#and I had the displeasure of watching them all

[lenoreshouse]

02.Lenores house

I visited the property today, and well first of all the neighbours where..strange to say the least. They watched me quite intensely as I walked up the path, one that is dead grass and dry dirt, made from shoes making the same steps continuosly over the years. This path streaks through the over grown garden, from the squeaking gate to the paint chipped door. Sticky plants reach out from each side, a lot of them caught and clung to my clothes.

The neighbours at first didn't do anything that odd. Sure, they stared at little too long through lacey netting, so thin it gave little cover for thier curious and wary eyes. But this area didn't seem the sort to have new visitors, so I can understand wanting to get a good look. Sus out the newbie, would this person be a friend or foe, would they be the sort to avoid.

I've had the displeasure of being stuck with an awful neighbour, one that was up all hours like an drunk angry owl nesting in the walls. I didn't expect them to introduce themselves, I'd have probably broken into an anxious sweat if they had. I'm not the most social or extroverted. if I was I wouldn't be moving into this tiny town all on my own. I would be in the city somewhere, doing whatever it is people in their twenties do, when their not bogged down by depression and loneliness. Maybe I should fake being sociable, perhaps that's where I'm going wrong. Am I really depressed or am I just growing too comfortable bed rotting and doomscrolling. Are these the symptoms or the cause, It's hard to tell. I wonder how many people are chasing serotonin with drinks and friends they don't really care for, and how many feel better for it. I want to know how long that high lasts, the fall must be messy.

They definitely don't have to worry about parties or loud noise from me that's for sure. I might just have to introduce myself to them, just to ease this tension. They watched me struggle with the old lock , watched me push the wooden door that had expanded, now pressed too tightly to the frame and every time I looked back and gave a small smile or wave, they just.. kept staring. It was definitely a little awkward and unnerving.

Strange neighbours aside, I do have an update on the state of the house. Its cluttered and damp, but not completely worn away. The downstairs clutter is mostly old furniture and a lot of boxes filled with random crockery spreading from the living room into the hallway and half climbing up the stairs. That will be fun to navigate. Hopefully I don't break my ankles. It seems like most of the work will be sorting through all the boxes and seeing what furniture is salvageable. Maybe I can see if my new neighbours want any, could be a way to break the ice. I'll be back for another visit soon, just to bring some things in and start cleaning it.

- A.H

←01.

[alexa-yukiyu]

I have this request for ASL where one day garp came over and introduce them to a newborn baby girl he found on one of the abandoned ships he decides to adopt her and leave her with dandan and asl and they boys got attach to her especially luffy they decided when they were gonna run away to live in the treehouse, they decided to take the baby. Can you just show milestones of her growing up with them? Like how would they take care of her when shes a newborn. Infant and toddler like her keeping them up all night with her crying and if u can show a couple of times where they almost kill her If you could give her a name, something luffy would give like joy or something all her milestones growing up with them if possible

Baby Monkey ft ASL brothers

A/ Ahhh ong I was so excited to write this but now I ‘m kinda nervous. I hope you like it Nonnie I know you’ve been waiting for a hot minute so hope it was worth the wait 🙏🏽 please let me know what you think

Reader here is replaced by dokucha which stands for reader in japanese for the enjoyment of both reader and oc character readers!

Consider buying me a coffee!

Over in Mt. Colubo, in a small Cabin hidden among the trees, chaos could be heard from the inside as the bandits residing there happily ate a meal freshly hunted. Along with them were three children who were the culprits of the chaotic atmosphere. The three chatted excitedly about their future pirate crews, the chat soon becoming a banter as the three tried to one-up each other; until the unexpected arrival of a familiar marine filled all the inhabitants with a feeling of dread.

“G-grandpa, who’s that?” Luffy questioned as he rubbed his head and lifted himself slightly after being beaten to the ground by said man, along with his brothers. In the arms of the man sleeping soundly despite the violence he had just delivered, lay a baby, dwarfed by Garp’s build

“This is… Monkey D Dokucha, your sister,” he replied, grabbing the baby by her underarms and dangling her in front of the three shocked boys.

“Hah?!” Luffy gaped

“Another one?!” Ace exclaimed, uncertainly looking at the awakening baby.

“She will be your responsibility from now on, you too, squirt,” he called, glancing at Sabo as he put the baby in his arms, freaking out the blond.

“You can’t just leave us with a baby. We’re not taking care of it, Old man!” Ace yelled, pointing at the infant, incredulous at the news.

“You will,” Garp growled, punching Ace down for his comment.

“She’s so tiny,” Luffy commented approaching Sabo, tilting his head at her babbling. Her chubby arms stretched out, attempting to grab one of the boys. Curious, Luffy extended his own hand, watching as the baby grasped his fingers, babbling seemingly satisfied.

“She’s 6 months old; give her a few months, and she will double; it’s your job to turn her into another fine marine.”

“Huh??” But we’re not gonna be marines; she’s gonna be a pirate just like us!” Luffy protested, pulling his finger off, much to her displeasure, and turned to the man, determination on his face.

“Shut up, Luffy,” Ace hissed, still on the ground attempting to recover from the hit.

"Oh, Ho? Seems you three are in need of some good cadet drills" he called slamming his fists together with a mischivious but irked grin on his face as he looked down at them; the boys, feeling as their souls had been sucked out inmeddietly made a run for it.

"HAHA, Take this!" he called, easily throwing a punch Ace's way, which he managed to barely avoid, causing the man to destroy the tree behind him instead. He easily recovered and sent another punch, sending Ace sprawling to the ground again.

"Here we go!" he cackled, taking out Luffy next and sending him to slumber land with Ace. Then, with an evil glint in his eye, he turned towards Sabo.

"Wait, Wait!" Sabo exclaimed, holding Dokucha in front of him. The baby babbled confusedly in response.

"You'll hurt the baby," he cried out, attempting to reason his way out of a beating, letting out a sigh as the man let out a hum and lowered his fist.

"This should last her a while," He announced, pulling a small bag from who knows where and dropping it at Sabo's feet.

"Well, that's enough training for today. Be prepared, I won't go easy on you tomorrow!" He waved off as he turned around, walking deeper into the forest and out of sight from the blonde.

"T-That was going easy?" Sabo muttered.

"Old man is a monster," he shuddered, looking at his brothers' unconscious bodies and then at the baby in his hands, which seemed to have been used to the harsh movements and chaos as they appeared unaffected by the events that had just transpired.

"Mah-mah-mah." The baby babbled with a smile, attempting to mimic the boy.

"Can't believe you're related to him."

"Excuse me, I'm sorry to bother you, but we seem to have lost our parents. C-could you give us some help?" Sabo muttered, face pinched in worry.

"Hmm?" a man muttered, turning to the voice. His eyes widened as he spotted the preteen with the infant on his arms.

"Oh! My!" Hearing this his wife next to him gasped, and she, too, took them in.

"Oh! You must be so scared," she cooed bending down, a frown on her face, her lace umbrella giving the three of them much-needed shade from the scorching sun, giving a slight smile as the baby gurgled.

"Y-Yeah! But I have to be brave for my little sister, so I can't cry!" Sabo exclaimed, his gaze lowering momentarily to spot Luffy and Ace inching towards the couple's pockets.

"Oh! Such a responsible young man!" The man praised

"Come with us! I'm sure your parents are somewhere around here!" the woman exclaimed, beginning to straighten herself and turn around, much to Ace's and Luffy's horror.

"Actually!" Sabo hurriedly pushed out, gaining her attention

"What is it?" she worriedly questioned, unaware of the valuables that were currently being taken from them.

"Well, I was hoping you could point me in the direction of the market. My mom said that was where we were headed!" he improvised, watching as Ace gave him a thumbs up and made his way out of view.

"Oh! Of course, dear. You just have to go straight down and turn to your right; you will be able to see the market as soon as you turn."

"Alright! Thank you," he thanked her as he backed away from the couple

"Of course! Take care of your sister, alright?" She waved off.

"Heh!" They were packed, Ace exclaimed, shaking a bag of berries once the three of them had made their way back to the treehouse.

"I told you this would work! No one can say no to a baby!" Sabo grinned, scanning the different jewelry they had managed to take.

"Our sister is awesome, shishsihi," Luffy laughed, stretching his cheeks to unnatural proportions of the infant sitting in front of him.

Dokucha let out a string of laughs, happily clapping her hands at the boy's antics, gaining the attention of the other two boys.

It had been only two months since the youngest Monkey was dropped; Surprisingly, it was Sabo who had convinced the other two, though Luffy didn’t need much convincing, that perhaps having her around wasn’t as bad as they had initially thought. He recognized that it would be hard at first, but his heart had already melted the first time she was placed on his arms. Such a small creature; she looked so worry-free, laughing gleefully at the chaotic atmosphere the three naturally created. He couldn’t help but want to protect the freedom that she had at that moment, not having to worry about nothing but being able truly free.

Luffy was quite happy to have Dokucha with them. He loved his brothers, but they had little patience for his antics, something that Dokucha welcomed every time, greeting the boy with gleeful screams every time he interacted with her. He could always count on her being happy to see him after a frustrating training session, pent off stress from his body not moving like he wanted, melted off his body the moment the babbling girl crawled her way to him.

Ace. Ace had been the last one, and it had taken weeks of convincing from the other two to even attempt to bond with the girl. Whereas Luffy and Sabo saw someone free and carefree, he just saw a burden, someone who could fall over if the breeze hit the wrong way. It had taken an anger-filled day after a failed heist; craving for attention, the girl had climbed her way into his lap, and his rage had just paused. She looked at the girl in shock as she prodded him curiously; he was a goner after that.

“Dee! Dee!” She exclaimed happily, pointing at Luffy.

“Shishishishi that’s me! Monkey D Luffy!”

“Hah! That’s nothing. Look at this. Come here, Dokucha!” Ace called, watching as the infant lit up and crawled towards him. Eventually, she lifted herself up to her feet to reach him faster, only to fall as she lost her balance, her legs still not developed enough to support her weight. Thankfully, she was close enough, and Ace had managed to catch her before she fell, pulling her into his lap.

“C’mon, say my name!”

“Bah-bah?”

“No! Ace! Ace, A-C-E,” he pronounced slowly

“Eeh eeh!” She mimicked patting her legs as she did

“Good job! See! Says my name much better right Dokucha?” he called with a cocky grin to Luffy

“Ah!”

“Hah? No way! Mine was much Clearer!” Luffy growled

“She’s not even saying your name, she’s saying your middle letter; I have it too!” Ace scoffed out

“That’s what she calls me!” He shot back

Too involved in their argument, the two failed to notice as Dokucha stumbled her way off Ace and closer to Sabo, who welcomed her with a tight hug. He began tickling and laughing along with her.

“Bo!Bo!” She cheered, catching the brawling boys' attention as they looked at Sabo and the infant with wide eyes. Luffy was the first to pipe up

“That’s not fair!” He whined, crawling his way to the baby, a frown on his face.

“Why do you say his name?” He questioned

Dokucha, seemingly taking offense at the words, stumbled out of Sabo’s grasp and faced Luffy.

“Bah-gah-bah!” She babbled out, a frown on her chubby face.

“Nuh uh! You should be saying my name!”

“Dee-gah-gah,” she yelled back, aggressively waving her finger in his direction

“No!! Luffy! Not D; Luffy!” Luffy protested, fists at his side as he grew more annoyed as she blew raspberries at him.

“You can’t talk to me like that! I‘m your big brother!”

Ace and Sabo could only watch with sweatdrops as the 7-year-old continued to have a full-blown argument with an infant he somehow understood.

How was it?

Taglist:

@Imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

@hannahbarberra162

@epochal-oracle

[iwantmyprizepet]

𝒱𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓈𝒽 ℐ𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝒴𝑜𝓊 - 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 12/?

Summary: Agatha and her money wreak havoc again…but does it really matter when she calls you kitten?

Word Count: 6.0k

A/N: I hope the kiss lives up to any expectations held 😅 (sorry for the delay ☘️) - Mich 😊💜 

18+

AO3 Previous Part

My Royal Taglist: @morgananyx @6stolenangel9 @ahintofchaos @coffeemelko @xblinkx2

////

Janice uncharacteristically hugged me tight when she got in. She had so many questions and I answered them the best I could. I’d talked to her on and off after the accident keeping her updated. 

I pushed her to call Chloe before foot traffic picked up. She’d been nervous to bother her so she hadn’t, but I assured her it was fine. 

She looked lighter after the phone call and shot me a nod. 

The grapevine worked like a charm in our town. An onslaught of questions about Chloe bombarded me the first couple of hours. It was touching how many people cared, but oh my gosh was it exhausting. 

I called Brooks and Chloe around eleven to check in. They both seemed at ease. It was pretty much a definite she was being sent home tomorrow. I promised I’d swing in later on for a bit before hanging up.

Shockingly, my mom had only called me once this morning. A short one that didn’t last long.

I sipped my second coffee at noon. My eyes felt heavy, begging to shut for some sleep. It was with great effort that I tried to keep myself moving. I knew if I stood still too long I’d start to crash. 

I thought I’d maybe hit the stage of hallucinations when I saw Agatha walking to the door. A bag was on one shoulder as the other held up her phone to her ear.

She swept in casually. “Well, everyone will live. I’m getting on now. Okay bye.” I eyed her quizzically with a smile as she approached the counter. Her hardened gaze softened as it fell on me.

“To what do I owe this surprise?” I asked grinning, leaning back against the counter with my arms crossed.

She placed her bag on a stool and dug out her laptop shrugging. “I really didn’t need to be in the office after this mornings meeting so” She dragged out the last word as she opened the laptop and typed quickly. Her blue eyes shifted to me in the usual piercing way that made my heart race. “I figured I’d come make sure my favorite made it through the rest of her day in one piece.” The words stuttered my heart. “I will need the wifi though.” 

Favorite.

She sat and looked up to me, tongue running under her top lip. I followed it’s path. By the time it moved from one side of her mouth to the other, she was smirking.

“You can stare as long as you’d like, after I get the password.” 

My eyes popped up to hers midway through her sentence. I felt the blush creep in at the end of it. Every inch of her face was savoring what she was doing to me. 

Wordlessly, I placed my phone next to her Mac to share the password. Her smirking held strong as she turned to her screen and accepted. “Thank you. You may proceed.” 

I was saved by the bell as a customer entered. 

Janice could not help herself and eventually came out for an introduction. I could feel her staring since Agatha arrived. The three of us exchanged easy chatter for a while before Janice went back to fix an order for someone.

I’d just got off a quick call with Chloe. They let her get up and walk around today, which she was ecstatic about.

Agatha was scrolling on her computer when I returned. Her left elbow on the counter, fist holding up her head as it scrunched up with displeasure. 

She took on a different persona throughout the day. I’d get a fleeting sweet smile then it would morph into a serious calm as a notification dinged on her screen. 

Business had slowed to a crawl and now only a couple of stragglers were in different corners. 

As I watched on, her face softened as she tapped her long fingers against the keys. “You’re staring again.”

I rolled my eyes and snorted. “Yeah, I have been all day. We don’t need to point it out.” 

She turned her head at that, attacking me with big smiling eyes. Her hand reached out across the counter skimming across mine. I flipped my hand palm up as she started dancing patterns across it with her fingertips. I caught a glimpse of a customer approaching and pulled my hand back. I only broke the lingering stare between us as the bell rang. 

My face dropped as I looked up. “Mom.” I uttered out. “What are you doing here?” 

She paused for only a second, looking between Agatha and I. “Just checking in, dear.” She approached and my eyes shot to Agatha for a second. Her head was down, neutral as she scrolled. 

“How’s Chloe?” She asked stopping right in front of me across the counter. 

“I just got off the phone with her actually. She’s up and walking, probably home tomorrow.” My heart was still racing as I continuously willed myself not to look over at Agatha.

“That’s great news.” Her smile faded, eyebrows tucking down. “You know, your father and I are leaving Monday for Florida. If you need us to stay we can change that.” I let out a long sigh placing my hands on the counter. “Mom, really I’m fine. You can go.”

She’s always been a little overprotective, but it seemed heightened this past week even before Chloe.

“Well, we don’t want you to be alone. We really can stay.” She shook her head tapping a hand against her purse strap. “You’ve seemed off lately.” I was trying to push it away, but my anger was bubbling a bit. “Mom.” It came out too sharp so I paused to settle it. “Listen, I’m not alone. Please keep your plans. I am okay. In fact I’m better than okay, works just been busy.”

Agatha’s presence was like a weight on every second.

Mom eyed me with a caution. I could see her brain spinning behind her stare.

I spoke up again. “Look, I’ll pick you and dad up on Monday. We’ll get lunch and I’ll drive you to the airport, okay?”

She nodded slowly and I could tell she still wanted to fight it. 

Agatha sat in my peripheral still focused on her computer. 

“Okay.” Mom’s hand clutched her purse straps as she said it. “Call me later.” 

I nodded and let out a quiet sigh. “I will, love you.” 

“I love you too.” She turned and just for a fraction of a second let her gaze drag over Agatha.

It wouldn’t have been noticeable to anybody else. I ignored it chalking it up to my paranoia.

After she drove away a silence hung between Agatha and I.

“I’m sorry.” I broke it with an apology. 

Agatha finally looked up, eyes racing across me. Everything was cool and collected apart from her eyes. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, darling.” 

I hated that she felt like a secret. I hated that I was making her feel like a secret. 

Slowly, I slid my hand across the counter reaching for hers. My shoulders dropped with relief as she met me halfway. 

A notification sounded from her laptop. Her hand stayed around mine. Fingers running patterns here and there. I watched them mesmerized. Watched her mesmerized. 

Agatha decided to order us dinner near closing. She insisted we eat together before I went to the hospital. She’d be in the city all day tomorrow and wouldn’t be back until Monday morning. 

The clock was ticking after we finished our food. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to leave her or watch her leave. 

An easy quiet bubble took over my house. I pulled my eyes off of her lips to check the clock. I needed to head out before visiting hours ended. 

I pulled my eyes back to her. My legs rest heavy over her lap. Agatha’s right arm lay over them stroking up and down. Her eyes were squinting at her phone, bottom lip tucked under her teeth. 

God, I wanted to fucking kiss her. It seemed like every time there was an interruption or a reason not to. Like right now for instance. Yeah, I could lean over and just do it, but then I’d be possibly breaking the promise of going to see my hospitalized friend. I knew if I kissed her I’d have to be catapulted away to stop. So I didn’t and she didn’t either. 

I wondered if she was waiting for me. If she thought I needed to make the first move. She really should know better after the phone number debacle.

I sighed swinging my legs off her and planted my feet on the ground.

“I need to go.” I whined standing up.

I’d gotten a second wind right before closing and that was very quickly fading.

She locked her phone and pushed forward wrapping me in her arms. 

“Want me to drive you?” She looked onto me soft and close. “I can have Randy pick you up later.” 

I thought on it for a moment before simply saying yes. It earned a wide smile from her. 

It took less than thirty seconds for her hand to find mine across the center console after starting the car. Her left expertly turned the steering wheel. It was way hotter than it had to be. 

The drive over was relatively quiet. I used the hand she wasn’t holding tightly to absently trace the back of hers. When she pulled up to the hospital, I looked over to her still gripping her hand. Her wavy hair framed her face perfectly. The surrounding low light lit up her face perfectly. Any lighting did really. Always perfect. 

Those upturned lips of hers drew my attention again. 

I tugged her arm, pulling her into me for a hug.

“Let me know when you’re ready to get picked up.” She whispered into my hair. “And call me when you get home.”

It hit me then that I’d be sleeping alone tonight. I sighed against her before pulling back. 

“I will. Thank you.” I was still so close to her face as I said it. I leant forward again and pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek. Her hand squeezed mine tightly as I did, her breathing showing signs of the moment between us. Even if it was just a little, she was flustered. I smiled and brought the hand I was holding up to my mouth for a kiss. She watched me with precision. I let out one final whisper. “Beautiful.” 

Her hand only let go of mine when I slipped too far to reach. I watched helplessly as she pulled away. 

Chloe looked so much better. Her parents and sister had left by the time I arrived. It felt like a normal hang with three of us. Apart from the hospital of course. 

I sent Agatha a text when I was leaving. I hugged them both tight with a promise I’d be on call for anything they needed tomorrow.

Randy was waiting out front patient as ever. I hopped in the back and we exchanged our usual simple greetings. The steady car ride had me dozing off a few times on the trip home. 

I shot Agatha a text saying I’d call after a shower when I got through the door. 

I was just getting ready to call and finally fall into bed when something caught my eye. I approached the counter quizzically. There on the surface were two crisp hundred dollar bills. I stared at the money for a few seconds. I shook my head and opened my phone to text Agatha.

‘Hey, did you accidentally leave cash on my counter?’

She replied right away.

‘Yes, not on accident though. Use it to take your parents out for lunch.’

My gut dropped reading it. I was ready to forget the Christmas card. Just move on and forget it happened. My desk drawer that held the thousand dollars took up less space in my mind every day. Now this. It turned my stomach flipping back and forth from the cash to her text.

‘I’m giving it back to you the next time I see you.’

I typed it quickly then placed the cash on top of the microwave. A text buzzed back from her.

‘No. Just consider lunch my treat.’ 

‘Call me, darling.’

I read both texts feeling weighed down. Why would she think I need money? I slid into bed setting my alarm for the morning. My thumb hesitated before pressing call.

“Hi, honey.” She spoke lightly. 

“Hey.” It was every ounce of energy I had in me to keep my voice steady.

“How’s Chloe?” The sound of a running faucet sounded for a few seconds.

It didn’t phase her, the texts we just exchanged. Onto the next discussion easily. 

I pushed through my anxiety. “She’s good. Home tomorrow.” 

“You okay?” She picked up on something in my tone. 

I shook my head and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Yeah, I’m just tired.” I reached to flick the light off. “I think I’m gonna pass out.” 

The money was eating away at me and clouding everything else.

“Okay.” She knew I was lying. “I uhm…I think I’m going to miss you quite a bit tonight, darling.”

My chest was aching for too many reasons. “I’m gonna miss you too, already do.” I started looking around my place, comparing it to the small glimpse I got of the inside of her house.

Her gentle voice seeped into me. “Get some sleep.” “Goodnight, beautiful.” It came out despite the turmoil I was in.

The low hum she responded with almost eased everything. “Night, my sweet girl.”

I closed my eyes to her words. Settled in the silence. Listened to her breathing for a few seconds before I hung up.

