#Maybe I’ll come back and finish it later

[jessiexflem]

– photograph | jessie fleming x reader

content: fluff, fluff, and more fluff

word count: 2.9K

“Slow down!” you pout, your voice drowned out by the Christmas music playing over the speaker. 

Your older sister quickly took off on the ice, leaving you by yourself as you held onto the gate of the rink. The sting of the London winter hits your face, giving your cheeks a rosy blush. Your parents had dropped you off at the local outdoor rink, under the promise from your sister that she would keep an eye on you. Unlike most Canadians, skating did not come the most naturally to you, and you spent most of your time glued to the wall unless your mom was there to hold your hand.

“Excuse me?” a shorter girl, clad in an oversized hockey jersey, peers at you from under her beanie, “Do you need help?”

You nod warily, “I’m stuck.”

The girl holds out a gloved hand, giving you a smile, her two front teeth missing. “I can help you! I’m Jessie.”

“I’m Y/N,” you take her hand, wobbling slightly as you let go of the wall, “I’m scared of falling.”

“I won’t let you fall, I’ve gotten good at this,” the girl reassures, “How old are you, Y/N? I’m five.”

Jessie holds up her fingers on her other hand, gliding the two of you around the rink.

“Me too, but I’m about to turn six,” you say matter-of-factly, “Do you want to come to my birthday party? My mom bought ZooPals for it.”

“I have to ask my mom,” she shrugs, “Can I have the duck one?”

You nod, catching a glimpse of her black skates, “Your skates look funny.”

“Nuh uh,” Jessie frowns, “Yours look funny!”

“They’re figure skates,” you huff, “I’m going to be a figure skater just like my big sister!”

“Mine are hockey skates, and I’m going to be a famous hockey player when I grow up. You can come to my games.”

“I’ll go to your games if you come to my birthday party,” you bargain, holding out your pinky, “Pinky promise?”

“Pinky promise,” Jessie locks her pinky with yours.

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

“Jessie, stop!” you hide your mouth with your hand, “I told you not to look!”

“It can’t be that bad!” 

You frown, wincing at the pain shooting through your gums. After months of attempting to convince your parents that your teeth were fine, you were dragged to the orthodontist’s office that morning, leaving with a full set of braces. Every word, every facial expression, everything made your mouth hurt.

“Speak for yourself, you’re not the one who has to have them!” you roll your eyes, “This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

“You’re the most dramatic person I’ve ever met,” Jessie sighs. 

“But you still choose to be friends with me,” you giggle, the blue bands on your braces visible.

“You actually got blue?” your best friend raises an eyebrow, “I assumed you were still going to end up picking pink.” 

Your memory flashes back to the bet you had made with Jessie in gym class last week. You were running a 1,500 meter race against your classmates, and you told Jessie that if she won she got to pick what color bands you got. If you won, she had to give you the cookie from her lunch. Naturally, Jessie smoked you, running faster than the entire grade seven class.

“Of course I did, Fleming, I keep my promises,” you attempted a grin.

“We’ll work on smiling later,” she teases, “Maybe try and look less pained.”

“I should’ve picked pink.”

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

The smell of hairspray fills your nose as your sister completes the finishing touches on your hair. A fishtail braid cascades down your back, your side bangs pinned out of your face. Gold, shimmery eyeshadow was swept across your eyelids, and your lips tingled from your sister’s lip plumping gloss. You slipped into your dress, your mom and sister helping adjust the corset back.

“Y/N! Jessie’s here!” your dad calls from the living room. 

You and Jessie had decided to attend your high school’s winter formal together, neither of you having a date. You wobble to the top of the stairs, cursing yourself for picking out heels instead of flats. Jessie was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, holding a small plastic container. Unbeknownst to you, too focused on not tripping down the stairs, your best friend watched you with a glimmer in her eye, confused at why butterflies began to stir in her stomach.

“We dress up nice, don’t we, Fleming?” you grin as you get to the bottom step. 

“You look, uh, really pretty,” a blush creeps to Jessie’s face as she holds her hand out, “This is for you, by the way. My mom got them for us.”

Inside the plastic container was a corsage adorned with white roses and gold ribbon, matching your dress. Jessie had a similar one on her wrist, her ribbon silver rather than gold. 

“It’s so pretty, thank you,” you smile, “Put it on me?”

Jessie’s hands shake as she struggles to open the clamshell packaging. You watch her patiently, smiling once she pulls the corsage out of the container. She slides it on your wrist, a flash going off in the corner of your eye.

“Mom!” you groan.

“Come on, Y/N,” your mom frowns, “You two never dress up, let me and Mrs. Fleming get some pictures out of this.” 

You and Jessie posed for a few hundred photos to appease your mother until it was time to leave. Taking a step toward the garage, you grab Jessie’s arm in an attempt to steady yourself.

“I’m definitely going to fall in these,” you laugh, adjusting your heels.

“I won’t let you, I promise.”

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

“Got a hot date, Fleming?” Hailie asks from the opposite end of the locker room.

“Don’t you know? Her girlfriend’s coming to visit!” Teagan shouts in a teasing sing-song, drawing ‘oohs’ from the rest of the team. 

Jessie looks up from where she had been shoving her cleats into her backpack to glare at her teammates, a blush creeping to her cheeks. “How many times do I have to tell you that Y/N is not my girlfriend?”

“You mean how many times you’re going to lie to both me and yourself?” the Australian raises an eyebrow. 

“She’s my best friend, Teags, that’s all.”

A hurt look flashes across Teagan’s face, but her tone drips with sarcasm, “Ouch, I thought I was your best friend.”

“Whatever, Y/N was asking if you wanted to come to dinner with us,” Jessie sighs, secretly hoping her roommate has plans.

It was October of Jessie’s sophomore year at UCLA, and due to distance and conflicting schedules, she hadn’t seen you since the beginning of the summer. Luckily, your university’s fall break fell over a weekend that the Bruins were scheduled to play at home. Your plane was due to land in thirty minutes, and Jessie insisted on picking you up despite having to rush to the airport right after practice.

“So, you’re inviting me to third wheel?” 

“Wait, Teagan, I thought you were coming over tonight,” Hailie interjects.

“Oh, right, I forgot to tell you, I’m sleeping over at Hailie’s tonight,” Teagan flashes Jessie a cheeky wink, “Figured you’d want the room to yourself tonight.”

“I take it back, you’re uninvited.”

“Just doing both of us a favor!”

After eating dinner at a restaurant near the airport, you and Jessie headed back to her dorm. Seven hours of travel and a full terminal sprint to catch your connecting flight had you ready for nothing but sweet slumber. While Jessie’s in the bathroom, you glance around her and Teagan’s room. Teagan’s unmade bed was covered in laundry, and papers were strewn across her desk. Jessie’s side of the room looked the complete opposite, not a pillow out of place. Her homework was tucked into her backpack which sat in her desk chair. An extra pillow and throw blanket sat on top of her desk. Throwing the pillow on the floor, you began to shake out the blanket as Jessie stepped out of the bathroom.

“What are you doing?” Jessie frowns, “You aren’t sleeping on the floor.”

You raise an eyebrow at her, “Where am I supposed to sleep?”

“On my bed?” she gestures at the lofted twin bed, “I’ll take the floor.”

“Absolutely not, I am not kicking you out of your bed, Fleming,” you shake your head. Jessie had a game tomorrow afternoon, and you knew sleeping on the floor would end up in her barely being able to move in the morning. 

“No, it’s fine. I didn’t realize Teagan had the air mattress in the back of her car, take my bed,” Jessie tries to take the blanket out of your hands, but you refuse to let go.

“You are not sleeping on the floor,” you frown, “Your back’s going to kill you if you do.”

“It’s just for a night,” she shrugs, “We’ll get the air mattress from Teagan tomorrow.”

You mull over her words for a moment before pulling yourself onto Jessie’s bed, scooting as close to the wall as you can, before patting the mattress. “Plenty of room. Alright, Fleming, time for bed.”

It’s Jessie’s turn to raise an eyebrow, “You can’t be serious.” 

“Dead serious.”

“Y/N–”

“Come on, Jess, it’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before,” you roll your eyes. 

“Yes, beds that were made for two people, not one that I can barely keep myself from falling off of.”

“We’ll just have to cuddle then,” you tease.

Jessie reaches for the pillow on the floor, trying to hide the growing redness in her face. She tosses both the pillow and the throw blanket onto her bed, before using the bedframe to pull herself up. Once she’s settled under her covers, you notice that she’s practically hugging the edge of the mattress. 

“I won’t bite,” you laugh, “Scoot in, I don’t want you to fall.”

Jessie flicks off her lamp before timidly inching toward you, worried you would hear her heartbeat in her chest if she got too close. You had turned to your side, laying facing the wall.

“Goodnight, Jess, try not to fall, okay?”

Too late.

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

“Bon appétit,” you tip an invisible cap, fake French accent at full force. The smell of fresh basil and vodka sauce fills the room. You sit across the dining table from Jessie, pulling your legs criss-crossed in the chair.

“This looks amazing,” she smiles appreciatively, “But since when did you learn how to cook?” Chelsea had a last-minute, late evening training today, the team wanting to tweak a few things prior to their UWCL quarterfinal, so you spent your time alone preparing dinner.

“Lots of time at home during lockdown,” you laugh, “That pact we made freshman year is getting closer and closer to reality, and I figured one of us needs to know how to cook.”

If you noticed Jessie freeze, fork stuck in her bowl of pasta, you didn’t let on. Her cheeks turn red, thinking about the pact you had made years ago. “If we’re both alone when we turn thirty, let’s get married,” you had proposed one night when the two of you were up late at a sleepover.

“You still remember that?” she chuckles nervously, “You wouldn’t want to go through with it, now, though?”

“Is this your way of telling me that you don’t want to marry me?” you tease. 

“No!” Jessie answers, a bit too forcefully for her liking, “I mean, I–uh.”

“I’m just kidding, Jess,” you laugh, “How was training?”

For the rest of dinner, Jessie’s mind races as she pushes her food back and forth around her plate. “You’re being ridiculous, Fleming, it’s just Y/N,” she thinks to herself.

“Everything okay?” you frown, standing to place your dish in the sink, “It wasn’t bad, was it?”

Caught. Fuck. 

“No, it was great,” Jessie shakes her head, “Uh, I’m just still a bit full from a protein shake I had earlier.” 

And now she’s lying. Her stomach twists with hunger pangs, but she can’t get herself to take more than a couple more bites of pasta. Your words from earlier sat in her mind as she dwelled on the idea of marriage. The idea of marrying you. However, marrying you meant that Jessie had to actually tell you how she feels about you, which definitely wasn’t going to happen. The last thing she wanted to do was ruin the friendship you’ve had for the last eighteen years.

“Don’t lie to me.” 

“What?” Jessie bites her lip, avoiding your gaze, “I’m not lying.”

As if on cue, Jessie’s stomach betrays her, audibly growling. You raise your eyebrow at her, silently waiting for an explanation.

“Sorry,” she mumbles.

“What’s wrong, Jess?” you step toward her, resting your hip on the dining table. 

Jessie weighs the options in front of her. Tell you the truth, and risk making the rest of your London trip incredibly awkward. Lie, and know that you can see right through her. It used to be easy for Jessie to push her feelings aside through the past few years due to much of your friendship being long distance. However, every time you came to visit, she found it increasingly more difficult to keep her feelings a secret.

“Did I say something wrong?” your voice draws her out of her thoughts, “When I mentioned the pact?”

Jessie sighs, unsure of how to answer. You knew her too well.

“I’m sorry, Jess, I didn’t mean to make things weird,” you force out an awkward chuckle, “It was a joke, and I di–”

“I love you,” your best friend cuts you off, her eyes growing wide at the realization that her mouth decided not to consult her brain before speaking.

“I love you, too?” you reply, confused as this wasn’t anything new said between you two.

Well, it’s now or never, Jessie thinks to herself. “Uh, no, I–fuck,” she shakes her head, staring everywhere but at you, “No, Y/N, I love you, actually I think I’m in love with you, and I need you to stop talking about us getting married or it’ll be all I can think about, and I wasn’t going to tell you because I didn’t want to ruin anything because you’re my best friend, and you definitely don’t feel the sa–”

“Jess, slow down,” you bite your lip, placing a hand on her arm, “Who said I don’t feel the same way?”

“What?” her eyes meet yours, giving you an incredulous look.

“I don’t think you’re ruining anything,” you smile, “Unless you don’t want me to tell you how long I’ve been wanting to tell you how much I want to be with you, then we can pretend like this conversation never happened.”

“You? Want to be with me?” Jessie asks with an air of disbelief to her voice.

“Okay, now you’re just drawing this out,” you tease, “But, if it’s what you need to hear, then yes, Jessie Alexandra Fleming, I, too, am in love with you and have wanted to be with you since I made that pact with you when we were fourteen.”

A smile quirks at Jessie’s lips as her eyes light up. Butterflies soar through her stomach, except this time they aren’t met with a feeling of stress or confusion. 

“Well, are you going to kiss me, or are you just going to keep looking at me with your cute face?” you smirk.

Pulling you into her lap, Jessie places one hand on your hip, the other cupping your face. Her eyes travel down to your lips, leaning in. Your eyes flutter closed, your lips meeting hers. When you pull away, you open your eyes to see Jessie flashing you a cheeky grin.

“So, fourteen-year-old you had an ulterior motive this whole time, huh?” 

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

“What are you looking at?” Jessie asks, sitting next to you on the couch, “Are these for the reception?”

You nod, holding up a picture of you and Jessie at the ice rink from the day you first met. Jessie’s arm was around your shoulders, and your arms wrapped around her waist, both of you cheesing toothless at the camera. Her mom had snapped a photo of you two after forcing her to arrange a playdate with your parents once they came to pick you up. “We were pretty cute, weren’t we?”

“Real cute,” your fiancée chuckles, pulling a print out of the stack. The two of you at your middle school lunch table, Jessie making a face to get you to laugh.

You flick through the remaining photos, which were meant to be framed as centerpieces for the tables at your upcoming wedding reception, each memory bringing you back to a different moment in your relationship. 

“You know, Teagan was about to kill me that weekend,” Jessie gestures at a picture of the two of you after a UCLA game, “After I dropped you off at the airport, she yelled at me for not telling you how I felt.”

“Only took four more years, right?” you tease, holding up a print of your first photo as a couple, a selfie taken on Jessie’s London flat’s couch.

“I guess I could’ve mentioned something a bit sooner,” she blushes.

“I’m just teasing, sweetheart,” you smile, setting the prints on the coffee table, “I wouldn’t want anything different.”

Jessie shakes her head, “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Agreed, I’m really, really lucky,” you place a kiss on your fiancée’s cheek, “I can’t wait to marry you, Jessie Fleming.”

“C’mere,” Jessie pulls you in, pressing her lips to yours, “I love you, Y/N, and I can’t wait to marry you.”

[eclipixels]

Makes sense

Yoichi Isagi x Reader

Content: How your relationship with Isagi began

[3,152 words]

      It was your first year at Ichinan High when you first noticed the timid, dark-haired Yoichi Isagi. Like every other first year, he seemed slightly lost, trying to navigate the new environment, but somehow, he looked even more clueless than the rest. His awkwardness made him stand out, and when you caught sight of his eyes, it was like something inside you clicked, like glass shattering in your mind. You couldn’t explain it, but the moment you saw him, a strange flutter stirred in your stomach.

      You didn’t know what it was, but you knew one thing for certain, you had to make him yours.

      Of course, as a fumbling first-year yourself, still figuring out how to approach people, your grand plan was... to quietly observe him. You kept an eye on his classes, noted who he talked to (not many people), and even made mental notes about what he ate during lunch. You found out he’d joined the Ichinan soccer team and started attending their practices after school, so naturally, you lingered at a few of those, too.

      But after two weeks of your silent stalking, you grew frustrated. Nothing had changed. That strange feeling in your stomach was still there, and you were no closer to talking to him than you were on day one. Finally, you decided enough was enough. It was time to make a move.

      The next day, at lunch, you spotted him sitting alone, as he usually did. He was hunched over his phone, totally engrossed in whatever he was watching. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you approached and slid into the seat beside him.

      “Oh! Hey there!” he squeaked, startled by your sudden presence. He paused the video and turned to face you, his expression a mix of confusion and curiosity.

      “Hi,” you said, already second-guessing your decision. Why were you here again? What were you supposed to say?

      “I’m Isagi Yoichi, first year,” he said after a moment, breaking the awkward silence.

      “L/n Y/n,” you replied quickly, blinking at him. Thirty seconds in, and it already felt painfully awkward.

      “Nice to meet you! So… what made you wanna sit here?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. It wasn’t every day someone chose to sit with him, especially not someone new.

      “I don’t know,” you mumbled, kicking yourself internally. Really? That’s the best you could come up with?

      “Oh,” he said simply, looking a bit confused.

      Desperate to salvage the situation, you leaned over slightly to glance at his phone. “What are you watching?”

      The question worked like magic. His eyes lit up as he launched into an enthusiastic explanation about the soccer match on his screen. He talked about the players, their tactics, and his favorite moments. You listened intently, a small smile forming as you watched him ramble on, his passion shining through.

