where you’re at is probably struggling too, don’t get in a fuss over it.” Miguel's eyes looking over your frame once again.. Eyes looking at your thighs for maybe a moment too long before looking back up at your face.

“I know I know, but some people are just so care free, able to go to parties while I’m wondering if I’m gonna be able to stay at college.” You whined, upset about the financial situation  you were in.

“Some people are just better at hiding it then others. I struggled in college, even being financially stable now, I was in student debt too,” Miguel sighed, “Look the message is a struggle always has a solution… 7 years of fatherhood and I still can’t give any good dad advice, if you can call it that.”

Miguel found himself getting another sip of his drink, getting up to get another glass full.

“You should relax though, don’t stress too much. Never does any good.” He’d tell you from the kitchen, refilling his glass.

“I’m just worried I’ll never get anything done if I don’t hyperfocus, forget what I need to do because I get too caught up with free time.” Your thoughts were racing, your worries about your current life situation flooding out of your mouth. 

“No no, get what you need done too. Just don’t let it take over your down time. You’re young still, a whole life ahead of you.” Walking back to the couch, taking a seat again as he took yet another drink, “You got a boyfriend?” He asked, nonchalantly, no hesitation.

“No,” You mumbled, a little embarrassed. 

“No?” Miguel Repeated, “I’m surprised.” “Why?” You turned your head, a puzzle expression painting your face.

“Cause you’re a young, pretty girl on campus, and no varsity jacket has come to take you away?” It sounded almost as if he was joking, teasing you for it. But he meant no harm.

“No, not yet. They already have themselves a girlfriend or something.” You sigh, sinking back into your chair. 

“Yea times have changed, but, there’s probably a guy out there waiting to say the right things to you.”

How you hated that sentence. Another guy. You wanted Miguel, deep down you wanted him, but you couldn’t have him. Not at this moment, at least. Not only could it put you out of a job, but complicate things. And what if his wife catches you? He said that she doesnt care, but what if she cares that the person she employed is sleeping with her husband? I mean, why would she? Their practically divorced anyways. Or maybe you’re just thinking too much. Your body tensing up. 

“I have my eye on someone, actually. Just having troubles about it.” You confess, looking down, kicking your feet.

“Oh you do? That’s rare. And troubles? Yea, I get that… Okay, what’s he like?” He questions you, sitting upright and fixing his posture. 

“He’s older,” You start off, hands shaking a little. Were you really about to do this? Tell him how you feel? I mean the doors open for you to tell him, it’s only a matter of how he’ll react. 

“Older? Like his senior year?” Miguel took notice of how tense you were, gaze softening a little. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”

“No.” You bluntly respond.

“Okay so not that old, I hope he’s nice to a sweet girl like you.” Miguel offered a faint smile, leaning back into the cushion. 

“He has a kid-” You usher out, mouth speaking faster than your mind.

For a second, Miguel is taken aback. That old? Seriously? 

“Has a kid? At that age?” I mean, for anything it could have been a toddler kid, no way a full kid at that age he was thinking of. “Well.. as long as you know what you’re getting yourself into.” He took another swish of his drink.

You gulped, body shaking as you tensed up, mind feeling dizzy from the whole situation. “No he’s not my age, what I mean is-” 

But you were quickly cut off, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife.

“Yea, I got the hint.” Miguel looked at you, face stone cold as he held his glass. 

“Listen, uh, I’m flattered, really. But uh, that would be weird, right. I mean, that would be taboo even. I’m too old for a sweet heart like you. Don’t you have anyone on campus you’d rather be with?”

His expression was stone cold, and you sunk back into your chair. Not you really regretted yourself for telling him this. How you wish the ground would just swallow you whole right now, or simply pass away on the spot. 

“No, I just- I can’t get my eye off you and-” Quickly shutting yourself up, biting your tongue. You swore you were biting hard enough to draw blood, mentally cursing yourself for making this a conversation. He was right, Miguel was too old for you. But yet here you were, admitting those stupid feelings that you should have never brought up in the first place. 

“But what about your parents, certainly they wouldn’t approve? Hell, Dana would have a fit if she smelt your perfume where it doesn’t belong. Let alone knowing her divorcing husband is with, uh..” Miguel sighed, slumping, hand on his elbow as he clenched his glass so hard he could probably break it if he wanted to. 

Miguel sat back up, chugging the rest of his drink down before setting the glass on the coffee table, beckoning you over to him with his finger. “Come here,” He told you, almost as if it was a order. 

Within what feels like minutes of you moving through the room, air thick with tension as you make your way over to him. Yet no sooner does he have you sitting under him, frame tower over yours. 

Both of your lips were practically glued to each other, tongue exploring each others mouths as his hands felt up your body. You couldn’t help but feel his up too, hands tracing over each and every one of his well toned muscles. 

Miguels hand moved under your shirt, grabbing one of your breasts. His hands fondled the soft skin of your tit, rolling your nipple between his fingers. You let out a whine, muffle by the kiss. You felt your juices start to form a puddle in your underwear already, thighs clenched together to give your clit some friction. 

When he finally pulled away, eyes looking at yours. Christ this was wrong, but there was no stopping now. Miguel kissed down your neck, taking off your shirt. He kissed your breasts, sucking on them too. Making his way down your stomach, gently biting as if to mark it, hands working at your pants, tugging the material down and away. Getting on his knees infront of your legs, hands pulling them apart by your inner thigh. 

His eyes took a moment to look at your cunt, how pretty it looked, how your juices were moving past your slit. His eyes moved black up to you,

“You sure about this, Corazón?”

It was without hesitation that you nodded, opening your legs more, almost presenting yourself to him. Miguel quickly became fixed on your pussy, tongue licking a stripe between your leaking folds, tasting your sweet arousal. 

“Taste so sweet.. Didn’t take you for someone who likes older guys.” He mumbled against your clit, sucking on the bud. His hands moved to your ass, squeezing the soft flesh as he moved you closer to his face, burying himself in your cunt. 

He licked and sucked on your clit before moving down to lick your juices from your folds, tongue moving inside your soft walls. Miguel was eating you out like you were his last meal, arousal coating his mouth and dripping down his chin. You just tasted so sweet, he couldn’t get enough of it, groaning in your pussy, tasting you like you were some sort of desert. 

Miguel kept eating you out, noises almost sounding pornographic. He took in every moan and whine that left your mouth, feeling how his cock hardened just from the thought of being inside you next. You were so tight on his tongue, walls squeezing and contracting. You felt your orgasm approach, stomach tightening into knots. It wasn't long as he sucked on your clit, juices gushing out of your slit as your back arched, Thighs squeezed around his head as he kept licking up your juices, hand squeezing your ass. After a few more licks, he moved his head up , leaning over you again as he unbuttoned his pants and removed his boxers, cock springing free. 

“This is what you were after the whole time, isn’t it?” Miguel cooed, grabbing your legs to fold them up, knees practically meeting your chest. 

He lined his tip up with your entrance, slowly sinking himself in. It was a tight fit, almost too tight, sinking himself deeper into you. You whined and moaned, hands holding at his thigh.

“Ease up for me, pretty girl.” Miguel moved one of his hands down to your clit, rubbing the swollen tissue as your walls slightly eased up, taking the advantage to put himself balls deep inside of you.

He let out a groan once you clenched back down on him, hand moving back up to hold your other leg up. You looked up at Miguel through lidded eyes, mind clouded with lust. God, did you feel so full. His tip was prodding at your cervix, a vein gently pressing against that spongy spot inside of you. 