It took longer than I wanted it to, falling asleep. I couldn’t stop the thoughts zooming around about the money. Despite everything, the scent she’d left behind on the pillows and sheets comforted. I curled into the pillow she’d been using and fell asleep around it.

When I woke, the angst continued. Why did she think I needed money? It glared at me from on top of the microwave as I walked to the bathroom. 

I decided halfway through the day, I’d just talk to her about it. No big deal. The trench it was forming inside of me negated that slightly, but I tried to ignore it.

It was going to be fine. We’ll talk about it, I’ll finally kiss her and everything will be fine.

Chloe got released in the afternoon. She insisted I didn’t need to come see her after work. I didn’t even argue it. I was still so tired so it was honestly a relief. I promised I’d bring her breakfast in the morning. 

I was sewing through the grocery store when Agatha called. We had texted on and off throughout the day, but she was quite the busy bee in the city. It wasn’t a bad thing. It gave me the time to reflect and quiet my worries down so that they were tolerable in the back of my mind.

“Hey stranger.” I answered peering over the blueberries. 

“God, I miss you.” It came out of her almost desperate. My heart swelled at her words. Everything was going to be fine.

“I miss you too.” I examined a pack, deemed it acceptable and put it in the basket.

“What are you up to, sweet girl?” An obvious smile was on her tongue.

“At the grocery store. Promised Chloe I’d bring her favorite breakfast to her door in the morning. What are you up to city girl?”

She let out a snort widening my smile. “Laying in a hotel bed. Wishing you were here. That’s it really.”

It was actually baffling to have this woman pining after my presence. 

I peered my surroundings before speaking. “Your uhm.” I stopped myself feeling a blush crawl up. “My bed.” God what the fuck is wrong with me. “Well, it still smells like you.” The last part came out so quiet I didn’t even know if she’d hear it. I must have looked a sight wandering through the store flustered and blushing like a fool.

A deep laugh crawled out of her. “Well, I best hurry back before it’s gone.” The words held a hunger, distracting and consuming. 

I turned down an aisle and smacked right into a display of Lysol bottles. They clattered loud  spinning in every direction. 

“Oh, for fucks sake.” I seethed out and of course there was an employee watching the whole thing. “Shit, fuck. I just, fuck I’ll call you back.” 

“Okay, kitten.” Her voice was like a sirens trap. 

I hung up and nearly hurtled my phone a few aisles over. 

The employee who watched the fiasco helped me clean it up like a saint. Luckily nothing was damaged. I thanked him and apologized profusely. I could not get out of that store fast enough. 

I let out a long sigh and dropped my head when I got in my car. That woman turned me into an utter fucking mess. 

I didn’t call her back until I was safely settled in bed.

“I was ready to send a search party to all the local grocery stores.” Her voice held a smirk to it. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had access to the cameras in the store I was at. 

“Ha ha. Very funny.” I played unamused and buried my face in her pillow. The thing that caused the whole mess to begin with.

“Oh, don’t pout. What happened anyways?” 

I took a deep breath in and out before answering dryly. “I walked directly into a cardboard stand of Lysol spray cans. Literally went everywhere. They’re probably going to keep finding them under shelves for years to come.”

A creeping laugh grew out of her and I couldn’t keep from joining in.

Quiet settled and the stove light seemed to spotlight the money on the microwave. My gut tensed a bit. “I’ll be home around four after dropping my parents off tomorrow night. You free?” 

“I certainly am.” Her voice was made to allure.

“Perfect. I think I’m gonna try and sleep.”

“Alright, until tomorrow.” She paused a second. “Good thing you gave me this sweatshirt. I’d be lost without it on right now.” A deep breath in followed her words.

I smiled heart racing. “Cozy?” Was all I could whisper out.

She chuckled quietly. “Cozy and drowning in the smell of your perfume. I can almost imagine you right next to me if I close my eyes.”

“Agatha.” I whispered as I clutched her pillow breathing her in. “Miss you.”

“I miss you.” It almost sounded pained coming out of her. Her tone shifted gently. “Goodnight, sweet girl.”

I paused listening to her breathing for a second. “Night, beautiful.”

A throaty breath sounded out of Agatha as I hung up. 

I smiled over my churning insides. Everything would be fine.

Breakfast was a steady relief with Chloe and her family. Seeing her in her place, in her own clothes was like a long held breath released. 

I drove straight to my parents after. I took them to a restaurant downtown then right to the airport.

Mom only pushed five times to make sure I didn’t want them to stay. Dad made her drop it rather fast as she approached the sixth. Something was behind her eyes the whole time we were together. It was like she had something to say, but was holding back from doing so. 

Either way they were on their flight back to their place in Florida, and I was heading home. 

As four approached my nerves were at a high. I decided to confront her right when she got here. I didn’t think I’d be able to handle waiting longer than that.

She walked in and my throat felt caught around all the words wanting to press out. Agatha grabbed me tight swaying us back and forth. “I missed you.” I returned with just as much grip, if not more. “I missed you too.” My hands turned clammy against her coat. She pulled back and danced her blue eyes over me with a wide smile. As she turned to hang her coat I cleared my throat. 

“Agatha?” 

She looked over her shoulder smiling, slipping her heels off. “Yes, honey?”

Oh god. 

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” I rolled my shoulders trying to relax. It was fine.

She slowly turned, face holding a seriousness now. Her eyes glanced down to where my hand was pulling at the fabric of my jeans. I halted the tick instantly shoving my hand in my pocket. 

“Okay, listen.” I gulped down a deep breath and looked out the window before turning back to her. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this, but I really didn’t know how. Then I was gonna do it after the holidays and well, Chloe.” I trailed off watching her face twist with worry. She stepped closer stopping a couple of feet in front of me. “The card. Listen, I just…it made me uncomfortable and I was just going to forget it but then.” I trailed off again shakily watching her eyes pinch into small slits. “Well, you left two hundreds dollars on my table Agatha.” I breathed it out and stepped closer. “I don’t need money from you. It makes me feel really weird, I don’t know. So I basically just wanted to say it before I didn’t and it just festered and blew up.” It sounded so much less put together than I wanted it to. All this time thinking about this exact situation and it all came out in a mess. 

Her mouth opened as if to say something then closed. I couldn’t place a single emotion on her face. “It’s really not that big of a deal.” She looked almost confused as she said it.

I couldn’t help the scoff I’d been holding in as it came out. “Agatha, maybe to you it isn’t but to me it really is.” Her face sharpened and I felt myself backtrack. “I don’t want to make a big thing of it. I just wanted to tell you I don’t need money at random from you. I just want to be around you. Be with you.”

A harsh laugh filled with a disbelief left her mouth. “It was just a gift. Everyone can use money around the holidays.” Her hands were gesturing more now and a growing discomfort was settling behind her eyes.

It trickled a hint of anger in me. I stepped back shaking my head. “What is that supposed to mean?” Every negative emotion was growing and I felt helpless to it. “I don’t need money. I am perfectly okay. I mean, me years ago? Yeah, maybe but that’s besides the point.” I could tell she was getting more annoyed. “I’m aware we’re in very different statuses of income, but I am okay.” I could feel tears welling up. “I know, I know I live above my small job in a small apartment. It’s not perfect, but it’s me. I don’t have a super fancy car, but I love it. It doesn’t mean I need handouts.” Every bit of self doubt from the start swept back into me like a rush. “I don’t want you to see me as someone struggling that you need to help. I can afford my life.”

I hadn’t realized how dark her face turned until I stopped talking. It littered a dread throughout every inch of me. Her hand twisted up to her forehead as if pressing something into it, the other on her hip authoritatively. 

“I don’t appreciate you putting words into my mouth.” Her voice felt harsh like a venom.

I winced at the pang it placed in my chest. “I’m not trying to do that.”

She cut me off before I could try and explain what was going on inside my head. 

“It’s exactly what you’re doing.” Everything about her was sharp. “I don’t think of you in any sense you just painted.”

She was so mad, sucking every ounce of my own anger out of me leaving me panicked and lost. A dry unhumorous laugh pierced out of her right before she turned. 

I shook my head with her back turned to me. She slipped her shoes and coat back on. 

“Please don’t go.” It came out of me whispered and pathetic surrounded by tears.

Another vicious short laugh. She turned to me halting my approach over to her.

“Maybe this.” She trailed off head shaking, eyes gesturing between us brimming with her own tears.

“Agatha.” Pathetic again each syllable of her name cracking on my voice.

She shook her head and turned for the door. I shot over and gently grabbed her arm.

“Please don’t go.” I was begging now. I had to fix this.

She pulled her arm from my hand and opened the door. “No, no no no.” I watched helpless and sent out one final plea. “Please stay.”

The door closing after her was my answer. I stood in disbelief staring at the door. I cried silently as I did. I sent her a text with the same plead to come back. I called her once, straight to voicemail. 

How could this just be over before it even happened? Why was I so fucking stupid? Why couldn’t I just shut up?

When I finally broke my frozen stance at the door, anger overcame everything. An anger for no one but myself. Everything I said came out all wrong. 

I couldn’t sit with the thought of losing her, so I distracted. I was like a woman gone mad. Christmas decorations were still out. It had been a tradition in my family to leave everything up until new years. I couldn’t stand to look at any of it. It was making me itchy. 

I tore through my apartment and the cafe on a mission to put everything away. 

I couldn’t stop moving. Couldn’t stop the thoughts that New Years Eve was tomorrow. The day I was supposed to finally kiss her. 

I’d cleaned everything spotless right up to my bed. I stood in front of it staring. Hesitantly, I walked to the pillow she’d used. As soon as my face hit it I sobbed, falling onto the bed and curling around it. 

Eventually I forced myself up and changed the sheets. 

There was nothing left to do now. The clean walls felt like they were closing in. I checked my phone, not a notification in sight.

My phone rang making my heart physically lurch in my chest. Mom. I faked my way through the call calmly. I almost believed it myself. 

I ordered food, but barely touched it. I felt sick. I couldn’t believe how this all turned out.

I was exhausted by nine. The day finally caught up to me and a warm shower sunk that fact deep into my heavy bones. 

I sent one last text sitting up in bed. 

‘Please just talk to me. I’m so sorry. Everything came out wrong and I’m so sorry.’ 

I stood staring at my phone for ten minutes. Nothing.

I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes trying to physically keep any more tears in. 

I was just laying into my pillows when my phone lit up. My heart pulsed around her face calling. 

Shakily I answered and held it up to my ear. “Agatha.” It brushed out of me like a faded whisper. 

I held my breath listening to hers, unsteady over the silence. 

“Come to the door please.” She whispered soft and strangled. 

I hung up and whipped my phone behind me as I clambered out of bed. 

The porch light was off, but as I approached I could see her car in the driveway through the window. 

She was standing, waiting on the other side as I flung the door open. The sight of her alone trapped the air in my lungs. 

We locked eyes taking the other in. She looked tired and sad. Maybe, this was killing her just as much as it was me.

I blinked and looked down stepping back to let her in. 

She stood in front of the door after closing it, gathering me up in another look. Wordlessly, she removed her coat and shoes and turned back to me. 

My ribs felt like they were flexing above my heartbeat. The implication of her taking of her shoes choking me.

Agatha clasped her hands together in front of herself and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for leaving.” She paused swallowing thickly. “And for not responding.”

I shook my head and stepped just an inch closer. “It’s okay.” I said it quietly, afraid my words would come out wrong again.

“In hindsight.” She trailed off placing her hand on her hip, eyes bouncing around the room. “I can understand how odd it must have been. How it would make you feel uncomfortable.” Her eyes suddenly locked on mine wildly. “I’m not good with this.” Her hand flexed and gestured between us. “I don’t get close to people and the people I have gotten close to or that want to get close to me, well it’s never real.” She surged forward stopping a foot in front of me. “Then you come along and sweep me up at a glance.” She was smiling around watery eyes. I couldn’t find words so I let her continue. “And you don’t want a thing from me. You don’t want money or things. You just seemingly want me.” She laughed in a bit of disbelief. “It’s hard for me to accept that. That this sweet girl wants to buy me dinner or a drink. Do you know how long it’s been since someone has offered that? How long it’s been since I’ve received gifts that weren’t some corporate kiss ass gift or PR?” She pushed closer, eyes still teary and smile only growing. “You’re fucking intoxicating and I just want to spoil you. I want to buy you things that make you worked up like that necklace did.” She reached out and poked it through my shirt. “It’s not because I think less of you. I just want to shower this one magnificent person who wants nothing from me in everything she could possibly need or want.” Her words were swarming around me as she pressed closer. “I love your life. I love where you live. Hell.” She trailed off again laughing for a second as I stared stunned. “I’d take being here than at my house any day.” A sharp breath pushed out, she looked down and then back up fiercely. “You tell me I’m beautiful, and I actually believe it.” She huffed as a tear fell into her smile. “I wasn’t ready for you.”

“Agatha.” It pumped out softly as I moved forward placing my hands over her hips.

My chest was aching again. All good this time. Everything good. 

Her right hand fell onto my shoulder, the other reaching to wipe a tear falling from my own eye. It stayed there, thumb brushing my cheek softly.

“I’m so sorry I made you feel less in any way, even inadvertently.” Her face was so close to mine, breath dancing across me as she spoke. 

The hand she had resting on my shoulder moved slowly to cradle the back of my neck. 

“I’m sorry too.” I found my voice under her slowly blinking eyes. “I think a bit of it was my own insecurities.”

She smiled and hummed with a nod. “Where’s that obnoxious phone of yours?” 

I pulled my gaze away, confused. “On my bed?” 

My eyes moved back to her just as she pushed her nose against mine. Her eyes were closed as she nuzzled into me. Then I did what I didn’t think was possible, didn’t think myself capable of.

I surged forward pressing my lips into hers. Finally. 

A whining moan released from her into my mouth almost instantly. She was everywhere. Hands in my hair, lips moving against my own. I pulled her tighter snaking my arms around her back. I wanted to drown in the taste of her mouth. 

I couldn’t help the smile after a few seconds. Her own followed and there we stood, lips laughing against each others. 

She pulled her head back minutely as her nails softly dragged against my scalp. It was the warmest most welcoming moment I think I’d ever been in. I felt like I’d finally been founded. The two of us tucked in, just each others. 

She leant back in slowly, stopping her lips against mine. “Finally mine.” She whispered it before plunging back into a searing kiss. 

It was my turn to moan now. She kissed me deep and relentless. I pushed her back against the nearest surface, the counter. She was in control, but she was giving me the lead. 

I felt desperate not wanting to stop. Her tongue pressed into my mouth, slick and precise and so good. It moved against my own slow and scintillating. I was too focused on her to even breathe.

My hands stopped their movement against her body as my brain started taking over. I didn’t want to stop, but I did at the same time. My head, my heart and the growing hot wetness in between my legs were surging an internal war. 

She could feel the change and slowed her pace to short and sweet pecks on my swollen lips. I swear she could read my mind. My breathing was coming out erratic in a desperation for air, while hers seemed steadier and calm. 

Her eyes were dark, blue only just peaking around the centers of her iris. Still, she looked much more put together than I did. I was almost ready to believe this was effecting me more than her. Until my eyes glanced the hand she pulled off of me. It held a grip against the counter that looked like it hurt. Knuckles white and shaking.

The powerful Agatha Harkness lacking control because of me. 

Her grip loosened and dropped when she realized it had caught my eye. It was my turn to shoot her a knowing smirk. Not as confident as her well practiced one, but enough. Her eyes rolled above a smile. 

“Are you staying the night?” I did my best not to let it hold any hidden meaning.

Her head turned an inch, eyes sharpening as she bit her lip. “Yes. If you behave.”

My head fell back as I released an exasperated sigh. I really didn’t know if I was prepared for an unleashed Agatha. An Agatha who knows she has full permission. 

I moved back into her, grabbed the back of her neck and brushed my lips against hers. She closed her mouth around mine.

I checked off another want on my list of Agatha. Watching her eyes open after kissing her. 

Perfect.

The tension gripping me was thick as we settled into bed. I wanted to pounce on her. Straddle her and let her take me. The thought of her moaning under me. The taste of her. 

Fuck. I looked up to her, tucked against her shoulder. She was already waiting and watching me. My teeth bit my bottom lip on their own. Her eyes slammed shut and a sharp exhale released from her nose. The grip she had on my shoulder tightened for a second before she released and opened her eyes.

Smirking down to me. “I said behave.” 

I pinched my lips tightly together trying to hide a smile. “One more?” I asked batting my lashes at her. 

I didn’t have to wait long before she pressed her lips into mine. She cradled my jaw and pulled me in. She was drowning me, putting every ounce of emotion into the kiss. My hands fisted her shirt as she set a tremble in me again. 

With a pleasing noise, she slid her lips side to side against mine. The air shifted as we both stared breathless. She turned it into something sweet and soft. It was easier now to sink back onto her shoulder. Easier to fall happily asleep in her arms. 

[bebx]

Okay but let's imagine that the Recruiter is still alive. One day he receives a text message from In-ho telling him to meet so they can catch up, a.k.a meaning that he is on land now. The Recruiter doesn't know what happened to the games or that the island blew up. He just thinks that the games happened like they always did.

So when In-ho sends him coordinates for the place where he wants to meet, he doesn't find it weird that said place is Gi-hun's Pink Motel. He knows In-ho's little obsession with Gi-hun and finds it perfectly normal that In-ho is staying at his place now that Gi-hun is gone (there's no way that Seong Gi-hun won the games for a second time, he's convinced he had died during this year's game).

When In-ho opens the main doors of the Pink Motel, he looks miserable. His eyebags are even more dark and more prominent than usual, his hair is a mess and his long t-shirt and sweats are slightly shredded everywhere. He looks so fucking tired. The first thing that the Recruiter says after seeing him like that is;

The Recruiter: "You look like crap."

And before In-ho can say anything, two dogs appear out of nowhere. A husky that sits at In-ho's right and a golden retriever that sits at In-ho's left. The Recruiter just stares are them a little taken back and the dogs stare at him. And then, the two dogs start growling and barking at him, baring his teeth threateningly.

The Recruiter: "Huh. I always thought you were be more of a cat person..."

In-ho, sighing loudly while rubbing his face: "We need to talk."

And they do. In-ho invites him in -much to Gi-hun's displeasure- and tells him everything that has happened with the games, the island, the players and the VIPs, with Jun-ho and Gi-hun, especially their actual condition. All the while the dogs don't leave In-ho's side, always staring at the Recruiter and grunting softly at him.

The recruiter: "So... which one is Seong Gi-hun?"

In-ho points at the golden retriever.

The Recruiter crouches in front of Gi-hun until he's eye to eye level with him and gives him this big insufferable smile.

In-ho immediately tenses up.

The Recruiter to Gi-hun: "So... Who's the dog now, Mr. Seong?"

In-ho has to physically pin Gi-hun down to the ground with his whole body so he can't attack the Recruiter. Jun-ho just goes off and starts barking at them with his siren voice Let him bite the bastard, hyung! while the Recruiter just watches everything with gleefulness.

I need to add these into my dog! Gi-hun and dog! Jun-ho AU fic. Coming soon (hopefully)

*For folks who are new here, this is part of my AU where Gi-hun and Jun-ho got temporarily turned into literal dogs, while In-ho was previously/temporarily turned into a cat

[ellerial]

I haven't read this anywhere, so this may not be a new idea, but if a ghosts core is their everything, eating that core would be the same as consuming all of what they are: ectoplasm, power, as well as their memories. And it would be dangerous for a core of a few years that hold less than a couple of decades of memories to consume a core that held a millenia.

Danny could barely even register what he was doing when the feeling of something hard was being crunched in between his teeth. The battle had been going for hours. The last time he had fought Pariah, he had been able to receive help, but now he was forced to play into the official challenge for right to rule.

The Observants had twisted the rules and obligations, partnering with the fruitloop to force him into a Battle to End as defeating Pariah the first time "wasn't good enough". They wouldn't even let him give Pariah his crown back.

Honestly, they were just being petty bc they were being forced back into their observing only role instead of their self-appointed ruling role. The eyeballs and the fruitloop were hoping Pariah and Danny would kill each other, or at least one would die, and one would be wounded enough to take out when the dust settled. They hadn't counted on Danny bringing so many allies to watch.

He had his fraid, all his rogue turned friends, his council, the bats and even some of the JL and JLD. He could feel Jason being held back by Tim, his oath as his knight barely being restrained by the terms of the duel.

He could feel them like moth wings against his consciousness as he continued to rage against Pariah. He no longer needed that mech suit, but Pariah and he were fairly matched. Hit for hit the battle was going on several hours and both were equally weakened.

And then something pierced him from behind. A needle and with a quick look he could see Plasmius and his triumphant smirk. He felt his form waver and the tides of the battle turn from the balance they once were. Pariah latched on to the weakness and struck. Tearing a claw across Danny's chest. Panic and desperation tore through him and the fight that once held some modicum of decorum turned into something feral.

Danny was all teeth and claws. He clung to Pariah, latching himself to the old ghost king even as it led to his back being torn apart. He lost himself in the smell of ectoplasm, the pain erupting across is body, the static feeling that spread from the needle. He used all his power to shut down everything but the need to destroy the thing in front of him. To tear and rend and shred and bite.

He had no conscious thought, could barely register what he was doing when his teeth found purchase on more than flesh and bone. It was in his mouth, between his teeth and he was biting down on it before he could process what was happening.

The scream that tore through him made his soul ache even as power and the spiciest ectoplasm he'd ever had the displeasure of tasting poured down his throat. He felt fire and heat both outside himself and within as the molten ectoplasm came with strength and magic quickly followed by the onslaught of memories.

He drowned in them. Millenia after millenia of battles, and thoughts, and places and people. His mere 18 years was nearly swept away by the multitude that strove to overwhelm him. He felt them tearing away at the very heart of who he was. He felt his fraid bonds fraying and quickly wrapped them around him. He coccooned his sense of self within the part of him that was still alive, within the life of the people tied to him. He protected his Self as everything Pariah was filled him up and spilled him over

He felt his body expand with every new moment the core gave him. Even concentrating on protecting his identity as he was, he felt himself unfurl. He felt as if he was everything and nothing. Everywhere and nowhere. He was all and shapeless. It lasted for eternity and for a single breath. Until between one blink and the next, he was form once more.

[siriusly-yoongi]

She wants to be saved chapter 23

Main Masterlist Series Masterlist

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Pairing: alpha BTS × omega reader

Chapter Warnings: I don't really know what to put for warnings, stomach issues, negative self-talk (does that make sense? It doesn't sound right), likely inaccurate medical information,

Word count: 3099

this chapter isn't very good. sorry to disappoint

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YOU

You didn't eat for the rest of the day but you tried again the next morning, thankfully your stomach had mostly settled and you only got minor cramping this time. You can handle that.