      “Oh, sorry,” he said suddenly, stopping mid-sentence. “I didn’t mean to ramble. You probably don’t care about this stuff.”

      “I like soccer,” you said, cutting him off before he could finish his apology.

      “You do?” he asked, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

      “Yeah, I even have some Barcelona merch.”

      His expression shifted, and he smirked. “Madrid fan here.”

      Well, that was definitely going to be a problem, but you’d figure it out later.

      “Hey, I don’t mean to sound like a stalker,” he began, scratching the back of his head, “but I feel like I’ve seen you around before.”

      Fuck.

      “Oh, um, maybe you saw me at one of your practices,” you admitted, feeling your cheeks heat up.

      “That makes sense,” he said with a nod. “We have one today. You should come.”

      “You want me there?” you asked, surprised.

      “Yeah, you seem really nice. We’re friends now.”

      Your heart skipped a beat at his casual declaration. “Okay, I’ll be there.”

      “Great!” he said, giving you a cheerful thumbs-up before slurping the last of his noodles. You couldn’t help but giggle at the way he did it, finding it both endearing and funny.

      “Uh, did I do something?” he asked, his cheeks turning a soft shade of pink.

      “No, no! Sorry, it’s just… you look cute when you eat like that,” you blurted, immediately wondering where the sudden confidence had come from.

      “Oh, t-thank you,” he stammered, his voice faltering as his face grew even redder. He glanced away, clearly flustered, and you noticed his hand lightly resting on his stomach.

      You weren’t the only one feeling weird butterflies, it seemed.

      -

      You came to his practice feeling a little nervous, but you pushed through and cheered for him from the sidelines. Watching Isagi move on the field was fascinating. His focus, his effort, his skill, it was impressive. But you couldn’t help but notice something holding him back, as if there was untapped potential he hadn’t discovered yet.

      When practice ended, you waited for him by the side of the field. He approached, towel draped around his shoulders and a nearly empty water bottle in hand, gulping down the last few drops.

      “Oh, hey, Y/n-san,” he greeted, his tone friendly but slightly shy.

      “Hey,” you responded with a smile. “You did great out there.”

      “You really thought so? Thanks,” he said, his smile brightening at your words. Compliments like that weren’t something he heard often from people his age.

      “Yeah, you were incredible,” you continued. “We’re definitely going to nationals with you on the team.”

      He laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I hope so. I wanna be number one one day.”

      “I’m sure you will, Ichi.”

      “Ichi?” he repeated, tilting his head curiously.

      “Well, yeah. It means number one, and it’s short for Yoichi. It fits, don’t you think? Do you not like it?”

      “No, no. I don’t mind it,” he said quickly. “I’ve just never had a nickname before.”

      “Well, I’m glad to be the first to give you one.”

      His smile grew, but before he could say anything else, his stomach let out an audible growl. He laughed sheepishly, pressing a hand to his abdomen. “I was planning to get some food after this. That soba and pickled radish I had earlier wasn’t nearly enough to keep me fueled.”

      “Oh, okay. Have fun then,” you said, unsure where the conversation was going.

      He hesitated, fidgeting slightly before rubbing the back of his neck. “Um, I was wondering if you wanted to come with me?”

      “You want to get food together?”

      “Y-yeah,” he stammered, his cheeks slightly pink. “Only if you want to! I mean, I get it if you’re busy or have other things to do. I noticed the pin on your bag for student government, so you probably—”

      “Sure,” you interrupted simply, sparing him the spiral of overthinking.

      -

      You spent your entire first year of high school quietly pining for Yoichi Isagi. Over time, your lives intertwined so much that you became a regular fixture in his household. His parents adored you, often treating you like their own child. Their home became a second home for you.

      As your friendship deepened, so did your feelings for him. You finally understood the fluttering in your stomach and the quickening of your heartbeat whenever he got too close. But despite the countless hours spent together, the late-night talks, and his mom’s teasing about how much time you two spent together, you couldn’t figure out how he felt about you.

      One afternoon, you decided you couldn’t keep it bottled up any longer. You were sitting on his bed, watching him laze around after practice. His hair was still slightly damp, and he had the relaxed, carefree air that only made him more endearing.

      “Ichi,” you began softly, your voice trembling.

      “Hm?” he responded absentmindedly, not looking up from the soccer replay on his phone.

      “I need to tell you something important.”

      “Mhm,” he hummed again, clearly not paying full attention.

      “I like you,” you said, finally laying your heart bare.

      “Mhm,” he replied automatically.

      The silence that followed was deafening.

      “…Did you hear me?” you asked, your tone sharper now.

      “Mhm.”

      “Are pineapples purple?”

      “Mhm.”

      You stared at him, your emotions swinging between disbelief and frustration. “This is stupid,” you muttered, standing up abruptly.

      “Y/n, where ya goin’?” he asked, confused as he finally registered that you were leaving.

      “Oh, so now you’re paying attention?”

      “I’m sorry! I’m just tired from practice,” he said, sitting up and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “What were you saying?”

      “Forget it. It was pathetic and dumb anyway,” you mumbled, already regretting saying anything.

      “Hey, don’t be like that,” he said, his tone softer now. “I’m all ears. Tell me.”

      You hesitated but decided to try again. This time, you started more firmly. “Yoichi Isagi,” you said, staring directly at him.

      He swallowed nervously, sitting up straighter. “Yeah?”

      “I have feelings for you.”

      “Oh,” he said, blinking in surprise.

      “I’m sorry,” you added quickly, bracing yourself for rejection.

      “Do you want to date, then?” he asked casually, as if he hadn’t just rocked your entire world.

      “What?”

      “Well, isn’t that what we’re supposed to do now?” he asked, tilting his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

      “Huh?”

      “You know, like in the movies,” he explained, “The character confesses to their crush, and then they get together.”

      “I guess so,” you said, still trying to wrap your head around his response.

      “So it’s settled, then.”

      “What is?”

      “I’m your boyfriend now,” he declared.

      -

      "Have an amazing time on your trip!" Isagi’s soft voice carried a tender warmth as he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. His touch lingered like a memory yet to be made, and you smiled, savoring the moment. You had been dating for a few months now, a sweet, sweet chapter in both your lives during your second year of high school. As you were saying goodbye before your four-day trip to visit your cousin who lived a few hours away in the next city over. What neither of you realized at that moment was that this would be the last time you’d see each other for a while. The last time you’d feel the soft, reassuring press of your perfect boyfriend’s lips against your skin.

      When you returned from your trip, the news hit when you tried getting a hold of Isagi only to be met with radio silence. His parents sat you down to explain about Blue Lock, the elite training program for aspiring soccer prodigies. He didn’t have access to his phone, they explained, a strict rule enforced within the facility. The revelation wasn’t entirely shocking. Isagi had mentioned the program before you left, detailing how he’d received a mysterious invitation. You’d encouraged him to follow his dream, knowing how crushed he’d been after that gut-wrenching loss to Ryosuke Kira during the national qualifiers. Still, the realization that he was gone, unreachable, settled like a cold stone in your chest.

      You wanted to see him so badly, to share the souvenirs you’d thoughtfully picked out for him during your trip. When you arrived at his room, the air felt different, as though his absence had drained the space of its warmth. You stepped inside cautiously, your eyes scanning the familiar surroundings, and placed the small bag of keepsakes on his desk. That’s when your gaze landed on an open notebook.

      It was an accident, really—you hadn’t meant to invade his privacy. But there it was, your name scrawled across the page in his unmistakable handwriting. Curiosity tugged at you, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned closer to read.

      "Day one without Y/n :(. I didn’t realize just how much I’d miss her until now. There was no one at practice to cheer me on, no one to walk to the conbini with, no one to kiss my cheek. Ugh, this is kinda hard.”

      A soft chuckle escaped your lips, though it wavered with the faint ache of longing. The words were sweet, his tone so raw and unfiltered, and they warmed your heart. But you had no idea what deeper truths lay hidden further within those pages.

      If you had read back further, you would have uncovered things you wouldn’t like to see. Confessions of his confusion after your heartfelt confession. Isagi admitted he hadn’t been sure how he felt at first. How he wasn’t sure what love was supposed to feel like. How he felt a nagging sense of obligation, as if being with you was simply the logical choice—because how could he not? You were perfect in so many ways, and he couldn’t imagine letting you down. You already treat him so nicely. Isn't the purpose of a girlfriend to have someone who cares about him and likes him for who he is? Someone who supports his dreams? You already do that for him.

      It wasn’t until you left, until the days stretched into weeks at Blue Lock, that he began to understand. The ache of your absence sharpened his feelings into clarity. He missed you in ways he hadn’t known were possible. He missed the soft scent of your hair when you hugged him, the way your head fit perfectly in the crook of his neck, as if it was meant to be there. He missed the way you cheered for him with unbridled joy whenever he scored a goal, your voice cutting through the noise to remind him he wasn’t alone.

      And your smile, oh God, that radiant, heart-melting smile you gave him every time you saw him—it haunted him. He missed you so much it felt like a part of himself had been torn away, leaving a hollow, aching void. He regretted not giving you a proper goodbye. If he had known how much he would long for you, how deeply you’d become a part of him, he would have told you everything.

      But there’s no such thing as a proper goodbye because he didn’t want you to be away from him in the first place.

      It was then that he understood. You weren’t his girlfriend out of convenience or logic. You were his girlfriend because he loved you. Truly, deeply, irrevocably. Loving you was what made sense.

      Now, more than anything, he wished he could tell you. He wished he could look you in the eyes and say the words that had been etched into his heart all along. I love you.

      -

      "I'm not leaving here until I see my boyfriend!" you snapped, glaring at the sharp-tongued, bowl-cut freak standing in your way. His unimpressed expression only fueled your determination.

      "For the last time, no." Ego groaned, his tone dripping with exasperation. It was clear he found your persistence exhausting, but you refused to back down. Why wouldn’t he just let you see Isagi?

      "Anri-chan!" you called, spinning on your heels to face the only ally you had here. Anri was your cousin’s best friend, which worked to your advantage in moments like this. Her presence was a lifeline, a beacon of hope in this fortress of rules and restrictions.

      "Oh, come on, Ego! Just let her see him for a few hours!" Anri pleaded, her voice tinged with a mix of sympathy and frustration. She couldn't help but be moved by your desperate insistence. It reminded her of her own feelings towards a certain person. Turning back to the stubborn man, she added, "Think of it as a good morale boost! It might actually benefit the kid!"

      Ego’s eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms, his patience wearing thin. "If I make an exception for her, then I’d have to do it for everyone. Blue Lock isn’t some—"

      Anri cut him off with an almost smug look, her voice dripping with a playful edge. "I hope you realize you're not going to win this. Nobody’s ego is worse than that of a determined, vindictive teenage girl."

      You didn’t miss the way Ego clenched his teeth, clearly annoyed by her remark. "Anri..." he growled, his voice low and warning. Yet she held his gaze firmly, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air between them.

      You raised an eyebrow, sensing some sort of sexual tension between the two. You shoved the thought aside; now wasn’t the time to dwell on their dynamic.

      Finally, with a long, begrudging sigh, Ego threw his hands up in defeat. "Fine. But only for a few hours."

      That was all you needed to hear. Relief flooded your body as you bolted down the hall, not even waiting for further instructions. You had no idea where you were going, but you didn’t care. You’d figure it out. Behind you, Anri called out in alarm, her footsteps echoing as she rushed to catch up with you.

      "Y/n! Wait!"

      Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation. It had been weeks—weeks without seeing him, without your boyfriend. You weren’t sure how much longer you could have endured the separation.

      You turned down another hallway, your eyes scanning desperately for any clue to his whereabouts. Finally, you noticed a row of doors with numbers etched on them.

      "Which one is it?" you asked, turning to Anri, breathless. She sighed but guided you to one of the rooms, muttering something about reckless teenagers under her breath.

      When the door opened, you were met with the sight of several boys, none of whom you recognized. But then your eyes found him, and everything else faded into the background.

      "Ichi!" you cried, your voice trembling with a mix of joy and relief. Without hesitation, you ran to him, your arms wrapping around him in a tight embrace.

      Isagi froze, his body stiff with shock as he tried to process what was happening. But then recognition dawned on his face, and a wide smile spread across his lips. He returned your embrace, his arms strong and warm around you, and before you knew it, he was spinning you around like a scene out of a romantic movie.

      "Y/n? What’s going on?" he asked, his voice filled with disbelief, though his grin betrayed how happy he was to see you.

      The room buzzed with curiosity. "Who’s this, Isagi?" a boy with dark hair and yellow highlights asked, his tone teasing.

      “My girlfrien—” Isagi didn’t get to finish his sentence before you cut him off with a kiss. You pulled back slightly, looking into Isagi’s familiar, bright blue eyes.

      "I missed you," you whispered, your voice shaky with emotion.

      “I love you.” He whispered, loud enough for only you to hear. It was like a weight was lifted off his chest, replaced with something warm and fuzzy. It felt good to get it out.

      And in that moment, nothing else mattered—not the curious stares of the boys, not Ego’s grumbling approval, not even Anri’s amused smirk from the doorway. You were finally here, with him, and that was all either of you needed. It just made sense.

[ecstxsyy]

KISS ME MORE. | E. BUCKLEY

❝all on my tongue,

I want it!❞

Evan Buckley despised Valentine’s Day until he spent it with you.

18+ mdni !

evan buckley x nash!fem reader

warnings: mentions of alcohol use, slightly intoxicated sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it up), slight name-calling, breeding kink, part plot part filth.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

VALENTINE’S DAY has always been one of your favorite holiday’s, even though you’d always spent it alone or with your Uncle Bobby, the idea of people celebrating their love for other was so beautiful to you.

In your mind, this year would be no different. You’d stop at the florists after work to grab the flowers you’d ordered for Bobby in advance, grab some groceries to make pasta for dinner, and head over to Bobby’s apartment.

That was until Bobby interrupted your workout to tell you he had other plans, a mystery someone had asked him to dinner last minute, so, he’d be spending Valentine’s Day with whoever that was.

“Well, who is this mystery person?” You asked Bobby with a smirk, happy that he’d finally begun to move on from every thing in his past.

“Hey, my lips are sealed. But, please don’t spend today alone. I heard Buck is free, he’s been complaining about it all day.” Bobby suggested. “Maybe the two of you could hang out.”

You snorted and proceeded with the workout you had abandoned a few minutes prior.

“Yeah, the whole station heard him.” You joked, powering through some pull-ups.

After Bobby had walked away, the thought lingered in your mind. Was Bobby trying to set you up on a date? You couldn’t lie and say you haven’t had the biggest crush on Buck since he joined the 118, but you’d tried to make sure to suppress it as much as possible. The last thing you wanted was to have something get in the way of your friendship with him.

Later, you found Buck sitting at the kitchen table eating the leftovers from the homemade mac and cheese Bobby prepared everyone for lunch, a smile rising to his face as he looked to see you come up the staircase.

“Hey, you want some?” Buck asked, offering up some of his food immediately. You nodded, taking the spoonful of mac and cheese that Buck held up to your mouth.

Once you finished chewing, you turned your attention back to the reason you had come to find him.

“So, I heard you’re gonna be alone for Valentine’s Day.” You spoke, trying to bring it up nonchalantly.

“Yeah, I haven’t really been in the mood for anything to do with romance since Abby left.” Buck huffed, trying not to start the never-ending train of thoughts of her. You nodded, not wanting to throw any more salt in the wound for him. He’d just finally began to realize Abby and him were over, you didn’t want to rub that in his face the way everyone else did.

“Well, Bobby just canceled on me for some mystery woman and I have a bunch of food I planned to cook tonight if you wanna come over and just hang out.” You tried to shrug casually, a wave of nervousness flooding through you.

“Sure, I missed hanging out with you.” Buck smiled, shoving another spoonful of the mac and cheese into his mouth. You nodded and smiled, turning to walk back down the steps to wash the ladder truck.

“Perfect. I’ll see you later, Buckley!” You half-shouted as you got further from him. A rush of adrenaline pumping through you. You knew it wasn’t a date, but, it was nice to finally have company that isn’t your uncle on Valentine’s Day.

Hours later, the smell of fresh garlic and herbs wafted through your quaint apartment. You had just begun preparing garlic chicken alfredo when you heard a knock at the door.

“One sec!” You shouted as you cleaned your hands and smoothed over the short flowy dress you’d decided to wear, moving to open the door.

“I brought tequila.” Buck smiled, holding up a bottle of tequila wrapped in a brown paper bag. You stepped back to allow him in as you smiled.

“You really do know the way to a girl’s heart.” You chuckled, shutting the door behind him.

You moved back to your position at the counter and continued to chop up some onions and garlic, tossing them into the pan once they were the size you preferred.

“It smells delicious in here,” Buck commented, taking a deep breath of the aroma that surrounded him.

“Thank you, it’s one of Bobby’s recipes that I tweaked to my own taste,” You smiled.

Buck nodded shrugging his jacket off and grabbing some glasses from your cabinet. He began pouring you two some drinks, setting yours next to you before turning to lean against the counter. He watched you cook intently as he sipped his drink slowly, he’d never realized how beautiful you were until now.

Truth is, Buck has always felt something towards you. But, you being his bosses niece threw a wrench in those plans immediately. To him, you were forbidden fruit, and we always want things we can’t have.