After a few seconds, his hips started moving. A fast yet not too rough pace. His hips snapped against your skin, the faint sound of clapping as well a few curses under his breath mixing in with your moans. Fuck, he was in too deep, and you were already cock drunk. Your hands found their way to his head, pulling him in for a heated kiss. 

Your noises were muffled in his mouth, the squelching sound of your pussy getting stretched out by him taking up the noise. How good it felt to finally have Miguel's cock in you, how many times you dreamed of this, touched yourself to the thought, yet the real thing was even bette.

“Good girl, taking me so well.” Miguel Praised, forehead touching yours, looking at how your pupils were blown wide, legs gently shaking. You couldn’t help but clench around him from the praise, letting out a mewl as you moaned again. Your second orgasm was building up already, and fast. 

“ ‘m so close-” You moaned, the pleasure feeling almost too good then it’s supposed to. This was so wrong, yet, it just felt so right.

“Go on, come for me, be a good girl and listen, hm?” He’d whisper, pace picking up slightly.

Miguel felt his own high approach, letting out a groan as he trapped your lips in a kiss again,the grip on your legs getting slightly rougher, pace getting rougher too. His dicktouched all those special places inside of you, juices coating his thick cock and dripped down his balls, some dripping onto the couch too.

Before you knew it, you were both coming. Walls tightening around him, practically milking Miguel dry as thick, hot ropes of cum painted your walls. For a few moments, you both stayed like that, coming down from your high. 

The reality then set in of what had just happened. His hands moved away from your legs as he pulled away from your body, eyes looking at your pussy, how he dripped out of you.

“Sorry-” You mumbled through your panting, body hot from the adrenaline, eyes looking down at the small mess.

“No it’s okat- let me uh, let me get a towel..” Miguel replied, fixing his boxers back on. He was only gone for a few moments before coming back with a towel, gently cleaning up the mess. Miguel folded the towel, gently placing you on top of the soft material.

The rest of the night was a blur, head reeling from the events. All you remembered was eventually landing in his bed, laying next to him. Miguel was fast asleep next to you, and you laid awake. All you could do was try and process everything. You slept with the person you had a stupid crush on, but also slept with a father, with a (almost non) married man. Oh you weren’t supposed to do that. What about morals? God this was such a stupid thing. You put your feelings over thought, and now, you were going to land yourself in such a difficult situation. Falling in love with someone who you couldn’t have.

taglist: @pandoraslxna @deputy-videogamer @its-paprika @yuuuumii @buggiecrawls @l0vedi3n @projectdreamwalker @urbimom @chshiresins @1tsk1tty

©clockmax 2023 ━━━ do not repost, copy, or translate my work.

[darlingofsatoru]

JJK & CHRISTMAS

⊹ synopsis: Various hcs of Jjk characters at Christmas.

SATORU GOJO

-This man is ecstatic, Christmas is his version of heaven.

-Christmas dates are necessary, he’s gonna go out with you in fuzzy coats, gloves, earmuffs, scarfs and hats with pom-poms on them, even if it’s not snowing.

-Hot drinks are also a necessary (he pays every time, pulls his credit card out quickly just as you’re getting yours out, no amount of convincing or bribing can stop him from doing this every time he can.)

-PRESENTS. This mf is so extra with them, type of man to get you tons of expensive jewellery then giggle and blush like a school girl at a teddy-bear and his favourite chocolate.

-Stops using his infinity just so the snow can fall on him (and ofc so he can throw snowballs at you & vice versa!!)

-VERY over the top with Christmas decorations, that one house that has lights all over their yard, driveway, roof & any place in sight (he floated up to the roof because he nearly fell off a ladder one time and doesn’t want to make you do it for him).

-His sweet tooth is in full swing, that man will be buying any sweets he sees that are even remotely festive, he probably even justifies buying things that barely have any relation by trying to make up a tradition.

-Snowmen will be made if there’s snow, he’s running outside with you even if ur wearing nothing but pajamas, you cannot escape making a snowman with him.

-Overall, he’s Santa but 10x more energetic (and 10x less old !!)

KENTO NANAMI

-Very traditional with Christmas (he isn’t allergic to fun dw!)

-Likes to walk with you around your neighbourhood just to check out Christmas lights whilst holding your hand tightly.

-Speaking of Christmas lights, he’ll have a few up but if you want more he’ll help (don’t go too mad with them though, he’ll sigh pretty loudly.)

-Gentlemen as always, makes sure you’re warm in cold weather.

-Thinks it’s the thought that counts but will put in effort to get a present he believes you’ll like.

-Best believe he’s taking a week or two off to celebrate with you, Jujutsu Tech can’t say shit to stop him.

-Prefers a Christmas where there’s a warm fireplace whilst you cuddle on a sofa with many blankets, probably watching something on tv.

-Overall, boyfriend behaviour to the max, your Christmas is gonna be the best ever.

RYOMEN SUKUNA

-This man doesn’t care for Christmas, let’s be honest.

-The only reason he makes any effort at all is because you want him to but that’s not gonna be tons, he’ll simply acknowledge winter and maybe a tiny thing about Christmas, if you’re lucky.

-Somehow convince him to go ice-skating with you, it’ll be an experience you certainly won’t ever forget.

-Gets into a fight if you make him queue for literally anything to do with Christmas spirit.. That guy just stepped on your foot, what did he expect with the king of curses right there? That he’d ignore it? Of course he wouldn’t, that guy surely wouldn’t mind loosing both of his feet, yeah? Well, Sukuna doesn’t have if he does, now he can’t step on your feet ever again.

-Refuses to watch any Christmas love movies so when you manage to convince him, you either hear disapproving grunts or outright complaints about the protagonist or love interest.

-He’s definitely not one for Christmas at all but a present for his partner is a present that needs to be perfect. He’ll get you whatever you want, might even humour you with wearing a Santa hat for a minute or so in private with you.

-He’s pretty grumpy but he’ll sit around on the counter and occasionally help with cooking Christmas cookies, if he feels like it.

-Throws snowballs with frozen ice inside at random kids and casually walks away.

-Overall, the grinch but one who’d steal all the presents and give them to his partner instead whilst killing those with stupid gifts..

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

-Megumi isn’t very excited but he does enjoy it, the break of this holiday admittedly being his favourite part.

-Not one to put lights up but he’s not gonna deny putting up some decorations inside if you’d like.

-Don’t bring him to a Christmas family gathering please..

-Would willingly ice-skate with you but he’s keeping close to the edge, he doesn’t want you or him falling.

-I can see him liking snow but he does remind you to keep warm every once in a while, sighing as he shrugs off the scarf Gojo had forced onto Megumi and instead placing it around your neck.

“It should still be warm, remember to bring one next time.”

-Keeps his eyes on yours discreetly as you past stores, looking for any interest shown on certain pieces in the window.

-Another one who holds your hand in the cold, it’s just something he’d deem as common sense at this point.

-Brings you to have dinner with his sister and him & it’s super sweet, Tsumiki loves you almost immediately due to the fact you’re his partner and that he’s not alone <3

-Overall, a sweetheart with lightly less effort than some but still sweet anyway.

YUJI ITADORI

-Yuji loves any holiday but Christmas definitely ignites something happy in him even more!

-Probably loves it half for the happiness he/others experience form it and also half because he gets presents..

-What can he say? It’s super cool to unwrap and then see this super cool thing he’d forgotten he realllyyy wanted like a month ago!!