You're currently at a craft store with Jimin at 9 in the morning. You got an early start today. You guys pick out beads and string and those little claw clasps. You're going to make bracelets for everybody. Probably not today, but sometime in the near future.

Once you're done there, you head to a little ice cream place that Jimin insisted you try, despite it not even being 10 am yet. Your stomach didn't take too kindly to it, though and you found yourself curled up in the passenger seat, sweating and breathing heavily as you waited for the pain to pass.

Only Namjoon, Yoongi, and Jungkook knew about the whole stomach issues thing so poor Jimin was extra confused and worried. You were in too much pain to speak and you couldn't move to grab your phone and type for the same reason, so you had no way of reassuring him that you were okay.

Once the first wave of pain passes, you let out a shaky breath. "I'm okay, my stomach is messed up." You mumble, suddenly feeling exhausted.

At home, you find Yoongi on the couch watching something with Jin and Taehyung. Tae is laying on Yoongi and without thinking, you shove him off onto the floor. For a brief second, as you realize what you just did, fear flickers through your body. But it doesn't last long. You're safe here. You didn't shove him hard, your intentions were playful and he knows that. You think anyway.

You step over Taehyung and try and lay on Yoongi, but Tae grabs your ankle and pulls you down on top of him. You land on top of him, chest to chest. You haven't been this close to him before so you tense on instinct.

You take a deep breath and force yourself to relax. You're okay. Honestly, you think the only one you're still slightly afraid of is Hoseok. You just haven't bonded much with all of them so your first instinct is to tense up.

You keen at Yoongi very dramatically, calling him to save you from Taehyung. Yoongi looks down at you with an amused smile on his face. You stick your bottom lip out in a pout.

You keen at him even louder, the sound echoing through the house. You are displeased with this situation. You want Yoongi! Why is no one understanding that you're exhausted and you don't want to play right now.

You know they're being playful. You know it's not that serious and they aren't being mean. But you're tired, and when you're tired you're extra sensitive. It's only a little after 10 by now but you didn't sleep well last night, at all. You feel like no one's taking you seriously. You've voiced your displeasure and want for Yoongi with your very loud keening. If anything, it was overkill. You made it exceptionally clear. And no one seemed to care. In your tired brain, this was a big deal. You feel almost rejected. Does Yoongi not want you? Does he not want you close? Maybe he's upset you pushed Tae.. you were only being playful..

Maybe being playful in the first place is what got you here. That you set the tone and now they just thought you were messing around still. But you're not thinking reasonably right now. You're thinking with a sleepy brain.

You slump against Taehyung and just lay there. You can't get away and no one's listening to your sounds. You don't have the energy to speak right now. You're still getting used to talking again and it currently takes a lot out of you to speak. It makes your anxiety spike every time you go to talk.

Tae keeps you stuck there for an hour. You're not comfortable enough with him to be able to sleep so you're just really upset. To make it worse, Yoongi had left to go take a nap in his room 20 minutes ago. When Tae finally lets you go, you don't even bother going to Yoongi's room. You rush out to your shed and lock the door. You collapse down onto the mattress and you're asleep in seconds.

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You wake up and you're unsettled. The feeling of upset from earlier still lingers for some reason. You know they didn't do anything wrong. That you're just a stupid emotional omega. But something about them ignoring your cries for Yoongi really bothers you.

They knew the meaning of the sound and they deliberately ignored it. Twice. They'd even laughed at you. Was your unsettlement funny?

You know it's pathetic, but you cry anyway. You don't know why you're so upset over this. It's not that serious. You're used to having your needs and wants ignored. At least you used to be. Maybe you aren't used to it anymore.

You don't express your needs and wants super frequently. You've keened at Yoongi a few times, or mentioned being hungry maybe. But beyond that you really haven't asked for much or expressed the need for something. Yoongi is the only thing you've ever asked for.

Maybe you were expecting too much. Yoongi is a person and he doesn't belong to you. But he's your safety.

They've never denied you something. Maybe that's why it upset you so much. This was the first time your needs had been blatantly ignored. Omegas need comfort and safety. Yoongi is your comfort. He's like a living stuffed animal for you. He's safe. Yoongi is your safe place.

You're not upset with them. You're upset with yourself for feeling this way.

You only got 2 hours of sleep last night. Omegas can't function on that little sleep.

You check your phone and see it's only noon, you only slept another hour.

You sleepily build a poor excuse of a nest and lay in the middle of it, sniffling as you fall back asleep.

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You whine as someone pulls you out of your nest, your eyes snapping open. It's Jungkook. You know you locked the door, so he must've gotten the key from your room. Being denied your safety earlier, plus now being pulled from the safety of your nest, is too much, and tears immediately fill your eyes.

Jungkook panics. "Shit. I'm sorry! Don't cry! Please don't cry! I'm so sorry!" He lays you back in your nest and puts his hands up.

The tears fall and you feel guilty for crying. You're upsetting your mates. You're an awful omega. You're pathetic, crying over being ignored and a dumb nest. Your negative thoughts only make you cry harder, accidentally making Jungkook feel worse.

He runs back to the house, presumably, because Namjoon comes back in instead.

"Babygirl what's wrong, hm?" He sits down next to you, but stays out of your nest.

"Yoongi...Tae.. n.. hour... ngm... Jungkook... hgfn.. nest....no!" You sniffle, most of your words unintelligible as you mumble into the blankets.

"Jungkook told me he grabbed you from your nest baby. I know that part. What did Yoongi and Tae do, huh?" He speaks softly, reaching out to grab your hand. He gently runs his thumb over your knuckles.

"nothing.. being dramatic.." you mumble again.

You scoot over and whine, looking up at him.

"Is that an invitation?"

You nod and he quickly climbs into the falling apart nest, pulling you into his chest.

He pulls out his phone and not long after, both Yoongi and Taehyung are standing in your little shed. You could technically fit all 7 of them in here with you, it would just be pretty tight.

"What did you two do?" Namjoon looks between the two alphas, both of which look extremely confused.

"Did we do something to upset you? What did... I'm sorry my love." Yoongi's voice is softer than usual, a guilty expression on both of their faces.

You feel bad. You're being dramatic.

"Did nothing wrong." You continue to cry. "I'm being pathetic.."

Namjoon holds you tighter. "No, you aren't. They may not have done anything wrong but they clearly did something that made you feel upset baby."

"The only interaction with her I've had today was earlier when I grabbed her and then held her for an h... oh" Taehyung sighs. "I shouldn't have made you lay there, princess, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you wanted to get up.. I thought you were just playing when you were calling to Yoongi..."

"And I ignored your keening... shit... jagi I'm sorry" Yoongi looks the most upset.

"I'm overreacting" you whisper into Namjoon's shoulder.

"No. You're upset. You're allowed to have feelings baby."

"They didn't do anything wrong though." You tuck your face into Namjoon's neck.

He sighs, running his hand up and down your back.

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Tae and Yoongi had gone back into the house a little while ago, it had taken quite a bit of convincing for you to agree that your feelings weren't completely stupid. You still feel pathetic for getting so upset over nothing though.

It had also started to rain pretty heavily. There hasn't been any thunder though, just rain. It smells like Namjoon all around you because of it and you absolutely love it.

Namjoon is still snuggled up in your mostly broken apart nest. Really it's just a pile of blankets at this point. The walls have pretty much been flattened.

He brought his book with him when he came out here so now he's reading softly aloud to you. You're not really listening to the words, the softness in his voice lulling you to fall asleep. Your eyes start to grow heavy and every time you blink, your eyes stay closed a little longer, until they don't reopen at all.

Your eyes open as you're being carried back into the house, rain drops falling onto your face. You whine, pressing your face into Joon's chest to avoid the rain.

You're handed over to Yoongi and you're immediately brought into the den. You slept through dinner. You'd slept all day pretty much. That's a lot even for an omega.

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The next morning, you wake up and it feels like you're swallowing glass shards. Your head is pounding and your stomach hurts.

You hear Namjoon's alarm go off, which he quickly turns off. He notices you're awake. "What are you doing up, baby?" He kisses your head, only to quickly pull away.

"You're warm babes, are you feeling okay?"

You shake your head. Maybe that's why you slept so much yesterday. You're sick. You've always gotten sick easily, catching everything that went around school when you were a child. You'd always miss so much school every year because of how frequently you got sick.

Namjoon pulls you out of Yoongi's arms, waking him up in the process.

He groans. "It's too early, give her back" he practically whines, trying to grab you.

You giggle, but quickly regret it as its very painful.

"She's not feeling good." Namjoon pushes Yoongi's hands off of you.

Namjoon carries you into the kitchen and sets you on the counter. Jimin is already there, making himself some coffee.

Yoongi comes out a minute later with your phone and hands it to you. His hair is sticking up in all directions from sleeping and you smile a little.

You use your phone to explain what hurts to Namjoon and he tells you that you should watch it for a couple days and if it doesn't get better then someone will take you to the doctor.

Yoongi brings you to the couch and wraps you up in a fluffy blanket. He turns the tv on and sits down next to you with a yawn.

You only half pay attention to the screen, sleep sounds way more interesting right now.

Namjoon approaches the couch and hands you some hot tea. You thank him quietly and take a sip, it soothes your throat some.

You spend the morning curled up with Yoongi, but when he has to go into the studio later in the afternoon you end up snuggled up with Taehyung and Jungkook.

The next few days are pretty much the same. Lots of cuddles and lots of sleeping. Namjoon decided it had been long enough so that's how you found yourself on the way to the hospital this morning. You could've gone to a regular doctor but you've noticed the pack always goes to the hospital instead since Namjoon works there.

Hoseok isn't working until later, so he decided to tag along with you and Yoongi.

Yoongi carries you in and you're stuck in the waiting room for over an hour before you're brought back into a room.

The white walls mixed with the bright lights was making your headache worse. Faintly you can hear a child crying from the room next to yours and you can hear the buzzing of the lights above you.

The room smells overly clean and sterilized, which you suppose is a good thing; however, it doesn't smell very pleasant in your opinion. You've never liked hospitals or doctors; it's such a gloomy place to be. Nobody is thriving, everyone is just existing in the rooms. It's not a happy place in most occasions. It's a place people want to get away from as quickly as possible and back into an environment that's less mind-numbing.

Yoongi notices you're upset and he gets onto the bed with you, moving you so you're sitting between his legs with your back against his chest.

He runs his fingers through your hair, braiding pieces off it while you struggle to stay awake. You brought your bunny, its sat on your thigh. You're so tired.

A doctor comes in and its not Namjoon. The man seems friendly enough, though he gives you a weird look when you use your phone to communicate.

They take your temperature and look in your throat. They press on your stomach and feel your neck. You're uncomfortable. It's not a fun experience.

He decides to do a swab of your throat and you struggle not to gag. You want to go home.

You're left to wait again, watching some cartoon on the little TV that hangs on the wall, the sound coming through the remote rather than the TV speakers.

While you're waiting, Namjoon comes in and you reach for him. He walks to the edge of the bed and lets you hug him, cooing softly as you whine over not being able to smell his scent. He smells like the hospital, not like his usual rain.

"I know, baby, I don't smell very nice." He presses a few kisses to the side of your head.

"Hugging your patients is extremely unprofessional!" A nurse's high pitched voice practically whines out.

You can see the look of annoyance flash across both Namjoon's and Yoongi's faces. Namjoon lets go of you and you slump back against Yoongi.

"I'm not hugging patients, I was holding my omega." Namjoon speaks bluntly, yet still politely. Though the irritation in his tone is clearly there.

The nurse just scoffs and walks out of the room.

Namjoon leaves to get back to work and soon after the doctor comes back with the results. You do, in fact, have strep throat. You're prescribed some antibiotics and then you're sent on your way.

You take the first dose as soon as you get home then you go out into your shed. You take a few minutes to build a quick nest then you lay down and go back to sleep.

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

TAEHYUNG

I get home from work and immediately collapse down onto the couch. I feel like absolute shit. I think I caught whatever Y/n has.

I get up and looks around for her, eventually finding her curled up in her little shed. She looks like she was just asleep but my opening the door woke her up.

She hums sleepily, looking up at me. "You got me sick." I mumble, my voice raspy and hoarse.

She moves to the side and puts her arms up to me.

"I can come into your nest?"

She nods.

I get in with her and wrap my body around hers from behind. I tangle our legs together and tuck my face into her neck, my chin hooked over her shoulder.

"Minnie needs to be home." I complain. Jimin is my safe place, much like Yoongi is hers. Hoseok is, too, but Jimin's arms are the safest place I can think of.

I don't feel good and I want my Jimin. Is that too much to ask?

She just whines at me, trying to tug a blanket up over our bodies. I help her and I sigh softly as the fluffy blanket settles over us.

"You know what we should get for you?"

She hums.

"A weighted blanket."

She gasps and nods quickly.

I smile, once I feel better, that's the first thing I'm doing.

I don't remember falling asleep, but waking up to Jimin jumping on me didn't make me as happy as I thought it would. I feel even worse now. I groan and curl up, bringing her y/n's legs up with mine. She whines loudly as she's woken up.

"You didn't ask to come into her nest." I grumble, voice still hoarse.

Jimin just rolls his eyes "it's time for dinner, come on."

I have no appetite, and considering the disapproving noise she just made, I don't think she has one either.

"No. Either come cuddle or go away." I whine at him, closing my eyes again and snuggling back into the omega in front of me.

Jimin goes to try and grab Y/n and a protective growl rumbles from deep in my chest before I can stop it. It's not playful, it's threatening. She's sick, she's vulnerable, and he was going to disturb her. Rationally, I know Jimin isn't a threat; he's our mate. Hell, we can feel each other's emotions. Speaking of right now he's a mixture of hurt and confused.

"Did you just.." he trails off.

"I'm sorry. She's sick and so am I and moving hurts, and you were gonna move her and then she'd be really upset and I panicked." I rush out, ignoring the feeling of swallowing shards of glass.

"You're both sick?"

I nod. "We don't want dinner. Just let us sleep. Please."

He nods, kissing both of our foreheads before leaving.

[chivalrychained]

Been thinking about jealous knights, that know that their Prince is just smiling and laughing at the charismatic nobleman because diplomacy and flirtation sometimes look quite similar. Having to stand next to him, tense, like it isn't killing him to watch.

Knights whose devotion to the man is beginning to interfere with their ability to do the role impassively.

Knights that need to be calmed behind closed doors, gentle touches on tense muscles and soft-spoken vows. Knights that struggle with their Prince's public persona, but know devotion runs both ways.

(Excellent prompt, here's some more dog and falcon for you >:) )

In summer, the court is resplendent.

A soft night breeze has conquered the monstrous heat of the day, and the high ceilings of court's summer castle are light in hundreds upon hundreds of candles. The boar killed by the king's hunting party - by the knight's own hand - sits in its place of honor on the dias the center of the feast. The air is sweet with music and spices.

But some madness must have hold of the knight; it feels as if the heat of the day is still burning behind his eyes and in the muscles of his shoulders and hands as he watches the falcon prince lean close, his hand resting lightly on the shoulder of the northern noble. In the flickering light of the candles, the prince's long, pale tumble of hair shines like coils of finely-beaten silver; his lips glimmer as he laughs.

Here, amidst the strains of music and the rise and fall of voices, the falcon prince is wholly in his element; and wholly other, so far from the sharp-tongued young man with the bruised face that the knight had first come to love. Different, too, then the man who meets him on the training grounds and on the hunt, with a level voice and a practical mind.

He drinks, and laughs, and moves among the crowd, leaning in to murmur into the ears of lords and ladies alike and drawing them into his confidence, drawing laughter, admiration, lust.

They would not have looked at him thus, a year past, the knight thinks, as he sizes up the northern noble who now has his hand resting on the prince's arm. They would have just as soon seen him dead. He is still just a tool to them.

Any smiles that are offered his way, any congratulations to the falcon prince's champion, are met with ill-tempered words or silence. He sends more than one starry-eyed squire and lady scurrying back to their entourage.

The falcon prince never reacts to this, but to smile and wave a hand, as if he's amused; but after half an hour and another two conversation partners scared off, he takes hold of his knight's tabard and hauls him into one of the alcoves in the hallway.

Away from the gilding lights of the feasthall, the knight can see the lines of tension strung tight under his prince's smile; his mirth falls away, revealing something more raw and cold beneath.

The falcon prince's hand is cool against his fevered skin. "Peace," he says, and the hint of displeasure in his voice is like ice water thrown over the knight. "Just what has gotten into you, my creature?" His lips quirk into a little smile. "You are looking at everyone who dares come close as if you expect them to draw a blade."

The knight grimaces. "I don't care for the way they're looking at you."

"Is that truly all?" the prince says, cocking his head. "Let them look; it's the better for us, if they love me in one way or another." He doesn't take his hand from the knight's face; instead, he leans closer, peering into the knight's eyes as if he might read his thoughts there. "Is that truly all that troubles you?"

The knight stands very still, hoping against hope that nothing in his face betrays him.

"Speak the truth," the prince says, and it's impossible to take it as anything other than an order.

"They look at you as if you are theirs," the knight bites out.

"I am theirs," the prince murmurs. "In their minds, anyway, and it must be so, for the time being. It serves our purposes." He lingers on our, pressing his hand to the knight's chest. The cool weight of his hand could have brought the knight to standstill from a full charge. "But you are the one who knows what is to come. Be steady. Can you do that, for me?"

How can the knight do anything but nod?

[jarofstyles]

I love the idea of like imagine them having a random conversation completely unrelated to anything theyre doing, maybe its like after sex or something so theyre naked and shes straddling him or honestly hes straddling her doesnt matter lol, and he is just palming at her and pinching her nipples with a ~hiss~ , but still being engaged in the conversation

Omg love this idea let me write a bit of that!

Check out our Patreon for early access and 300+ exclusive writings

Warnings- nipple play, cockwarming, unprotected sex, play fighting, slight chihuahua slander (I had one I promise it isn’t personal), name calling, gossip

“S’not really my business, but in my opinion they aren’t compatible.” It wasn’t Harry’s business, no, but he always had an opinion. The man had a soft spot for gossip.

“I don’t think so either.” Y/N’s hands dragged down his chest, stroking over the soft, thin layer of hair that had begun growing there. ���It’s like… she told me they get dressed right after sex. They don’t like seeing each other naked besides for sex.” Her face showed how odd she thought it was, but she knew she was a bit biased. Considering they’d been finished for a little bit now and she was as naked as the day she was born- and he was still snugly warm inside of her- she knew that their relationship acted on different perimeters than most of her friends.

There was no hint of shy between the two of them. Being naked together was an activity they both enjoyed since the earlier days of their intimacy. Skin to skin did wonders for them.

“Mm.” Harry sighed, looking from her tits back up to her eyes. “Yeah. Wouldn’t really fly with us, now would it?” Taking her pebbled nipple between his fingers, he tweaked it a little bit to get a squeak out of her. The tiny glare melted when he tugged at it a little bit, rolling it between his fingertips. “Think I’d probably die if I didn’t get my all access pass t’these babies.”

Letting out a little snort, Y/N closed her eyes as she let him play with her. “Yeah, yeah. We’ve got an abnormally nice relationship though. I’m always sitting in silence when some of my friends talk about their partners like they hate them. It’s weird.” It wasn’t like Y/N hadn’t had bad relationships but she didn’t like that it felt like the norm for a lot of people around her.

“Well, S’a bit complicated. A lot of them probably feel like they invested a lot of time into the relationship and don’t want t’call it because it’ll feel like a waste.” He was speaking from prior experience. Before he met Y/N he had been in a dull, resentful relationship that he was simply too stubborn to leave.

Thank fuck that was over.

“Yeah. I don’t want to be super judgmental.” Her breathing caught as he switched to her other nipple. Tossing her slightly sweat damp hair over her shoulder, she leaned further into his touch as he sat up with her in his lap to give her a kiss.

“You? Judgmental?” Harry was being facetious against her lips. His girlfriend had subjected him to her inner monologue while watching Project Runway. She was at least a little bit judgey.

“Watch it.” Her fingers pinched his nose lightly which made his features scrunch up. “Or I’ll pinch your nipples this time.”

“Do it. A little tit play doesn’t scare me.” He sniffed, taking her other breast in his hand. Double fisting, so to speak. “I’m happy to explore things with you. Just say the word-“ A hiss interrupted his sentence, a handful of his hair now tugged roughly and jerking his head back a little bit. “Rude.”

Y/N rose a brow at him considering they both felt him twitch inside of her from the manhandling.

“I’m correcting you. You keep misbehaving. Have to train you somehow.”

“What am I? A golden retriever?” He sputtered, though there was no real displeasure on his face. They both knew he liked to be roughed up a little bit.

“No. You’re a chihuahua.”

“A chihuahua?” The word was exasperated, the ego taking a hit. “I’d much rather be a golden retriever. The fuck?”

“Yep. You’re yappy, you tend to have one or two favorite people, aka me, more bark than bite- ouch, watch your fuckin’ fingers- like to play dress up, you could be considered an ankle biter-“ The last of her sentence was cut off with an ‘Oof’ as he took the relaxed state of her to manhandle right back, tossing her on her back.

“Watch your mouth.” He grunted, wrestling her slightly as he trapped both her wrists and pinned them above her. “Rude ass little thing you are. Thought two orgasms would have fucked the attitude out of you, but apparently- stop fucking squirming- you like to be a brat.”

Y/N blinked up at him with a scowl. “You like my attitude. Quite literally told me that when I talk back, you get hard.” Despite the play of trying to free her arms, she lifted her legs to wrap around his hips. “Now we’re both stuck. See? You had to go n’toss me like a doll or something.”

“A man with the essence of a chihuahua wouldn’t be able to do that.” Harry snarked back, pushing himself to the hilt inside of her. “Made me have to take over and you’ve gone and leaked spunk all over the place. What a mess.” Shaking his head, he leaned down to bite her bottom lip, not exactly gently. “Now M’gonna have to push it all back into you. Always causing problems, aren’t you?”

[pathologicalreid]

wavelength | s.r.

in which your son ends up in the hospital on one of the BAUs busiest nights of the year

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (hurt/comfort) content warnings: child in hospital with unnamed illness, seizures, pregnant!reader, boy dad!spencer, MRIs, head injury word count: 1.96k a/n: this is my little reid family from three's a family, but as usual, you don't have to read that one to understand this one. (it's one of the cryptic pregnancy ones so maybe keep that in mind lmao) - welcome back to the spencer reid dilf agenda, i missed it

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your thumbs enough to press the call button, tapping the green icon, you press your phone to your ear, listening to the rings as you keep your other hand on the bed in front of you.