The longer Buck watched, the more his thoughts began to drift to things they shouldn’t. The only thing on his mind being how would she look bent over this count-

“What? Is there something on my face?” You asked, interrupting his train of thought.

“What? Uh, no. Sorry,” Buck apologized as he cleared his throat, averting his gaze to look out of your kitchen window and watch the city lights.

“No, seriously. I know you weren’t just staring that hard for no reason,” You teased.

Buck slammed back the rest of his drink for some liquid courage, deciding that he’d waited long enough for Abby to deny what was in front of him, moving to stand behind you and craning his neck down so his lips were level with your ear.

“Just thinkin’ about how pretty you’d look with this cute little dress bunched up around your waist while I fuck you over this counter,” Buck whispered, letting his lips brush over the top of your ear.

“Why keep imagining when you can find out for real?” You questioned, your stomach burning hot with arousal.

Those words were all the consent Buck needed before he began kissing down your neck to your shoulder, nipping at the skin here and there. Your whimpers and whines did nothing but spur him on, grabbing your shoulder and pushing you forward to bend over the counter, a slight gasp of shock leaving your mouth as you crane your head back to watch him as he lifts the back of your dress.

Buck swears he nearly fainted at the sight that was in front of him, you had no panties on, your wet pussy glistening in the light. The view sent all of his blood south, his cock growing hard beneath his jeans immediately.

“You do this just for me?” Buck asked, landing a hard slap to your left ass cheek before spreading you apart for him to see.

“Mhm,” You hummed, biting your lip as he dove straight in. His eager tongue found its way into your hole immediately, slowly fucking its way inside of you. Buck wanted to take his time with you, everything was so much better than he’d thought it’d be and he wanted to make sure to cherish this moment.

His fingers quickly joined in, rubbing your clit in small circles that sent shocks of pleasure through both of your legs. You were confident if you weren't bent over the counter your legs would have given out on you. The pleasure was nearly overwhelming, little trembles working their way through your legs.

“Hate to say it, but you taste better than any food I could ever eat.” Buck said, moving to kiss your inner thighs while his fingers continued to rub your clit. The food you had been so worried about preparing earlier was long forgotten.

You couldn’t do anything but moan, the feeling of his tongue inside you making your eyes roll back into your head. You could feel the orgasm building in your stomach, beginning to rut back into his face to get more friction.

“Buck ‘m gonna cum,” You mumbled out, trying to find anything to grip onto while your orgasm began to wrack through your body.

Buck refused to come up for air, swapping the positions of his mouth and fingers working them deep inside of you. The curl of his fingers practically threw you over the edge, a cry leaving your throat as you came all over Buck’s face.

Buck’s pace faltered a bit so he could help you ride through your orgasm, slurping and lapping at your weeping cunt.

As soon as you thought you were going to take a break, you felt Buck’s cock slide inside of you. A guttural moan tore through you, his length bottoming out deep inside of you. You were caught off guard, you hadn’t even heard him take his pants off. His cock worked in and out of you slowly, giving you a bit of time to adjust to his girth.

“Fuck, this pussy is better than I ever dreamed it’d be,” Buck practically moaned, letting his head hang for a second while he tried desperately not to cum already.

As he thrusted into you, he’d decided he wasn't getting as deep as he wanted to and grabbed your left leg, lifting it up on the counter to allow himself a whole new and deeper angle. The new position made you cry out, feeling his tip bully the sensitive bundle of nerves inside of you.

Buck’s thrusts were desperate, he’d wanted this for too long to hold back. He was going to make you cum until you saw stars, he’d make sure of it and with the way he was fucking you, you were sure of it too.

Your pussy clenched tightly around his cock, your second orgasm already on the horizon. With your leg up, it gave you the perfect angle to slightly grind your clit into the counter. The cool feeling of the marble sent shivers up your spine, the feeling of everything beginning to send you over the edge yet again.

Your second orgasm hit you like a freight train, sending spasms throughout all of your limbs. Buck smirked, watching the way your body convulsed beneath him from his actions.

“There you go, baby. Such a good girl cumming all over my cock,” Buck says, rubbing a hand up your spine to hold onto your shoulder for more leverage.

His hips began to jackhammer into you, his tip brushing your cervix. His change in pace made you see stars, your vision going fuzzy on the edges. All you could think of was his cock barrelling into you, your thoughts slowly slipping away as you entered a cockdrunk haze.

Drool began to pool out of the side of your mouth and onto the counter, your jaw seemingly permanently hung open. The ghost of a moan that refuses to come out hanging on your lips.

“Look at you, all fucked out on your kitchen counter, takin’ this cock like the perfect little whore you are,” Buck said as he pulled your back against his chest, wrapping his arm around your neck tight enough to feel good for you but not hurt you.

You couldn’t breathe out a single word, nothing but moans tumbling from your lips. You could tell Buck was getting close, his hips began to stutter as he thrusted.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum right in this tight little pussy. Make you swell up with my babies, you’d look so pretty. Don’t you think?” Buck asked.

“Please,” You managed to choke out through broken moans.

He continued to fuck himself into you, his length twitching with every clench of your pussy until eventually he couldn't hold his load anymore. His seed coated your insides in a thick layer of white, the warmth of it filling you to the brim. You swore it felt almost never-ending, his cum pouring into your aching hole. So is this why people called him firehose?

His cum began to seep out around his cock, smearing a mess all over both of your thighs. Buck pulled out, spreading your ass to get a good look at his cum pouring out of you. He took his fingers and used them to scoop his cum up, pushing it back into you. He could care less if you got pregnant, at least it’d make you his.

Once he made sure you were good and stuffed, Buck went to get you a warm damp rag, wiping the evidence of what you two just did off of your inner thighs. Your body slumped into his, exhaustion taking over immediately.

Instead of making you walk, Buck scooped you up in his arms. He carried you to your room and laid you in the bed, crawling in beside you to cuddle with you.

Maybe Buck didn’t hate Valentine’s Day after all.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

[hoiststowline]

Hello! Saw that your requests are open, love your writing!! Would you consider writing for Skyfire? I'd love to cuddle him and wish there was more x reader content for him. Either IDW or G1 up to you, and feel free to ignore if you'd rather not to!

skyfire/jetfire x reader

[a/n: hi!! omg, yes!! also, im sorry chat all I can write is hurt/comfort atm. many apologies.]

The effort scrounged was almost admirable, given the amount it took to stifle it, swallowing that sadness that had crept up the back of your throat. Though heavy evidence sufficed that you tried, yet it all was in vain as it was evident something was amiss, a fact that he would never ignore.

He’s categorically certain that warble in your words he’s never heard in past conversations. It fills his chassis with an overwhelming sense of apprehension and restlessness, presenting him immediately with a problem he does not know, but wishes to solve in a trice.

If Jetfire finds any words in your language to describe the tremble in your tone, they do not come to him easily. He’s instantly distressed, a slew of sentences rushing and fighting to escape first, but no combinations make any sense to say. This strikes him oddly, as usually there is never any ceasefire amongst conversation with you, always able to keep it from dropping off into a state of silence.

“Maybe tomorrow, okay?” You push forward, the slight quiver now nearly obsolete. “I’m not good company.”

But you’re always good company. It lingers longer than he’d like to admit, wanting to disagree with your argument wholeheartedly. It tips on the edge of his glossa, ready to be argued, but he’s spent too much time trying to pick apart the underlying message within your proposal.

“Jay?” You whisper when a moment too long passes, wondering if the call had dropped, as it has many times previously. “Are you still there?”

“Hm?” He muses, still unsure of how to proceed. “Apologies. Yes, I’m still here,”

“Oh.” It’s awkward, and that’s something you hate that arises even if it’s warranted. You’ve upset him, this is obvious, though it’s the last thing you wanted of the entire encounter. “Is…that okay?”

Would it be too forward to say that it’s not alright? In any other instance your cancellation would surely unsettle him, but he would not argue. You’re upset. You’re feeling an emotion that yanks on the chains of his own processor, wanting to be the protector, but also the consoler.

“Of course.” He settles on, opting to circle around this carefully, as to not push you further away. “May I ask you something? Before you go?”

In turn you pause, and Jetfire swears he can hear the gears turning in your head until you ultimately reply.

“Sure.” You sniff, trying to pass it off as normal, but it only slowly spikes his budding concern even more. “I can do that.”

“Whatever is the matter?” There’s a very muffled jolt at his inquiry, as if you were about to fall out of your chair. Without much hesitation, he continues, hopeful not to loose his insistence. “I can tell something isn’t right. But if you’re going to lie, please, at least humor me.”

An expected sigh, then you clear your throat twice before presenting a reply. “I should have known better to try and hide anything from you.” There’s a bout of static, as if you were moving around to another location to finish your sentence. “I’m fine.”

That did little to ease his worry, though he opted to let you go for now and try and reach you later on. “Alright.” He says, but doesn’t mean it. “Talk later then?”

“Yes.” You exhale, as if holding in an unforeseen breath. “I’ll talk to you later,”

Goodbyes are exchanged before the line clicks dead, leaving two parties isolated and unable to process their immediate problems. Jetfire cannot solve your unknowns in a timely manner, he doesn’t even know what he can do to help you, but the irresolution doesn’t last very long.

Within five minutes or so, he’s already too far gone into a haphazardly tossed together plan, redialing once more. He’s found himself uncharacteristically impatient, the line hardly clicks alive before he jumps straight out and says it, worry very present and then some.

Somehow, you conceded. Though not proud, his options were limited and the threat of sending Red Alert to your house was enough to make your situation a little more clear.

It tips on the edge of your tongue, eyelids heavy as your held securely against the side of his face. Jetfire mumbles, lips moving against the cotton of your jacket, thumb brushing against your leg in short motions. He’d wrangled you to the Ark without much effort, but partially, you knew you wanted his company. But didn’t want to be bad company, so instead absolved yourself from the comfort that was most desperately needed.

He doesn’t want you to fall asleep, wishes you would shed some of your burdens onto his shoulders. Jetfire would do it in an instant, but in this very moment, you wanted something else. And with how simple of a thing it was, he was in no position to deny such a request.

“Don’t,” He says, impossibly treading closer. “Don’t say it. Just…sleep.”

You swallow the resounding ‘I’m fine’ back, instead offering words you truly meant. “Thank you,”

Jetfire doesn’t reply, but it’s only because he catches your eyes finally closing, sensing it’s been a bit since you’d had a proper nights rest.

[duhshereadz]

A collection of one-shots with Ekko as your boyfriend!

1. Late-Night Adventures

The city hummed with life, neon lights reflecting off the damp streets. You tugged your jacket closer as the chilly air nipped at your skin. Ekko walked beside you, hands in his hoodie pocket, a lopsided grin on his face.

“Where are we going?” you asked, curiosity edging your tone.

“You’ll see,” he said, smirking. “You trust me, right?”

“Debatable,” you teased, earning a scoff.

Ekko stopped suddenly, turning to face you. His dark brown eyes locked on yours, filled with amusement. “Alright, Y/N. I’ll give you a hint. It’s something you’ve never done before, but you’ll love it. Guaranteed.”

You raised a brow, skeptical but intrigued. “Fine. Lead the way, Time Boy.”

He chuckled, taking your hand in his, the warmth of his palm cutting through the chill. “Keep up, slowpoke.”

Minutes later, you stood in front of a high-rise apartment building. Ekko pulled out a small key from his pocket and nodded toward the rooftop door. “Come on.”

The sight that greeted you made your breath catch. The entire rooftop was strung with fairy lights, and a projector was set up against one wall. Blankets and snacks were scattered across a makeshift seating area.

“You did all this?” you whispered.

Ekko shrugged, looking almost bashful. “I figured we could use a night under the stars. You’ve been stressed lately.”

You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. “You’re ridiculous,” you muttered against his shoulder.

“Yeah, but you love it,” he replied, wrapping his arms around you with a soft chuckle.

2. Paint Wars

You should’ve known better than to agree to Ekko’s idea of painting the walls in his studio apartment.

“Do you even know how to paint a wall?” you asked, holding a roller with suspicion.

“Do you?” he shot back, grinning as he dipped his brush into a can of dark teal paint. “We’re winging it, Y/N. That’s half the fun.”

It started innocently enough—music playing in the background, the two of you focused on covering the plain white walls. But then you felt a cold splash against your arm.

“Ekko,” you warned, glancing at him.

He stood a few feet away, feigning innocence as he held the paintbrush behind his back. “What?”

“You just got paint on me.”

“Prove it.”

Without thinking, you dipped your roller into the paint and flung it at him, leaving a smear across his cheek.

“Oh, you’re done for,” he said, grinning wickedly.

The next few minutes were chaos—paint splattered everywhere as the two of you dodged and attacked, laughing uncontrollably. By the end, the walls were only half-finished, but you were both covered head to toe in teal.

Ekko leaned against the wall, out of breath but smiling. “Okay, maybe this wasn’t the most efficient plan.”

“Yeah,” you said, catching your breath. “But it was worth it.”

He reached over, smearing paint on your nose. “You look better in teal anyway.”

3. A Lazy Sunday Morning

The soft glow of sunlight filtered through the curtains as you stirred awake. Ekko’s arm was draped across your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“Morning,” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled, pulling you closer.

“You always say that,” you teased, running your fingers through his soft hair.

He tilted his head up, his lips curling into a smirk. “Because I like waking up like this.”

Your heart swelled at the honesty in his voice. “What’s the plan for today?”

He groaned, rolling onto his back. “Plan? Nah, today’s for doing nothing. We deserve it.”

The two of you spent the morning tangled in each other, talking about everything and nothing. At some point, Ekko started humming a song, his voice low and smooth.

“You should sing more,” you said, resting your head on his chest.

He laughed softly. “I’ll sing for you, but only if you promise not to tell anyone I’m a secret softie.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

4. Protecting What’s His

The argument had been brewing all night, the tension palpable as the stranger at the bar got too close for comfort.

Ekko was leaning against the counter when it happened. The guy had laughed too loudly, his hand brushing your shoulder one too many times.

“Hey,” Ekko said, stepping in. His tone was calm, but his eyes were sharp. “You wanna back up?”

The stranger scoffed, clearly unimpressed. “Chill out, man. I’m just talking to her.”

“And now you’re done,” Ekko replied, his jaw tight.

You placed a hand on Ekko’s arm. “It’s fine. Let’s just go.”

But Ekko wasn’t backing down. He stood his ground, his expression firm. “If you’re smart, you’ll walk away now.”

The stranger muttered something under his breath but eventually moved on.

As you stepped outside, Ekko let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry if I overreacted,” he said, his voice softer now.

“You didn’t,” you said, leaning into him. “Thanks for standing up for me.”

He pulled you close, his hand resting on the small of your back. “Always, Y/N. Nobody messes with you when I’m around.”

5. Confessions in the Rain

The rain poured down, drenching you both as you stood in the middle of the street.

“Ekko, this is ridiculous!” you shouted over the downpour.

“Then come here and stop me,” he called back, spinning in circles with his arms outstretched.

You ran up to him, grabbing his arm. “You’re gonna catch a cold!”

He laughed, shaking his wet curls out of his face. “You’re cute when you worry.”

“Ekko—”

“I love you.”

The words stopped you in your tracks. Your heart raced as you stared at him, his grin fading into something more serious.

“I’m not great at this,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I love you, Y/N. I’ve been wanting to say it for a while.”

Tears mixed with the rain as you smiled, throwing your arms around him. “I love you too, you idiot.”

He held you tightly, his lips finding yours in the rain. “Guess we’re both idiots then.”

[clarisse0o]

The Mayor - Chapter 3

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe: Mayor and Architect

Words: 1200

Masterlist

———————————————————————

15 days later, while I was driving, my phone rang.

"Hey beautiful, I just wanted to see how your day went? I had to stay out all day for the Guijarro site, sorry!"

“Don’t worry, Alexia, everything went fine. I’m just about to head to the worst part of my day: Cruella’s site visit, a.k.a. the Mayor.”

“Oh, stop! She can be really pleasant—well, at least with me! No jokes, alright? Remember, if she’s happy, it means more projects lined up!”

I shrugged, knowing she was right. I was in for an hour of pure joy!

I arrived at the site, in a neighborhood near the city center, bordered by a forest of oaks. The house was a large, single-story structure with massive windows in a very modern style. Since the interior didn’t suit Madam’s taste, she had decided to have everything redone—or rather, have us redo it all. We had redesigned the entire layout with her and selected decorative items, from furniture down to the smallest trinkets. More choices would be made over the coming weeks. She was very involved in this project. Many clients let us handle the bulk, just approving or glancing briefly at the project’s progress. Lucy Bronze was involved from start to finish.

It was 7 p.m., so I took a moment to chat with the guys on the site who had been working there for 15 days. I’d visited several times, but so far, it was mostly demolition work.

She arrived at 8 p.m., in a sharp gray suit and a white silk blouse. Very attractive, I thought immediately, which made up for her being half an hour late.  

She approached me, looking stern.

“Hello, it’s a mess here, isn’t it?”

This woman was unbelievable. She arrived half an hour late and had the nerve to make a remark as her greeting.  