-Down for anything to be honest, you name it and he wants to do it too.

-Making snow-angels is something he NEEDS to do any time it snows.

-Likes to decorate a nice tree inside and leave some lights outside & inside, though they’re actually pretty tame!

-Still does Christmas stockings, you can’t stop him from doing this ever.

-Not even confidently as he pulls the other side of a cracker and it pulls apart immediately.. he gets accused of cheating

-Used to be a massive fan of Christmas dinners at school so he’s definitely attempting and failing to make you one.

-Prefers to sit down and watch a movie together, preferably hugging and warm!!

-Overall, a Christmas not even Sukuna could steal (probably, anyway..)

@darlingofsatoru on Tumblr only, no reposts <3

[xxsquiddkiddxx]

Johnny boyyy!(bender)

THAT, my friend, is a FANTASTIC idea :D I like the way you think -3- So! Not really knowing what to write, I went to Pinterest for one of them Person A Person B prompts. I'll link the one I used. This is the one I used :D

Living in the Moment: John Bender x Reader

Pronouns for reader: She/Her

Relationship type: Platonic to Romantic, Friends to Lovers

General Idea: John and Y/N have been friends for years now. A duo of chaos, dare I say. The two once again get themselves into detention. But what happens when feigning a nap Y/N hears something she wasn't meant to hear?

Content Warnings: Drugs (It's a Breakfast Club fic... it's kinda in the terms and conditions), Bender being soft, swearing, (Y/N) doesn't hate Claire (that's a recurring theme in these fics for some reason. I actually really like Claire)

(Nobody's POV)

"We pretty much asked for this detention served to us on a silver platter." (Y/N) says, hands in her pockets as she walks to Shermer High School. She turns her head to her friend, John Bender, who was walking beside her.

"It's worth it though." He says, fishing around in his pocket for his sunglasses. It wasn't sunny out at all, he literally only ever wore them to piss off Vernon. He takes another pair out of one of his coat pockets and put them on (Y/N)'s head. He flicks them so they slide onto her face, causing her to laugh.

"John!" She laughs in mock offence, taking bits of her hair out from behind the sunglasses. The two walk into the library and sit down next to each other, their movements pretty much in sync. A few people were also in detention. People (Y/N) recognized as Brian Johnson; a nerd she had physics with, Claire Standish; a girl who (Y/N) had respect for but never bothered to talk to, Andrew Clark; an kid on the wrestling team who was similar to Claire in (Y/N)'s eyes, and Allison Reynolds; someone (Y/N) had talked to a few times... but never had a real conversation with.

Vernon walks in and stands, just looking at the mini crowd of teens in the library. His eyes set on (Y/N) sitting next to Bender and laughs humorlessly. "On your feet (L/N), you're sitting somewhere else."

"I can sit where I want." She retorts, folding her arms over her chest. "It's a free country." Vernon yanks her out of her seat and she starts to sit at the desk behind John, to which Vernon snaps.

"Next to her." He points towards Allison, who snaps her head up instantly. (Y/N) does as she's told, but devises a plan to reunite with her friend once the dictator leaves.

"Well... here we are. I want to congradulate you for being on time." Vernon says, his tone of voice being slightly degrading.

"Excuse me, sir?" Claire raises her hand. "I think there's been a mistake. But, um... I don't think I belong here." John and (Y/N) exchange a look that says "Oh dear God" . Vernon is unfazed by this.

Vernon goes on to talk about how everyone has pretty much 9 hours to be in here and that we have to do a 1000 word essay on who we think we are. When Vernon leaves, (Y/N) scoots herself right back to her original spot. A few hours goes by; John bullies Claire and Andrew, Allison draws and using her dandruff as a art utensil, and Brian was.... well Brian did whatever Brian does.

Once hour 2 hit, all (Y/N) wanted to do was sleep. She layed her head on the table and she drifted off to sleep.

.·:¨༺ ༻¨:·

(Y/N) feels herself drift back into consciousness, but keeps her eyes closed. "You're really pretty." She hears the breathy whisper of Bender. It's almost completely silent, and she probably wouldn't have caught it if she wasn't hyper-aware of his voice. "God I love you..." He whispers. She feels his fingers brush some hair out of her face, then it's silenced again.

"WAKE UP!" The cold voice of Vernon shoots (Y/N) up and almost 10 feet out of her seat. "(L/N) didn't I tell you to sit somewhere else?" (Y/N) looks around and points to herself innocently.

"Who, me?" She says, playing dumb. "I don't think so, sir." John and Andrew snicker at her antics.

"Don't play dumb with me, girl." Vernon threatens.

"I'm not, Dick. Can I call ya Dick?" She says, smiling innocently. Vernon doesn't have time to respond before (Y/N) continues. "Why would I play dumb anyways? I'm a smart girl with potential. Now Miss Standish here." She starts, gesturing towards Claire. The redhead whirls right around and makes a nasty face towards (Y/N). (Y/N) ignores it and continues her shenanigans. "She would play dumb to get what she wants, it's written all over her face!"

Vernon doesn't respond, but instead just says: "Alright girls, that's 30 minutes for lunch."

"Here?" Andrew asks.

"Here." Vernon says, firm in choice.

"Well," Andrew starts. "I think that the cafeteria is a more suitable place to eat lunch in, sir."

"Well I don't care WHAT you think, Andrew." Vernon starts. John gets a sparkle in his eyes and opens his mouth to speak. (Y/N) leans back, ready for what was about to go down.

"Uh, Dick?" John says. "Excuse me, Rich... Will MILK be made available to us?"

"We're extremely thirsty, sir." Andrew piggybacks off of John.

"I have a very low tolerance for dehydration." Claire says.

"I've seen her dehydrated, sir." Andrew says, nodding. "It's pretty gross."

After a whole scenario and a half, everyone has a coke and a lunch. Everyone eats together, John and (Y/N) being without meals. "Ya wanna do something stupid?" John whispers to his friend, his breath tickling (Y/N)'s face.

"Oh always, Dear." She says dramatically. The two start to stand up and walk out of the library.

"H-hey, we aren't supposed to do that." Brian starts.

"Relax, Peewee." John says. "We're just going to my locker. Nothin' special."

"Why? You got drugs in there or something?" Andrew asks condescendingly. (Y/N) giggles.

"Something like that."

.·:¨༺ ༻¨:·

John, (Y/N), Brian, and Claire sat in a circle, smoking joints and laughing. (Y/N) takes a hit off of her and John's shared joint, John's arm around her shoulders. Claire takes a hit off of hers and coughs.

"Chicks cannot hold they smoke." Brian says in a goofy voice, sending (Y/N) into a fit of giggles. "That's what it is."

Brian and Claire go off to Andrew and Allison, leaving John and (Y/N) alone. Bender, of course, can't help but admire (Y/N) momentarily before she says something.

"Did you mean that?" She asks, looking up at him. John looks at her odd. "What you said?"

John takes the joint from her fingers and moves it away from her. "AAAAAlright no more dope for you." He jokes. He looks at his friend's face, realizing she was dead-serious. "What do you mean what I said?"

"That I'm pretty and that you love me." (Y/N) says before repeating her question. "Did you mean it?"

John feels himself go bright red in the face. Part of him wanted to just skip over the question and blow it off. But something on her face (and also the marijuana) made him finally respond with the truth. "Yeah, I meant it."

"In a friend way?" (Y/N) asks. John REALLY wants to lie here, but he's too hopped up on weed and the feeling of (Y/N)'s body snuggled into his that he just responds with the truth, even if it feels like it's against his own will.