Sniffling, Leo holds your hand in his much smaller one, “Mama?” His voice is little more than a whine, and you find yourself wishing he’d fall asleep while you wait for his turn in radiology.

“Yeah, lovey?” You whisper, squeezing his fingers gently as he looks at you with sad eyes.

His eyes were sad in a way that only a three-year-old’s could be, not quite understanding why he had to stay in the hospital, and continuously asking for his parents. “I don’t feel good,” he mumbles, his voice soft as he shifts on his side in the hospital bed.

Your shoulders slouch ever so slightly, trying not to show him how much of his displeasure you shared, “I know. I’m so sorry.” They were holding off on giving him more medication, but it just made him miserable.

Starting to wonder if they could just give him something to help him rest, you distantly hear your name being called, taking a moment to be confused before you remember that you called Spencer.

“Hey,” you greet a little breathlessly, “Are you working?” You move your hand, smoothing back Leo’s hair in an attempt to coax him to sleep.

You hear a shuffling of papers on the other end of the call, answering your question well enough before he responds verbally, “We’re just trying to finish a few things up before calling it a night.”

Bowing your head, you sigh, “Right, you have that senate review next week.”

Spencer groans at the reminder of the meeting, “And finding some of these files is proving to be difficult. I think Garcia’s just about had it, but we’re all starting to get to that point. Why the call? Not that I’m unhappy to hear your voice,” he clarifies. “Did Leo get to sleep alright?”

You falter slightly knowing that Spencer is already stressing about work, “Honey,” you start softly, “Leo’s alright, but I had to call an ambulance for him about an hour ago.”

“What happened? You said he’s alright?” He asks, fear changing the pitch of his voice.

Swallowing thickly, you watch Leo continue to fight sleep, his brown eyes watching you while you’re on the phone. “They think he had a seizure,” you whisper, keeping your voice down so that your son doesn’t catch onto your anxiety.

There’s a shuffle of papers on the other end, “Is he sick? Was it a febrile seizure?”

“Uh, no, hold on,” you flip through the pamphlet, “They called it a drop seizure when we were in the emergency room, and they did an EEG.” You explain, reading over the papers in front of you for the nth time.

Spencer talks to someone else in the room, hopefully letting them know that he has to leave, “What happened?”

Tears prick your eyes, and you look up into the fluorescent light to will them away, “I was just getting him ready for bed, and he went to go potty, and he just fell. He hit his head on the tub and I just… I panicked,” you admit the last part. “I was not very collected, and the 911 operator knew that,” you tell him, watching Leo’s eyes finally fall shut.

“I wouldn’t have been either,” Spencer assures you, “What hospital did they bring you to?”

Rattling off the name of the hospital, you risk assuming that Leo’s asleep enough for you to step back, enabling you to speak at a higher volume, “Can you leave work?” You weren’t even thinking about how busy the BAU was when you called, you were just thinking about getting Leo his dad. “They want to do an MRI, and he’s allowed to have someone in there with him, so he doesn’t get scared,” you explain.

“But you can’t,” Spencer needlessly reminds you.

A huff of frustration escapes your lips as you look down, eyes focusing on where your shirt catches on the soft swell of your lower belly. “No, I can’t,” you say miserably.

A nurse walks through the door, sparing a pitying glance at you, the pregnant mom whose toddler was in the PICU, before checking on Leo’s vitals. Spencer clears his throat, “I’m already on my way.”

You lose track of time, sitting in the reclining chair that lives in the corner of the PICU room, and memories of Leo’s first month of life start to flash in front of your eyes. He was a thirty-two-weeker, and he spent twenty-nine days in the NICU before coming home for the first time.

You felt like a failure then, and you feel like a failure now.

Tapping your fingers on your belly, you watch Leo sleep, his body curled up on the hospital bed and collodion stuck to his forehead. You remember finding out you were pregnant again, the overwhelming joy that mixed with the stunned fear like oil and water—Spencer had to remind you to breathe.

Something caught your attention, a small, high-pitched beep from one of Leo’s monitors sent a group of people flying into the room, standing around your son and listing off things that your fear-addled brain couldn’t comprehend.

He’s there when you stand up, Spencer stays at your side for all twenty-one seconds of Leo’s second seizure, watching as strength returns to his tiny body and his eyes open, “Mama?” His small voice calls out for you, afraid of being surrounded by doctors and nurses that he doesn’t know.

Slipping away from Spencer, you make your way back to the hospital bed, hovering over your son as you cup his cheeks affectionately, “I’m here, baby.” Hiding your face to wipe tears away, your fear that he still feels ill is only exacerbated by the fact that he doesn’t insist that he’s not a baby—he’ll always be yours, though.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you let him see past you, the way his eyes light up at the sight of his father, “Daddy!” He chirps, trying to reach out for Spencer.

“Hey, buddy,” Spencer says, his voice tight while he crouches in front of Leo, “Mama says you don’t feel good.”

Leo shakes his head, “I hit my head,” he recounts mournfully, “then we had to go in the loud car.”

Your husband frowns for a moment before he realizes Leo’s talking about the ambulance, “Did they tell you I get to go with you to get your tests done?” He warps the narrative to make the MRI seem like a fun activity—something they get to do.

“Can mama go?” Leo asks, tilting his head to the side slightly, leaning into you as he does so.

Gently, you wrap an arm around him, dressed in a pediatric hospital gown with all kinds of wires and electrodes attached to him. “Mama has to stay up here,” Spencer breaks the news to him, sparing you a sympathetic glance, “but she’ll be here when we get back. Then, we can tell her and the baby all about it.”

The baby won’t be able to hear outside voices until you’re much further along, but when Spencer tried to explain that to your toddler, the only response he’d gotten was Why?

As it turns out, even Spencer Reid has a limit to the number of questions he can answer, so you let Leo talk to the baby. “I’ll be right here when you get back,” you reassure Leo, taking a shaky breath when he wraps his arms around you.

He’s in tears by the time they come to get him, only willing to go to radiology if they let his daddy carry him there.

You’ve let go of the hope that this was all just a freak incident, but the looks that the nurses have started exchanging squashed that optimism immediately. Taking the opportunity to lie on the hospital bed, you try to reassure yourself—if Spencer didn’t seem worried, you shouldn’t be worried.

Though Spencer wouldn’t show his concern to you, he certainly wouldn’t do it with Leo in the room.

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but you’re woken up by something being set on your side, your eyes cracking open just enough to watch Spencer lay Leo down on the bed next to you. “Hey,” Spencer whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “I was trying not to wake you up.”

Cringing at the brightness of the room, you watch Leo as he curls into your side, “How did he do?”

“He was great,” Spencer says, gently ruffling the sleeping boy’s hair. “He fell asleep about halfway through,” he informs you, carefully pulling a chair up to the bedside.

You hum, making sure Leo is snug in his blanket before turning back to Spencer, “I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner.”

Spencer shakes his head dismissively, “It’s okay,” he whispers, mindful of the hour—it’s nearing midnight now.

Reaching a hand up to cover your mouth, you hiccup a sob, “I’m a bad mom.”

“You are not a bad mom,” Spencer responds quickly, peeling your hand from your mouth and taking it in his hand.

Your lower lip quivers, “This wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been born so early.”

Spencer’s face softens, squeezing your hand comfortingly, “That wasn’t your fault. That was a situation that you didn’t have any control over.”

Deep down, you know he’s right, but your mom guilt that was on the surface level made the truth hard to see. “I couldn’t even hold his hand while he got an MRI,” you cry, small tears falling from your eyes.

“Honey,” Spencer murmurs, carefully wiping the tears from your cheeks, “You’re pregnant. Even more, you’re high risk,” Spencer reminds you as if it’s something you’re soon to forget. “There’s no way I would’ve let you in that room. You can blame that on me if you’d like.”

Leo shifts next to you, garnering your attention for just a moment before you turn back to Spencer, “I thought an MRI was better for pregnant women.”

Sighing, Spencer looks at you fondly, “Compared to a CT, an MRI is the better option if it’s medically necessary. Logically, I’m well aware of this, but I do find myself more protective over you these days,” he admits, eyes flickering down to your bump.

You bite the inside of your cheek, “I should’ve been watching him before he hit his head.”

Your husband dismisses your concern immediately, “We’ve been teaching him privacy, he’s proud that he gets to go potty on his own.”

“Why won’t you let me feel guilty?” You ask, frowning at him.

He hums in response, “Because you aren’t guilty. Your baby is in the hospital, and you might have some unresolved issues from when he was in the NICU.” He takes a deep breath, “and as much as you hate to admit it, you’re tired, and you have a lot of conflicting emotions and hormones that you’re struggling with.”

Leaning your head back on the pillow, you sigh loudly, “You know me too well.”

“I also know that our son loves you, and what happened tonight was not your fault,” he reiterates. “Whatever is going on with him, we’ll figure it out, okay? The four of us are going to be just fine.”

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you nod in understanding and listen to the soft whistle of Leo’s nose as he exhales. “We’ll be just fine,” you echo, intertwining your fingers with Spencer’s and preparing yourself for what’s bound to be a long night.

[thehatboxwitch]

fem!reader, TW // yandere, nsfw, drugging, dubcon, overstimulation

There's a dull, throbbing heat between your legs, in your stomach.

You stir, trying to find your tongue, when fingers encircle your arms.

"Good morning." Breath tickles your ear, before teeth catch onto your earlobe, nibbling gently.

Your eyes fly open, body lurching forward before you even know what's going on.

Phainon catches you easily with a hand, easing you back onto his lap, nestling his cock back deep inside you. You whimper when his hand comes up to clasp your throat gently - not enough to be uncomfortable, but enough for you to know a threat when you see it.

"Ph-phai," you stammer out. Your jaw feels so heavy, so sluggish... "L-let me... go..."

And the ache between your legs, a persistent burning so deep within you. Phainon adjusts you on his lap, and his dick, still hard even thought it must have been hours since the night had begun, nudges up against something raw within you that your head tips back onto his shoulder with a silent cry.

Light winks off the cut edges of a bottle of sleeping draught on the bedside table. You catch his gaze in the mirror, horror written all over your expression.

He sighs. "Looks like you caught me." When he tugs on your hair to expose the side of your neck to him, you have no energy to protest save for making a sound of displeasure. Phainon takes his time, sucking fresh bruises down from your jaw to collarbone, admiring them bloom with a look so full of love it almost makes you sick.

You're trembling, and Phainon can feel it. "What's the matter?" he asks, with another sigh, patient and weary. "You were so eager last night to get with... hmm... a hero of Amphoreus."

"I-I wasn't... " You didn't remember anything about last night. Would you have let anyone drag you so far into depravity, like he clearly had? It was so hard to tell... let alone think, with the draught clouding your head.

His eyes glow blue in the low light, clicking his tongue. "Weren't you? I'd hate for people to start saying that you were... taken advantage of."

He jostles his leg as gently as he can. You moan, feeling his sheer size bumping against all the most sensitive parts within you.

"Too much," you gasp out, nails sinking into his arm. There's too much of him everywhere; well-muscled arms keeping you flush against him, warm breath and loving bites and kisses over your neck and shoulders, cock still twitching each time your walls spasm around him. Phainon was big, yes, in so many more ways than one.

He nuzzles a kiss into the nape of your neck. "So pretty. You can give me one more, yes?"

You begin to shake your head no, until Phainon rolls his hips up into you and you're melting already, dissolving into nothing but sensitive nerves and sweet moans. He's murmuring praises into your ear, thrusting so deep and slow into you, relishing the way your ribbed walls flutter and squeeze around him.

"Taking me so well, sweetheart." The grinding turns into thrusts, wet, obscene squelches, and a hand finds your clit. "Shh, shh, stay right here. Be good."

Your back arches, hips pressing away or into his touch, you can hardly tell. "Phai, Phainon, big, too big-"

His laugh ruffles your hair. "Yeah? It's good, isn't it?"

"N-" Pleasure sparks and your protests fall away again, writhing in his hold. "Oh, please, faster, Phai-!"

Phainon obeys. He hardly needs to pay attention to where you're most sensitive, so deep within you feel like he might reach up to your chest, and the pads of his fingers, rough from years of battle, draw ecstasy-inducing circles over your clit until tears prick at your eyes.

"Coming, Phai, I'm-" The orgasm had lost its edge at that point, but Phainon still has you arching taut, wrenching a strangled cry from you.

In the mirror, you watch him clean off his fingers, slow and deliberate, letting you see all the slick he'd gathered up.

"So good," he purrs. "You'll understand why I want to keep you, hm?"

[my-hyperfixation-stories]

Lost In Your Eyes

Summary: Dean Winchester has the worlds most beautiful eyes. You find yourself trying to get a good look but Dean can’t hold still for one second so you make him. Needless to say he was confused yet a little turned on by your determination.

Warnings: Flirting, PnV, Oral Sex(f! Rec), unprotected sex, Switch!Dean, Dean being in love with Reader, heavy heavy eye contact, Dean Winchester(he’s definitely a warning), dirty talk. Lmk if I missed anything

The words of your computer managed to blend together. The crease between your brows was so deep it was starting to ache from the amount of tension lying beneath it. You and Dean had been researching for about an hour. Usually your study partner was Sammy (the one who actually gave a shit about what you were reading) but he had a few leads to follow up on. This left you and Dean alone in the motel to piece together the mysterious monster you were dealing with.

Except Dean has yet to look at a single document, and instead he’s been spouting off on random shows he’s been watching and mixing in flirtatious comments here and there. All the while stuffing his face with some pie you had picked up on your way back from the crime scene.

You find yourself massaging between your brows trying everything to release the tension building in your head. “You alright over there? Don’t tell me you’re worn out all ready, we just started.” Dean teased with his infamous grin. A deadpan expression crossed you face as you look up at him. “‘I..’ ‘I.’ There isn’t a ‘we’ Dean. You’ve been talking for the past hour or so while I’ve been nose deep in every source I can find.. if Sam wasn’t gone I would send you to the drug store to get me some ibuprofen..” You set the computer aside and stretch out your hunched over back. A few cracks sound out providing you a split second of relief before a throbbing sensation shoots through your head.

“Here since you’re clearly better at this than I am, I’ll walk over to the gas station across the street and see if I can find anything for you. That alright sweetheart?” For the most part he sounded concerned but the last part had a teasing undertone about it which sent your eyes rolling. The ache strengthened by the action sending your eyes shut. “Please.. I need something if I’m going to find more answers..” You groan, pushing against your temples to stimulate some relief. “I’ll be right back, don’t miss me too much!” He shot you a wink as he headed out. On his way out you noticed how the sun glistened over his eyes. You could’ve sworn you saw the most breathtaking shade of green radiate from them but it could be the agonizing pain in your head making you hallucinate.

You loved Dean to hell and back but shit was he annoying when it came down to researching. He almost never paid attention to the words and mostly listened to the key points you or Sam dug up. Nonetheless he was incredibly aware of when you needed a break. Which is why he was marching over to the gas station to find some medicine to kill the headache you have. When he got back he decided it was time for him to take over. Despite your displeasure he practically forced you down on the bed and snatched the laptop. He sat down beside you to read out some information that you had been desperately trying to find. Around an hour later your headache finally subsided.

You move your eyes to gaze up at Dean. He was propped up against the headboard staring intently at the device. His chin rested in between his fingers as he scanned the sources. The glow of the laptop brought out the same green hue in his eyes. The green flannel he was wearing seemed to make his eye color truly pop. And it was affecting you badly. Maybe it was the way he’d taken over for you, or how he was still occasionally rambling yet staying on topic. But his eyes really sealed the deal for you. You were completely infatuated by the view.

“Right.. so if we are dealing with one, then it says silver is effective in killing it.” He scrolls a little farther before your voice quietly calls his name. “Bullets preferably but blades also work.” He continues “Deann..” You call out again but his entire focus seemed to be on the screen. “Oh here it says-” you cut him off by grabbing his cheeks with one hand and forcing him to look at you. A confused look crosses his features before amusement arises. “What is this about it?..” He says muffled as his lips form a pout from the way you were holding his face. “Did I ever tell you I love your eyes?.. you really need to wear green more often.. it suits you..” You whisper but feel the heat beneath your fingers grow. You had managed to fluster THE Dean Winchester.

His hand reached up and lightly grabbed your wrist. “Oh sweetheart, I love it when you get so dominant.” A grin spreads throughout his face. The look makes you press your thighs together. “Oh really? Do you now?” You tease making him raise a brow. “Oh I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. From experience.” A smile finds your lips before you move to close the laptop on his lap. “I don’t know about you, but I for one want to take a little break from all those articles.. don’t you?” You didn’t give him time to answer before you move yourself to straddle his waist. A huff leaves his mouth as you add pressure to his hips. His hands find your waist as you settle yourself. “I could use a refresher..”

A satisfied look crosses your face while Dean goes to add in some cheeky remark. Before any words leave his lips, your head dips down and captures his lips with yours. A low groan escapes his throat as your hips roll against his.

It has been a hot minute since you and Dean had done anything intimate. It was hard when you constantly had Sam lingering or a case that was needing to be solved. But since you gathered all the information you could, nothing really needed to be done. Giving you the perfect opportunity to have your way with him.

You push away his unbuttoned flannel before running your hands underneath his shirt. The skin beneath your fingers tenses at the sudden coldness of your hands. He pulls back to take a breath but in the haziness of the kiss, your lips travel to his neck. “I affect you this much huh? My ego can’t handle this you know that?” He chuckles before letting his head fall back giving you more access to his neck.

He loved the warm feeling sprouting beneath your lips. When you pull away his hand travels up your back before settling on your nape. He pulls you down into another heated kiss. This one was full of pawing hands and desperate attempts to remove clothing.

He’d managed to remove your shirt leaving you in a fitted tank top and shorts. Next, you had worked on removing your shorts throwing them off to the side. Your hands find themself resting on his chest feeling the quick beat of his heart.

You lean down to his ear as you find the bottom of his shirt with your hands. “I want you looking at me the entire time.. right with those pretty eyes of yours.” The whispery tone finds Dean before you pull off his shirt. His necklace lays against his bare skin as he looks up at you. His breaths were heavy and his lips slightly part in shock.

His green orbs follow you, not once leaving. “The things you do to me..” He says breathlessly earning a scoff from you accompanied by a pleased smile. “What about the things you’ll do for me?..” He watches your gaze trail his body before reaching where your bodies touch. Your hand moves gently up his body before stopping at his chin. Your finger graze along his bottom lip. “Put these to use for me?.. if you really want to help me relieve some tension.” A look of hunger consumes his expression. His eyes look up at you half lidded before he begins trail your figure. Stopping when we sees the wet patch between your thighs.

A groan leaves his lips as he closes his eyes. When he opens them he looks back up to you. “I’ll do anything that makes you happy..” He says ready to do anything you please. A smile finds your lips before you move off of him. He swiftly swaps positions with you so he can kiss down your body. “You’re so beautiful..” His lips press against the skin peaking out from beneath your tank. Your hands raise letting him know you want it off. He puts his hands under the tank top finally pulling it off.

His eyes find your chest before lowering his head to press a hungry kiss against your breast. He lightly sucks the delicate skin leaving a mark behind. He goes to give attention to the next one but an unexpected groan leaves his lips as you lightly pull back his hair to make him look up at you. “Eyes. on. me. pretty boy.. I want to see those eyes.” This time when he lowers his head to kiss your other breast his eyes stay directly on yours. He watches your features change with each movement he makes. His favorite part might be the way your breath falters when he lightly sucks on yours skin.

He lets his hand find your panty line. His fingers loop along the side. He moves them along the outer edge before pushing them to the side. He lets one finger run along your folds feeling the wetness that coats his fingers. “All for me?.. It’s very flattering” You playfully roll your eyes. “You gonna do something about it or just sit there lookin pretty?” Your voice was laced with a seductive tone only making the tent in Dean’s pants grow. He begrudgingly leaves your breast venturing further down. “Is this where you want me? Right here sweetheart?” You shoot him a warning look reminding him that you’re the one making the calls this time.

“Soaking fucking wet.. just for me..” He says to no one in particular. His mind racing as his eyes stay on yours. When you go to make another comment, his finger dips inside of you. A moan leaves your lips at the unexpected penetration. “Fuck Dean..” You let out a shuddered breath. His thumb moves to rub against your clothed clit. The texture leaves a shot of pleasure up your body. “Like that?.. Oh baby i know you do.” You shoot him and angry look but in return his mouth dips down to lick between your folds. His eyes stay glued to yours. “This is what you wanted? For me to devour you? Am I doing it right? Or was it like this?” He takes off your panties and lightly sucks your clit letting a moan escape your lips. “There it is.” He chuckles before returning to lick between your folds.

A groan leaves his lips sending vibrations through you. “You’re such a fucking tease” You gasp out as your legs squirm. His free hand grips your thigh pushing it to the side. “Be good for me and I’ll be good for you.. keep these spread.” His words make your heart beat quicken. You felt like the luckiest girl in the world. Dean Winchester was between your thighs telling you that he will be good for you, while looking up at you with his fucking beautiful ass eyes. That was enough to push another moan through your lips. “Oh you like that? When I talk all sweet to you? You like feeling like a good girl don’t you?” He laughs before moving your legs up over his shoulders. This gives him closer access to what he desires most.

His tongues dips into you before he turns into a man starved. By this point moans were practically flowing from your lips. “Fuck Dean!..” You groan as your eyes press shut. “Ah ah, I look at you, you have to look at me.” He says pulling your attention back down to him. “I fucking hate you.” Your moans quickly disprove your words. You feel his shitty grin against you. He feels the way you squirm beneath him letting him know your close. While his tongues dips into tortures your hole he lets his fingers rub against your clit. The pleasure only seems to build along with the pressure in your lower stomach. “Fuck Dean just like that.. fuck!” You moan out before everything seems to snap. “Shit! Fuck..” You moan out as your orgasm overcomes you.

Sinful sounds escape Dean’s lips as he cleans up the mess. “So filthy.. so messy making me clean up for you.” He clicks his tongue but you’re too caught up in your emotions to respond. He moves back up so he’s hovering above you. His necklace hangs from his neck falling between the valley of your breast. “You gonna let me treat you good now? Or are you still feeling demanding? Your choice princess.” He waits for a response only for you to flip around ontop of him.