I tried to keep my composure and replied with a small smile:

“Well, it’s a construction site; the guys are tearing down the walls you didn’t want, breaking up the tiles, removing the wallpaper… If you insist, I’ll roll out a red carpet next time!”

I wasn’t sure if she appreciated the humor, seeing how her lips tightened. I continued, giving her a brief update on the progress and the next steps. Then we reviewed various options for living room furniture, which we hadn’t finalized yet. She criticized my lack of selection for the furniture choices.

“Excuse me,” I replied, “you made this list with Alexia and approved it. I only added that piece there.”

“Yes, not the most tasteful addition!” she retorted with a mocking laugh.

My blood boiled. I simply couldn’t stand her. When I told my friends about our first encounter, they told me she was well-liked in town for her professionalism and empathy. Empathy? She must be a great actress or just have a real grudge against me. I couldn’t keep putting up with her sarcasm.

“Excuse me, do you have a problem with me? I mean, personally?”

“And why would I have a problem?” she replied, with a big, provocative smile.

That smile completely threw me off. I regained my composure.

“Maybe because I was on the opposition list a few years ago, in the municipal elections, for instance.”

“Hmmm, really? No memory of that!” she replied, that smile still glued to her face.

She exasperated me to no end. Of course, she knew who I was; I could feel it, especially since that first meeting when she threw that slogan at me. There was no way it was a coincidence.

“Oh, wait,” she continued, staring at me. “The little brunette in the back of the room, on the supporting list, that was you?”

The comment was meant to be dismissive.

“That’s a bit vague, but yes, it might have been me. And with the slogan as a goodbye, you knew who I was!”

“I had my suspicions, yes, some memory of a tense brunette. I see that hasn’t changed much.”

What a provocateur she was—I had to calm down and regain control of the situation. I continued.

“Alright, I just wanted to clarify: I wasn’t particularly against you, but I was supporting the opposing candidate, who’s a longtime friend…”

“I’ll stop you right there; I couldn’t care less. That you supported that incompetent man who spread countless lies about me is your problem. My finding myself here with you is another matter entirely; it’s nothing personal. I just want you to do your job, if that’s alright with you.”

I was fuming, unsure how to respond to that jab. I merely replied, “Of course.” But I was clearly on edge. And I couldn’t stand up to her the way I would with anyone else—she was a client, and a major one. Alexia was counting on me. But my impulsive nature was bound to get me in trouble if things continued like this. She was trying to provoke me, I could see that. She wasn’t like this with Alexia at all, so why? Election grudges? Or just a chronic incompatibility? In any case, I wasn’t going to let myself be walked over. I’d keep calm but wouldn’t hesitate to respond to provocations!

The end of our meeting turned out to be less tense; we joined the workers and all talked together. She immediately became more relaxed and warmer. I couldn’t believe it. She even treated us to some wine she’d brought from Portugal. The workers left, and as I helped her tidy up, my phone rang. It was a message from Alessia, my ex, asking what I was doing tonight. Friday night. Free as a bird, badly needing to unwind and end up in her arms. I smiled at the thought.

“Is that your personal life calling?” Lucy’s voice snapped me back to reality.

“In a way, yes,” I mumbled.

“Still with your friend, the surgeon?”

I was speechless. How did she know that? My stunned look amused her, and she continued:

“It was highlighted quite a bit, your sexual orientation, by your former candidate. He didn’t hesitate to mention having a lesbian on his team, who was dating a surgeon!”

“I… I never tried to flaunt that, though I certainly don’t hide it!”

“I never said you did, Ona.” It was the first time she’d used my first name. “I was talking about your candidate, and it’s irrelevant in the end, though I don’t find it to be an interesting electoral argument. I think it’s entirely natural to have both heterosexuals and homosexuals without it needing to be highlighted every time…”

“Well, it can still help break old political codes and encourage others to get involved!” I replied with a challenging look.

“That’s certainly up for debate!”

I had no desire to discuss this with her, at that moment, at this point in my day. I gathered my things and took my leave from Lucy, politely.  

The handshake was firm, and she said, “I hope I didn’t destabilize you too much; that wasn’t the intention. See you in 15 days, same time!”

Of course, that was the intention, Lucy—to provoke and destabilize me. But there was no way I’d let her get away with it.

[flaskuwu]

I wish we got them dancing

[deus-ex-mona]

happy akarin day!!

[suguae]

Haunted

Toji cannot move on, until he realized too late.

Warnings: Angst, slightest fluff (reader and baby 'gumi moment)

You were just a girl, standing in front of a man, asking him to love you.

How hard was that for him? Yes, he wasn’t good with his words but he wasn’t good at anything else either. He was just there.

Maybe because the woman he truly loved—he was still mourning over her. His sad eyes every time he watched an old couple dance together, wishing he had been doing that but with her. The cute babies babble with their mothers as Megumi babbles with his father, how he wished his wife was still here instead of you. He never said it, but that’s what it felt like. 

And perhaps that's what it was. 

Sometimes he curses himself out when he accidentally calls you his wife's name. During intimate times only. You tried—trying to keep the emotions in as if it wasn’t breaking every part of you, was the hardest part. “Look he’s walking...” You smiled at the dark haired baby who was walking towards you. Toji smiled, making sure he’d record every second of it; deep down he wished his wife was the one the baby was walking towards instead of you.

And it was wrong—so wrong. 

“This relationship, I’m with you but Toji—Toji this is the loneliest I’ve ever felt.” You whispered while he ate his leftovers, his brows still furrowed from the argument occurring earlier. Having Toji work from 9–5 wasn’t the best but good thing he had you, helping him out with so much. Picking up groceries, picking up his lovely son—until you mentioned that one of his teachers mistaken you as his biological mother. That right there was enough to make Toji angry for weeks at least.

But not this time.

He stopped chewing on his food after you spoke, waiting for more of an explanation. Which you figured he needed, “I don’t think you’re in love with me–” 

“I like you [name], a lot.” He cleared his throat. He leaned back on his chair as his arms crossed waiting for you to continue the sentence he interrupted. 

Right, he liked you a lot. These three rough years you’ve been dating Toji—that particular l word was never uttered once, not even if he was drunk, or having a special moment with you. You huffed trying to find the right words for Toji to understand. That was until little Megumi started crying from his room. “I’ll try to put him back to sleep, finish eating.” He watched as your fragile little body sulked its way to Megumi’s room.

He knew this was gonna happen, he knew you were bound to leave him sooner or later. 

You smiled as you opened the door to see the little Megumi standing on top of his little bed. His hands wiping his tears as he ran towards you, his arms now wrapping around your legs. “Sleep with mama and papa.” He cried out as you leaned down to pick up the little boy. “[name] and papa, not mama okay?” You corrected him, if Toji were to find out that he had been calling you that, then that argument would’ve climaxed.

The little boy nodded, his tears now gone as you swayed him around. “Sleep with you.” He mumbled, leaning his head on your shoulder as he played with a strand of your hair. “Just for tonight.” You whispered, watching Megumi pick up his head and smile. Content with your answer. 

Toji’s heart could just swell at the sight. You treated his son as if he was your own and nothing looked so much better right now, except for the fact that he wished it was his wife.

Megumi was now soundly sleeping between you and Toji, “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” His eyes shut tightly hearing those piercing words leave your mouth. It hurt when his wife left him, but this hurt was different—different because he knew it was coming yet he didn’t want to do anything about it. 

“I’m sorry—”

“You don’t need to be the one apologizing.” He watched your soft gaze stare at completely nothing. He was confused, this was his fault. He never treated you how you needed deserved to be treated. “It was my fault for throwing myself at a man who simply was not ready.”

The next morning was silent—baby ‘gumi was confused at the saddened look on your face. Constantly walking up to you asking if you were okay. He was still just a baby, yet he read the room so well. “I’m sure we can work this out—” Toji now sitting next to you on the couch, some cartoon playing in the back as Megumi’s little head sat on your lap. “You’re not ready, Toji.” You nodded, eyes still glued on the tv as if it was meant for you and not the little Megumi. 

“And how are you so sure—”

“Tell me you love me then.” Your eyes are now fixed on Toji’s. It was hard, he felt as if his mouth had been glued shut. You sigh, bringing your gaze back to the tv, “I love you—but it’s hard when it’s one sided Toji.” 

It hurt much more, seeing you drive away as the clueless Megumi waved you out. Poor thing thinks you’re simply going to the store. The house that once felt like home was so dull now. Toji sat little ‘gumi down on the couch. 

His constant, “mama?” or “[name]?” while he kept his gaze on the door every so often. Nothing prepared Toji for this. Megumi cried that he wanted to sleep with his mama and papa, his heart swelled knowing that he had been talking about you.

You were gone, just like his wife. But it hurt—it hurt so much more knowing that you’re alive trying your best to…move on. He stayed up late that same night, stumbling upon a video from two years ago. When Megumi first learned how to walk. You and Toji had just started dating but the look of happiness plastered your face as you watched the little baby walking. 

That was one thing Toji never forgot about, how much you loved kids. Telling him how once you had kids of your own you would finally be able to live in peace. How he heard of it less and less as the years went on, he wonders if you still think that.

next part ->

[spencerreidenjoyer]

lovebird | spencer reid x reader

Spencer's little girl sets you and her dad up.

wc: 3.3k, rating: teen

tags/warnings: 2+1, kindergarten teacher!reader, single girldad!spencer, fluff, meet-cute, implied sex, use of "Y/N" because this fic would've been impossible to write without it oops

a/n: not sure what possessed me to write this, but i finished writing this in about 2 days lmao. girldad!spencer loml. thank you to my lovely friends over on twitter who fuelled my insanity. for this fic i have season 10 spencer in mind/later seasons spencer who's just full on daddy at that point <3 (also crossposted on ao3!)

Sunday

You’re at the grocery store in a ratty t-shirt and sweats, picking out fucking cereal when you hear the pitter-patter of footsteps running towards you, and a sweet, high-pitched voice calling your name. 

It’s one of your students, Ellie Reid, holding a box of cereal that’s half her height, and she comes up to you in the aisle. 

“Ellie? What are you doing here?” You ask sweetly, pushing your hair out of your face before you squat down to meet Ellie’s height. 

“My daddy wanted to get groceries. He said we would go together. But he had to pick up the phone, and I wanted to help look for the things Daddy needs.”

Her dad, Dr. Spencer Reid, is an FBI agent and a single dad to Ellie. He’s one of the best parents you’ve had this year – the fancy kindergarten you teach at lends itself to spoiled brats and uptight parents, but Dr. Reid and Ellie are a welcome reprieve in a usually stuffy environment. You’re pleased to see her here, on a weekend, but less pleased with the fact that she’s alone. 

“Oh, wow! You’re so helpful, Ellie,” you say, holding her arm gently. “I’m sure your dad is really thankful. But you shouldn’t have walked off alone. I’m glad you found me.”

“Why?” 

“Because it’s not safe for you to walk around alone in the grocery store, Ellie,” you smile. “Let’s go find your dad.”

Ellie nods, her cheeks ruddy and when you hold out your hand for her to hold, Ellie’s little hand wraps around two of your fingers. “Did you come to the grocery store alone? It’s not safe.”

“I did come alone. But I’m an adult, so it’s okay. You’re little, Ellie, so you should only walk around with your dad.” You lead Ellie down aisle after aisle, walking past canned food and bags of chips and walls lined with bottles of drinks. 

“But you shouldn’t walk around alone if it’s dangerous. When we find my daddy maybe he can protect you too!” Ellie says confidently. 

When did this grocery store feel so big? You can’t find Dr. Reid anywhere, and you feel a rising panic in your chest. You have half a mind to pull up the school’s contact information in your phone, but you hear Dr. Reid’s voice calling his daughter’s name, and both you and Ellie turn around.

“Daddy!” Ellie shrieks, almost dropping the box of cereal in her arms as she dashes toward her father. She almost trips as she closes the distance, thankfully landing in her father’s arms before she does fall. 

Dr. Reid scoops her up, holding her tightly. “You had me worried, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, Daddy,” Ellie mumbles against her father’s shoulder. “But I found Miss Y/N and she helped me find you!”

“I told her not to run off alone in the future,” you say. “Right, Ellie?” 

The sweet girl nods. She giggles into Dr. Reid’s shoulder, and his hand comes up to pat her back, a soothing gesture.

“I’m glad it was you she bumped into,” Dr. Reid says, sighing with relief. “I wouldn’t know I would do with myself if–”

“It’s okay, Dr. Reid,” you assure him. “It’s not a problem at all. You’re– You’re doing a great job with her.”

“Thank you for saying that. I– I’ll see you at the parent-teacher meeting next Friday, right?”

“Yeah, next Friday.” You smile at him. “Have a good day, Dr. Reid. Bye, Ellie!”

“Bye!” Ellie, sweet girl, waves excitedly, her gummy smile overtaking her face. Dr. Reid walks toward the checkout, holding Ellie with one hand and pushing his shopping cart with the other. 

You feel how warm your cheeks are when Dr. Reid and Ellie are finally out of sight, your hand clammy around the handle of your shopping basket. You slap your cheek lightly, willing yourself to pull yourself together.

The way your heart flutters whenever you see Dr. Reid is a cause for concern, and you wonder if you should see a doctor about it. 

Dr. Spencer Reid is a marvel. He’s admirable, juggling his job at the FBI with raising a little girl all on his own, and he’s both a great profiler and a great dad. He’s incredibly sweet with Ellie and incredibly kind to you, which you unfortunately don’t get a lot, especially with the kinds of parents you deal with. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome: his hair is slightly long, wavy and messy in a way that frames his face just right, not to mention the stubble that makes him look that much hotter.

Your little crush on Dr. Reid is certainly inappropriate, but over the parent-teacher meetings and interacting with him when he drops off and picks up his daughter from school, you can’t help yourself from falling for him. 

Tuesday

Ellie Reid is a smart girl, that you know, but you're blindsided by her genius one day at recess. You’re monitoring all the kids at the playground when Ellie comes up to you. She has a contorted look on her face but she says, “Miss Y/N, I fell.”

“You did? Are you feeling okay?” You ask, squatting down to match her height. You look at her knees – not a speck of dirt nor a red spot from falling down.

“My knee hurts. Can you call my daddy?”

“Does it hurt badly? I’ll take you to see the nurse if it does,” you say, not entirely understanding the situation. You’ve never met a four-year-old who wouldn’t be in tears over tripping and falling, even if the injury wasn’t severe. 

The look on Ellie’s face makes you think that she’s trying to match your expectations of what she should be feeling. “It doesn't hurt bad. I just want my daddy to come pick me up. Can you call him?”

You try not to furrow your brow at the strange request. You’re usually trusted to handle any little accidents and mishaps with the children, but at Ellie’s insistence of calling her father, you feel like you should. 

(It’s certainly not spurred on by seeing him at the grocery store last weekend.)

“Alright, Ellie. I’ll call your dad and see what he says, okay?”

“Okay, Miss Y/N,” Ellie says, smiling at you. You get her to sit down on the bench next to you and your co-teacher to oversee the kids before fish your phone out from your pocket to dial Dr. Reid’s number. As you wait for the call to go through, Ellie looks at you with wide, expectant eyes. You smile at her.

On the third ring, Dr. Reid picks up. “Hello?” 

“Hi, Dr. Reid. This is Miss Y/N from Ellie’s school. I’m calling to inform you that Ellie fell on the playground during recess.”

“Oh, my. Is she alright?” You hear Dr. Reid’s voice grow concerned. Ellie looks up at you, and you look the little girl up and down one more time just to be sure.

“Yes, she is. I checked and she doesn’t have any scrapes or bruises. She says her knee hurts, but that she’s also fine. Usually, we don’t call parents over small mishaps like this, but Ellie insisted that I call you.”

“I see,” Dr. Reid hums, his tone indecipherable. “Can I talk to her?”

“Sure thing, Dr. Reid,” you say. You hold the phone out to Ellie as you put the call on speakerphone and tell her, “Your dad wants to speak to you, Ellie.”

Ellie is polite, but clearly excited as she yells, “Hi, Daddy!” 

“Woah! Hi, Ellie,” Dr. Reid laughs, his serious tone while he was speaking to you gone, talking to his daughter with a delightful whimsy. “Miss Y/N told me you fell on the playground today. Does it hurt?”

“No,” Ellie answers, but she looks up quickly at you. “I mean, yes. Just a little. It doesn’t hurt too bad anymore.”

You hide your smile, and you think you can hear the smile in Dr. Reid’s voice as he says, “Okay, sweet girl, that’s good.”

“Can you come and pick me up right now, Daddy?” Ellie asks, a little whiny. It’s adorable, though. 

“Well, it’s only ten in the morning, honey,” Dr. Reid bargains. “And I know you have art class later, right? Don’t you want to stay around for that?”

“I do!” Ellie says eagerly. “Oh, I love art class!”

“I know you do, honey,” Dr. Reid assures. “So, do you feel okay enough to stick around in class until Daddy comes to pick you up at the end of the day?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Ellie nods, even though Dr. Reid can’t see her. “But you have to come pick me up!”

“I always do, Ellie,” Dr. Reid laughs, making Ellie laugh along too. “Okay, honey. Go on and play with your friends. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay! Bye, Daddy! I love you!”