"No."

The two sit in silence before (Y/N) breaks it. "I love you too, John." She whispers. John turns to look at the girl. "Not in the friend way." The two sit in a content silence. They didn't need to speak any words, nor engage any actions. They were more content than any words or actions could ever activate.

After a few moments, (Y/N) leans her head on John's shoulder, and he rubs (Y/N)'s arm with his thumb, sharing the joint until it's gone. They stay like this for a while, just living in the moment.

Cuz at the end of the day, that's how John Bender and (Y/N) (L/N) roll. They take things wherever fate takes them. Sometimes it takes them somewhere fantastic, other times it takes them into some deep shit. But between us, I don't think they cared. They just liked to live in the moment.

A/N: Wow, OK that was longer than I thought it would be XD But I had to add the Brian High scene (it's my favorite in the whole movie). I actually really liked writing Y/N's character (even if I almost wrote my name more times than I can count). But yeah, more content soon :)

~Squeed

[pvnks0ul]

me and mrs. wolf (18+)

❊ werewolf/shifter!riri x fem!reader

sypnosis: Riri ends up having to find a creative way to keep you warm during your first camping trip together, you get more than you bargained for.

⚠︎: little plot ⁴ 🌽, kinda terotaphilia¿¿, mentions of hunting & eating wild deer(sry), dirty talk, readers really fucking cold, dom!riri + sub!reader, enlarged clit/girldick, several rounds, use of *mommy* + breeding kink, married au, amateur writing ! + bad descriptions of camping cause im js not built for that lifestyle!!

a/n: this was originally based off that one twilight scene (iykyk🧛🏾‍♀️) but shit really do be happening...🥲

There was no denying the early morning view when you'd first arrived. Selfoss was..beautiful, without a doubt one of the most Ethereal landscapes you'd ever seen but no amount of breathtakingly clear skies or eye watering fields of perfect green grasslands would ever be worth catching pneumonia in the booty hole. You didnt know how much longer you could take before calling it quits and ditching to whatever was closest to a ' 4 seasons round here—quite honestly you were probably already there.

The fire outside endlessly crackled, only reason for it not being put out was because Riri wanted to keep it burning so she could surprise you with dinner. The problem being she waited till the sun had already set to go hunting... Was it obvious she did not have the privilege of cooking very often?

You watched the blurred flames quiver and roar from behind the tents sheeted walls as your teeth clattered at an alarming rate, limbs shivering so hard you'd began jolting randomly to make sure you'd still had control over your own body. But you honestly wouldnt be surprised if they'd all just froze and fell off right about now.

You tried to roll closer to the side nearest of the fire but it's distant warmth only baited you to come outside and embrace it.

And you were so close to giving in if only the sun hadnt already went down, the light from the full moon only something dim compared to the dark forests surrounding you. Riri'd originally asked if you wanted to come with but truthfully your legs were already tired from gathering all the sticks for the pit. The relief she felt when you said you werent feeling up to the chase, especially since you wouldnt be of much help anyways, didn't go unnoticed.

So the agreement was, you'd stay in the tent where she felt you were safest and she'd go hunt alone. A very simple and easy task.

You sat up on the thick foambedding Riri had laid ontop of the built in matt so you wouldnt be laying completely on the ground. And although stocky, the comforter did little to protect you from the chilly air, you had on both your winter coats and one of Riris leather jackets underneath but it was clear no amount of layering would save you— or atleast not with the clothes you'd packed.

you smacked your forehead multiple times over like that would help as you cursed yourself for not going with her. You probably could've convinced Riri to carry you around on her back, if you had.

You poked your head out of the tent and it was nearly pitch black outside, now. The firepit lit up the inside of the empty but tiny lot, just enough to see a few trees surrounding.

The wind blew once more and your ears were starting to burn slightly from how cold it was, even with your beanie on.

By the time your brain had registered what you were thinking about doing, you'd already gotten up & were planting yourself on one of the logs that assisted as chairs. Gloved hands reached out to the fire and only then could you finally feel the slightest umpth of warmth.

You don't get to enjoy the heat for long when a snap of a branch comes from your left, pass the entrance of the camping site and you freeze in place. You try to write it off. You had to remember you were literally in the middle of a forest, it was a given that some wild life would lerk about— and you tried hard to convince yourself that's all it was.

It comes again but dangerously close and your hands drop to your sides faster than your heart to the pit of your stomach, your eyes are wide open, you weren't sure if you were prey but you weren't going to stick around to find out and before the third one can come you've already dashed it back to the little pavilion.

Zipping it up as quickly as you could with shaky hands & thick gloves, covering yourself in the comforter as a shield from whatever could be coming incase it followed you in.

Your breath hitches in your throat as the footsteps near and all you can think about was how much you wished Riri was here to protect you.

The soft thud of something weighty being dropped near your tent makes you jump and freeze out of pure unbridled fear. You have yet to blink, irises shaking and again you feel stupid because the only thing you had to defend yourself with was a lousy clothespin in the front pocket of Riris jacket.

The familiar sound the zipper sliding down sends shivers down your spine and you clutch the small needle tighter, at least you'd be going down with a fight albeit not alot.

You're too scared to even move an inch when you feel a fluffy but ice cold touch on your shoulder. You yelped, moving to a crouch as you held your clothespin infront of yourself.

"Baby, what are you doing?" Riris voice booms & vibrates against you. You can tell she's holding back a laugh by the condescending tone.

You squirm in her grip, trying to turn around in her strong arms,disbelief written all over your face, "You scared me!" you reply with a huff before hitting her hard chest, "Why didnt you say anything when you saw me running?"

"Cause I like the way you run off when you know you're not supposed to be doing something." She chuckles before kissing the side of your face, "Like doing the exact opposite of what was asked when I–"

"Ok, yeah, i get it, damn." you huff and drop your head at the lecture only for her to lift your chin so she can look you in the eye.

She pecks your cheek with chapped lips, forgetting what she was gonna say. Leading you to scoff when she releases her firm grip so she could remove her fuzzy noggin, “But...you were taking too long and i was freezinggg in here."

Riri quirks a brow, smirk festering to the surface, "I took not even 15 minutes."

You smack your teeth at her excuse, "you wouldn't understand." she laughs bolsteriusly, all whites showing as she tosses the hat to the side before seating herself against the back of the tent.

Riri pats the area beside her, "C'mere."

You crawl over to your wife, very tempted to climb into her lap but opting to just let yourself be enveloped when she wrapped her arms around you.

"Fifteen minutes feels more like forty-five when you're dying of frost-bite." you mumbled still not over it yet, snuggling into her, hogging her warmth for yourself.

"Mhmm.." she sighs. She knows that technically human bodies are much more vulnerable than one of her... stature but she also knows when her wife is being dramatic. Her hands rub up and down your back, earning a satisfied hum in response.

Your legs were stretched under you as her thumbs stroke at your cheeks, leaving goosebumps in their wake from how hot they were and it seems the both of you completely forgot about dinner.

She snorts at you before blowing air, "Well, I'll tell you what..If you miraculously manage to make it through the night, I'll get you the finest suite money can buy– in one of those what'd you call if? 4 springs? Gonna get you some proper breakfast and—"

"Mmm, thank god." You quipped before she could finish.

Riri smacks her teeth gathering you at the same time. "Yeah Anyway...all you'll have to do is sit pretty in bed and let me spoil you since you were willing to do this for me." she replies behind a smile before landing a fat peck to your temple, you moan approvingly, nodding as you clutched her shirt in your fist.