His brows raise caught off guard before your hand pushes against his chest to keep him down. “I still have a few things in mind.” You say checking out his flustered state. A pink hue seems to cover his heated face. “Oh yeah?.. mind telling me what that is?.” He raises a brow. You let out a sweet smile before leaning forward. “Take your pants off and I’ll show you..” You move to the side to give him room. With a satisfied look he undoes his belt and pushes off the jeans. They fall to the ground with a clank. “What’s the plan?” He puts his hands behind his head as you move back above him. Your hand reaches down grabbing his length. Slowly pumping it to spread his precum down it.

“I’m going to ride your dick until all you can remember is my name.” The filthy words escape your mouth going straight to his length. “Fuck you know how to charm a man.” He huffs out a chuckle before a low moan leaves his lips. You lowered yourself onto him. Both of your moans meld together. You move along half of his dick giving yourself some time to adjust to the full length. Eventually you bottom out letting his hips touch yours.

Your hand reaches down to hold yourself steady. It finds its place on his pubic bone sending all sorts of feelings through Dean. His eyes couldn’t help but take it the full sight. The way you were bouncing yourself on the length of his dick. The looks of pleasure tainting your expressions. The way your lips part to let out moans. God he loved you. Everything infront of him was perfection. Down to the imperfections. Somehow you made everything work, and turned it ten times sexier. A groan leaves his lips as he feels you tighten against him.

“Look me in the fucking eyes Dean.. those eyes are what started this.. keep them focused.” You demand with moans occasionally cutting you off. Eventually you shift into rocking your hips against his to stimulate any sort of pleasure. Your legs were growing weak. You knew if you gave up Dean would tease you relentlessly. “Y/n.. shit!” He moans out as you shift positions. Now your body is pressed against his as your lower half slaps against his. The sound was filthy. He couldn’t focus on anything but the way your breast pressed against his chest. The skin sticks together from the heat radiating from your bodies.

As your eyes move back to meet his, you have the urge to press your lips against his, so you do. The other kisses didn’t compare to this. This one was full of lust and passion. Both of your tongues clashed together needing to feel everything about each other. Your moans mush together against each other’s mouths. Your hips move faster trying everything in your power to push through. Pain fills your thighs from the constant movement making you falter. Your moans only increase into desperation.

Dean seemed to clock this immediately because before you know it he is pounding up into you. His arms lock around your waist keeping you steady as he thrusts up relentlessly. “Fuck Dean! Holy shit! Please please please I’m almost there!” You whine out as grunts fill his mouth. Both of your eyes have completely shut as pleasure consumes you. His pace doesn’t change once. “I fucking love you.. I love you so goddamn much..” He grumbles out as he feels himself coming undone. Your heart swells from the intimacy of the situation but your thoughts are cut off by the band snapping inside of you. Upon feeling this Dean is quick to follow. Loud tortured moans escape your lips as the two of you move to work through your orgasms. Soon enough the only thing that fills the air is both of you gasping for air.

Dean takes a moment before pulling out of you. Your body lays against his having no energy to move. “Shit.. I think that was the hottest thing we have ever done..” Dean announces pulling a laugh from your lips. “No shit..” The two of you finally catch your breath before you move off of him. You tuck yourself against his side letting him wrap an arm around you. “So.. what was the thing with my eyes about? That’s never been a thing before.” He asks as embarrassment engulfs you. “I don’t know.. you were walking out the door earlier and.. I guess the sun hit you just right and your eyes looked like the most gorgeous thing I had ever seen..”

Suddenly you pull back and look directly at him. “You better not let any of that get to your head!” You warn him making him genuinely laugh in return. “Ok ok!” He playfully puts his hands up as his eyes follow yours. “They are like.. the perfect shade of green.. speaking of.. we need to buy you more green shirts, it really makes the color pop.” You admit making his smile grow. “So you’re saying if I wear more green then you’ll do more stuff like that? Done deal right there.” You playfully hit his chest before slumping back down onto the bed. “We should definitely get dressed before Sam gets back. It’s bad enough that the motel is going to smell like absolute filthy sex when he gets back, might as well spare him the visual.” You announce and as if on cue that sound of the impala fades in.

Thank you to everyone who took time to read this! Dean Winchester has been clouding my thoughts as of recently and I just need to let it all out somewhere. I hope you find this just as entertaining as I did. If I missed any warnings or anything is misspelled please let me know and I’ll work to fix it. THANK YOU AGAINNN!!! ❤️

[plutotheplum]

chapter five | the emperor

zayne x fem!reader

“Like what?” Zayne whispers, leaning in to kiss you again, slow and sweet. “Like you mean something to me? Like I can’t stand the thought of you marrying Caleb?” He raises his brows, trapping your chin between his thumb and finger, forcing you to meet his eyes when you look away. “Like you’re the only one for me?”

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, fluff, mild angst, kissing, oral sex, blowjob, p in v, breeding kink, praise kink, unprotected sex, overstimulation, vaginal fingering, belly bulge, confessions

wc: 7.1k

a/n: *stands around awkwardly* hey y'all.... i know it's been a while and i'm sorry it's taken me this long to get zayne's chapter out!! hope you all enjoy!! mwah mwah <3 (little sylus snippet at the end :3)

also on ao3!

series masterlist | next up: the devil

“Would you sit still and stop hobbling around?”

Zayne’s exasperated voice has you giving him your own irritated glance, letting out an annoyed huff of air to voice your displeasure. He’d been insistent, hovering around you ever since he’d seen you today, his eyes narrowing when he’d seen the awkward way you were adjusting yourself to make the ache in your thighs and hips more comfortable, no doubt courtesy of Caleb from the night before.

“I’m fine ,” you say, flopping down on his couch when he sends you a stern look, snuggling up against the cushions, hugging one to your chest. “Just a little sore.”

“Apart from the obvious,” Zayne clears his throat, gesturing vaguely to your neck where the splotchy marks still lingered, although much lighter than the days before. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

“Of course I’m up to this,” you grouse, sitting up with a wince. “You’ve put me through far worse, Zayne. I’m insulted.”

“That’s not-”

You watch with a smug smile when Zayne’s cheeks flush pink, his hand moving to cover the lower half of his face. The tips of his ears are still enough to give him away, your smile growing wider when he adjusts his glasses agitatedly, pushing them up to sit higher on the slope of his nose.

It wasn’t as though your claim held no weight, not when evidence of Zayne’s exploits still lingered in your camera roll, well-hidden among a mirage of other photos. His long hours were what had made him crack the first time you’d ever slept with him. You’d been met with a weary expression and loose tie that night, his phone in one hand and a bag of take-out in another. 

You’d never seen him so wound-up before, the unfamiliar, agitated bounce of his knee piquing your interest. A few attempts at prodding for answers later, Zayne had snapped. Exhaustion forgotten, you’d been at the mercy of his mouth, fingers and cock, the grip he had had on your hips enough to leave bruises until the next day and a limp in your walk much similar to the one you were sporting today. 

“No,” Zayne says when he sees the questioning expression on your face, shaking his head, “I’m not doing- we’re not doing that .”

“Boo,” you sigh, head falling against his shoulder when he sits down beside you. “I thought you’d at least be jealous, Zayne.”

“Were they?” he asks, leaning back against the couch.

“Yes,” you muse, taking his arm, your fingers drifting over the pale scars that covered his forearm, thumbs rubbing across his warm palm soon after. “Xavier and Caleb particularly.”

“I’m not surprised,” Zayne sighs, his head falling back as you dig your thumbs into his palm more firmly, massaging his hand with purpose. “You’ve made them desperate.”

You peer up at him, taking in the relaxed expression on his face, the exposed length of his neck. The lack of reaction makes you pout, however, your lower lip jutting out at Zayne’s calm acceptance. It was a stark difference from the other three men, unruly impatience replaced by cool indifference, hastiness by languidness. 

“What does that make you?” you ask curiously, “the one that lurks in the shadows and bides his time?”

“I’m experienced in that aspect.”

His words make you pause, your brows furrowing when his head lifts and he stares down at you. No , you think, a breathless laugh escaping you; although it sounds more akin to a strangled wheeze. When Zayne’s gaze doesn’t waver, you begin to shrink back, your foot pushing at his thigh when he tries to move closer to you, keeping him anchored to one side of the couch whilst you move towards the other end.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you breathe out flippantly, refusing to look at him when his lithe fingers curl around your ankle, brushing across your skin in a gentle caress. 

“Maybe,” Zayne murmurs, his voice low. “But you’re not completely stupid, are you?”

You send him a glare, trying to pull your foot free to no avail, flopping back when he simply digs his thumb into the sole of your foot, massaging absentmindedly. When he doesn’t say anything else to explain himself, you let out a disgruntled noise, sitting up agitatedly. 

“You and Caleb are the worst ,” you announce, crossing your arms over your chest. “I mean, does it look like I’ve been blessed with telepathy?”

“No,” he replies coolly, reaching across to flick your forehead. 

You whine at the action, rubbing at your forehead in an attempt to soothe the pain that lingers. There’s a smile pulling at Zayne’s lips as he watches you, his fingers drifting across your ankle again in lazy motions. It irks you slightly, the way he looks so invitingly domestic, and the thought of a baby, your baby, being held in his arms isn’t helping at all. 

“What did he say?” Zayne asks after a few moments, his eyes finding yours. “If you let him cum twice, he must have said something worthwhile.”

“I’m not telling you,” you scoff sharply, cheeks growing hot when you remember Caleb’s confession and the aftermath that ensued. Your face scrunches when Zayne’s fingers drift across the sole of your toe fleetingly, your knee jerking out in response, the ticklish feeling making you curl away. “It’s none of your business, Zayne,” you protest adamantly, a wheeze leaving you when his fingers don’t let up, an involuntary laugh bubbling out of you soon after, “you- you wouldn’t like what he said anyways.”

The latter part of your sentence makes Zayne’s fingers pause abruptly, his gaze fixing onto you sternly. “Tell me.”

You wiggle your toes, hoping for him to continue massaging your ankle, a frown coming across your face when he shakes his head stubbornly. All you can manage is a heavy sigh, your head tilting to rest against the back of his couch. “Apparently he’s been pining after me for fifteen years,” you begin, watching Zayne’s expression carefully.

It’s subtle, but when you inch closer under the pretense of getting more comfortable, you can just spy the darkening of his eyes. If anything, his reaction spurs you to reveal more.

“He also said the baby was going to be his,” you say off-handedly, biting back a wince when Zayne’s fingers tighten around your ankle, the muscle in his jaw tensing as he grits his teeth together. “Rafayel and Xavier said that as well, so I suppose it doesn’t-”

“What else?” Zayne interrupts out, his voice sounding strained.

“I don’t why you’re prying for more,” you say exasperatedly. “We- we should just leave it here. I did tell you that you wouldn’t like it, Zayne.”

You squeak when he pulls at your ankle, tugging you across the length of the couch, his hands smoothing over your waist as he picks you up, settling you on his lap. Your breath hitches at the sudden change, throat drying when he leans closer, his arms wrapping around your waist firmly. 

“Something about marrying me,” you confess breathily, hands landing on Zayne’s shoulders. “Caleb said he’d marry me,” a nervous laugh escapes you, “probably- probably didn’t mean anything by it.”

“But you let him cum twice,” Zayne murmurs, peering up into your eyes searchingly, “you let him. Clearly, you were moved.”

“Well, wouldn’t you be?” you ask, shooting him an incredulous look. “I mean what the hell was I supposed to do with fifteen years, Zayne?”

“You’re the only woman I’ve ever kissed.”

You slap your hand over Zayne’s mouth before he can reveal anything else, your heart beating out of your chest. “No,” you say sternly, shaking your head, trying and failing to process his words as his fingers slip under your shirt, stroking across your waist gently. “No, no - you don’t get to do this.”

It’s difficult to glare at him like this, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment when his hands skim higher, a soft, breathy sound leaving you when his thumbs slip under the elastic band of your bra, stroking across the underside of your breasts in a soothing motion. You try to keep your eyes open, teeth sinking into your lower lip when one of Zayne’s thumbs brushes over a hardening nipple, an unbidden noise slipping out of you.

“Don’t marry him.”

Zayne’s words pull you out of your haze of pleasure, bleary eyes blinking open to find that your hand has slipped off of his mouth. You move to cover his mouth again, but he stops you, his fingers lacing with yours instead.

“I never said I was going to marry him,” you sigh, slumping against his chest, burying your face into the crook of his neck. “I haven’t even had the baby yet, Zayne.”

Zayne lets out a weary sound in response, his hands rubbing across the expanse of your back. You squirm closer, arms wrapping around his neck, face pressing closer, chest flush against his. It’s nice , you think belatedly, warm and cozy and… safe. The change of pace is welcome, the dull ache in your thighs ebbing away slowly, soothed away by the practiced motions of Zayne’s thumbs. 

“So have mine,” he whispers after a moment, his fingers curling into your shirt. “Have my baby.”

“You know better than anyone I can’t choose ,” you muse, peering up at him, a wry smile pulling at your lips. “You’re being illogical.”

“You seem to make me that way,” he replies, cupping your jaw, squeezing your cheeks together for a moment before letting go. “Funny how I can’t seem to think straight when you’re around.”

You flush at the words, letting out a flustered sound. “You sound ridiculous,” you sputter, yelping when he grabs your wrists firmly, stopping you from pushing at his chest.

“And Caleb didn’t?” Zayne retorts, raising his brows in question.

“That- that was different!” you protest, “you’re- you’re you !”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” he asks, leaning towards you. “Hm? Am I not good enough?”

“I never said that,” you say, feeling short of breath when Zayne leans in further, the tip of his nose brushing yours. You can feel the warmth of his breath fanning across your lips, every shuddering breath that escapes you fogging up his glasses slightly. 

“I’d be a good father,” Zayne murmurs, his lips brushing across your jaw fleetingly. “Diligent,” his fingers slip back under your shirt, “patient,” you bite back a whine when his hands cup your breasts through your bra again, “attentive,” you mewl when he pinches your nipples.

“What about me?” you whisper, fisting his shirt to pull him closer, squirming on his lap when his lips brush over yours fleetingly. “Would you take care of me, Zayne?”

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

Your eyes flutter shut when he finally closes the distance between you, his lips pressing against yours in a slow, soft kiss. Zayne’s glasses dig into your cheek when he presses closer, but you’re too busy tilting your head in an attempt to deepen the kiss, your hands sliding up to cup his cheeks. 

“Am I really the only woman you’ve ever kissed?” you mumble against his lips, finding yourself drawn into another kiss that leaves you breathless and wanting more.

“Yes,” Zayne replies, a content noise escaping him when you slip your fingers into his hair and you begin to pepper his cheek with kisses. “That- ah- that night,” he rasps, cupping the back of your head when you bite his neck, “you were my first-”

You reel back at his words. “ What? ”

Zayne sighs, trying to pull you down for another kiss, his brows furrowing when you resist. You stare into his eyes, searching for some sign, any sign that what he’s said is some ill-mannered jest, but you find none, even when you go to the desperate lengths of taking his glasses off. 

It didn’t make any sense for it to be his first time, not when you so clearly remember the way he’d maneuvered your body seamlessly. His head buried between your thighs, smooth strokes of his tongue and gentle, affectionate kisses to your clit which were enough to make you cum embarrassingly quickly. Not to mention the feeling of his hips settling between yours, hard cock slipping into your wet, aching pussy without hesitation, measured thrusts that had had you clawing at his back and seeing stars. 

“What do you mean I was your first ?” you ask, breathless and taken aback.

“It means exactly what you think it does,” Zayne replies bluntly, his head tilting. “I wanted it to be with you.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it?” you shoot back, throwing your hands up. 

“I was…” he pauses to clear his throat, a light flush tinging his cheeks, “preoccupied at the time.” His hand cups the back of your head, pulling you in closer despite your panicked protests. “...Much like I am now.”

You sag against him when he kisses you again, gasping into his mouth when Zayne stands, his hands sliding under your thighs to keep you against him. The wall is hard against your back when he presses you up against it, your legs locking behind his back, a needy whine escaping you as he presses his hips between your thighs, evidence of his arousal rubbing up against you.

“We- oh - we have to talk about it,” you begin, head tipping back when Zayne’s mouth drifts, dragging down your throat, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. “Zayne-”

“Later,” he grumbles, his grip on your thighs loosening as he lets you down, back down onto your feet. Your eyes flutter shut when he kisses your cheek, fingers curling into his shirt when Zayne’s mouth ghosts over your ear, gently kissing the shell of it. “We can discuss it once we’re finished.”

You blink up at him when he pulls back, letting out a sigh. When Zayne dips his head, you meet him halfway, landing a quick peck to his lips. 

“I thought you’d be the most hesitant,” you confess, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt absentmindedly. “I didn’t think you’d even agree.”

“But I did ,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek again, “and I meant it, so stop worrying and let me take care of you, love.”

“Don’t call me that,” you whisper, heart twinging uncomfortably in your chest, “stop- stop acting like-”

“Like what?” Zayne whispers, leaning in to kiss you again, slow and sweet. “Like you mean something to me? Like I can’t stand the thought of you marrying Caleb?” He raises his brows, trapping your chin between his thumb and finger, forcing you to meet his eyes when you look away. “Like you’re the only one for me?”

“I hate you,” you say, voice small and trembling slightly, “I wanted a baby… not- not whatever this is.” You gesture between your bodies agitatedly. “ This wasn’t a part of the agreement.”

“You’ll end up choosing one of us,” Zayne says, his thumb smoothing over your cheek, while his other hand drifts lower, pressing against your stomach. “I want it to be me , I want to see you glowing with my child, not someone else’s.”

“This was a terrible idea,” you sniffle belatedly.

“Yes,” Zayne smiles faintly, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks, “you seem to be brimming with those. Perhaps I should have let you show us that presentation after all.”

“You missed out,” you mumble, “definitely better than whatever you’d see at a medical conference.”

Zayne’s laugh makes you feel warm, body curling into his, your fingers tugging at his shirt until he follows the motion, leaning down. Your head tips back, hands sliding up his chest, arms wrapping around his neck to draw him into another kiss, lips working against his eagerly.

You both stumble into his bedroom, Zayne’s lips refusing to detach from yours even when you try and push at his chest to get him to lay down. He ends up pulling you down with him, hands lifting you up easily to settle you down on his lap, a squeak escaping you when his hand squeezes at the fat of your ass.

“We’ll go slow,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough, “I don’t want to tire you.”

“That’s considerate,” you breathe out, capturing his lips hungrily, “but I have something else in mind.”

Zayne grunts, his brows furrowing when he feels the absence of your weight on top of him, sitting up to watch you slink down from the bed, settling between his thighs with feigned innocence. He lets out a soft sigh when you paw at his trousers, pulling them down with eager hands, your gaze turning hazy when you see his hardened cock, the thick bulge in his boxers enough to make your thighs squeeze together needily.

“Come here,” Zayne whispers, patting his thigh, his other hand caressing your cheek. Your eyes flutter shut, head tilting to nuzzle into the warmth of his palm, the stroke of his thumb enough to have you letting out a quiet whine. “Come here, love,” he tries to coax again, hand stroking over your hair, “let me take care of you.”

“N- no,” you pout, shaking your head, “I want you in my mouth.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but you’re already dipping your head, mouthing at his boxers, the fabric darkening with your spit as you whine and nuzzle against his clothed cock. Zayne groans at the feeling of your mouth, your eyes flitting up just in time to catch a glimpse of the exposed length of his neck, his head tipped back in pleasure.

You smile, suckling a little more, shifting back when Zayne’s hips buck up, chasing after the feeling of your mouth.

“ Fuck ,” he murmurs, running a hand through his hair to peer down at you. “Take me out then, love. It’s all yours.”

You do as he says, eager hands pulling at the waistband of his boxers, throat drying at the sight of his cock. Pretty , you think, biting your lip when you see the tip of his cock, colored a few shades darker than the flush on his cheeks. Zayne’s cock is long and thick, and you’ve spent enough nights together for him to have taught you how to swallow his cock, the gentle stroke of his thumb across your chin enough encouragement for your mouth to drop open.

Zayne rasps out a curse when your mouth envelops the head of his cock, his hands curling into fists beside him, his hips jerking involuntarily. You mewl, the sound muffled by his cock filling your mouth, your head dipping to take him deeper.

There’s a moan following soon after, the low, hoarse sound making your eyes squeeze shut in delight, tongue eagerly swirling around Zayne’s cock. 

“That’s it. Taking me so well, love,” Zayne whispers, fingers ghosting across the bulge of his cock outlined in your cheek whenever you bob your head, “good girl. My good girl.”

The taste of his pre-cum, heady and intoxicating, combined with the whispery utterances of praise have you shuffling closer, your hand slipping into your shorts and panties to stroke across your dripping pussy. The sounds are obscene, spit dripping from the sides of your mouth and down your chin as you suck and lick the best you can.

You whine when Zayne tugs at your hair gently, pulling you off of his cock. “‘m not done,” you complain, hand wrapping around his spit-slick cock, squeezing enough to have his thighs twitching and more thick globs of pre-cum beading at the tip. 

“If I cum,” he sighs, his hand petting your hair, the soothing, stroking motion of his hand making you feel dazed, “I won’t be able to cum in you.”

“But ‘m being good,” you mumble, leaning forward to mouth across the hot length of his cock, tongue lapping across a prominent vein, following it towards the base of his cock, your nose brushing against the coarse hair that lays there. You press a kiss to his hip, eyes flitting up to meet his. “Just wanna make you feel good, Zayne.”

“You- hah- ,” his head tips back when you grip his cock more firmly, his teeth sinking into his lower lip when you lave your tongue over his balls. “You are ,” he manages out, voice strained, “you always do.”

The suckle of your mouth on his balls is enough to have Zayne biting his fist, the muffled sounds of his desperation combining with the soft gags that emanate from you when you envelop his cock again, cheeks hollowing as you suction, nails digging into his thighs when Zayne’s hand presses against your head, holding you in place.

You whimper, fingers pressing inside your aching cunt, hips humping needily, panties and shorts now drenched with your slick. Every bob of your head has his thighs twitching, Zayne’s groans making you mewl, the hoarse sounds escaping his throat encouraging you further, fingers massaging his balls greedily. 

Every soft suckle at the head of his cock makes Zayne’s patience fray, his fingers pushing at your forehead when you whine and try to kiss the tip of his cock, your lips smeared with spit and pre-cum, the debauched sight of you making his cock throb . 