“Bye! I love you too, Ellie!” Dr. Reid matches Ellie’s excitable energy, and Ellie giggles before she runs off to play again. His voice returns to a calm but engaged sort of energy. “Well, that was something.”

“She seems fine,” you say, switching the speakerphone off as you hold your phone back up to your ear. “I’m sorry to bother you in the middle of your work day, Dr. Reid.”

“Oh, please, it’s not a bother at all,” Dr. Reid laughs gently. “I love talking to Ellie. She might miss me or something, if she had to fake a fall so you would call me.”

“Perhaps,” you say, slightly surprised that Dr. Reid would be so quick to call out his daughter’s bluff. Some of the other parents would rip your throat out if you even insinuated their child was in the wrong. “I’ll still keep an eye out for her.”

“Thanks, Miss Y/N,” Dr. Reid insists. “Besides, it’s always a pleasure getting a call from you.”

You don’t remember if you thank him before he hangs up, because all you can think about is Dr. Reid saying he enjoys talking to you.

After putting your phone away, you press your hands to your warm cheeks in an effort to calm yourself and your beating heart down. 

Dr. Reid is one of the last parents to come by during pickup. It’s a somewhat regular occurrence, with Dr. Reid’s busy and hectic job. You are never bothered by spending extra time with Ellie, and you know Dr. Reid always tries his best to pick Ellie up as soon as he can. He usually makes regular pickup so you never get to exchange more than a few words with him, but days like today aren’t necessarily rare either. But considering your interaction on Sunday, you’re secretly pleased with how it’s worked out. 

Only you and Ellie are left in the classroom, you having told your co-teacher to clock out first. You’re pleasantly surprised when there’s a knock on the door frame, Dr. Reid standing there in a cardigan and a button-up shirt with his dress pants. “Ellie!”

His hair is somehow more fluffy and messy than you’d seen him at the grocery store, but it just makes him look even more soft and domestic. You try not to look at Dr. Reid with hearts in your eyes as Ellie shrieks and runs towards him, Dr. Reid picking her up easily and swinging her around before he holds her tight. “Hi, sweet girl.”

“Daddy!” Ellie giggles. “I missed you today.”

“I missed you too, honey,” Dr. Reid coos, pressing a kiss to the top of Ellie’s head. Your insides melt, gooey at the tooth-rottingly sweet display in front of you. “Were you a good girl for Miss Y/N today?”

“Uh-huh!” Ellie nods, her gummy smile absolutely adorable. 

“She was a pleasure,” you add. “Hello, Dr. Reid.”

“Hello again.” Dr. Reid smiles. “It’s nice to see you. Are you doing well?”

“Yes, I am. Other than Ellie’s little incident, today was thankfully uneventful. Thank you for asking.”

Dr. Reid’s face scrunches up in an extremely endearing way, like it’s obvious that he’d want to know about… you. “Of course. I like to know you’re doing well. It’s great to hear.”

You feel like you don’t know what to say to that, perhaps a little too caught up in your little crush on him to come up with a coherent response. You laugh shyly, tucking your hair behind your ear. Dr. Reid has set Ellie down, and she wanders around the classroom, fidgeting with the pencils on the tables, but doesn’t stray too far from her dad. “Ellie seems to be fine from earlier, but you might want to check in with her again.”

“I will,” Dr. Reid says, nodding. “Oh! I almost forgot–”

You look on as Dr. Reid fumbles in his satchel, pulling a crumpled paper bag out. The paper bag looks bulky, oil stains seeped through on the sides and on the bottom. “Oh, it looks bad. It’s good, I promise– It’s a chocolate muffin from this really good bakery near my office. I just thought I’d get you one. Since you’re so helpful with Ellie. Especially today.”

Dr. Reid holds it out for you, and you scramble to step forward and take it. “Thank you, Dr. Reid, you- You didn’t have to. It’s my job to look after Ellie, after all. Not that it’s a burden, or just a job, I mean– Ellie’s great. She’s one of our brightest, but don’t tell any of the other parents that.”

Dr. Reid smiles so bright you feel like you could feel the warmth radiating from him. “I won’t, if I bump into any of them at the parent-teacher meeting.”

You bite your lip, smiling, shy at the attention Dr. Reid gives you. You think he’s flirting(?) with you, but you try to remain professional. You clear your throat. “Thank you, Dr. Reid.” 

“Thank you again, Miss Y/N. I mean it.” Dr. Reid asserts, and you feel your cheeks flush. “Tonight is pizza night, so Ellie and I should be making our way home right about now.”

“Pizza!” Ellie yells, giddy, causing both you and Dr. Reid to laugh. She zooms past you to stand next to her dad. 

“Thank you, Dr. Reid. I’ll see you proper on Friday,” you say, nodding your head slightly. “And I’ll see you, Ellie, tomorrow, yeah?”

“Bye, Miss Y/N!” Ellie waves frantically. Dr. Reid joins her in her waving, equally silly. 

“I look forward to seeing you then, Miss Y/N,” Dr. Reid smiles. “Bye.”

“Bye!” you reply, trying not to sound too eager, and then Dr. Reid ducks out of the classroom with Ellie in hand. You feel like you’re swooning so hard you might faint.

Friday

Parent-teacher meetings go smoothly, thankfully. There are parents who only bother to hear the praise you give their children, so ignorant to the criticisms of their children that you try not to make too obvious. After seeing nineteen sets of parents, Dr. Spencer Reid is your last of the day. You don’t want to say you’ve been waiting for this all day, but checking off the nineteen sets of parents before this has only made you more and more excited. 

Dr. Reid finally enters the classroom, two minutes early for his slot, but he’s alone. 

“Where’s Ellie? She’s totally allowed to sit in for these meetings too.”

“She’s at my boss’ place for a playdate with his son,” Dr. Reid says. “Actually, that sounds pretty weird, doesn’t it? My daughter, having a playdate with my boss’ son?”

“Not at all. They say it takes a village to raise a child. I’m glad your colleagues are so helpful with Ellie.”

“They really are,” Dr. Reid asserts, smiling. “Hotch– My boss, I mean– offered, knowing I had this meeting.”

“That’s really nice of him,” you nod. “So, about Ellie…”

“Please tell me you only have good things to say,” Dr. Reid jokes, and you try very hard not to swoon. 

“Essentially, yes,” you nod. “Ellie is such a bright girl, and she’s so sweet. She’s always helpful with her classmates and polite to everyone and the teachers too. Again, don’t tell this to the other parents, but Ellie’s set high standards for the rest of the class.”

“You’re telling me an awful lot that I shouldn’t be telling the other parents,” Dr. Reid grins. “You sure you aren’t playing favourites?”

“You certainly are my favourite,” you say before you can catch yourself, and Dr. Reid looks at you with wide eyes. You imagine you look equally shocked. “I’m sorry, Dr. Reid, I didn't mean to say that.”

Dr. Reid cocks his head, a little smile toying on his lips. “Miss Y/N, did I ever tell you what I do for the FBI?”

You have no idea how this relates to how unprofessional and inappropriate you are being. You shake your head anyway, too afraid to say anything anymore before you say something even more embarrassing. 

“I’m a profiler, Miss Y/N. I use psychology and study behaviour to catch serial killers,” Dr. Reid explains, using his hands to articulate his point. Your eyes dart down to the motion; but your gaze quickly flits back up to his face. “In general, I’m good at reading people.”

“Is that so?” You gulp. Is he able to read you?

“I don’t mean to profile you, Miss Y/N, I mean it,” Dr. Reid sounds a little apologetic. “But I can’t help but notice the way you lean toward me when we’re speaking, the way you fidget with your hands a little, the way you can almost meet my eyes, but you still seem a little bashful about it. I either intimidate you, or…”

“Or..?” 

“I’m sorry if this is too forward, but would you like to get dinner with me?”

“What?” You ask, disbelieving. “Dinner?”

“You- You’re interested in me too, aren’t you?”

“Too?” You gape, sounding like a parrot as you repeat his words, simply unable to wrap your head around the fact that Ellie Reid’s young, hot, genius father just asked you on a date. 

“I’m usually not too doubtful of my profiling skills, but beautiful women like you make me second-guess if I’m reading this right.” Dr. Reid laughs, avoiding looking at you. 

“Dr. Reid, I would love to get dinner with you,” You say, trying to sound confident. 

Dr. Reid beams as he meets your eyes. “Oh, thank God.”

“Cheesy that you’re calling me beautiful,” you laugh bashfully, waving him off. 

“I mean it!” Dr. Reid insists. “And, um– Would you want to do dinner after this? If you don’t have any other meetings, of course. Or any other plans– you’d probably have plans on a Friday night, right? Way to be presumptuous–”

“Dr. Reid! I don’t have plans tonight. A dinner date sounds great,” you laugh.

“Great! Great, good. I’m glad.” Dr. Reid says, looking a little giddy that you’d taken him up on it. “Also, um- I love when people call me Dr. Reid, but please just call me Spencer. Do you think people would get the wrong idea if you called me Dr. the whole time?” 

You cackle, Spencer looking thoroughly pleased at making you laugh. 

“Okay, Spencer,” you try his first name, and it rolls off your tongue with ease. “Let me pack up and then we can go get dinner.”

“I like when you say my name,” Spencer smiles. “What’re you feeling for dinner?”

If you and Spencer kiss at the end of your dinner date in front of your apartment door, that’s between you and him. 

You pulling Spencer into your apartment with your hands fisted in his hair should also stay between you and him. 

It doesn’t entirely stay between you and him, though, as Spencer calls his boss to turn Ellie’s playdate into a sleepover before he rolls over to kiss you and take you all over again. 

[brattyspence]

sober thoughts | s.reid

summary: pining!reader makes a drunk call to spencer after going out with friends, and is aggressively trying to flirt with him. 

tags: reader is DRUNK! alcohol!! dont read if thats not okay!!, fluffy as fuck, spencer is the most gentle of gentlemen, pining!reader, reader wears makeup/dress/heels, spencer is lowkey bad at flirting but he shows affection in weird ways, one use of Y/N (sorry i know)

a/n: this has been bouncing around in my head for a while. sigh.

word count: 1.9k

masterlist

He was used to seeing you tipsy, if that was even the right word for it. 

You were friends, after all. Best friends, even. And the fact that he lived only a few doors down from the pub the team frequented made it stupid not to offer his couch to you after going out with the team. 

You weren’t a heavy drinker by any stretch of the imagination. Every now and then on a Friday night, you’d head out with the team and have one, maybe two drinks if you were feeling particularly adventurous–but you still didn’t want to drive home, especially when he was offering his home to you. Truthfully, you just liked getting to hang out with him. You liked getting to exist in his orbit and discuss a random topic late into the night. It had become normal for you, an excuse to do something together that didn’t revolve around work. 

What was not normal was the fact that it was a Saturday at 11 PM and you were really drunk, calling him. 

Your contact photo filled his screen, illuminating the dark room. You weren’t one to call, preferring the convenience of a text. Especially this late, which worried him a bit. He picked up quickly, tucking the phone to his ear.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Hey, Spencer?” It wasn’t your voice. “This is Molly, Y/N’s friend. I’m sorry to call so late. We’re out with some friends from college celebrating someone’s birthday, and she got… like, drunk drunk, kinda sloppy… and she’s been blabbing about you for a while. She wanted me to call you.”

“Oh,” he sighs. He runs a hand through his hair, preparing himself. “Can you put her on?”

“Yeah. Not sure you’ll get anything out of her, though. Here…”

He can hear the general chatter and chaos of the bar over the call. There’s some rustling sounds before you finally take the phone.

“Hi,” you say, your voice dripping with a certain kind of fondness. He can hear the smile through the screen. 

“Hey,” he replies. ”You having fun?”

“Oh, Spencer, I was… I haven’t heard your voice in so long. What’re you…” you trail off, lifting the phone from your ear to answer someone else. “Sorry. ‘S so loud in here.

He chuckles to himself. “I saw you yesterday.”

“Yeah, ‘nd that was… Oh, I can’t do math right now. A long time ago.”

“Are you okay?”

On the other side of town, you were sitting in a barstool, swiping your finger along the beads of condensation rolling down the glass of water in front of you. 

“Mhm. ‘M good. Fine. Drunk.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” he smiles. “Are you gonna be able to get home?”

“Uhh…” you pause. “I was gonna Uber… but then I thought that maybe… if you weren't busy… we could hang out…” 

He could vaguely make out dialog on the other end of the phone. Some kind of “Girl, this sounds really pathetic,” followed by a “Shhhh!” in two other drunken voices.

“But I could also make Molly order me an Uber,” you added. “‘S okay. Nevermind.”

“No, you're not getting in an Uber inebriated. That’s ridiculous.”

“‘M not inebriated.”

A background voice comes back. “Yeah, you are.”

Spencer sighs into the phone. “Just… send me your location, please? I’ll come get you.”

“O-kay. ‘M sending it right now, jus’ tell me when you-”

The call went dead before you could finish your thought, which he chalked up to some kind of drunken user error. A few seconds later a text came through 

You: dropped a pin

You: its molly again. let me know if you got this

He responded, relieved that you had someone looking after you, before getting ready and grabbing his keys. 

-

You were sitting on a bench outside the bar. The air was cool and crisp, but you were warm, your skin clammy from the alcohol. You had been mumbling something incoherent about Spencer, he’s just so good to me, Molly, and oh, god, I don’t know what to do with myself, and…

Molly, who had been trying to sober you up (unsuccessfully), was standing in front of you, arms crossed, listening to your incessant rambling.

“...’nd sometimes he talks to me, ‘nd I have no idea what he’s talking about but he’s so hot when he’s smart. You should hear, it, Mol’.”

Cars pass on the street behind you, filling the silence momentarily. Molly looks over her shoulder, scanning the street before turning back to you. “Alright. Be quiet. He’s here” 

“Don’t care.”

She puts her hand out to help you up, which you accept rising to your feet. You’re surprised by how unsteady you feel, but you focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

“I’ll make fun of you for this tomorrow,” she says. 

You only have a few seconds to grumble in protest before Spencer reaches you. He scans you quickly, chuckling to himself.

“You are a mess,” he says, amused. 

You feel slightly infantilized watching Molly hand over all your personal effects to him. You weren’t even sure when you’d put down your wallet and keys, much less where, but you’re thankful she picked them up and not someone else.

“Good luck,” She tells him. She pats your arm before turning back to the bar, leaving you alone on the street with him. 

“You okay?” He asks. You watch him shuck off his jacket, which he helps you slide over your arms.

“‘M fine,” you reply. “Warm.”

“Because you’re drunk.” He keeps his eyes trained on the zipper of the jacket, or really anywhere that isn't you in that dress. “Alcohol is a vasodilator. So you feel warm. But it's forty degrees outside, and hypothermia doesn't care.”

You pout at him, watching as he pulls the zipper tab up enough to shield you from the cold. Only then does he really look at you. 

“I wanted you to see my pretty dress,” you pout. Your words come out slurred still. 

You meet his eyes for a split second. He opens his mouth, seemingly about to reply, but quickly decides against it. He shakes his head as if to clear the thought.

“Come on. We gotta get you home.” 

“You don't like it?” 

“I didn't say that.” He tucks a hand under your arm as you begin back down the street, keeping you steady. 

“So you do like it?” You look over at him, your face more excited than he was expecting. 

“It’s very pretty,” he replies.

Your shoulder bumps his as you walk, seemingly unable to maintain a straight path along the sidewalk. The click of your heels against the pavement is uneven, despite your efforts to maintain some kind of composure, and unfortunately for you, he’s right, and it's freezing outside. You make steady progress down the block, placing all your focus on not falling flat on your face. Thankfully, he doesn't live all that far.

“D’you think I look pretty, too?” You ask, approaching the steps to his apartment.

“What are you trying to do?” he asks, looking down at you. He takes in the slight flush of your cheeks as the effects of the alcohol battle the chill in the air.

“I’m trying to flirt with you. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh, you're going to be difficult all night, aren't you?” He sighs, ignoring the question. He pauses outside the door, keys in hand, and unlocks the door before guiding you inside. 

“You don't ever want to flirt with me.”

The door falls shut behind you with a clunk. The room is dark, with only the distant light from a lamp somewhere across the room illuminating it. You squint when he turns on the big light.

“That’s not true,” he says, quietly. If you weren’t hanging on to his every word, you might have missed it. He carefully unzips the jacket, tugging it off your shoulders and setting it on the table.

“So why won’t you flirt with me right now?” 

“Because you’re drunk,” He guides you towards the couch, his touch still careful as ever. 

You flop down onto the cushions. The leather sticks to your legs as you sit. Being the gentleman he is, he has already left pajamas out, his pajamas, you’d since claimed as your own, with the blanket you steal every time you stay over. 

“So what?” You begin working at the clasp on your heels, fumbling with the leather straps to no avail. 

“So, you’re drunk.” He repeats, reappearing in front of you. He sits on the edge of the coffee table in front of you, and hands you a pack of makeup wipes. “Do you need help with your shoes?” 

You nod. A soft breath of laughter escapes him as he leans in to help you take them off, setting them on the carpeted floor. 

“Spence,” you look at the pack of wipes. “Why do you have these?”

“Because every time you’re here you forget them,” he replies. 