"I don't think you understand how much i appreciate it." You lift your head after a few seconds passed and she didnt let go only to find hungry dark orbs staring back at you, falling to your parted lips and then back up. Heat rushes to your face as you look anywhere but at her, "I- I do." an odd burning sensation sets in your core racing all the way up to your tummy.

"Yeah? I bet you still want me to show you though, huh?"

Riri wonders if it'd be selfish to have you right here and now, with how frozen to the touch you were just a second ago.

You grab at her arm, that doting look in your eye that you get when you're too shy under her gaze to speak your mind and she hastly decides it's not. That infact, the little action she's seeking would be helping you in the end.

So she drops her arms from around your body, shaking her jacket off and quickly undoing your puffy winter coats.

She pushes you onto your back without a word. You make sure your silence isnt mistaken for no, helping her in her mission to unbutton the first layers of jackets and slide them away.

Riri bellows at this. You always looked so pretty under her and it was a sight she'd never want to forget. She wastes no time climbing over you, straddling your thighs between her spread legs and leaning down to help.

She doesnt even need to survey once, rough hands just pulling and popping the zippers on the last few, "Ah–! Hey-" Riri brings her lips to yours in a means to shush you but she can't stop herself from the wantonly aura that read it was her who wanted more, her thumbs fumbling with the end of your shirt before yanking it up & over your bra. She grunts into your kiss a subtle, "Shut up, you won't even need them."

Your eyes flutter shut as you arch into her and there's no further argument. Just you kissing back with just as much fervor now, your hands grabbing the back of her neck and holding her closer. Riris hard fingernails scrape against your stomach as they made their way up to your breast, she fondles you gently through the fabric, circling her thumb in search of your nipple and pinching it between her index when she finds it.

You whimper into her mouth desperate for more but all she responds with is before doing the same to the other breast and pulling your bra down under the cusps of them once they'd pebbled hard enough.

She leaves you with a sweet kiss, then a peck that has you blindly chasing after her but you can't get far with the way she holds you down. You whine, bucking your hips up mindlessy absolutely desperate for any kind of friction. What you find in it's place takes you by surprise. You gasp before feeling at the bulge in her pants. Riri tenses on the spot, cursing under her breath before grinding into your palm.

"You brought your strap all the way out here, Ri?" you giggle while tugging on the tent in her pants.

Riri shakes her head, "No, I–!" she shudders when your hand moves even just a little bit, "No. It's all me." your eyes widen at her words.

You're immediately curious, feeling her up through her pants. Your fingertips going over her print and it's long, the thickest you've ever attempted to wrap your hands around. Your hands move lower and riri twitches up again. Right between a familiar set of puffy lips is where it sprouted and you're still a little in disbelief.

Riri holds your wrist in place, guiding it up and back down to the curved base. You can feel her hardening under your touch and it's oh so surreal. After a few more strokes you're already huffing under her, pupils pitch black & fully blown and she knows you're getting just as worked up.

And the shock of it all is not what you choose to focus on, if Riri says it's all her then you believe her. But that also means she must feel so suffocated in her tight-fitting boxers.

The first time you tried to move your hands away to pull at her pants, your reprimanded immediately. She takes it upon herself to push your wrists over your head, holding them in one hand, her extended claws were sharp and marking the skin just a little.

"Need t-to know if i can fuck you..." she whispers directly into your ear, your thighs clench beneath her at the blatant vulgarity.

Your words were caught in your throat in the middle of all of this. Riri takes advantage it, kissing over that side of your face multiple times before making her way to your neck, you gasp, opening your legs mindlessly and Riris already centering her bulge in the middle of your covered achy lips.

She whimpers because of how sensitive you managed to make her, abusing your swollen clit through damp fabric, frantic for a release and she needs to know if you're ready now more than ever.

Riri holds onto the back of your thighs, rolling her hips "Please.." she begs for what seems to be the first time, big brown eyes darting everywhere on your face, bursting with impatience, she felt like she was going to throb herself into a slow release.

You nod your head quickly, she could have whatever she wanted from you right now. Riri sighs before releasing your hands and you already know not to move them.

Riris anxious fingers fumble around for your leggings, tugging and tossing them to the side somewhere.

Your scent is strong and it takes over her senses completely, she almost puts her own needs aside just for a taste, an you can see the complexity in the pinch of her brows as her figure loomed overtop of you.

Evidently she made up her mind as the pads of her fingers now slid down to the edge of your panties and you can see her physically fighting the animalistic urge to rip them off of you. She utilizes her middle & ring, roughly dragging them to your ankle, letting you kick them off before she dips them lightly between your sticky lips, you hiss, giving it your all to not shut your legs around her fingers as she enjoyed the slick.

She decides it was enough with the waiting, you clearly needed this just as bad as her. Riri unbuckles her cargos, sliding off her boxers aswell.

Small desperate pants slip past your lips at the sight of your wife, taking in her muscular form but, what really captures your eye is the pretty little trimmed patch of curly hair sprawled down her abs. Your hands have a mind of their own as you grab her hips with one and claw at her toned tummy to her sport bra with the other.

She bites down on her bottom lip before swatting at you, "Fuck– Alright baby..." she speaks as she collects your wrists in one of her hands... again. She maneuvers your legs up to your chest, so she could appraise your gaping hole; so patiently awaiting her arrival.

Riris holds the tip of her erect clit in her hand, bringing it over yours and rubbing it in the wad of spit she just landed there, letting you grind up as you pleased till she had to go back down.

"Oww– huuh, ohh!" You whimper out the first words you'd spoken since she started this whole thing as she smoothly inches her way pass your entrance. Riri herself, is left hissing when she finally breaks through the ring, grazing each side of your walls effortlessly.

Your head tilts back upon entry, mind going blank as you grasped the comforter under you, needing something to keep you afloat. You're suffocating her and she's barely had a taste. she pushes further until your pelvics meet, bottoming out in one strained push.

"G–god damn." Her clit throbs inside of you, giving you more to stretch around in case you were becoming too accustomed with it the first time.

Riri murmurs more curse words under her breath from the way you clenched and halted her in place when she attempts to move. Only wanting to set a slow but satisfying rhythm to get you both used to the other.

She holds you down with one hand to your waist, pulling out to the rim of your pussy and then slamming back in. She moans louder, getting loss in the immediate pulsing of your gooey walls.

"Yes, Riri~–!" Your eyes roll as she starts to pick up the pace, fucking you harder into the matt. Not even her biggest faux piece had made you feel this full— you want some more and right now.

Her labia kisses yours as she digs deeper into you, strings of your arousal mixing with her own. "Fuck y/n." she whispers your name behind an exasperated grunt, pounding into you harshly as she held onto your waist.

Your face feels like it's on fire and your belly is rapidily turning, you were right on the cusp of an orgasm and too fucked out to warn her.

Yet you tried. You tried jerking on her clit to still her movements. But it only excites her more. She growls in response, "Mmmn—!" slapping your breast and biting her lip till she could taste iron when it bounced, ignoring your yelp completely, "Keep pulling on my shit, baby."

It grows again, the heads vibrating as your pussy adjusted around it and if it weren't for the constant sloshing from the mix of both of your releases against the other, you probably would've heard the humming.