“Come here,” Zayne rasps, his hands sliding under your arms to haul you up onto his lap. Your arms wind around his neck, mouth slotting against his eagerly, moaning when he licks into your mouth. He can taste himself on your tongue, a grunt leaving him when you paw at his chest, your fingers pulling his shirt over his head hastily.

You squeak in surprise when he suddenly flips you over, peering up at him with a shy smile and flushed cheeks. 

“I love your cock,” you slur dazedly, cooing when Zayne cups your cheek, the reverent kiss placed there making your heart flutter.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, smiling against your jaw, “what else do you love, baby?”

“How smart you are,” you sigh dreamily, hips lifting to help him as he pulls your shorts down. Your fingers run through his hair when his face buries into the crook of your neck, his mouth hot against your skin. “How patient you are with me,” you continue breathlessly, letting him slip your bra and shirt off, your back arching when Zayne’s mouth drags lower, across your chest.

Zayne lets out a low noise, a heavy breath of air leaving him when he sees your bare breasts, his jaw clenching at the sight. You bite your lip when he kisses the side of your breast, sighing softly when his tongue swirls around your areola, nails scratching at his scalp when his mouth envelopes one of your tits.

“Love your smile,” you mumble, thighs pressing together when he stares up at you, the lewd image of his tongue flicking against your hardened nipple enough to make you mewl. “Love- ngh- love your eyes, Zayne.”

The scrape of his teeth has you tugging at his hair, mouth dropping open and head tilting back into the pillows when Zayne bites down with measured restraint, tugging at your nipple with his teeth. It doesn’t seem to help when his hand slips between your thighs, lithe fingers pulling your panties to the side, your body seizing when his fingers slide through the wetness coating your dripping pussy.

“Is that all?” he asks quietly, tongue swirling over your other areola, his lips pressing against the side of your breast in a fleeting kiss.

Your breath catches when he lifts his head, the implication behind his question becoming clearer the longer the silence between you grows. Too soon , Zayne thinks to himself, his gaze softening when he feels you twitch, his lips brushing across your cheek in an apology. 

“Zayne, I-” you begin, pausing when words fail you, mouth opening and closing while your brows furrow, nervousness making your fingers tremble.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, muffling your needy sounds with his mouth as he sinks two fingers inside of you. “It’s okay, love. We can work up to it.”

You nod, thighs spreading open wider when his fingers curl up, hitting exactly where you need him to, the sensations making your aching cunt clench around his fingers. Every scissor of his fingers and flex of his wrist has you crying out, nails raking down his back when he quickens his pace. 

“Good girl,” Zayne breathes out, his mouth latching back onto your breast, “such a good girl for me, yeah?”

“Y- yes!” you gasp, tears beading at the corners of your eyes with every thrust of his fingers, every brush of his thumb against your throbbing clit, fingers reaching back blindly to grab at the pillow, teeth sinking into it as you moan and whine. “Zayne- oh- Zayne, please! ”

“That’s it, love,” he whispers encouragingly, mouth dragging along your jaw, peppering soft kisses to your cheek. “That’s it… cum for me, baby.”

A strangled sort of moan works its way out of your throat when Zayne crooks his fingers a little more and presses his thumb against your clit firmly, the sensation making your thighs twitch. You can feel his smile against your skin when your back arches, his lips returning to your tits, teeth nipping and tugging, your pussy fluttering around his fingers as you cum.

You blink up at him blearily, shaking your head with a whine when he settles between your thighs, his hands guiding them to rest on his shoulders.

“Another one,” Zayne murmurs, his head lowering to kiss your puffy folds, “give me another one, love. Please?”

Good manners were going to be the death of you. You watch as he thumbs apart your folds, hips jerking weakly when his lips press against your still swollen and faintly throbbing clit.

“Just one more?” you ask meekly, the heat in your lower stomach already beginning to build again when he kisses your clit once more.

“Yes,” he replies, lips pressing gentle kisses to your inner thighs. “One more and then I’ll fuck you, love. Nice and slow and fill you to the brim so you’re bred, hm?”

“Who taught you how to speak like that?” you ask exasperatedly, throwing an arm over your hot cheeks, unable to stop the thrill that Zayne’s words had sent down your body and was now dripping out of you, the strings of slick clinging to your folds.

There’s no answer given, instead Zayne’s tongue gliding over your wet, fluttering pussy, drawing a sharp gasp out of you. You’re sensitive, thighs twitching at every minute ministration, fingers tangling in Zayne’s hair yet again.

“Oh fuck ,” you whine, toes curling against his broad back, eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

Zayne grunts into your pussy when you tug at his hair, his body shifting forward to hike your legs up higher, mouth latching onto your clit. You whimper when his tongue flicks against the achy bud, cunt clenching involuntarily as he sucks, the soft smack of his lips against your pussy enough to make you drool.

The motions of his tongue and the massage of his fingers around your thighs is too much, your back beginning to arch once again, hands pushing at Zayne’s head weakly as you try to squirm away, the pleasure too much.

“You can take it,” Zayne says, his voice hoarse, “if you let Caleb fuck you twice, you can take this.”

“I- I can’t-” you whine, hips bucking up when Zayne’s tongue slips into your empty pussy. “Oh my- fuck- Zayne! ”

He keeps you pinned down, your sharp, little breaths only spurring him on, his cock still hard and throbbing, hips grinding against his bed to try and relieve the ache. You’re seeing stars, much like that first night, eyes squeezed shut tightly as every thrust of Zayne’s tongue inside of you leaves you gasping for air.

You try to sit up, rising up onto your elbows, head tipping back while your legs jerk out as Zayne’s face presses right between your thighs, the bridge of his nose pressing up against you deliciously. 

“All you have to do is cum,” Zayne says, his eyes watching you carefully, “that’s all you have to do, baby. Let me take care of you.”

“‘s too much,” you hiccup, making Zayne hiss in pain when you pull at his hair without abandon when his tongue presses inside of you again.

His mouth returns to your clit soon after, sucking with renewed fervor, the sensations making your elbows give out, body flopping back down onto his bed tiredly, cheek squishing against the pillow, spit leaking from the corner of your mouth.

“‘m gonna-” you slur, cunt clenching desperately, toes curling once more. “‘m gonna c- ah! ” 

“Cum,” he rasps, fingers slipping back inside of you once more, lips smacking against your clit in lewd, sticky kisses that leave his chin and lips shining with your slick. “Cum for me, love. Be good and fucking cum .”

The roughness of Zayne’s voice coupled with the command has you squirming and writhing, hands flailing around to grab onto anything you can find, only to find your hands pinned down by Zayne, his fingers lacing with yours tightly as you cum, your noises muffled by his mouth slotting over yours, his tongue delving into your mouth.

The press of his knee against your pussy isn’t helping, your hips rocking up involuntarily resulting in your pussy grinding across his thigh, a yelp escaping you when he presses his thigh against you harder, his kiss growing hungrier. You feel like you’re being devoured, mind blank except for the ever encompassing presence that is Zayne and the pleasure that leaves you quivering.

“Good girl,” he whispers, pecking your lips gently, his hand brushing your hair out of your eyes, “did so well for me, love. Always do.”

You preen at the praise, arms wrapping around his neck tiredly as he settles between your thighs, the soothing motion of his hand stroking over your hair making you feel content. The sweet words he whispers make you relax further, eyes drooping shut.

“Do you want to stop?” Zayne asks softly, rubbing his shirt across your cheek, cleaning the spit that had leaked out from your mouth earlier.

“No,” you whisper, peering up at him, your fingers splaying over his neck. “I want this, Zayne. I- I want you.”

His head drops forward, his breaths warm against your shoulder. Your hands slide up, cupping his cheeks to lift his head, thumbs smoothing across his cheeks gently. There’s a tense silence, something unreadable flitting through Zayne’s eyes, a sigh leaving him as he rises onto his knees, fisting his cock in one hand, jerking himself lazily.

“You’re annoyed,” you supply, hooking a leg around his hip as he shuffles forward, the head of his cock brushing across your clit fleetingly.

“Maybe,” Zayne replies, “but not at you. At myself.”

“Why?” you ask, teeth sinking into your lower lip when he smacks his cock against your pussy, translucent strings of your slick clinging to the length of his cock with every smack, pre-cum smearing across your clit in thick globs.

“Because I should have never let you leave after the first time.”

There’s barely enough time to register his words, Zayne’s cock sinking in immediately after, his hips pressing forward and hands landing on either side of your head. It isn’t fast or feral, just a slow, measured rock of Zayne’s hips that have him burying inch after inch of his cock inside of your pussy until he’s bottomed out.

You watch his expression with desperate eyes, an airy sound leaving you as he draws his hips back before sinking his cock back in with a languid thrust. It doesn’t feel like fucking , doesn’t feel like all the other times that you’ve had with Rafayel, Xavier or Caleb, it feels unfamiliar in a way that has something wretched curling around your heart.

“Go faster,” you mumble, desperately trying to deflect, “I want it harder.”

“No,” Zayne’s reply is blunt, “feel this, love.” His hand slides over your thigh, hiking your leg up higher as he fucks into you, slow and deep. “Feel this , feel what I feel.”

And you can feel it, you can feel the soft touch of his fingers, the brush of his chest against yours as he lowers himself, your breasts squishing against him. You can feel the brush of his lips over your forehead, over your cheek, the gentleness of his kiss as he captures your lips. You can feel the drag of his cock, deep, rolling thrusts that have you whining and whimpering and digging your nails into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks in their wake. 

“Whose baby?” he asks, staring down into your eyes intensely, “whose baby are you going to have?”

“Yours,” you blurt out. You’ve said it to each of them, each man before Zayne, but this feels different , your eyes fluttering shut. “Yours, Zayne,” you breathe out, “I’m going to have your baby.”

“Yes,” he whispers, “yes, you will, love.”

Zayne lays kisses along your jaw, mouth working lazily just as his hips do, his tongue laving over your neck, teeth scraping along the sensitive skin. You whimper, trying desperately to pull him closer, back arching under his weight.

“Take my cock,” Zayne murmurs, his face pressing into the crook of your neck, “take what I have to give you, baby.”

“I- I am taking it,” you whine, legs tightening around his hips, lips puckering up. “Wanna kiss, Zayne.”

He lets out a laugh, the low, hoarse noise making your cunt clench around him, Zayne’s laugh morphing into a groan when he feels how tightly you’re gripping him. 

“I’ll give you as many kisses as you want,” he soothes, pecking your lips sweetly. “Kiss you all the time when you’re all swollen with my baby and when you’re grouchy when your ankles start to hurt. I’ll kiss you all over, love.”

“‘m gonna hold you to that,” you mumble airily, moaning softly when his cock thrusts into you at the same time, buried so deeply in your cunt that there’s a bulge in your stomach, Zayne’s fingers drifting over it.

“Look at that,” Zayne says, landing another kiss on your lips as you blink down, eyes wide. “That’s where you’ll have my baby. I don’t need to cum twice to know that it’s going to be mine .”

It’s too much, his words coupled with his kisses, your gaze unable to stray from the bulge formed by his cock, the sight so distracting that Zayne lets out a noise of displeasure, his hand cupping your jaw to tilt your head back, his lips slotting over yours firmly.

“Zayne,” you mewl, thighs quivering when his cock drives into you over and over , “Zayne- ah- ‘m gonna cum…” you whimper when he buries his cock to the hilt, his balls flush against your ass. “‘m gonna cum!”

“That’s it,” Zayne rasps, his voice strained as he feels you clench around his cock, your fluttering walls making his eyes squeeze shut in pleasure. “Cum, love. Let me breed you.”

You cry out, Zayne’s name leaving you in a strangled chant, your nails raking down his back when he drops his weight onto you fully, cock pushing in deeper and deeper , until you can spy the bulge in your stomach when he shifts to give you a brief glimpse.

He groans into your mouth when you pull him into a kiss, hissing at the pain that burns across his scalp when you pull without abandon, his cock twitching and jerking inside of you while you cum, head thrown back and legs shaking.

“ Fuck- love, please- ”

Zayne doesn’t know what he’s even asking for, the tight grip of your walls making him gasp, his hips stuttering as you lick into his mouth, the kiss sloppy and clumsy. He can’t hold back anymore, not when you’re begging for him so sweetly, not when your cunt is so obviously trying to milk him dry. 

He cums with grunt; thick ropes of hot cum spilling inside of you, the sensation of your fluttering pussy drawing out a ragged breath from him, his hands giving out as he slumps atop you, his arms wrapping around you tightly. 

“Don’t pull out,” you whisper, pouting slightly when he lifts himself after a few moments, drawing away from you.

“A few more minutes,” Zayne relents, his eyes fluttering shut when you kiss his cheek, heart thudding when he feels how soft your fingers are against his skin. 

You bite your lip when he finally draws away, thighs pressing together tiredly as you watch him walk into the bathroom, the muscles in his back flexing, eyes lighting up at the sight of the red welts dragging down the length of his back.

“All marked up,” you announce, arms stretching above your head, letting out a yawn when he returns. “Looks pretty.”

“Grayson is going to give me a hard time in the changing room,” Zayne muses, his hands running along your sides, head dipping to lay kisses all over your stomach. You brush his hair out of his eyes, smiling when he kisses your lower stomach.

Zayne’s hands are warm as they rub over your thighs, massaging out the ache, his lips drifting across your hip as he lays reverent kisses to your skin. You let your fingers slip through his hair lazily, thighs shifting when he wipes between them with a hot, damp cloth, your eyes fluttering shut at the soothing comfort.

“Keep the rest in for me,” he whispers, his fingers stroking across your puffy pussy, pushing in the cum that threatens to leak out even after he’s cleaned you up.

“I’ll try,” you mumble sleepily, arms looping around his neck, hips squirming as he pulls your panties back up over your hips, your body curling into his.

Every stroke of his hand over your hair lulls you, a tired smile coming across your face, lips pressing against Zayne’s in a slow kiss. His hand slides over the dip of your waist and curve of your hip, curling around your thigh to bring you closer, lips working against yours gently.

“Thank you,” you whisper, face pressing into his chest, “for always taking care of me.”

Zayne clears his throat, his arms tightening around you. “I don’t plan on stopping,” he murmurs into your hair, the feeling of your body against his enough to make his heart lurch.

“Ever?” you ask, voice small, your fingers tracing across his skin absentmindedly. 

When Zayne’s hand slips between your bodies, you shiver, his palm pressing against your stomach firmly. You don’t know what compels you, but your hand slips over his, fingers lacing together, the intensity of his gaze like a binding vow.

“Ever,” Zayne promises, his hand caressing your stomach, lips pressing against your forehead.

The stroke of his thumb over your lower stomach doesn’t seem to help, eyes growing glassy with tears. “Maybe you should stop talking,” you suggest, letting out a shaky breath, “it’s making me hormonal.”

Zayne huffs out a laugh, his eyes bright with amusement. You scrunch your nose when he nuzzles into your cheek, squeaking when he squeezes the fat of your ass.

“I’ll say much sweeter things to you when you’re pregnant,” he muses.

You can’t stop yourself from letting the question slip out of your mouth. “Like what?”

Zayne kisses your forehead, his lips brushing across your ear soon after. “First hint,” he whispers, pulling you closer as though trying to meld your bodies together. “Three words.”

- 

Crows were never Sylus’ favorite animal.

Although that was before he’d ever found Mephisto, and the small, injured crow that had tapped its beak against the sweeping windowpanes of his penthouse had been enough to fill him with a sense of pity towards the little creature all those years ago. 

Still, pets had to be trained, didn’t they? He’d started off small, a hidden stash of seeds here and there until the stubborn, pesky, and still recovering bird had finally given in and flown off to uncover whatever treasure was awaiting him. 

Sylus still wasn’t unsure how it had happened, but the crow had taken a liking to him. Perhaps it was the little blobs of jam that had managed to bribe the creature, or perhaps it was the gentle scratches Sylus had offered him, the soft features under his fingers making his guarded disposition crumble until he’d caved and given the impish crow a name.

It hardly matters now, however, not when Sylus’ mind is now occupied by thoughts of you , laced with festering moments of longing that leave him feeling embarrassingly flustered. 

Sylus supposes its why he’s here now, sitting behind his desk in the late hours of the night. He narrows his eyes at Mephisto when the crow pecks his fingers teasingly as he carefully loosens the collar from around the crow’s neck, gently stroking across Mephisto’s tuft of feathers in a silent thank you. 

The small camera embedded in the collar is unharmed. Sylus feels foolish doing this, but he can’t seem to help it, possessiveness clawing at his insides until he relents. The footage is shaky and slightly blurred by the glass, but it’s enough for him to catch a glimpse of you.

The way you curl up into Zayne’s body has Sylus’ hands tightening into clenched fists, knuckles turning white when he sees you bare and sated, his teeth grinding together when he sees Zayne brush a kiss to your forehead.

It’s not normal to obsess , not like this at least, the drive on his laptop filled with footage of you over the past four days. Sylus mutters a curse under his breath when he sees you smile and lean into kiss Zayne, the sound of his laptop slamming shut drawing a startled caw out of Mephisto.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, reaching out to pet the crow’s head gently, “I left some jam and seeds in your bowl. Eat up.”

Sylus’ fingers work with practised ease as he wraps his fingers with tape, his shirt pulled over his head, tense shoulders rolling in an agitated motion as he stalks towards the punching bag. The first slam of his fist doesn’t make him feel better. Neither does the second, or the third… or the twentieth. 

He wipes at the sweat beading on his brow with the back of his hand, rolling his shoulders again, the familiar sluggish ache of exertion beginning to settle in. The punching bag no longer hangs from its hook, strewn half-way across the room instead.

Mephisto pecks at its frayed edges.

taglist >///<

@serenitymaria @kreishin @qyuin @wegottastayfocus @novthirty @syluslittlecrows @blorbohunter @luvleixo @crimsonmarabou @skylaryoung2002 @multisstuff @chirikoheina @supermissnkta @serenity-loves-red @shi-thats-kiera @froleineeeee @jaynawayna @schooki @minyoongi-pouts @mizienjoyer @isagistar @zaynesnowflake @athena-portgas @colonelcalebs-pipsqueak @cutelittlesugarfairy @pookiei-bookie @dooopiee @rafshottestgf @thetimetravelernightmare @slytherin-min99 @envy-of-greed @paninisstuff @h0ngh0ngh0ng @nezuswritingdesk @teeheeheartless @flwerie @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @babyx91 @thisaintviolet69 @scoupsonlycherry @blubearxy @midiplier @young-adult-summer @daisys-mushroom-garden @sunsethw4 @lads-ficrecs @buffytheangelslayer @helios-eyre @browneyedgirl22 @straows @lennysnicket @actuallynarii

[darkmatilda]

𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: while working on the case and watching a certain profiler with pretty eyes and a well-tailored coat, you overhear some local cops badmouthing him — and before you know it, you decide to put them in their place.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, unpleasant comments about spencer’s looks and behavior, diva is so diva he should marry her right now fr and hold my hand while i say this and don’t panic joke about morgan's baldness...

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 1.8k

𝐚/𝐧: request | i was too much of a lazy bitch to make a header sorry i hope his pretty face makes up for it xx

“How are you feeling out in the field?”

Morgan addressed you with his arms loosely crossed over his chest and a slightly teasing expression on his face. You slowly shifted your gaze to him.

“Absolutely fantastic,” you replied flatly, adjusting your grip on the handle of the umbrella resting against your side. Through the tree canopies spreading above your heads, patches of gray clouds broke through, now and then releasing a few drops as a warning of the real downpour to come. “I love nature.”

He nodded ironically, clearly unconvinced.

“Of course,” he said. “Do you love the mud on your boots too?”

Almost exactly as those words left his mouth, several large raindrops tapped against his FBI jacket, followed immediately by more, falling with even greater intensity. Your friend raised his eyes to the sky, pressing his lips together in displeasure. Rainy weather always made working at a crime scene harder—securing the body and protecting biological and chemical evidence. And collecting the latter was already challenging given the location: a truly remote, densely overgrown spot in the forest, impossible to access by police vehicles. Those had been left at the end of the forest path, as far in as they could get, and you’d been led to the exact place where the latest victim of the serial killer had been found by local officers.

“I’m about to have mud on my boots,” you remarked, already imagining what would happen to the already damp ground after even just a few minutes of such heavy rain. The conditions you encountered had been predictable, so you had chosen footwear suited to them—stylish boots that also perfectly complemented the rest of your outfit. But then again, that was nothing unusual. Even if you had to evacuate during a volcanic eruption, you’d grab something you wouldn’t be ashamed to have melted into your skin by lava.

You opened the umbrella, which had until then been resting with its tip on the ground. Derek took a step toward you, premature gratitude written all over his face—so you stepped back instead, the corners of your mouth curling up mischievously.

“What? Worried about your hair?”

Morgan shook his bald head from side to side, sighing.

“You little witch—”

“Morgan!”

Hotch’s voice called out to you from a not particularly great distance. Even he—who normally never parted with his suit—was now wearing a brown fleece with a high collar and was currently overseeing the setup of a police tent over the recovered body to protect it from the rain.

Derek gave you a nod in farewell, ending the brief chat, but you didn’t even follow him with your eyes. Your gaze remained fixed in Hotch’s direction—or more precisely, on the member of his team who had just approached him. What immediately caught your attention was that Reid was wearing a very well-tailored coat (a detail that made you purse your lower lip in approval, because well tailored coats did have something about them), and he had just begun explaining something, as usual gesturing animatedly with his hands—now covered in blue rubber gloves, lightly dusted with dark soil.

Focused on whatever fascinating theory or analysis he was sharing, he seemed completely unaware of at least half of his gestures, absentmindedly rubbing his chin with the dirty glove in concentration—naturally leaving a mark on his skin.

You rolled your eyes at the sight, but there was something surprisingly gentle in that gesture. You turned the handle of the umbrella in your hand, which also rested on your shoulder—and then the corner of your ear caught a scrap of conversation happening behind your back. Even without turning your head, just by slightly focusing your hearing, you could tell it was coming from two of the local officers also present at the scene.

“Where do you think they even dug him up from?” asked the first male voice mockingly.

“Which one?” the second sounded confused, but a moment later let out a derisive snort. “Alright, don’t even tell me. I already know who you mean.”

Laughter. Real kings of comedy, truly.

“I wonder what he’s even doing in the FBI. I mean, they’ve got to have some kind of fitness tests, right? What’s a beanpole like that even good for?”

“I’ll tell you what he’s good for—pissing everyone off with his babbling. Just look at the other guy’s face.”