“Oh.” You rip them open. “You don’t have a secret girlfriend?”

“No,” he replies, lowering your foot back to the ground. 

“You don't let other drunk girls sleep over?” You paw at your eyeliner, effectively smearing it around more than removing it. 

“I don't let anyone sleep over,” he says, taking the wipe from you. “Just you. Close your eyes.”

“Because you love me?” 

His fingers find the underside of your chin, gently tilting your face towards his so he can finish swiping away the last of your eyeliner. Maybe you’re blushing as a result of the alcohol warming your bloodstream, but the more likely answer is him, at this proximity. 

As soon as he’s done wiping your eyes, you open them again to look up at him. 

“You’re bold when you’re drunk,” he says, smiling. He sets the used wipe down on the table.

“Mhm. You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m not going to,” He says. “Sorry. Go get changed.”

“That wasn’t a ‘no’,” you say. You collect the clothes off the couch and slink across the apartment into the bathroom to change. You don’t bother shutting the bathroom door before slinking off the dress you were wearing and sliding on the pajamas he’d left for you. Once you finish, you collect your dress off the floor and make your way back towards the couch, settling right into the cushions as you frequently did on nights like this. 

You were formulating another complaint about his lack of reciprocation, but your thoughts were interrupted as he pulled the blanket on his couch over you. Your blanket, or at least one you’d claimed as your own during one of your nights spent here. He had already turned off the ceiling fan, which you’d always insisted off when you slept over. You followed him with your gaze as he turned the lights off, swapping them instead for a smaller, softer light somewhere in the kitchen, remembering the way you’d always insisted he leave a light on somewhere, just for you. Your phone was already charging on a side table, your heels sitting nicely by the door, your keys on his key holder, evidence of you, everywhere, details that were distinctly for your comfort. Maybe you had missed his signals. 

“I think you do love me…” 

He reappeared a moment later, crouching in front of you with that look. He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Go to sleep.”

“And I love you. And I called you because I wanted to tell you that.” 

“You really need to sleep it off. You’re saying things you don’t mean.”

“But I do mean it,” you whined. “I swear. Ask me again tomorrow.”

“You won’t remember this tomorrow,” he laughed. 

“But I will. I promise,” you replied. “No bedtime kiss?”

Of course, this time you did pick up the way he looked at you. 

“No, honey. Maybe tomorrow.”

[euthymiya]

part two

Starting an internship at the company Satoru’s father owns but you don’t know who he is just yet.

He’s annoying. He always comes back from lunch late, lets his phone ring at his desk (that’s conveniently placed next to yours) past the three ring policy, writes emails with silly and immature sign-offs, cracks jokes during meetings, and somehow, despite always finishing his paperwork late, he never manages to lose his damn job.

You try to mind your own business. But you can’t help but feel him slowly grate at your nerves as he acts so unprofessional and for some weird reason, not one person seems to care.

He seems pretty intrigued with you, too, if matters couldn’t get worse.

“Hey,” he grins. You try to ignore the tilt of his lips in amusement as you just barely fight off rolling your eyes.

“Can I help you with something?” You sigh, “I’m currently in the middle of something that requires my full attention, but maybe we could—”

“You really love your office jargon,” he hums, cutting you off with a wider grin, “so dedicated.”

“Oh, my apologies,” you smile tightly. He seems to straighten a little, some sick, twisted form of excitement rushing through his system at the way he seems to get under your skin. “Allow me to use simpler language for you to understand: go away, I’m busy.”

Someone has to stand up to this prick, you think. He puts in half the effort, and somehow, you’re pretty sure your boss has a soft spot for him. You don’t understand it, and quite frankly, you’ll be damned if a lazy, lackluster man snags a promotion before your hardworking self.

“Oh wow,” he snorts, “breaking your strictly professional streak, are you? You must be really occupied. I guess I’ll borrow your stapler later.”

Gritting your teeth, you give him yet another tight lipped smile before grabbing the stapler off your desk and handing it to him. (A small part of you resists the urge to throw it square at his face. Maybe the image of him on the floor with a bloodied nose would make your day a little easier, but then you’re sure you’d be jobless).

“Here you go,” you say with as much kindness as you can muster. (It’s not a lot). “Please do bring it back when you’re done. Some of us actually complete paper work, so the stapler is a necessity.”

“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head, eyes sparkling with mischief, “don’t worry, I won’t hold your stapler hostage for too long. I wouldn’t want to disrupt the flow of your productivity.”

You watch with wary eyes as he walks back to his desk, stapling some small, tiny note of sorts before walking right back, handing the paper and the stapler to you.

“What’s this?” You raise a brow.

“Some paper work for you to fill out,” he grins, the vagueness of his answer making a vein all but pop in your forehead.

Before you even have a chance to tell him that you most certainly will not be entertaining whatever silly prank he’s playing, he walks right off, sagging into his chair as he does an obnoxious little spin and goes back to typing at his computer. Probably yet another email with a ridiculous ending, you think to yourself.

Against your better judgement, you stare at the note, eyeing the small flap he’s stapled over an index card. You lift it up, quickly scanning over his scribbled writing.

Want to grab coffee during lunch? Check your answer:

▢ yes! ▢ absolutely! ▢ most definitely!

Your eye twitches.

Grabbing a pen, you quickly add a box underneath his (very confident) options, checking it off and writing in neat, pristine handwriting:

▣ not a chance!

You stand, walking over to his desk and ignoring his perked up, excited little smile as you drop the note back on the table and head back to your own desk. A tiny wave of satisfaction weaves through your body when you notice him read over your response and deflate, a small pout forming over his lips.

Regretfully, a small part of you can’t help but acknowledge that he’s actually…kind of cute when his lips are curled like that. But a larger part of you shakes that thought away and cringes internally. It’s a shame his personality ruins the genetic blessings he seems to have been bestowed with.

And you think that’s the end of it—but of course, with someone like Satoru in the office, there’s never the end of anything.

You watch as an email pops up on your screen, opening it only to stare blankly at his name and roll your eyes at the subject line:

────────────────────────

Follow-Up on Submitted Paperwork

Greetings office neighbor,

Thank you for submitting the paperwork. Unfortunately, I couldn’t help but notice that it does not fully align with the outlined guidelines. Could you please provide clarification or revise the submission accordingly?

Thanks a million,

Gojo Satoru :)

────────────────────────

And there he goes again with those obnoxious sign-offs, you think bitterly. Instantly, you’re clicking away at your keyboard as you type back an agitated response. Of course, you really shouldn’t entertain his ridiculous schemes, but something about him gets under your skin enough that you simply can’t help yourself.

You huff in approval at your response as you read it over before hitting send.

Instantly, as if he was waiting, you see his hand reach for his mouse and click on his screen to open your email as his eyes scan over your reply:

────────────────────────

Thank you for reaching out,

Unfortunately, I was unable to fully adhere to the outlined guidelines, as they are not viable in this situation. To address this, I adjusted the submission to align more effectively with a more practical outcome.

Hope that helps!

Your office neighbor :)

────────────────────────

Just when you think he’s given up, he rolls his chair over to your desk, causing a couple of annoyed heads to tilt up and glare at him for the noise before turning their attention back to their work. You pinch your nose as his chair rolls to a stop in front of your desk.

“Yes?” You grit through your teeth.

“Hey, office neighbor,” he hums, “just wanted to clarify your most recent email with you. I’m a bit confused.”

“Which part confused you?” You bat your lashes in faux charm, sarcastically smiling at him as he hums, grabbing a piece of candy from your little bowl of sweets at your desk and helping himself.

Your eye twitches a little at the gesture. Those are for you to enjoy throughout a miserable work day.

“Um…” he trails off as he pretends to think, “I’d say all of it.”

“I see,” you nod slowly, fighting every bone in your body not to snap at him with a colorful choice of words. “Essentially, the options in your original document did not highlight a plausible set of deliverables, so I corrected them for you with a more realistic one. Make sense?”

“Not really,” he sighs dramatically, pretending to scratch his head in confusion. You want nothing more than to grab those snowy locks and slam his face into your paper shredder. “Could you go over it one more time? I’m still lost.”

You’re just about to lose your patience with him when suddenly, the entire office seems to collectively take in a sharp breath, everyone scrambling to look as productive as possible while a tall, older looking man with suspiciously familiar white hair and blue eyes walks through the office. Something in your brain sets off alarm bells, but you can’t quite completely piece it together what it is about him seems so….recognizable.

“Who’s that?” You frown, scrunching your nose in confusion as everyone straightens up.

“That would be the final boss,” he snorts. You roll your eyes at his word choice before blinking and straightening up yourself.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, voice a panicked whisper as you ask, “you mean the owner of this company?”

“Yeah,” he drawls, raising a brow at you in amusement. “Never seen him before?”

“No,” you hiss, “I’m just the intern! Now go back to your desk before he thinks we’re goofing off, I’d like to keep my job, please.”

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he hums.

You send him a nasty glare, just about at your wits end as you whisper-yell, “I am going to throw my stapler right at your—”

“Satoru, I need you in my office,” comes a stern, deep voice, interrupting you as you quickly shut your mouth.

“You got it, old man,” he salutes in mock seriousness. Suddenly, your spine goes rigid and your eyes widen. The man walks off with a firm nod as Satoru stands, giving you an innocent smile.

Suddenly, it dawns on you just why he looked so strikingly familiar.

“Did you just call him old man?” You blink, mouth agape.

“Yup,” he winks, walking backwards as his eyes stay trained on you while he heads for the elevator. “I’ll put in a good word for you when he’s in a better mood at home tonight. I think we can discuss the specifics over coffee during our lunch hour, yeah?”

[rambling-at-midnight]

Please Come Home

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: You never realized how many places there were to hide in your apartment, but you’re pretty sure someone else is in here with you. Whatever they want isn’t good.

Word count: 3.3k

TW: home invasion, violence, curses as insults

Your spare key is missing.

Fuck. You always keep it in this drawer. Where the fuck is it?

When you told Jason he could just grab your keys to take your car instead of his bike to the store, you’d been relying on using your spare to lock up the apartment when you left for work. You never, ever moved it, but it was gone all the same. Did he take it instead of your keychain? Nope, that’s missing from its hook next to the front door.

When was the last time you used it? Not too long ago. Had you been careless about putting it back?

You text Jason, Did you grab my spare key?

Shit. You had to leave for work, like, five minutes ago, and you have no key to lock the front door.

At least you have a fire escape. You bolt the door from the inside, then slip out the window. You can’t latch it from the outside, but it’s a little harder to break in through the window than the front door.

You’re only two minutes late to your waitressing shift. Your manager swipes you in, lets you know that a server called out so you’ll be handling two sections today, and the host runs up to tell you that you’ve already been sat.

In the middle of the shift, when you have a minute to catch your breath, you check your phone. Jason had texted, No, I took your keychain. Is your spare missing?

I think I lost it.

I’ll look for it when I come home before patrol. Will I see you before heading out?

Not looking like it. Things haven’t slowed down at all.

I’ll see you when I get home, then. Don’t wait up.

I’ll have dinner in the fridge when you get back. Gotta get back to work. Love you

I love you, too.

A couple hours later, Jason texts that he has no luck locating your spare. Since he’s paranoid, he’s going out for a new lock tomorrow, but there’s important business with a drug ring that he can’t miss tonight.

That’s okay. It’ll be a pain to climb up the fire escape, but you don’t really mind that much. You’ve been meaning to get more exercise, anyway.

You finish work at six and the walk back to your apartment building is pretty peaceful. Unusual for Gotham.

It lulls you into a false sense of security.

You’re not really in the mood for leftovers, and not really in the mood to cook. You stare between your phone and the pantry. Takeout is easy. So is pasta.

With a sigh, you decide to spare your bank account. Delivery fees are getting ridiculous nowadays.

You text Jason just to see how his night is going. You’re not sure he’ll respond; sometimes, like during stakeouts, he turns his phone off completely so the sound or vibrate doesn’t reveal his presence. He doesn’t respond after a minute, which means he’s busy. You sigh and set down your phone, then change into comfier clothes. As soon as you’re out of your room, you grab a pot and box of pasta. You can’t sit down, or you’ll put off dinner for at least another hour.

The water is set to boil when you turn around to look at your phone, vaguely hoping Jason has responded by now.

Your phone isn’t on the counter.

You frown. You’re pretty sure you left it there.

Maybe it’s in the pantry when you grabbed the pasta?

It’s not.

You must have left it in your room when you changed. You check, and it’s sitting right on your bedside table. “Jeez,” you mutter, picking it up and slipping it into your pocket. After a long day, it’s okay to be scatterbrained, but this is a bit much.

Still no response from Jason.

You walk out of the bedroom to see that the stove turned itself off and the pasta water is barely warm. “Gotham appliances are such pieces of shit,” you mutter. You know what, fine. A shower and feeling clean will make you feel better to try again. The saying is that a watched pot never boils, but hopefully a watched Gotham stove never turns itself on and off randomly while you cook.

The apartment’s a bit chilly, so you take your pajamas with you into the bathroom and sit under the water spray until all the grime of the day washes away. It’s a bad habit, but you bring your phone with you in the shower to scroll through social media until your skin starts to get pruny. You step out, wrapping the towel around yourself in a vain attempt to stop shivering, and… your pajamas are gone.

The pajamas that you’re sure you took with you. You distinctly remember putting them on the sink counter.

And now they’re gone.

Something clenches in your stomach. You text Jason, Hey are you home yet?

He doesn’t respond right away.

Jay, this isn’t funny.

Still nothing.

Is it possible you forgot to bring the clothes with you? No, you distinctly remember the thought process.

Someone moved them, and you can’t think of s single reason anyone you know would do that. That kind of prank isn’t funny.

You text Jason, I think there is someone in the house with me. Then you try calling him.

You go straight to voicemail.

You bite your lip, trying hard not to panic. Jason never sends you to voicemail. He’s answered your calls in the middle of shootouts, voice strained, “Hey, kinda busy right now, is it an emergency?”

His phone is turned off, so who knows when he’ll see your texts. He might not turn it on again for hours.

You text your best friend, I think someone broke into my house. Don’t call me. Please help.

You chew on your thumbnail.

Either she calls the cops, or she shows up with a baseball bat and her scary-ass motorcycle dude boyfriend. He’s secretly a softie, but his appearance doesn’t match his personality.

He’s a lot like Jason, actually. Who would have thought you two had the same type?

You call Jason again.

Voicemail.

Again.

Voicemail.

Your best friend texts, Omw. That’s it, but it’s the best text you’ve ever seen in your life.

Okay. Either cower in the bathroom until someone shows up, or play along with the same game the possibly-real-intruder is playing, that everything is normal.

No matter what happens next, you want to be dressed for it. You peek under the door, but you don’t see anyone’s feet.

Maybe this is all in your head, but you have a terrible gut feeling that it isn’t.

Your heart pounds, but you maintain a leisurely stroll into your room through the kitchen, palming a knife as you go, and locking the door behind you. The intruder may be in your closet, so you hold the knife out as you swing the door open.

Empty.

You throw on the first clothes you see and debate hiding in your room until your friend arrives. But adrenaline is pumping and you think you might shake out of your skin. You sit on the edge of the bed and take deep breaths.

There’s a window in your room, but it only opens three inches and it’s not connected to the fire escape, so that’s not an option. The window that leads to the fire escape is in the main room, so you’d have to walk through the kitchen to get to it, and the intruder may be hiding in the pantry.

You could try the front door, but the storage closet is right next to it: another likely place for someone to hide and jump out at you.

Your room is only as safe as the strength of the door. And the wood is pretty thin.

All of a sudden, your phone buzzes, and you drop it. You snatch it up to see an incoming call lighting up the screen with your boyfriend’s handsome contact photo.

You accept the call immediately. “Jay?”

“I’m on my way,” he rushes out. You hear the roar of his motorcycle in the background. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” You whisper, “I think someone is here.”

“I know.” His voice is strained. “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be fine. I’m five minutes away. Can you get out?”

“I don’t know. I’m in my bedroom, I locked my door. I think he’s hiding somewhere in the apart—”

A hand shoots out from under the bed and grabs your ankle.

You scream.

Your phone flies away when he yanks you off the bed. You go down swinging with the knife and make contact, accidentally swiping your own ankle in the process. The man grunts with pain and lets go, and you scramble to the door. You don’t even feel the pain in your ankle, although you’re actually bleeding a lot.

He’s wriggling out from under your bed when you get to your feet and twist the doorknob. “Get the fuck out of my house, you fucking pervert!” you scream. You yank the door open and run…

Right into a stranger’s chest.

There are two of them?

An iron grip clamps over your shoulder. His other hand fists in your hair. “Well, hello, pretty. You’re not the Red Hood.”

You stab him in the stomach.

Unfortunately, that only makes him mad.

“You bitch,” he groans. The slap is so powerful it nearly breaks your neck. You can’t breathe for a second, and then the first man catches up to you. His hand is bleeding. Like, a lot. They transfer you over so the stabbed man can groan about being stabbed. It’s only in his gut, so he should be fine. “Walk it off,” you goad. It’s the Gotham in you.

The first man digs his bloody knuckles into your cheek. “Fucking whore cut me,” he says. “Where’s the Red Hood?”