You cry out at the stretch, pushing at her lower stomach to slow down but she simply smacks at your hands, "Nah, this is what she wants– look how she takes me. Don't be greedy, babygirl." Riri taunts referring to the loud squelch of your pussy every time she thrusted just a bit.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as she shook the whole damn mat, "Riri—! I can't—" you try to fixate on the place where your body met hers, clenching around her again, throwing her off balance and she gives up on the steady strokes, "Gonna nmph—! Fucking fill you deep if you do that shit again, Mhmm.." She starts pistoling her hips into you, sloppily creating a dripping mess between your bodies, "..make you have all my babies."

You probably looked like a googly eyed fool with the way they rolled to the back of your head at her rambling, you want it all so bad, you felt delirious.

Your legs lock around her hips as you moaned out a chant of her name, clamping down on her clit with a deadly vice and her head falls back instantly, she lets you have it. Riri holds your lower stomach with her palm, hips stuttering as she ruts against you, desperately using you to empty all her nut into.

The silky straws of her cum are so warm and it makes you have an explosion on your own, your cream gushing and mixing with hers, leaking out of your pussy straight down onto the flat bed because that's you were too stuffed to keep any of it in.

And eventually all of the thick liquid combined slowly pushes her out completely.

Riri looks down to find her clit twitching, absolutely drenched in cum—she's not sure who's– still dripping from the ring formed near the base and that was surely your work.

She gets more aroused at the thought. Rubbing at your sensitive inner–thigh, ready for another round and apparently you were too by how they ease open for her.

"Can you give me a color baby?" fingers moving up to your silk-covered folds.

You blink slowly at her, nodding as you grabbed at the wrist of her curious fingers, "g–green.."

Riri bobs her head, trying not to let her smirk suffice. You're shaking, still on the cusp and yet you want more? what a slut. she hides it by kissing all over your face, making you whine when she got everywhere but your lips.

Your arms are quick to wrap and lock around her neck, pulling her down to you and Riri has to stifle a laugh at how desperate you were acting. Knowing she can't go on long when trying to resist you, she let's you win this battle.

This kiss was different then the first, you had her by the little strands of her neck hair, moaning into the hot kiss when she bit down on your lip, your mouth opens, accepting her tongue and you can feel her shaft poking and twitching with want against your lower stomach as she licked & searched every bit of it..

This kiss was messy & frantic, something that described the both of you to a tee in the exact moment.

Riri growls again, muffled but it still makes your head spin. You arch your back into her, the bottom of her clit rubbing ontop of your own and you have no choice but to leave the kiss, your head falling back in defeat as she kept rolling her pelvic against you.

"Ri! Wait, please–! just wait!" You were gonna cum if she kept going and hard, your body wouldn't have been ready for that yet.

You're flanking against each rushed thrust, as she panted heavily, "shit!shit!shit!" grunting lowly but with your constant running the satisfaction wouldn't be the same.

So Riri stops, she unravels your arms from around her body and sits back on her knees, "Come ride me." she bids, eager to have you all over again while licking at her lips, moist with your spit and cherry balm.

Your mouth gapes open as you stared at her. She purposely moved to the opposite end, knowing you would struggle to make it over there. Ri sits flat down on the mat now, her legs spread and clit swaying proudly over her lap and all you can do is bat your lashes pathetically.

You felt as if you were glued to the bedding with the way you body refused to move. Riris mean– she's so mean when she laughs at you. Shaking her head and crawling back over to you on her knees.

She stays silent as she pulls you into her chest before maneuvering your body the other way around. She pushes you roughly back down into the sheets, "Since you don't wanna listen."

Your brows raise for the first time as you weakly held yourself up on your elbows. You almost speak up but you're interrupted by the sound of a loud moan when she enters you again, moving without giving you a chance to adjust.

"Never gonna be able forget what this pussy feel like, baby." she murmurs softly despite her hard & cruelly plodding pace.

Her hands dig back into their designated slots on your waist and you drop your head, admittedly liking the harsh way she fucked and used your body for her own selfish needs. "Feel so good!" you mumble drunkenly.

The outburst earns you a slap to the round of your ass. You yelp, pulling off to the tip of her clit. "Eugnh! Fuck!" Sticking your back out, approvingly.

"Who told your ass to move?" she growls while roughly yanking you back to her mound, you mutter a meak apology that means nothing to riri as she clenched her teeth, watching you make a mess of her clit. She plays with the globes of your ass, spreading them pleasantly as you formed an unnatural arch trying to push back into her, feening for it.

"Yeah, baby? You like this position, huh? Dirty girl."

You only nod but riri corrects you, a crackle hits the air when she drops her open palm on your ass again, "Talk back to me."

You whine, arms giving out and slumping down to just your elbows, "f-fuck yes, mommy!"

Riri coos before slapping your ass again right in the middle as she snapped her hips, "You want it faster? Huh?"

You moan, "Yeah–!"

"Work for it then." riri sighs out cooly while stopping immediately against you.

Your knees shake pathetically as you immediately try. You throw it back for the first time, just tightening around her and hoping it'd be enough.

Riri squeezes the flesh of your ass in her hand in return having you curl into yourself at the satisfying burn, she bumps you against her until you were able to fuck yourself off her.

"See– shit! You know what you're doing baby."

Riri catches what you throw, grunting dirty pleasures into your sweaty neck, as you led her closer to a final climax.

"My good girl..Damn.", "Fuck, look how you working this shit."

You were brought to the final straw when she brought her hands under your body, pushing her way into your sloppy folds so she could rub at your small clit and ease your nerves. It jolts you again, but you don't run this time, just grinding down into it. You're sure to alert her though. An ear shattering, "M'gonna cum so hard mommy shiiit!"

"And mommy really wants your cum, pretty." She fucks you harsher, pulling you back and forth on her clit so hard you were gasping out at each one, the head tickling your cervix and pushing you further into your orgasm. "C'mon then."

"Ahh! Oh! M'gonna–so close shitghh–!"

Your orgasm racks through your body hard, you can't even keep up with riris strokes, letting her fuck you through your high and then you're clawing at your pillows tryin to get away. She keeps going until her hips stutter into an climax, exploding and pounding it into your coated walls until the high had escaped her.

You cry out finally sliding off her piece and closing your eyes, thighs still shaking just a bit as you went through the motions all over again. Your stomachs twisting and pulling and you dont even feel like turning around the right way– just wanting to catch your breath.

You're trembling slightly when her eyes set back on you, she can tell you're not all the way back yet. She moves between your legs to rub at your thigh and she finds it burning to the touch, problem solved, she smirks proudly.

Riri sits on the same log you had, the muscles in her biceps bulge as she grips the buck by its front and back legs, laying it flat with a thud much louder than before, using her extracted nails to get rid of the rope she tied it's ankles with in one simple swipe.

When you finally come to and realize she's not by your side, you're immediately jolting up, thinking she left you again. You're quick to take notice of the thick comforter keeping you tucked in. It still hurt to move, your body was so sore but you were more determined to go find Riri.

You toss the blanket over, revealing a fresh set of the aforementioned girls sweatpants snug on your legs and you can't seem to remember how you even got then on.

you groan obnoxiously, lifting yourself up to properly rub the sleep out of your eyes, "Riri!?" your voice was hoarse from *the possible* hours before.

You hear a faint "outside!" and have already kicked into your winter boots. And Riri doesn't need an announcement of your presence, she can feel you idling close by and pats her thigh, you gladly squeeze your way into her bulging arms, wrapping your own around her waist but under her puffer so you could steal some of her body heat.