Following the suggestion, you looked at the other guy’s face. That, of course, meant Hotch’s face—there was no doubt who the first part of that pathetic, taxpayer-funded conversation had been about. You studied the BAU chief’s expression more closely and didn’t detect a hint of irritation or weariness at whatever Spencer was explaining to him. Hotch simply looked like Hotch.

Your observation was interrupted by the approach of one of your team members, the hood of her raincoat pulled tightly around her head and her glasses nearly completely covered in rain.

“We’re going to have to go back to the car for the equipment,” she informed you, adjusting her glasses on her nose with a sigh the moment she looked toward the path you had come from earlier. That meant quite a bit of walking through muddy terrain, carrying rather heavy items—always packed in sturdy cases for safety reasons.

A certain thought popped into your head, and with a smile creeping onto your lips, you calmed Olivia with a wave of your hand.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said. The woman frowned suspiciously as you turned over your shoulder toward the two men behind you. “Gentlemen, could I ask you for a favor?”

They stared at you for a beat too long, then at each other—and then eagerly stepped forward to fulfill the favor, whatever it was.

“Of course...”

“Anything you wish...”

You cleared your throat.

“You’ll go and bring back the case with number two on it,” you instructed.

Olivia furrowed her brows and parted her lips to protest, but you silenced her with just a look.

“But you need to be extremely careful,” you continued smoothly, “so, very slowly. Ideally, carry it together—for stability.”

The men listened with rapt attention and visible determination to follow your directions. Which, of course, were nonsense—one person could easily carry it alone. But trying to do it as a pair would stretch the trip out nicely in all that rain and mud. Then, well, they were gone, like children you’d promised candy to.

It was so very typical of the kind of men you made use of—just as typical as their pitiful little sense of being useful, irreplaceable.

You watched them vanish between the trees, and when your gaze met Olivia's again, her face showed both surprise and a certain intrigue.

“But we need case number three,” she pointed out, correctly.

You opened your mouth in exaggerated disbelief.

“Really…? Oh, Olivia, why didn’t you say so earlier,” you sighed, making it clear that the whole thing had been a game from the start.

The woman stayed silent for a moment, genuinely trying to figure out your intentions. She gave up shortly after, shaking her head with a sigh.

“And what kind of sadist are you playing today?” she asked.

“You’ll see,” you assured her.

The officers returned, lugging the wrong case and looking like wet dogs, their hair plastered to their foreheads from the rain, which had only intensified since they’d left. They set it down in front of you and Olivia, both sheltered under the umbrella you were holding, visibly relieved they hadn’t dropped it.

You waited a few seconds, during which they stood silently, clearly expecting some kind of eternal gratitude, before raising an eyebrow.

“I said case number three.”

They exchanged a look.

“Um, I’m pretty sure you said the one with number two on it.”

“Um, sounds like you’ve got a hearing problem,” you snapped, sharper than you’d intended, the words slipping out before you could stop them

It wasn’t something you’d planned from the start, and for a second, you were secretly surprised at yourself. But since sharpness and spite had apparently chosen you today, you decided to stick with that version of events and made sure your face reflected the proper level of displeasure.

Olivia glanced sideways at you for a long moment, then nodded with faux certainty.

“Yeah, she definitely said case number three. You must’ve misheard. Not your fault, maybe it was the rain,” she offered in a more sympathetic tone, though still fully backing your story.

The men exchanged confused looks, now with a flicker of doubt that maybe it had been their mistake. So, off they went again—to return the wrong case and fetch the correct one. When they finally disappeared, you gave Olivia a small, grateful smile.

Only to immediately wipe it off your face as the dumbasses reappeared, and declare:

“And what about my handbag? I told you to bring that too.”

And what amused you the most was that the two of them only started showing any suspicion or doubt after their third trek through the rain and mud. Frustration flashed in one of their eyes as he handed you your handbag.

“Was this really necessary for working the case?” he asked through clenched teeth.

Unbothered, and with their eyes still on you, you calmly reached into the bag for your compact mirror and lipstick, touching up your makeup with the faintest swipe.

“No,” you replied, snapping the mirror shut. “But at least you were useful for something. There’s no intellectual work here for two such empty heads, so you might as well make use of those muscles.” You gave them a critical once-over with that last word—because honesty, their physiques weren’t all that impressive either.

They stared at you in complete stupefaction before walking off, muttering something under their breath about a crazy bitch. Well, you had no intention of wasting another word on them. Another thing you had no intention of doing was explaining the entire ordeal to the clearly intrigued Olivia. And the main reason for that was the fact that you hadn’t fully rationalized it to yourself. Maybe you were just running on a higher than usual dose of spite that day.

Maybe there was another reason entirely.

Shortly afterward, Reid approached you, preoccupied with peeling off his latex gloves, only glancing at you with brows furrowed in curiosity.

“Is it just me, or did you send these guys to the cars three times?” he asked.

You merely gave a slight shrug.

“That’s what happens when you have trouble following instructions,” you remarked simply.

And before walking off to rejoin your team, you reached up and wiped that smudge of dirt from his chin with your thumb—the one you'd spotted earlier—leaving him, to put it mildly, completely stunned.

[idyllwave]

MYDEI GETS ANGRY AT YOU, or when Mydei says something to you that's hurtful when all you're trying to do is show that you care.

angst, mydei x fem!reader, arguments, mydei is kind of mean here, fluff at the end, etc.

“I- I’m sorry Mydei, I really didn’t mean anything wrong by-“

He silenced you by taking a step forward, that lone action striking fear in you as you took a step back, the back your thighs hitting the bed as you lost your balance and ended up falling into the mattress, but you were quick to sit up as Mydei looked down at you.

“You’re always sorry,” he bit, “but you don’t understand at all. You do not understand the choices I have to make or the responsibilities that I bear, and yet you preach about how I need rest or need to take a break when you don’t even know what I do to keep you and everyone else safe,” he snapped at you, barred his teeth, lashed out.

You knew he was stressed, and all you wanted to do was to help…

“I- I’m sorry,” you managed to choke out as tears began to bubble up at the corners of your eyes before cascading down your cheeks. Your lips doing that quivering thing they always do when you start to cry ugly tears.

“Tch, and now you’re crying,” he turned away from you, “if you stopped nagging at me and stopped being so damn clingy and acting like you know what’s best for me then you wouldn’t be crying so damn much.”

He went to leave and you called after him, asking him where he was going.

“Out, your crying is annoying. I need some peace and quiet since you talk so much.”

You bit back anything you had left in your mouth in fear that he would turn around and have even more to share with you. And when you couldn’t hear his footsteps echoing any longer and even a loud slam of a door, you fell back into the bed, your tears coming out faster and harder than before.

When you see him again, you’ll apologize. You didn’t want him to be angry at you for long.

You curled up on his side of the bed, your hands reaching for the covers as you pulled them over you in a mock embrace. You sniffled as you closed your eyes in hopes that sleep could put your mind at ease…

Meanwhile, Mydei was taking his frustration out on multiple training dummys which didn’t go unnoticed by a certain deliverer.

“Don’t you think they had enough,” Phainon mused as he watched Mydei hack yet another head off. The straw made head falling a little away from them due to how much force Mydei had used to cut it off.

“Not now deliverer. I’m not in the mood.”

Phainon watched as Mydei cut off another dummy’s head, his eyes scanning the man carefully – he observed Mydei’s body language, saw how his fist would punch a hole into a dummy’s stomach straight through before moving onto the next. Only one person could get Mydei so worked up.

“Did you fight with your wife again?”

Phainon had to hold back a laugh at the way Mydei so visibly tensed. It was just too easy to read the kremnoan man.

“Well,” Phainon pressed, “you should make up with her soon, fighting with her will do you no good.”

Mydei unclenched his fists before sighing heavily, “I do not believe she wishes to see me.”

“Why is that?”

Mydei glanced to Phainon and weighed his options, but decided to talk to the man anyway as he was … the closest person he could talk to about this. So he recounted the argument with Phainon, and much to his displeasure, by just looking at Phainon’s face he could see just how much he messed up.

“Friend, I am going to say this as kindly as possible… you messed up.”

“Tch,” Mydei crossed his arms over his chest as he looked away, “I already know that.”

Phainon sighed, “how long has it been since the argument?”

“This morning.”

It was already well passed noon.

Phainon shook his head as he gestured to the exit of the training grounds, “you better hurry on back to her.”

Mydei didn’t even need anymore convincing as he rushed home. Many in the streets wondered what at the kremnoan prince in such a rush, but he paid them no mind as he ran home to you.

Bursting through the doors, he went into each room he came across, but you were nowhere in sight. It wasn’t until he reached your shared room did he find you under the covers and curled up on his side of the bed, right where he had left you. Were you waiting for him to come back?

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he went up to you and kneeled beside the bed. He reached for your face as he brushed the stray hair from your face, your eyes were puffy and cheeks dried with tears. Regret was filled inside of him.

“Y/n,” he called for your gently as he ran his fingers along your cheek, the cool metal of his gloves waking you up as you groggily opened your eyes.

“Mydei?”

When you saw his face, your eyes were immediately started to fill with tears again, he was quick to wrap you up in a hug as he pulled you close into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he tried not to strain those words as he apologized, tried to even make it sound soothing as he held you, “please do not cry. I was a cruel man with what I said to you, all because you were worrying about my well-being.”

You sat up a little and wrapped your arms around his waist, “I’m sorry too,” you said quietly, “I knew you were stressed and tried to help instead of giving you space.”

Mydei shook his head, “I don’t ever want you to give me space. I should have listened to you, please forgive me.”

He knew words alone would not fix what he had said and done. He knew that he scared you today, he could see it in your eyes earlier that morning when you were trying to back away from him. You were … afraid … of him.

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

[menelausblues]

tuesdays.

꒰ your roommate xavier is odd and quite specific. ꒱

𖥔 ݁ 12.5k. no evol, roommates to lovers au. video game developer x student mc/reader. xavier is a shy guy. rafayel cameo as your quirky neighbor. xavier and mc cook together. somewhat slow burn? domestic fluff. misunderstandings. jealousy. light angst. humor. ❀ ݁ this is old, very old. n i've re-written it for several fandoms atp but it belongs to xavier now n this is the last time i'll put it out there lmao.

mdni.

having xavier as a roommate doesn’t necessarily cause you any problems in your everyday life, but boy is he a rather peculiar man from time to time.

sharing space with him is an overall easygoing and even enjoyable experience due to his reserved and borderline reclusive nature.

he’s quiet, rarely has guests, and doesn’t pester you. he’s also quite domestic, which seems to indirectly benefit you. his areas are well-kept and consistently clean. he stays on top of household finances and shopkeeping. he enjoys cooking and often feeds you. 

when you’re gone for the entire day from morning until night, either at work or shuffling through campus, you come home to an extra serving waiting for you. though, he’s never anywhere in sight. ( admittedly, you did eat his extras without permission the first time, but now, he delegates them to you in space-themed bento box you think he’s had since he was a boy. )

considering he sleeps quite early in order to wake up at the first breath of every morning, and you finally consume your second meal of the day alone in the dimly lit kitchen at 11:30 pm, there’s never  an appropriate time to thank him. so, you instead leave a sticky note that reads, ‘thank you for the food. i ate well!’ on the coffee machine, the first place he looks each morning. you know this because every day, promptly at 7:15 am, you’re roused from your slumber by the pleasant aroma of coffee brewing and clinging to the air, seeping through all the walls. it’s a habit of his that cultivates comfort, a sense of home. you don’t even like coffee, but his routine is oddly like an alarm, a signal to your body that the day is beginning and rising with him. shortly after his brew begins, your eyes flutter open, humming contentedly as you take in the scent and stretch the sleep out of your limbs. xavier is kind enough. he doesn’t make many demands of you and asks for a reasonable amount to rent his spare room. of all the people and places you could have secured last-minute housing for university, you’re quite fortunate to end up with xavier. 

he’s a simple guy, not one for many words, communicating in mostly happy hums, gentle sighs, and soft nods ( when you actually see him come slinking out of his bedroom or enter quietly from wherever he spends his day, that is. ) but despite being mostly pleasant and tolerable, he still has these oddities that make you quirk a brow at him, utterly perplexed. firstly, he nitpicks the number of paper towels you use at once. on one of the rare occasions you mutually linger in the common space other than tuesday, you have the audacity to wash your hands in front of him — dry them, no less. naturally, like any other, you grab paper towels to dry, and you feel his eyes locked on your side profile, watching diligently from the dining table. his eyes, little seas you can drown in, shamelessly bore into you. he analyzes you carefully — judges you.

you meet his eyes slowly, unusually nervous. you feel as if you’re being heavily and thoroughly scrutinized. his displeasure pierces the air with terrifying persistence.

“uh…is everything okay?” “you use a lot of paper towels at once.” he notes quietly, never tearing his gaze from yours. “it’s pretty wasteful.” he admittedly didn’t state it with malice, only moderate concern at best. when he says it, you look down between your palms where a bundle of paper towels are bunched.

you can admit it’s more than you actually needed, but it’s such an odd thing to want to observe and take note of, such a specific behavior to apply feedback to. you look back up at him, blinking slowly. “sorry?” you offer half-heartedly. “is there a certain amount you’d like me to use at a time?” you try your damndest not to let the severity of your bubbling agitation show, but you hear it slip in the way you offer him a careless apology and defensive inquiry about a solution. to your dismay, xavier only hums, ignoring your attitude and seriously considering your notion. “ideally, paper towels should only be used for spills and messes, so as to not permanently stain our cloth towels. considering there are two hundred and eight sheets in total, at an average cost of five diamonds per roll, making each sheet worth just under two-point-five gold, it’d be objectively more cost-efficient and environmentally friendly if you…placed a cloth towel there specifically to dry your hands and include it in your laundry cycle regularly. that’s what i do. it’s…the most reasonable option.” “uh…huh.” you say it slowly, trying to wrap your mind around why it took a boy who hardly ever speaks so many words to arrive at a simple conclusion: put a hand towel there instead. “i’ll put a towel there. i’m sorry for being wasteful.” he nods, his hard gaze softening and moving back to previous stimuli. “thank you for acknowledging my concern.” in truth, you don’t even get a chance to add a towel. xavier does it himself. the next time you’re in the kitchen, you notice he’s left an additional towel hanging right next to his, identical. the sight of it causes you to shake your head and chuckle to yourself, lips tilting into a grin. 

peculiar boy.

coupled with his obtuse observational interests is xavier’s odd attachment to tiny, mundane instances inside his routine. specifically, everyone coming home on time. every tuesday you only have a single class in the morning, and you also have a day off from your part-time job. so, you usually stroll back into the apartment by mid-afternoon. xavier is never there when you arrive, and you don’t know much about what he does with his time during the day. at most, you know he’s already graduated university. you know he must make decent money considering his capacity for keeping the entire house’s basic needs met. you figure he has to do something during the daytime.

that, or it’s nepotism.

what it is? you’re uncertain, but he always carries a backpack stuffed full, and his laptop is always tucked securely under his arm within a protective sleeve. xavier is a habitual creature through and through, dancing in the spaces of predictability with perceivable glee. he arrives back home by 4:30 consistently. by that time, you’re usually engrossed in a book, spread out on the living room floor studying, or curled up on the couch watching dramas whenever he finally arrives. you never make eye contact or redirect your attention from what it’s already fixated on, but you do always absentmindedly greet him the same way each time: “welcome home.”

he always gives you a small hello and immediately retreats to his room without another word. sometime around six, he emerges from his room and comes to the common space to ask if you want dinner. tuesday evening is the only occasion during the week you’re able to try the things he makes fresh, rather than reheating them. and you both sit in an incredibly comforting, idle silence while you eat. there’s never expectations to entertain one another or engage in meaningless small talk. you compliment his meal, thank him, and tell him you ate well. it’s never a lie. xavier is an exceptional cook. but on one particular tuesday in question, he comes stumbling into the apartment at 2:45 pm, significantly earlier than usual, and he’s in an evident frenzy. he comes in, kicks his shoes off at the door with little regard ( entirely unlike him ), and moans begrudgingly as he shuffles back toward his room, defeat loud and palpable.

“welcom—” the greeting dies on your lips, hearing his long string of audible dread and looking after him as he scurries down the hall. “xavier?” you call after him. you watch his tall figure pause and turn back towards you when he hears you, his cerulean eyes round and wide with apprehension and fear. “yes?” “rough day?” you ask him softly, trying not to overwhelm him even more. “you’re home pretty early and you have this distinct look of terror.” you try to joke lightheartedly, but he sighs in response, looking down at his feet. “it is a rough day and it’s only going to get worse. i don’t know what to do.” “do you need help with something?” “i…i think so? i have friends coming over. i’ve never had anyone over here. i don’t…do that. i’ve never made that much food. i feel like i won’t be able to get done in time and clean myself up.” “you seem really stressed out about this. how many people are coming?” “…two,” he answers sheepishly. “but additional mouths to feed means more time and honestly, i don’t have any time. i left work early so i could try to make this happen, but now it means i’m going to be behind on the schedule i put together for my project and this is…it’s…it’s fussing up my routine. that's making me stressed. i’m sorry. i’m sorry . i know i’m just blubbering and prattling right now.” “xavier,” you say softly, giving him a sympathetic smile. “it’s okay. i get it. i hate when my day gets thrown off, too. i’m not doing anything particularly important if you want help with making dinner. are there things you need from the store or anything? i can take care of that while you wash up and relax for a bit.”

he’s quiet for a moment as if he doesn’t know what to say. he just stares at you with an unreadable expression, nods once — quite curtly — and turns back toward his room. you don’t take it any kind of way, knowing he often responds pretty similarly. you figure he just isn’t used to requesting or receiving help, but it’s fine. you can and will follow through. xavier doesn’t realize what a load he takes off your shoulder by providing you with regular meals. in your mind, the least you can do is eat well, be mindful of your paper towel use, and offer helpful hands when applicable. later when the two of you are prepping dinner and simultaneously trying to make the apartment feel ‘guest ready’, you keep noticing him glance over at you, but he doesn’t speak. actually, he hardly says anything at all the entire time you work together. it’s such a strange contradiction. he presents himself as shy and reserved because he simply dosen’t speak, but when he does speak, he seems to talk a mile a minute or be unnecessarily long-winded at an average speed. there isn’t really an in-between thus far, and you’d lived with him for nearly a year. unable to endure any more of his silent but blatant gazes, you snap your head to him, a little curious and also frustrated. “why are you staring at me? did i do something again?” “no,” his head shakes as he blinks, seeming a bit taken aback by your tone. “i was…thinking that i’m really grateful that you were willing to help me with this. i don’t have enough time to finish all my work. i don’t have enough time to see my friends or have dinner with them. i don’t have enough time to spend with myself. but i’m trying to do it anyway because…it matters, you know? but i was…in a panic earlier. i get really stuck on my routines. inconsistencies just make my brain itch. i was feeling really overwhelmed and your offer to go gather the things i needed just so i could shower and breathe for ten minutes…meant…a lot to me. so…thank you. also…i’m sorry…for staring. i have this really bad habit of not knowing what to say, so i say nothing or… everything.”

to his apparent surprise, you giggle. his eyes widen a bit at the sound. “yeah, i noticed that about you, actually.” you place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “no problem. we’ve been here together for a while now, yeah? it’s only natural that sometimes we need to rely on each other. it’s kind of like how you leave me your extras from dinner for when i get home. i…otherwise would only eat once a day most days. i move around a lot. i forget about it, and by the time i get home, i’m too exhausted to make food. i’m grateful for how you’re willing to help me, too.” you didn’t expect to see his face flush red or for him to look down as if staring at his feet will make the bright, rosy tips of his ears disappear. 

“yeah…no problem. i guess you’re right.” “so…what is it that you do for work? what’s so time-consuming that you essentially have no life outside of it?” you ask. although you’re curious about his line of work, you ask him for his benefit, so he doesn’t feel embarrassed for feeling flustered after your exchange. you’re starting to figure out that although xavier appears and presents as if his lack of social involvement is a personal preference and choice, being a loner is not just a stylistic choice but an inevitable outcome.

he’s clearly socially inept. when you guys eat in thick silence, it’s not because he’s wading in an endless sea of comfortable notions and  doesn’t feel the need to speak. he doesn’t know what to say, so he opts for absolutely nothing. small talk is likely not something he’s familiar with or perhaps even cares about. he has to be coaxed out of his fretful foundation just to express that he needs help. he communicates in grunts, nods, and sighs because it’s easier than navigating a flow of back and forth in conversation. “i’m a video game designer. i…work on actions and movements mostly. the physics of it all. when characters engage in combat or how they interact with certain parts of the environment in open-world games? i’m part of the team that goes behind creating things like that. we give the characters life and motion. it’s…pretty cool considering it’s been my dream job since i was young, but it’s a lot of hard work. we’re working on a really important game right now. it could put our team on the map with. so,  i have to do my best. i can’t let my team down.” you hum, impressed. “that’s actually really cool. i kind of figured you were a nerd in some capacity. you’re a cool nerd with a cool job.” he laughs then, light and quiet but saccharine sweet. “i wouldn’t say i’m a nerd. i have a deep understanding of my personal interests. it doesn’t make me nerdy. just knowledgeable.”

you nod in agreement but hum in protest. “no, it doesn’t make you nerdy, but telling someone they use too many paper towels and proceeding to itemize the cost of a single sheet on a whim is…not, not nerdy.” you explain, clicking your tongue. he pouts. “i thought that information was relevant to helping you understand my stance.” “i would’ve understood even if you didn’t explain, xavier. it’s your apartment and you buy all the paper towels. it’s not wrong for you to, without explanation, tell me to be mindful of my excessive use.” xavier looks you over, his expression contorted by perceivable perplexity, lips pursed and eyes just staring at you while blinking blankly. “but you clearly were bothered by me bringing it up. that’s why i elaborated like that.” nonchalantly, you shrug. “i wasn’t bothered you brought it up. i just thought you were being peculiar. and you still haven’t been able to escape those allegations, by the way. it’s alright, though. even if we end up having to indict you for your oddities, i’ll still accept you.”

it’s quiet between you both then. xavier seems to have nothing else to offer to the little exchange, and that’s fine with you because when you peek at him again as he’s chopping vegetables, you notice his tiny smile. and you note that the subtle little smile doesn’t leave him for the entirety of the evening. you sit quietly on the opposite side of the room,  midding — uninvolved but happily present — observing him engage with his work friends, jeremiah and ulysses. he seems quite comfortable with them. his speech becomes fluid, easy, and even exciting at times. you see a little sparkle in his eyes when they talk about games and how jeremiah is close to finishing is personal passion project. 

xavier must love gaming a lot. you wonder if video game development is really his dream activity or just the dream career, and maybe his real passion is something more novel and less technical. regardless, you can’t help the sheer feeling of pride that swirls around in your chest seeing him like this: attentive, involved, lively. it gives you a subtle little smile of your own. and you note that it doesn’t leave you for the entirety of the evening.

among all other observations, the characteristic of xavier’s that confirms the strength of his quirkiness is how he’s suddenly far too concerned with how you spend your tuesdays. it starts the week after you help him prepare his tiny dinner party for his friends, the most peculiar aspects of his behavior. it’s all because on one particular tuesday in question, you never come home after class. 

your friend and co-worker, tara, has a date with a girl she’s been flirting with for a while, and you agree to switch shifts. today in exchange for a day you don’t have class and you can stay home, a fair and even trade. you’re tired, hanging on by a thread, but you really need the extra time for the week. ( you work as a waitress at a small restaurant near the university. most students dine between classes or on their lunches. it’s a small but heavily populated establishment. when you volunteer to work on busy days, your boss advances you what you make for that day at the end of the night. it has its perks and its pits. ) while cleaning off the table of a guest who just left, you receive repeated text messages, making your brows furrow as your phone shoots signal after signal in quick succession. who could possibly be texting you this urgently? no one ever does. you glance at the time. 4:32 pm. xavier usually wanders through the door right around now. your expression lifts in light shock as you see he happens to be the source of the incessant sounding.