“He’ll kill you both,” you spit. “He’s on his way to shoot you in the head.” The threat should have scared them, but they were dumb enough to break into the Red Hood’s apartment and beat his partner. They had not been blessed with many braincells.

“Good,” he says. “He’ll get here just in time to see his pretty pet die.”

Someone pounds on the door and everyone freezes. Fear flashes over their face, but Jason wouldn’t have knocked. He would have kicked the door down or gone through the window.

Your best friend calls your name through the door. She’s trying to sound casual, but things are so far past casual.

The man holding you sees you draw in a breath to scream. “Don’t you dare,” he warns. “Do it and I’ll kill them, too.” The barrel of a gun presses to the side of your head.

Where is Jason?

You don’t think he’ll get here in time. He doesn’t deserve to carry the weight of that failure, but he will. Your Jay thinks he’s responsible for every bad thing in the world.

The man’s ugly face explodes.

You register the concussive sound of gunfire half a second later. Your ears ring. You lose your balance.

More gunfire. It’s so loud all you can do is cover your ears. Who’s shooting who?

It stops as suddenly as it started, but you don’t look up. You can’t hear anything. You don’t want to see their ugly faces anymore.

Then hands grab you again, and you shriek. Your kitchen knife is still buried in the second man’s gut, so you have no defense. A man with a gun is going to kill you in your apartment.

Despite all your attempts at fighting, he’s too strong. Iron hands pry your hands away from your head, but you still can’t hear anything. Your ears are still ringing too loud. Your eardrums might have burst.

Then gloved hands cup your cheeks.

You know those gloves.

Jason is kneeling on the ground in front of you, absolutely frantic. His mouth moves, but you don’t hear anything. You don’t even hear your sob, but you definitely feel it right before you throw yourself at him.

Strong arms wrap around your back. Jason cradles you, hugs you so tight you can’t breathe, tries to hide you from anyone that might hear you. You still can’t make out his words, but you’re beginning to hear a muffled voice.

You’re sitting completely in his lap, his legs behind you to support your back. You cling to him, trying not to shake. You’re a pretty unflappable Gothamite, but a home invasion is enough to rattle anyone. You’re supposed to be safe here.

Jason pulls away just enough to kiss your forehead. His green eyes squeeze tight like he’s in pain, and a single tear slips from the corner of one.

You wipe it away.

Jason wipes the blood on your cheek away.

You read his lips when he asks if you’re okay. You nod. You’re alive, and that’s what matters.

Jason holds you still when you try to look around. He says something that you can’t read. He must know that you don’t understand, because he just uses one huge hand on the back of your head to pull you forward. His mouth presses against your forehead, not quite a kiss, just relishing the connection.

You hear the banging first. Then you hear the shouting.

Oh, God. Your best friend.

You scramble out of Jason’s hold so fast he can’t stop you. You stumble past two dead bodies, both with three bullets in their heads. The floor is ruined beyond belief.

Jason helps support you. He needs to touch you somewhere to reassure himself that you’re okay, that you’re alive. You unlock the door, and barely open it a crack before your friend pushes it all the way open.

She gasps at the sight of you. “Oh, my God!” Her arms wrap tight around your neck, and you squeeze her. Jason’s hand remains pressed against your back. Her boyfriend stands behind her in the hallway, and he eyes Jason somewhat suspiciously. The two have never met before.

Your best friend pulls away, and Jason folds you against his side. His hand runs up and down your arm.

“Are you okay? There’s blood all over you.” Her eyes drift past your face and land on the bodies on your floor. Her mouth tightens, but she doesn't scream or call the cops immediately.

“It’s not mine,” you say faintly. “Well…” You look at your ankle. “Most of it.”

“Jesus,” says Jason. “They did that to you?”

"I did it to myself," you admit. "But I stabbed that one." You point.

He kisses the top of your head. "I'm going to teach you how to defend yourself. I never should have left you alone." Jason fixes your friend with a look so stern that she actually gulps. "Can you watch them for a little bit?"

"Yeah," she says. "I'll take care of them."

"Good." Jason takes your face in his hands. His eyes blaze. "I'll be back as soon as I can. You hear me? You're not gonna be alone ever again."

You nod numbly.

Jason carries you to the couch, then coaches your friend through applying pressure to your ankle. He gently places an icepack in your hand, then moves you until it's pressed to your numb cheek. Then he kisses you. Pulls back. Kisses you again. It's not sweet—he tastes like blood, or maybe you do—but it's firm, and it's real, and it's a promise.

He stands up and asks your friend's boyfriend, "You wanna help me with these?"

As far as you know, the other man's never hidden a dead body in his life. But to his credit, he hardly hesitates before nodding.

Jason's already calling someone when he walks out. One of his criminal contacts, you're sure. You don't know and you don't want to know.

They're gone for twenty minutes. You're still in shock when they get back. You know you're in shock, but you can't snap out of it. You don't think you want to.

He gently nudges your friend's hands away to peek under the gauze. "You want stitches for this, honey?"

You shake your head. The cut's too close to bone, and you don't want a needle going anywhere near your bones.

"Okay." He changes the gauze, then tapes it in place, then puts a sticky wrap over that. "I'll change this in the morning. You're gonna be okay."

"I'm glad you're all right," your friend's boyfriend offers. You don't know each other all that well, but he just helped hide two bodies that you and Jason killed, so he must be an all right dude. You nod, give him a shaky smile, try to wave.

Your best friend bends over to hug you. "I'm going to text you in the morning," she says. "You'll be okay with Jason. I'm so proud of you. I'm so glad you're okay."

You hug her back until she puts the icepack back in the freezer.

When they leave, Jason stands up from the couch. You make a pleading, confused noise in the back of your throat, and he smooths your hair away from your face. "I'll be right back, honey," he promises. "I'm gonna lock the door. No one's ever getting to you again, you hear me?"

As soon as he pulls away, you shiver. The only thing keeping you warm was his body.

True to his word, he locks the front door, then heads right back to you.

"Do you want to go to the bedroom?" Jason asks softly.

You shake your head. There was a man hiding beneath your bed tonight. It was worse than any monster you used to be scared of as a child.

"Okay," he says softly. Jason eases onto the couch, but he has so much bulk that it's impossible to lay side-by-side on your backs. Jason twists onto his side, and after a moment, you do too, using one of his massive biceps as a pillow. He smells like gunpowder. You smell like blood. You fit together like two terrible, violent puzzle pieces.

He kisses your forehead again. Pulls a blanket over the two of you, makes sure it's snug around your feet. You enjoy the fussing.

When he has nothing left to fiddle with, Jason sucks in a ragged inhale, then says, voice cracking, "When I saw those texts, I was terrified."

"I'm glad you checked your phone," you say. "For a while, I thought you wouldn't."

"I could feel that something was wrong."

Your throat hurts. "Did you mess up your mission tonight because of me?"

"Honey, I would do anything for you," he says. "I'd abandon a thousand missions to keep you safe. I'd burn this city to the ground."

Another night, you would remind him that he's a hero. That he fights for the greater good. That he is good.

Tonight, you take comfort in the vow.

"I'm so proud of you," he whispers. "You were so brave. You did so well."

Your fingers twist in his shirt. Your nose nestles into the hollow at the base of his throat perfectly, so you hear every breath he takes, every rumble in his throat when he talks. You press a kiss to his chest just above the neckline of his shirt, and his throat jumps.

Jason makes a strangled noise, then wraps his arms even tighter around you. He throws one leg over your hip, completely covering you, pressing you into the couch. You would feel suffocated if it was anyone else.

You fall asleep faster than you ever have before, secure that Jason won't let anything happen to you during the night. The last thing you register before unconsciousness is his dry lips pressed to your forehead again. Making sure you're alive. Reassuring you that he's here and always will be.

DC taglist:

@evalynanne @mismatchsposts

Forever taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit  @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

Let me know any requests you guys have or if you want to be added to a taglist!

[shotmrmiller]

I'm your only situationship.

A/N : yall i stayed up til 324 am writing this. I felt like if i went to bed still only having it as a thought and not on 'paper' thats unacceptable. If i gotta think about this then so do yall! it was also supposed to be a small one shot but it got wildly out of hand im not sorry.

18+ MDNI

TW: typical smut, EXPLICIT mmkay im talkin clutch ur pearls explicit.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Simon had finally come home from a grueling 6-month mission. All he wanted was some Kentucky bourbon with you at your favorite seedy bar. 

Once he was home, Simon cleaned up, put on a black clinical mask, and sent a text to you to meet him there. As he finished his first glass of the night, a rather attractive young woman approached him, asking if she could buy him a drink. 

“Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around, lovie?”

“Not at all. This is after all the 21st century. I’m simply asking— wouldn’t want any missus at home getting upset.”

“There’s no one at home for me, lass.”

“Well then, how about you get yourself another glass, my treat, and we’ll see where this night takes us?” 

He slightly nodded —he’d never say no to a free drink— and as she left to order a drink, he took his phone out to text you again.

“C’mon, pet. I’ll cover the tab. Too good f’me, now?”

His phone vibrated a minute later.

“I can’t today, Si.”

“Why not? I know you don’t go out on Sundays.”

As the young woman came back, drinks in hand, he lifted the screen to read your response.

“I’ve got a dick appointment~ It’s been a year and then some and I’m gonna claw at my walls if I don’t get a fix ASAP.”

Simon goes tense— soft blues hardening to a silver and he’s gripping his phone so hard it might crack. He pulls up your contact and calls you within seconds.

“Hiya, Si!” 

“What the fuck is a dick appointment?”

“Oh,” you giggle. “I forget you older folk don’t know ‘bout that. It’s just a one-night fling. No commitments or nothin'.’ Exactly what I need right now.” You don’t tell him that the reason you’ve practically regrown your hymen is that when you’re best friends with Simon, every other male in existence pales in comparison. 

“Anyway Si-, he’s getting here in like an hour-”

“No.” And hangs up. 

The young woman who’s casually rubbing his bicep and shoulder gets practically flung off of him, as he gets up off the bar stool so fast it’s falling back with a loud clang, and he’s yanking his leather jacket on and pulling on his leather gloves so hard they’re about to become fingerless—

“Hey! I thought you didn’t have a girlfriend?!”

One gloved hand gripping the front door, he turns his head slightly to her and says, “Pet, with how good I’m gonna fuck her, she won’t even have to ask to know she’s mine.”

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You’re standing in the bathroom with your liquid eyeliner in one hand and phone in the other, staring at the ended call screen. ‘Weird,’ you think, then shrug and put the phone down. ‘Maybe the call got dropped.’

You finally complete the look with your false lashes when there’s a very hard knock on your door. You frown as you look at your phone screen. ‘7:14 pm’. You know the guy said at 8 and you’re in one of Simon’s big shirts he always forgets and your hair is still tied up in an oversized pink and white polka dot scrunchie— The pink leopard print booty shorts you’ve got on will suffice. 

The second time there’s a knock it’s even louder. 

“Jesus Christ, I’m coming!” 

You open the door and say, “I’m sorry I took so long, I—”

Simon flies past you, with a rough shoulder bump and you turn to look at him and he’s almost sprinting to the bedroom, slamming the door open—

“Simon, what the fuck? What’re you doin—”

“Where is he?”, he snarls.

“Who?! Are you talking about my date? He’s not getting here til 8! And why’re you slamming doors in my apartment like you pay my rent?!”

You see Simon deflate immediately at the important part of your answer and chooses to ignore the rest as he takes off his jacket and walks to your hall closet to hang it. Closing your door and locking it, you growl out,

“You need to leave. I haven’t even finished getting ready. I promise I’ll—”

“No, pet.”

“Will you quit interrupting me! Simon, I swear—”

“Pet.” 

You’re holding a scream behind your teeth, about to rip the hair out of your scalp when you see Simon take one loop of his mask off from around his ear and then the other. You gape. You’ve seen Simon without his mask— that isn’t the reason you can no longer find your voice. It’s the way he put his gloved middle finger in between his teeth and pulled it off so sensually. You can feel your cheeks and ears radiate heat from just seeing the tip of his pink tongue. Christ, you’re down horrendously.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, to distract yourself from the fact that you’re getting wet over an interaction so chaste when Simon is touching your ass, giving it a hard squeeze, before moving down to the back of your thighs and lifting you up. You startle at the movement and throw your arms around his neck out of habit, hoping he won’t drop you in the move to your bedroom.

He presses you against the wall with his hips, then grabs both of your ankles from behind his lower back and hooks the back of your knees over his forearms. Simon noses your jaw and starts grinding his clothed erection deliciously hard over the definitely wet spot on your shorts and growls out, 

“If you think,” grind “that I’m gonna allow My,” grind “Girl,”  grind—and you whimper in his ear,  “get fucked by some little cock two pump chump,” he gives a forced chuckle, “you must be daft, pet. Or maybe you’re doing it on purpose, eh? Trying to get my attention? Well, you’ve got it now. “ 

He moves his face to hover his lips over yours— you can lightly smell the bourbon he drank earlier— and he whispers, “You ever like this and I’m around, you come to me. And if I’m away, you wait for me like a good girl and when I come back I’ll give this,” he taps your pussy over your shorts, “greedy little cunt all the cock it can take.”

With a shaky breath, you nod before he kisses you, his bourbon-flavored tongue curling against yours, and you’re moaning into it because you’ve wanted this for too long and he’s finally touching you. Curling your fingers into his ash-brown hair, you move your mouth to his neck, to the right of his adam’s apple, took a bit of skin between your teeth and sucked. 

Simon hisses, dips his fingertips into your flesh hard enough to bruise, and all but yanks you off the wall to toss you onto your bed. 

You yelp as you bounce from the force of his throw— you’re still bouncing on the bed when Simon grabs the waistband of your shorts and knickers to pull right off, which you’re grateful for because the grey knickers you got on aren’t what anyone would wear for a first, second nor third impression.

Simon grabs both of the back of your knees with one hand,  goddamn bear paws, you think, before you feel his tongue in between your lips— so warm and wet and fuck, you needed this, needed him— and he flicks his tongue up and down on your clit. He sticks his long middle finger into you and it goes in without resistance, you’re slippery, drooling over his wrist and finger that’s curled up into the rough patch of nerves against your gummy walls, that he’s pressing into, over and over. God you’re about to come, your legs shake in his one-handed hold and you’ve got a white knuckle grip on the forearm you’re sinking your nails into—

Simon pulls away. You were so close, your eyes start watering because he can’t possibly be this mean to you but then you see him shove his tongue in between his middle and ring finger, eating up your nectar when he says, “The first time I’m gonna make you come, it’ll be on my cock. I want to see the frothy white cream you're gonna leave at the base.” 

You’re nodding hysterically at this point, anything for him to make you come, anything for him.  With a twirl of his index, he’s telling you to get on all fours. Scrambling, you turn over and arch your back— resting your head on your forearms— and you feel his calloused palms run down from your spine to your ass cheeks before he gives it a spank. 

“You have a condom?” 

You shake your head and you mewl out, “No, but I’m clean.”

“Good. I don’t want anything between us.”

You arch your back further, pressing your ass further into his hips when you hear his belt buckle clank and zipper open. Simon brings his palm to your other cheek, reddening it. 

“Fuckin’ hell, pet. Look at you spread out for me.” 

You feel warm velvet over steel over your slit before he slowly pushes inside, not all the way but about a little over half of his length, remembering that your g-spot is a little closer to the front. Fast, relatively shallow thrusts hitting your spot with almost clinical precision have you reeling, your orgasm about to break you, mind and body. Hands tightening painfully, you shatter— loud, high-pitched whines, ringing in your ears and pussy pulsing around Simon’s thick girth— and god, Simon doesn’t stop thrusting. He keeps the same smooth rhythm and you’d think he’s unaffected by the tight vice your pussy has him in— but you hear him, low, deep groans and a tighter grip on your hips telling you otherwise. 

He pulls out to bend over your back, completely covering it, and he murmurs in your ear, “I hope you didn’t think we were done. My girl wanted a fuckin’, now she’s gonna get it.” 

He takes off your pink, silly scrunchy and you see it around his tattooed wrist before he grabs your hair into a makeshift ponytail and is leaning back up and forcing your back to arch under his pull. You feel his leg at the height of your hips— propped up, foot flat on the bed and knee bent and the other straight on the floor and all you can think of is how this man is gonna kill you with his cock. 

Simon snaps his hips forward, fist full of hair pulling back,  stretching and filling in one strong thrust, bottoming out. He gives you no reprieve, no time to get used to how fucking deep he is, and sets an intense, firm pace that has you feeling a pinch below the navel every time his hip bones slap against your ass, balls to the clit and you love it. Every pinch in your lower belly has your pussy making a squelching sound and you can’t help yourself— you reach underneath your body to feel how split open you are with two fingers, encasing his cock and feeling the skin drag with them as he pulls out.

That has him hissing air between his teeth, he’s about to come but doesn't want it to be over so he pulls out, and opens your cheeks to spit in your furled hole, before pressing in with the pad of his thumb, and you’re almost screaming. He moves back a bit further to spit in your pussy, not that you need it— you’re drenching the sheets underneath you— and now he’s spearing you with his tongue before curling it, getting your juices pooled on it before coming back up, lips smacking, and he grabs your hair in his ponytail and now he uses his other hand to curls his fingers and palm over the front of your throat and that's all it takes for your vision to darken and arms go limp but he’s again, fucking you through your orgasm and this time you leave a creamy white ring at the base of his length. 