Riri gets side tracked once again, with your weight ontop of hers, completely forgetting about dinner for a split second as she wraps her arms around you and hoists you further into her lap, her head falling comfortably ontop of your chest while your arms become a cloak around her neck.

She breathes in your scent a little and goosebumps are sprouting under the thick garments now, "Don't you wanna know what happened?"

"mhmn." you shrug your shoulders, you weren't really sure at all, mind still hazy and too busy dozing off in her arms. She was naturally very warm & cozy, almost like a living teddy especially when wearing the fluffy coat you got her and your thoughts becoming pinkish brown mush, vision slowly becoming black dots filling in a canvas as you pressed tighter into her hold, were evidence of that.

The doe-like fluttering of your lashes has her stumped, she's not going to make you stay up since it was her fault you were so worn out in the first place but, she was going to make sure you ate first.

Apparently, you ended up falling asleep against her somewhere down that line anyways because when you next open your eyes, its with a tubberware bowl full of some sweet smelling soup in her lap and a silver utensil, pokin your lip. You furrow your brows, still not all the way up yet and Riri chuckles, "Try it. It'll warm you up a little bit more."

You happily encourage her spoonfeeding it to you after this sliver of information, humming at the unique taste once it hits you. How she was able to skin and gut that deer with you in her arms the entire time, still unbeknownst to you.

This was supposed to be for Halloween but.. Well, I'll think of an excuse & comeback later 😚

🔖: @sapphicbarbz @shurislover @s0lam33y

(ty @lppriceisright for proof reading another fic for me!)

[hardlyinteresting]

Warm feelings

Aaron Hotchner Masterlist | Send Requests

More domestic thoughts about being warm and cozy

"Affection is responsible for nine-tenths of whatever solid and durable happiness there is in our lives" -C.S. Lewis

Jackets

He always reminds you to take a coat with you on the way out the door, and you always insist that you'll be fine without one. He'll tell you it's his biggest pet peeve, you refusing to wear a coat and then shivering in the cold. He never fails to drape his jacket over your shoulders at the first sign of goosebumps.

Hotch is a traditional kind of guy and he's the type of guy who suggests you take a stroll after a fancy dinner. He's just not ready for the night to come to an end. You're all dolled up, and a little tipsy from the wine you had at dinner. You agree easily, holding his hand and tucking yourself close to his side. It's colder than when you left the house, he'll grant you that. “Cold?” He asks as concerned as he is amused. And you just have to bat your lashes at him and he's slipping off his jacket to wrap it around your shoulders. It smells like his cologne and is warm from his body heat. It's an easy way for him to say ‘I love you’.

Sweaters

Hotch absolutely has his old university and FBI academy crewneck sweatshirts. Softened and faded by time; worn and washed to the point of having frayed cuffs and collars. Aaron strikes me as the if it's not broke, don't throw it out kind of guy. He likes those sweaters. They're warm and comfortable. He knows they fit, and are easy to wash; he sees no reason to replace them. More than that Aaron has a definite nostalgic streak. As much as he acts like he's detached and indifferent to anything remotely sentimental, at home he almost overcompensates, holding on to every happy moment and memory he can. Case in point, his high school yearbooks, and the pirate hat. (You cannot convince me that he doesn't keep some kind of memory box with Jack's paintings; tickets from plays; his acceptance letter from college; and birthday and anniversary cards that you've taken such care to write such heartfelt messages in). He has fond memories of his law school and academy days; he wants to keep them close. At first, you think he might be upset that you're wearing them around the house but he would actually be thrilled. It's a collision of some of his favourite things and it's a specific domestic sight to come home to. He's a caretaker by nature and it thrills him that he can manage to keep you warm and cozy every when he has to be away. You can borrow his sweaters anytime.

Body heat

The man radiates heat. Just standing next to him is enough to feel warmer. He has a knack for knowing exactly how many layers he needs to put on to stay warm, while you struggle to decide whether or not you should also put on a scarf. He does everything with such a specific level of confidence, even the way he prepares for the day is borderline awe-inspiring.

He gets so few days off that he is unwilling to let the late autumn cold interrupt his time with Jack. When the three of you head to the park, Jack insists on shedding layers, his hat and mitten coming off first, he’s warm enough running around (Aaron doesn’t let the boy take his coat off completely but they compromise and he’s allowed to keep playing with his jacket unzipped). Despite checking the forecast several times, and bundling up, the cold still gets to you. And Aaron looks so cozy in his sweater and his coat. He’s the picture of a cozy winter boyfriend with his leather gloves, and scarf. Like his son his coat hangs unzipped on his frame, and it's the perfect opportunity for you to snuggle in, arms wrapping around his torso under the warm layer of his jacket, your cold nose pressed against his chest. “Cold?” he asks with a hint of a smile. You can only tilt your head up at him to pout back. He slips his gloves off to cup your face, his hands toasty warm against your ice-cold skin. Your face warms and your heart melts when he lays a kiss on your forehead. “Hey Jack,” Aaron calls, “What would you say to getting some hot chocolate?” Jack comes running.

[mullermilkshake]

Twelve days of fluffmas

On the first day of fluffmas, my true love gave to me...

Yakuza!Toji being all cute and fluffy.

Day two

Yakuza!Toji x Fem!reader Tags: Yakuza AU, established relationship, slight angst, mature flirting, fluff, Christmas, feel good.

"Toji!" your voice was muffled from the bathroom.

"Yeah?" Toji had been ready for what seemed like the entire day, bored in the living area of the apartment fiddling with his pager and pressing random buttons so they made a little tune.

You emerged from the bathroom in a sequin body con dress, red like Christmas and short like Toji's patience. "Hair like this? Or like this?"

"It doesn't matter, doll. You're beautiful either way, can we go now?"

Toji didn't want to even leave the apartment today, not with all the snow and more that had been forecasted. There was no way you were going to stay warm enough in that either.

He just didn't want to come across as a dick. "Are you gonna be warm enough in that? There's more snow on the way."

"This? It's not what I'm wearing. I was in two minds what I wanted to wear. I think I'll go for pants and a blouse, I won't be long."

When your back was turned, Toji flopped back on the sofa and rubbed his face, glaring at the Christmas tree you put up in the corner over by the glass.

He didn't like Christmas as it is, the stupid parties everybody seemed to have to throw and get everyone drunk and stupid enough to cheat on their partners or wake up in some strangers bed with a hangover.

Whatever happened to eating at a restaurant, getting full as a stuffed pig on a roast and waddling home to sleep it all off? This party you wanted to go to was the only reason he agreed, because it was for you.

A Christmas party Geto was throwing. You only wanted to go to see his wife and the other wives and girlfriends you didn't see too much of. To be honest, Toji was surprised that Gojo's girlfriend was putting up with that idiot.

In the spirit of Christmas I guess. The holiday was charitable after all.

Toji supposed that it wasn't going to be all that bad seeing as Higuruma was coming, not that he spoke to anyone associated with the Yakuza when he wasn't fulfilling contracts. Higuruma was the least annoying.

That's why Toji was getting bored waiting, "Hurry up, Doll. They'll all be drunk by the time we get there!"

"I know, I'm going as quickly as I can!"

Not long after you reappeared again, coat in hand with your little bag over your shoulder in pants and a blouse like you had described.

Despite the cold, he was a little disappointed you still weren't wearing that red dress even with his reservations about the cold.

He shot up and moved to grab his keys and coat. "Wear that red dress when we get home, yeah?"

"You liked it then? I picked it up yesterday actually, but someone didn't want me wearing it," he could tell your tone was cheekily sarcastic.

"Mhm," he opened the front door for you and let you lead to the entrance. "I didn't want you freezing your tits off. It's a burden I'd have to bare keeping them warm personally."

"Well, you do have big hands, maybe I just shouldn't wear a bra and you can keep them up all day?"

That was an excellent suggestion. "Only for you, doll."

You stepped out of the ground floor entrance and snuggled into your coat, the snow collecting against your hair already, the neon lights brightening up your eyes in just the right way.

Waving your arm with yen bills in your hands left you smiling back at him. "Maybe I will wear it when we get home, that depends if you're good later."

"I'm always good."

"Mm, I don't know, does Santa know that? He's the one that'll give you presents."

Your first Christmas with Toji in this new apartment. Just as beautiful as the first day he met you, and here you were being a smart ass.

"I'm perfect," he wasn't. "And I've been incredibly good." ...Maybe

By now, you'd completely forgotten about hailing a taxi and faced Toji fully. The snowflakes had gotten thicker, now settling on your eyelashes as your hands found his body under his open coat.

"Thank you for doing this tonight, I know it isn't your scene and I appreciate the things you do for me. Everything. You're more perfect than you give yourself credit for, and I wouldn't be where I am now without you... I'm happy."

Would you be happy whenever you found out that Toji was Yakuza? Probably not. He would tell you eventually of all the horrid things did yet for now it would stay nestled under that other dishonestly tree for the time being.

Because right now, "I'm happy too."

Toji wanted nothing to change. You were so good for him and far too perfect for him. He couldn't bare letting you go.

Not now, not ever.

That was his Christmas wish.

Tag list ->

@izukuisbaby

[purplehairedwonder]

For the ask summary thing, how about a fic where, for whatever reason, Law and Doflamingo suddenly switch bodies, so now they have to try and find a way to switch back while probably wanting to screw up the other's life as much as possible while they have the chance.

This was so fun, anon, thanks for the idea!

Law groaned as consciousness returned, and he blinked his eyes open to find himself staring up at the ceiling. His head throbbed, and there was a ringing in his ears. Oddly, his vision was red-tinted, and one of his eyes seemed to have impaired vision. Suddenly concerned about an injury from being thrown across the conference room, he lifted a hand to his face. Wait, were those glasses? He pulled them from his face and looked at them, feeling like they looked familiar. And then he caught sight of his hands. They were bare of his familiar tattoos and huge. 

Something was very wrong.

“Fucking hell.”

Law’s head snapped up at the sound of a familiar voice on the other side of the conference table. A moment later, a figure rose shakily to its feet, and Law’s eyes widened. He was looking at himself across the room, from the jeans and hoodie he’d been wearing to the visible tattoos on his hands and fingers. His hat must have come off in the explosion, leaving his unkempt hair visible. He had one hand on his forehead while the other used the conference table for balance.

“What the fuck?” Law said in a voice he knew all too well. He stiffened while the other him snapped his head up, golden eyes going wide. They stared at each other a long moment in shock.

Finally, the other him spoke. “Put my glasses back on.”

Law’s eye twitched. “Don’t tell me what to do,” he said reflexively before registering what he’d heard. He pulled his gaze from the other him across the room and looked down at himself. His figure, even sitting on the floor, was still enormous, and he wore a familiar white top, gaudy cropped pants, and a pink feathered coat that haunted his nightmares. He looked back up at the man across the room as reality began to sink in. “Doflamingo.”

“At your service, little Law. Though,” he added, eyeing Law as he awkwardly pushed himself to his feet in his significantly larger frame, “not so little at the moment.” His eye twitched. “Now, would you put my glasses back on?”

Rather than acquiesce, Law frowned. “How did this happen?” The last thing he remembered was being in a Warlord meeting, doing his best to avoid the smirks Doflamingo had been sending his way. Everything after that was a black box.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know,” Doflamingo said. “This was the Ope Ope fruit’s doing, wasn’t it?”

“Like hell I would ever do this,” Law snapped in return. He looked down at his hands; these were the hands that had killed Cora-san. The very thought made his stomach turn. “You disgust me.”

Doflamingo’s lips pulled back in a smirk, the expression giving Law sudden insight into his friends’ worried looks when he got one of his so-called “gremlin looks,” as Shachi had dubbed them. “Not on purpose, maybe. But you had your fruit activated when the explosion hit. Perhaps the shockwave caused you to do it on accident.”

“Explosion?”

Doflamingo frowned. “You don’t remember?”

“I… No.” He lifted a hand to open a Room and perform a Scan on himself before remembering he couldn’t do that in this body. Instead, he reached up and felt around his head, wincing when he hit a particularly tender spot at the back. While the ringing in his ears had faded, his head was still throbbing; between the symptoms and the physical pain, a concussion seemed likely. “But if I did this, then only the Ope Ope fruit can reverse it.” He winced. “That means you’ll have to do it.”

“Oh? Why the rush, Law?” Doflamingo grinned. “I am very interested in learning more about the devil fruit I had stolen from me twelve years ago.” Law went cold as he remembered Doflamingo’s words from all those years ago: Well, if he’s already eaten the Ope Ope fruit, I’ll need to raise him so he knows to die for my sake.

“Don’t bother,” Law said, aiming for dismissive. “I’ll walk you through the Personality Transplant Surgery and that’s it.”

Doflamingo didn’t seem put off. “We’ll see,” he said before bending over to pick up Law’s hat and put it on his head. “I can’t believe you still have this old thing.”

“Fuck off,” Law muttered as he put Doflamingo’s glasses back on, giving the world a rosy tint once more. There was a metaphor somewhere in there, but Law was in no mood to find it.

“Fufufu, temper,” Doflamingo chuckled as he reached down once more for Kikoku. His hand touched the sheath, but he cursed and pulled his hand back as though burned. “What the hell?”

Law blinked in surprise before laughing. “She knows you’re not me,” he said, delighted. “She’s quite picky about who can hold her.” He made his way around the table, though his gait was awkward in his larger body, and he banged into the conference table on the way by. He let out a pained huff, suddenly feeling more sympathetic toward Cora-san’s clumsiness.

He reached down toward Kikoku, half-expecting a rejection considering his body, but the blade simply hummed as Law wrapped a huge hand around her sheath. He picked the blade up, startled to realize the nodachi was closer to the side of a typical sword with Doflamingo’s frame. It was… strange.

Before Doflamingo could respond, the door to the conference room opened to reveal a haggard Sengoku. “Trafalgar, Doflamingo. There you are. We’ve been looking for you. You’re needed.”

“Needed?” Doflamingo said, raising an eyebrow.

“We’re under attack,” Sengoku said.

“The explosion,” Law surmised.

Sengoku gave a jerky nod. “We need all hands on deck.”

Law opened his mouth to find an excuse not to fight—he couldn’t even walk around a table without banging into things—but Doflamingo shot Law a smirk before turning back to Sengoku and nodding. “Lead the way, Fleet Admiral.”

Sengoku frowned and the easy acquiescence but shrugged, clearly too distracted to give it much thought. “This way,” he said, turning from the room.

“What the hell are you doing?” Law demanded under his breath. “We need to undo this switch, not get into a battle.”

“Lighten up, Law,” Doflamingo said over his shoulder. “It’ll be a learning experience.”

“It’ll be something, all right,” Law ground out as he followed his own body down the hall and toward an inevitable disaster.

Send me an anymous (or not) summary of the fic you wish I would write. (maybe I will write a tidbit)