“Oh, fuckin hell.” He groans out and it sounds desperate and you know he’s close.

“Come in me, Simon. Please fill me up, I promise I’ll keep it all in.”

He gives a strained chuckle and says, “Pet, I can barely pull out of a driveway much less this tight little cunt.” He squeezes your throat hard, strands of hair popping out of your scalp and his cock feels massive, the pinch in your stomach feels like a cramp from how deep he is and he lets out a low drawn out moan that lasts 3 thrusts— and then there’s warmth filling you up, so much so it leaks from the sides of where you two are connected. Simon lets go of your hair and you fall face-first onto the bed, exhausted. Defeated. Back properly broken. You officially know what it’s like to get fucked within an inch of your life and you love it. 

He pulls out slowly, with a hiss from both of you and with one hand on your left cheek, he spreads you to look at your stuffed hole.

“Fuck. I love seeing me drip out of you.” 

You’re about to tell him to sod off when the doorbell rings and the both of you stiffen and lock eyes. With a mean snarl, Simon grabs a towel from your bathroom and his mask before stomping his way to answer the door, pink obnoxious scrunchy still on his wrist.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

[beloveds-embrace]

I dunno if I've harassed you yet buuuut,

I just read the newest take on the text and they'll be there guard dogish 141, and just. What if an anxious little bird just walks up to one it the group and just squeezes into the crowd and just.

"ignore me I'm about to lose my shit" or just stands there and gives a small hi cause they're overstimmed or need a break or someone's been creepy and they see that people keep a wide berth from said person or group.

Hi I'm excited I hope anything here made a bit of sense. Also possible reverse 'guard dog' distribution system, the small bird doesn't find a dog. The dog finds a bird.

You aren’t harassing me at all! Please don’t ever feel like that 😭💕 i love, love both scenarios, so I’ll do the second one later as well. Thank you for this wonderful ask!

The dim hum of the pub was comforting- warm light glowing against worn wood, the steady murmur of conversations buzzing around you. It had been your usual spot for a quiet drink after a hard week, but tonight was different, and not in a good way.

Someone had been watching you, and not in the harmless, fleeting way most people did. His gaze lingered too long, his smirk too wide, his attempts to approach you far too persistent even when you refused the drink he’d sent towards you. When you’d brushed him off the third time like that, you could see clearly on his face that he didn’t like that.

Men like him were common, but that just made them all the more dangerous.

The weight of his presence was suffocating, so you’d bolted toward the one corner of the room where you felt the most secure. Them.

You’d seen them here before- an unassuming group at first glance, but the way they carried themselves screamed “don’t mess with us.” Four men with their thighs each bigger than your head at the very least, and tonight, they were your only hope.

Standing up and doing your best to ignore the angry gaze practically boring into you, you approached their table cautiously, feeling several pairs of sharp eyes land on you. Mutton chops tilted his head, pretty boy stood from his seat slightly, brow furrowed. Mohawk’s wide grin faltered, replaced with curiosity, while the last one’s gaze, though obscured by his balaclava, was cold and assessing.

You should probably ask for their names. If they let you sit you with them, that is.

“Uh- so sorry to bother,” you started, voice shaking slightly. “But…there’s this guy…” You didn’t need to finish. Balaclava’s attention shifted subtly, big shoulders tightening as his eyes flicked past you. Mohawk’s grin returned, but this time, even in the dim light, you could tell it was dangerous.

“Where?” Mutton chop asked, his voice steady but just as sharp as his eyes

You subtly nodded toward the man at the bar, who was now visibly trying to act like he wasn’t watching your every move. The second he noticed who you were speaking to, his face drained of color. He turned away, gripping his drink like it might shield him.

Pretty boy snorted. “Well, ain’t that something? Big man suddenly doesn’t have the guts, eh?”

“Stay here.” Balaclava said firmly, standing up with the kind of slow, deliberate movement that made your stomach flip. The other three followed suit, each moving with the kind of quiet unity that could only come from working together for years. Maybe they were a team? You knew there was a military base somewhere nearby, could they be from there?

Still, you obeyed and stayed behind, heart thundering in your chest as they approached the man- not from fear, but from excitement. Ghost leaned in, his imposing frame towering over the guy. Whatever was said was too low for you to hear, but the way your harasser paled, hands shaking as he grabbed his coat and bolted from the pub, told you enough.

When they returned and introduced themselves, Soap clapped you lightly on the back with a bold grin. “Dinnae think he’ll be botherin’ you again, lass.”

Price pulled a chair out for you, right with their table. “Sit. You’re safe here. Anyone who’s got a problem with you’s got a problem with us now.”

You sank into the chair, warmth spreading through your chest. You didn’t know them, not really, but in that moment, you felt like you’d just gained four overprotective, no-nonsense bodyguards. Is this what celebrities felt like? It was amazing.

“Thank you, really,” you repeated, giving them such a grateful, blinding smile. “Again, I’m so sorry for bothering you like that. It was just-“

Gaz shook his head, not letting you finish. “No need to, love. We don’t mind at all. Just enjoy your night now, yeah? No more of pricks like him bothering you.”

And judging by the way Soap was already offering to buy you a drink and Ghost’s subtle but watchful eye, you were honestly more than okay with that.

[ba9go]

(nsfw) bestfriend!bakugou catches you sneaking over

🔞 minors please do not interact!!! nsfw under the cut

bestfriend!bakugou x fem!reader, college au (bkg & reader are both of legal age), masturbation, heavy petting, loss of virginity, degradation, teasing, praise kink, fingering, clitoral stimulation, rough sex

summary: you get caught masturbating in his bed

part 3/3 of the bestfriend!bakugou likes to sneak over series (completed)

back to part 1 (sfw) 💥 part 2 (sfw)

about a month after katsuki’s parents found out about you, his darling best friend since childhood and now his girlfriend, sneaking over late at night, they gave you a spare key to the house. you had initially refused their offer, red-faced and stammering profusely, “nononono, i couldn’t! this is too much—” but mitsuki kept insisting, and katsuki couldn’t stand anymore of her damn whining and told you to just take the damn key. you relented.

the next day, katsuki decided to hit the gym after school and told you to go home first.

“huh? but your mom’s cooking dinner tonight, isn’t she?” you frowned. it was a friday. you always ate dinner at katsuki’s on fridays.

katsuki raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “no shit?”

“then why would i go home? i’ll just wait for you to finish up at the gym and go back with—”

“i meant my home, dumbass.”

“i can’t sneak over when you’re not home!”

“who the fuck said anythin’ ‘bout sneakin’? you have a fuckin’ key, for fuck’s sake!”

for some reason, using the key to unlock the door later that day felt more egregious than all the other times you had snuck over to katsuki’s place. you thanked the stars that katsuki’s parents were working. that definitely made things slightly less nerve-wracking for you.

still, you couldn’t help but take your phone out to text katsuki.

you: suki

you: i’m home

katsuki’s reply came after a few moments (he always left notifications for your chat turned on, even at the gym).

katsuki💣: Ok

you: i’m gonna go shower

you: then i’ll revise for next wk’s history test

katsuki💣: Cool status report I guess.

you pouted at his dry response.

you: ure so mean

you: it’s weird doing things at ur place when ure not home

you: feels wrong

katsuki💣: The point of having a damn key is for you to come over

katsuki💣: Even when I’m not around

katsuki💣: I’ll see you later idiot

katsuki💣: Stop spamming me

you sighed. katsuki was right.

you: okayyyyy see you later

you: i love you

katsuki💣: You know I love you too

you smiled, reacting to his message with a ‘❤️’. katsuki was right about that too.

you showered and slipped into one of katsuki’s hoodies. on katsuki, the hoodie fitted his shoulders and broad frame just right, but on you, it was oversized.

you sat on katsuki’s bed and whipped out your notes and laptop to start studying. about two hours later, you found yourself increasingly bored. it was weird, not having katsuki around. even if katsuki was more or less silent when you two studied together, he’d always be there to check in on you occasionally, grabbing your hand to press gentle kisses on each of your knuckles, or grabbing an elastic band (he kept a few on his nightstand for you) to bun up your hair.

you contemplated texting katsuki, but it was already almost 5pm; he should be back anytime now.

maybe you should take a break from studying. you sighed, getting up from the bed to place your study materials onto katsuki’s desk. you plopped back down in bed, pulling the covers over yourself.

like this, you were completely engulfed in katsuki’s scent — sweet, musky caramel. you had always been addicted to katsuki’s smell. you wish he was here to hold you, in his big, strong arms. god, he’s so big. and fuck, he must’ve looked so good at the gym, in that black compression tee that you bought for his birthday last year. you can’t believe he’s your boyfriend. yours, yours, yours—

you eyes squeeze shut, and you can’t help the way your hips start grinding into the pillow between your legs. it’s so hot down there, and you just wish katsuki was here to hold you, touch you, make you feel good—

you gasped, and your hand moves downwards, beneath the waistband of your and into your panties. your pussy is soaking, dripping, throbbing, and you can’t help the tiny moan that escapes your parted lips. it had only been a month since you and katsuki had started dating, but you’ve been growing increasingly pent-up and frustrated; every time one of your makeout sessions got too steamy, katsuki would always pull away, kissing you sweetly on the forehead. you knew katsuki well enough to know that it wasn’t because he didn’t want you (fuck, you’ve seen, felt his erection press against your thigh so many times), but because he, the perfectionist that he is, wanted your first time together to be perfect.

you found it endearing, really, you had always known that katsuki has always been sentimental about things, especially when it came to you, but fuck, you wanted him, needed him.

“fuck, katsuki,” you moaned. you were getting impatient. you brought your fingers to your clit, rubbing quick, hard circles. you wanted to cum, fuck, your pussy— “feels too good. hnng— fuuuck, m’close, m’gonna cu—”

“feelin’ good without me?” you imagine katsuki on top of you, smirking down deviously at you, eyes bright with mischief. you whine, and your hand stops.

“fuck, m’sorry,” you whimpered, grabbing katsuki’s hoodie to pull it up to your face. you writhe, feeling your pussy throb in want as you inhale the scent deeply. “wanna feel good with you, wanna make you feel good, ‘suki, please, please, i’ll do anyth—”

the covers are ripped away from you, your body suddenly exposed to cold air. you gasp, eyes flying open to see— oh, fuck.

katsuki stands at the edge of the bed, and god, he really is in that damn compression tee, and you moan at the sight. your fingers continue moving against your clit for a moment, but you watch as katsuki’s eyes flickered down to the movement, to your bare, exposed, leaking pussy, and you cross your legs shyly.

“y/n,” katsuki grits out, dragging his eyes slowly up to meet your gaze. you wonder if you’re imagining the lust swimming in his eyes, or if it’s just your own lust that’s clouding your judgement. you bite your lip, embarrassment washing over you, but you can’t tear your gaze away from katsuki.

“y/n,” katsuki repeats. he doesn’t move. “tell me to fuck off, and i will.”

you look at him, standing at the foot of the bed, jaw clenched and fists balled into tight fists at his sides. his face is flushed, and you almost feel sorry for putting him in this situation.

“don’t go,” you whimpered. “need you, ‘suki.”

and suddenly, katsuki is on top of you, arms and legs caging your body while his hands cup your cheeks. he kisses you, and your lips fall open with an embarrassingly loud moan, and katsuki’s tongue forces its way into your mouth. you didn’t think you could want him more, but in that moment, feeling the wetness of his slick tongue against yours, you think you do. you rub your thighs together, already sticky from your juices.

katsuki pulls away, and you whine. he ignores the way you wrap your arms around his neck, trying to pull him back down for another kiss.

“ya sure ‘bout this?” katsuki says, voice gruff but stern. a hand goes to the top of your head and he ruffles your hair slightly, before ducking his head down to bury his face in the crook of your neck. “need ya to be sure.” he kisses your neck.

“katsuki,” you moan as katsuki begins suckling at the spot, biting and licking and sucking. “fuck me, please?”

katsuki groans, his hips falling as he finally grinds down against you. your hips move upwards reflexively to press your core against his. fuck, he’s so hard.

“you,” he growls accusingly. “said ya didn’t wanna come over, cuz it felt wrong?” his hands find their way to your hoodie (correction: his hoodie) and he tugs at it. you tug at his shirt in response, and he shifts backwards to undress himself. you do the same.

you stare at katsuki, clad in just his boxers. big, is all you can think as you stare at the obvious outline of his dick.

when he lies on top of you again, your naked bodies are pressed flushed against each other. this time, however, his hands are cupping your breasts, and he presses featherlight kisses on the top of your chest, making you whine.

“why did it feel wrong, huh?” katsuki presses, eyes darting upwards to meet yours. his touch finds your nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers harshly. a smug smirk tugs at the corner of his lips at the drawn-out moan that the touch illicits from you. his hands continue moving down and down, tickling over your skin, until one hand ghosts over your leaking pussy. his other hand holds your waist.

he takes two fingers and drags them along the wet slit of your cunt, smearing your slick all over his fingertips.

“katsuki, fuck!” you cry out, voice a garbled mess as your hips stutter.

shamelessly, katsuki continues to tease you. he finally tears his gaze from yours as he brings his face down to your pussy. he looks at his fingers, coated and glistening in your thick juices.

katsuki brings his fingers between his lips, and sucks on them obscenely, sticking his tongue out to lick around them, between them—

you moan like a bitch in heat.

“is this why, hm?” katsuki pulls his fingers out his mouth with a ‘pop’. without warning, he shoves his fingers into your dripping cunt. your hand flies to your mouth, and you try to stifle your screams as he begins thrusting his fingers in and out.

“felt wrong cuz you knew you wouldn’t be able to control yourself, right?” katsuki demanded, eyes flicking hungrily between the fucked-out look on your face and your pussy. “you knew you’d start touching yourself like this, like a needy slut, the moment i’m not around to keep an eye on you.” he rubs a thumb against your clit, and you cum around his fingers.

your eyes squeeze shut, moaning and moaning as you tremble under his touch. katsuki continues rubbing your clit, relishing in your noises and the shivers that wrack through your body, until your hips are squirming away from overstimulation.

“dirty girl,” katsuki scolds, though his face is more smug than angry. “what am i gonna do with you, hm?”

“f— fuck,” you stutter through gritted teeth, still coming down from the highs of your orgasm. “fuck me, kats.”

“can’t hear you,” katsuki smirks. he pulls his fingers out of your dripping cunt, and pries your lips open with them until they’re shoved deep in your mouth. your eyes sting with tears and you start to choke as his fingers hit the back of your throat. “speak up, sweets.”

“f— fua—“ you tried to speak around his fingers, but your words came out a garbled mess.

“hah?” katsuki snickers. you’re too horny to be mad. “come again?�� this time, katsuki relents, and pulls his fingers out of your mouth.

“fuck me, please,” you manage to choke out between your coughs. katsuki takes pity on you, you think, as he presses an apologetic kiss to the corner of your lips.

“slut.”

katsuki flips you over onto your belly, and you instinctively prop yourself on your hands and knees as he positions himself behind you. curiously, you twist your head to look at him and holy shit—

katsuki’s boxers are off, and his cock is so big. it’s thick and veiny, and you make a mental note to suck him off later, but for now, you let out an impatient whine as you back your hips to grind your ass against his cock.

katsuki clicks his tongue disapprovingly. he places his hands on your ass, kneading the soft, fleshy fat, as he lines his cock to your entrance.

you let out a moan when you feel the head of his dick press against your entrance. then, he presses in and—

“fuuuuuck—”

“fuckin’ hell,” katsuki groans, hands moving to hold your waist as he bottoms out inside of your pussy. his dick is so deep inside you. your pussy throbs and clenches around him. “such good pussy. so perfect,” he starts thrusting, and you start seeing stars.

“yer so good for me,” katsuki rasps, and you moan happily at the praise.

“yes, yes, yes, all for you, ‘suki, all yours, love you, love your dick so much,” you babble. your hands fumble around the bed until you find what you’re looking for - katsuki’s hoodie - and you pull it towards you before sinking your face into it. the smell drives you crazy.

“greedy girl,” katsuki says with a slap to your ass. his hips thrust into you faster, harder. “already fuckin’ you senseless, and you still want that thing? fuckin’ insatiable.” you try to apologise, for being such a slut, but as katsuki’s pace becomes punishing, you can only let out broken screams.

“shit, m’not gonna last like this, sweets,” katsuki pants shakily, hands gripping your waist even tighter. his thrusts become shallow and sloppy. “pussy’s too fuckin’ good.”

“s’okay, ‘sukiii,” you moan drunkenly, eyes rolling back. you’re already so fucked out, letting katsuki do all the work. “cum for me, wanna feel you cum inside me.”

one last thrust, and your words are pushing katsuki over the edge, and he barely makes it in time to pull out. as his cock spills warm, sticky cum all over your ass and back, katsuki lets out a stream of curses, groaning quietly. he swears you’re going to be the death of him.

he presses a kiss to the back of your shoulder blade.

“ya’d better not lose that fuckin’ key.”

is it obvious that i haven’t written smut in like 3 years

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