4:32 pm  ⋮   xavier.

are you safe? you’re not at home. it’s tuesday. you’re usually home when i get here. my routine is thrown off.

you roll your eyes reading his messages. he’s being hyperbolic and overdramatic again, but for what? is it really so important that you’re there just to say two words he hardly acknowledges only to hole up in his room until he’s ready to make dinner? 

maybe this is his attempt at humor.

you chuckle at the thought of it. xavier is so socially awkward that his jokes don’t even land; they just float in the air, suspended by complexity until someone gets it.

4:34 pm  ⋮  you.

you’re being incredibly dramatic. i’m at work. very alive and well. making money to keep feeding us.

4:35 pm  ⋮  xavier.

objectively incorrect. i buy all of our food?

4:40 pm  ⋮   xavier. 

look. no one was here to welcome me home and now i’m back but don’t feel an ounce of welcome about it.

you laugh at his response, very heartily, right in the middle of a restaurant, inwardly beaming with pride because he made a joke. and it was actually kind of funny. only kind of. you start to wonder why it matters so much to you if he grows into himself and becomes comfortable enough to speak freely and easily. why do you feel so invested in his character development? regardless, you hope to see him come out of his shell more. it’s becoming of him.

4:42 pm  ⋮  xavier. 

will you make it in time for dinner or another long night?

4:44 pm  ⋮   you.

probably not. it’s pretty busy and we’re already short-staffed. another long night. aiming to be back by ten tonight. i have homework due at midnight.

4:45 pm  ⋮ xavier.

okay…understood. godspeed.

work goes by as it does. it’s always the same formula and equation, just different bodies and times of day. you finally come strolling home at 10:05 pm. you’re dead tired and knowing you still have to finish your homework and submit it is making the exhaustion feel heavier than it probably is. when you head inside, you expect it to be dark, only the light above the stove left on as per usual, but instead, all of the lights are on. the tv is chattering with excitement, playing some kind of variety show, and there’s a spicy, thick aroma in the air that makes you pause briefly to breathe it in. it’s so pleasant. and warm. you walk in, greeted by a scent that feels like a long embrace.

as you stroll through the door, you look to your immediate left where the open layout kitchen is placed. xavier stands next to the stove, chopping vegetables carefully on the counter. “welcome home.” he announces it casually, just as you always do for him, but doesn’t tear his attention away from his task. you don’t know what exactly this is, the shift in his behavioral pattern. you aren’t sure what to name the feelings that attach to it, either, but you appreciate it because today you have an anomaly of your own. you understand it right then: what he means when he says he came back but he didn’t feel welcomed home. you’re always only ‘coming back’ but walking in and being welcomed by him, it feels more like ‘coming home’. you note that there might just be a difference.   your voice is tepid and content when you finally speak. “hey, you’re up pretty late.” he only hums in response. you wander over to him, keeping a good grip on all your belongings. “cooking dinner at this hour? pretty unlike you. huh, your routine really did get messed up.” his lips quirk. “yeah, i worked more when i came home instead of eating. i’m still catching up from last week. but i noticed i was starving and then i realized it was almost ten. so i figured i might as well just commit to a curve in my routine. but…what about yours?” his inquiry surprises you a little because he’s initiating small talk with you. at first, your lips just part. “my…routine? uh…yeah? it got thrown off majorly today. i have an assignment due by midnight. i thought i would turn it in by this afternoon, but i got paid in advance for this shift, so that was nice.” xavier abruptly stops cutting his carrots and places the knife down calmly. and then, he just looks at you. it was a very normal look that you could give anyone: stranger, acquaintance, or friend. it was just a simple look, but for some reason, when his eyes meet yours, your heart starts to pick up its rhythm, and you swear you can hear the thump of it crescendo in your ears. he’s so…handsome. it’s not that you’ve never looked at him before. it’s not that you aren’t already aware that he’s a good-looking man. anyone with eyes and reason can see that. it’s just that right now you’re looking at him and he seems like his features have changed, like someone raised the saturation and clarity on his existence. his jawline seems sharper. his soft, blue eyes seem more potent, gleaming cooly. his lips are supple, pink, pouty, and curved quite romantically. he looks like a walking beckoning for affection. his pearly hair is tousled, all in disarray, like he’s been running his fingers through tirelessly. his clothes seem to cling to the thickness of his frame, outlining the definition of his thin but muscular build. he quite obviously works out. you didn’t notice that before, the way fabric bulges around his arms and shoulders. his feathery lashes flutter around lapis when he blinks, all that angelic beauty swirling around so casually. you haven’t looked at him this thoroughly before.

god, he’s pretty. 

“you should make sure you respect your resting day routines. you seem to work really hard with…everything you’re doing.” xavier’s voice is soft and caring, cradling his own declaration tenderly. smiling, you nod, swallowing down how flustered suddenly you feel inside, hoping the quickening of your breath doesn’t give it away. “i hear you. it was a one-time thing anyway. now…need help?” “don’t you have homework?” his voice is perplexed. “go work on it. i’ll call you when i’m done.” to this, you reject his suggestion with a shake of your head. “no can do. i think i’m too tired and will take my loss with grace for the sake of a decent meal before midnight. i’ll ask again…need help?” you don’t say what you really mean right then: i think i’d rather spend time in silence with you. it looks like he’s only barely started, likely working on a base for some sort of soup. he has so many scraps laid out everywhere. xavier clears his throat. “uh…yeah…yeah, i do.”

“on it,” you say resolutely. “let me put my stuff up and change. it’ll only take me five and i’ll be back to help.”

after that, you don’t see xavier for the rest of the week. tuesday is really the only day your schedules coordinate enough to see each other even in passing. you don’t miss how disappointment settles in your chest every single time you wander inside at ten or eleven and you don’t see him standing there in the kitchen, back turned to you, nonchalantly welcoming you home. you don’t miss the way you stop yourself from texting him and telling him exactly what he told you: look. no one is here to welcome me back home and now i’m back but don’t feel an ounce of welcome about it. but on the following monday, you receive a surprising notification.

1:08 pm  ⋮  xavier.

i would like to formally request permanent assistance with dinner on tuesday evenings. unless work or other contractual obligations prevent participation. it is much more efficient with two sets of hands. and since we both eat, it’s the most ethical and fair.

his formality makes you giggle, as it’s so aligned with who you now understand him to be. once again, smiling fondly to yourself, you think of what a peculiar boy he is. his request at its core is perfectly fair. he does buy all the food and cook it but you both enjoy the fruits of his labor. so if it’s a regular thing, you realistically should help him without a single qualm. that’s the line of reasoning you offer for the sheer speed of your response, agreeing to give away all your foreseeable tuesdays to him: in all fairness.

1:09 pm ⋮ you.

sure thing xavi.

you don’t miss the way it’s the first time you’ve ever called him by or given him any kind of nickname. you don’t miss the way you feel nervous to send it, as if being denied casual exchanges with him will have a significant impact on your emotions. now you’re the one acting peculiarly. for three weeks, on three consecutive tuesdays, you and xavier rally together in the kitchen, pick a recipe to follow, assign your roles, complete your duties, and successfully make meals together around six o’clock. for three consecutive tuesdays, you sit together at the table and eat well, sometimes in silence, but sometimes in comfortable, slow-paced conversation. the most surprising evolution is the budding presence of his attempts at small talk. “i don’t know how i feel about this recipe.” xavier admits after devouring the meat he’s made. “i don’t care for this marinade at all.” you, mouth full and consumption bordering barbaric, look confused. when you swallow, you have to inquire about why he feels this way. it’s quite delicious. and you can’t fathom him not liking it considering he ate all of it. “what? you didn’t like it? how? i think it’s incredible. probably your best yet. the meat is so, so tender and it’s very flavorful but not overwhelming. it pairs really well with this little sauce we made!” “you enjoyed it?” xavier asks. you notice then that he’s biting his lip rather nervously. “or are you only saying that because we spent a considerable amount of time on this one?” you grin, rolling your eyes. “why would i lie? you’re a good cook, xavi. seriously…i’ve never not enjoyed the food you’ve cooked. you did really well on the meat. and judging by your happy plate, i think you know that.” you figure out quickly that it isn’t that he doesn’t like it, but that he wants someone else to say he did a good job but doesn’t want to ask directly until an opinion is already offered.

he even seeks praise awkwardly. how endearing.

he doesn’t speak, only lowers his head with that subtle smile you’ve come to find yourself craving the sight of. admittedly, you enjoy this blooming tradition that the two of you are building. you feel excited for him to come home, eager for him to finish resting up and come out at six, ready to get started, ready to talk to you or just stand by your side. moreover, you really enjoy not eating dinner alone. you enjoy his proximity even in your settled silence. it always feels more like home when he’s here and you are, too, both parallel or perpendicular to the other. “this is nice.” you tell him warmly. “i kinda like our new tradition.” “oh,” he breathes softly. “i…” his head rises quickly and he looks at you, those icy eyes you’ve grown particularly fond of now slightly widened. you don’t know if you’re just seeing what your own unspoken feelings want to see, but it looks like longing looking back at you. his hand rests on the table and you glance down, only for a fraction of a moment, considering reaching your own out to find the answer to a theory you’ve constructed in the last few weeks: you think his hands might be incredibly soft. “well, um. i…that’s…good to know. i think that maybe…um, i…” ( your mind begs you to let it be known that he’s stammering and you’re staring, but your thoughts are ever so slightly somewhere else. ) you notice when he washes his hands, he pats them dry lightly with his towel. delicate. and he always opens the drawer below immediately after to pull out a tiny bottle of hand cream. every single time. habitual. he applies a dollop and rubs it all in gingerly. he makes sure to get all the nooks and crannies of his hands, the dips and the divots. thorough. patient. soft. satin. he seems to care a great deal about his hands, takes good care of them and the things they touch. you lick your lips and look away. “i’m sorry…i…uh…don’t know what to say i think and…” you cut him off. “is it a mutual understanding?” “what?” “do you…like our little tradition as well?” a slow, timid, soundless nod. you respond with tilted lips. “then…you can just say…i like it, too.” he doesn’t take his eyes off of you, but the look he gives you is becoming clearer, and you can’t look directly for too long or you’ll melt right before him.

xavier turns out to be a lot like the sun, and if you aren’t careful, your heart might try to become like spring and bloom for him. “i…like it, too.” he says finally. humming, you turn your attention back towards your food, looking away, and for the first time, being the one with nothing left to say. all the things you want to say officially teeter off the cusp of amiability and drop straight into a giant vat of arousal. after a moment, your body becomes so hot you can’t stand just sitting there anymore, so dinner ends abruptly with xavier telling you to leave your dishes and he’ll take care of them. you only nod and offer him a quiet thank you and a friendly goodnight. then you wander off to your room in a daze wondering if he noticed you squirming in your seat. he’s so domestic, you’re about to cum off the strength of existing in the same house as him. ( and that’s not good because you’re always in the same house as him. ) the things you watch him do in the kitchen, it’s all just so homely. there’s a kind of strength in a man who appreciates homemaking that makes you weak. telling you to make sure to preheat the oven, putting on his mitts to check on the food, setting timers, and tying an apron around his waist. cutting vegetables. using measuring cups. 

‘slice, not dice. here, let me show you. watch.’ 

the way his triceps and biceps flex at the motion of his very intentional cuts, the way he’s always rolling up his sleeves, even when they’re short-sleeved shirts like a goddamn tease, basically begging to be turned into a husband and a father overnight. 

it’s sickening. you officially want him so bad you want to throw up.

the orgasm you have in your room — stifling the sound of your moans and the sound of you quietly calling out his name when you did — spells it out quite clearly for you even if you don’t want to acknowledge it outright.

you like him. a lot. it’s absolutely sickening.

on thursday, another anomaly occurs in your schedule. a few actually, and all of them are pleasant. the first anomaly is relaxation. you don’t have class and since tara keeps up her end of the deal, you have an entire day at home to enjoy your alone time. but, as usual, you wake to the pleasant aroma of coffee. you smile even harder knowing there’s nowhere for you to be so you can move as quickly or as slowly as you like.

it means that maybe you can go have coffee with xavier before he leaves for the day. you don’t even like coffee, but you like him. and that’s more than enough reason to get you out of bed, tidy yourself a bit, and go sauntering out of your room to ask for a cup of hot liquid you’ll never consume. ( you’re more of a tea or hot chocolate kind of person, but there’s a first time for everything, and maybe having coffee will taste better if drinking it means spending even a fractal of time with him. ) this initiates the occurrence of the next anomaly. “good morning,” you say pleasantly. a yelp. a jolt. a wince. a hiss. a “fuck, fuck, fuck”. a resounding crash. the sound of shattered ceramic. xavier clearly isn’t expecting you to be up or to greet him. you wince at the sound of glass and lean over to see that he’s dropped and broken the mug he was holding: your mug. your favorite one. the one your grandmother made for you with her own two hands. there’s coffee pooling everywhere, all over the floor, and xavier moans dreadfully. “shit!” he exclaims. “you scared me. i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean…i didn’t mean to break it. i’m sorry. i really am.” the mug means the world to you, as your grandmother’s much older now and unable to craft little items for you like this anymore. it’s the only one of its kind. the only one that would ever be. and now it’s in pieces on the kitchen floor, a little sea of java surrounding the sad, jagged portions of loving sentiment. “i’m sorry i scared you.” you say softly, trying hard not to cry. you don’t want to make him feel bad. you don’t want him to feel bad at all. “it’s okay, xavi. it’s okay. i’ll get towels.” once you grab towels and come back to help him clean it up, he’s deep in a spell of unnerved groaning — a long, drawn-out whine that goes on under his breath for a while. “please don’t be upset.” he pleads, frowning. “i’m so, so sorry.” you smile softly, shaking your head. “i’m not upset, xavi. are you hurt at all? from the coffee? i heard you hiss.” “i’m okay. it splashed on me, but it didn’t burn me or anything.” you place the two large towels down to soak up all the liquid on the ground. xavier focuses on picking up each piece of the broken mug. as you watch him through the top of your eyes, you wonder just why he’s using your mug to begin with. “i’m not used to you being awake so early.” he admits, slightly embarrassed of how a simple good morning resulted in this. “but…good morning to you, too.” you just can’t help it. you giggle. peculiar boy. “if you want…you…you can pick one of my mugs to take in its place.” he offers, biting his lip. you nod and say okay for a few reasons: 1. you absolutely want something of his and it’s a microscopic guilty desire you have. 2. he seems like it’ll bother him a lot if he can’t rectify the situation in some way. you saying it’s okay doesn’t appear to suffice. 3. see reasons 1 and 2. 

as he’s showing you his plethora of available mugs, you catch yourself smiling. he has all of these mugs of his own, but…he was drinking his morning coffee out of yours. you survey them all and find only one that stands out. it’s a white, ceramic mug with the word ‘create’ etched messily into it. it’s oddly shaped, looking nearly homemade. irregular. odd. it’s the most xavier mug of them all. that’s the one you want. you point to it. “i’ll take that one.” you chirp.

for a brief moment, he hesitates, pouting cutely, but his lips slowly tilt upward.  “of course you will. that one’s my favorite. i made it in my high school art class, but…okay. okay. a mug for a mug. you can keep it. drink your coffee out of it well…and frequently…or it might start to feel neglected. it’s an extroverted kind of mug.” if you knew it wouldn’t result in one of the most blatant forms of rejection you’ll ever face, because xavier is nothing if not brutally honest, maybe you would have kissed him right then. it would be hard not to if you knew with unearned confidence that he wouldn’t push you away. but, instead, you quietly take the mug and you’ll use it well just as he asks. and maybe he’ll try to sneak in a hidden smile by just lifting the corner of his lips. and maybe you’ll spot his dimple because of it, the one that likes to hide the same way your feelings do. and maybe the sight of it will make your heart flutter and your breath hitch. and maybe it ( in its own way ) could be just as good as a kiss. a homemade mug for a homemade mug.

you have a feeling you’ll keep it closer than anything else. “want to have coffee before you leave for work?” you ask, even knowing well that you’ll be wasting even more than he has, even knowing how upset he’ll be if he figures you out. but it feels worth it when he nods, offering you that coy smile you silently plead for nowadays. and you both do, in the soft lull of the morning, sit at the table over a cup of coffee. you even steal glances every now and then. when he asks why you haven’t touched your drink, you lie and say you prefer it with creamer, to which he turns his nose up in disgust. “creamer is a forbidden substance in this house.” he informs you. “but…if…if it really is a deal-breaker for your coffee enjoyment…i’ll make sure to get you some. what kind do you like?”

the next time you go grocery shopping for us, honey? why don’t you just ask me to pop the question right now?

you don’t care for coffee. you don’t care for creamer, but you care very, very dearly about the prospect of xavier getting any kind of special thing for you, with you in mind, with the purpose of making an experience better for you. it makes you feel special to him. ( you know plenty of special things he can give you to make the experience better. and it didn’t even cost money. he can use his perfect hands as much as he likes. ) “hazelnut,” you lie with a smile. “that’s my favorite.”

the third anomaly occurs much later in the day when you’re home alone and you’re lounging in the living room, wondering if thursday will get to be a second tuesday with xavier since you’ll both be here. unexpectedly, there’s a knock at the door. your brows furrow. you didn’t order any food. you didn’t expect a delivery. xavier always tells you if anyone’s dropping by. when you walk up to the door and peep out, you see a remarkably handsome man standing on the other side. you open the door carefully, revealing a boy, likely around your age, with soft lilac hair that seems to take on a pearlescent tint in the light. a blend of amethyst and carnelian in his eyes and standing there with a kind smile that seems like it might dissolve anything in sight that just so happens to perceive it. 

he even has little dimples on his cheeks as he beams so pleasantly. he, much like xavier, is very pretty. “hi…can i…help you?” you ask timidly, not fully coming outside the crack in the door, only your head and a portion of your torso poking out. ( he might be attractive, but he’s still a stranger. ) he scratches the back of his head. “oh…uh, hi!…my name is rafayel? i just moved into that unit about a week ago.” he explains, jerking a thumb back towards his front door, #1103r, right across from you and xavier’s #1104r. 

“oh! i didn’t even know the unit was empty.” you laugh. “welcome to the complex…and the hall. it’s fairly quiet, so i hope you aren’t a partier.” laughing, he shakes his head. “a baker and a painter, not a partier. i spend my spare time making sweet treats. you might smell me baking a lot, though. i…uh…i actually was coming to ask if you had butter? or margarine? i’ve started making cupcakes, but i didn’t get butter at the store, and i didn’t want to leave out…because i already started. so, i figured i could come to introduce myself…and ask a neighborly favor?” 

he puts his hands together in a small plea.

wow, the boys in this building really do enjoy wholesome activities.

smiling, you nod. “sure, give me a second. i’ll be right back.” when you come back to the door with an entire package of butter, he smiles wide, making his eyes crinkle. “i hope that’ll be enough.” “more than, i’ll bring back what i don’t use.��� he promises. “ah, you’re a lifesaver. thanks!”

“happy to help. welcome to the building, rafayel.” now, the exchange should be complete but he’s still just standing there. “well…if that’s all…” “what was your name? did you already tell me?” he asks suddenly, confused. “sorry, i wanted to say your name, too, because it seems respectful since you said my name, but i was trying to rack my brain for what you said your name was…” “i didn’t.” you clarify, chuckling at his spaciness despite knowing you’ll lie. “it’s…hunter.” “hunter. hm, i like it. it suits you somehow. anyway, thanks, miss hunter the neighbor. rafayel the baker will see you again soon to return his butter hostage and maybe offer a treat forged from his deepest gratitudes.” a lopsided grin and a wink. when he leaves, you close the door and stand there for a moment, recalling the entire exchange. he’s handsome, a bit spacey, but so friendly…so friendly he’s flirty. you’ll never complain about having eye candy for a neighbor, but…you don’t want xavier to get the wrong idea…if rafayel starts talking to you more… you quickly shake the thought away, reminding yourself to return to reality from the depths of your delusions. xavier is not interested in you in that way by any means. he, at most, wants to become friends, which is understandable for a person he’ll be living with for an additional year. that’s fair. you want to be friends, too. ( you just also want him to talk you through his day while he’s fingering you, that’s all. )

the next anomaly occurs at five pm when xavier arrives home much later than he usually does. for him, thirty minutes late is a lot. it throws off his routine. “welcome home.” you say casually as he finally comes waltzing in. you try your best to appear as if you’re as unfazed about his entry. you try not to make it disgustingly obvious that you aren’t just there relaxing anymore; you’re waiting. for him to come home. to welcome him back. this time, though, he doesn’t respond curtly as he ducks back towards his room. you hear the rustling of plastic bags he sets down on the kitchen counter.

he then wanders over to you and lays a heavy palm flat on the crown of your head. “hey,” he breathes. in movies or dramas, this is the moment where your world freezes, just becoming so petrified that even time doesn’t dare to move. you gulp hard, your heart racing even more so than it usually does over him.

what are you supposed to do? “did you…enjoy your day off?” he asks. “did you rest enough?”

“um…” your voice trails, mind still entranced by his hand resting on top of your hand. it’s such a gentle gesture, so tender and timid, like him. such a well-suited affection for his temperament. “i had…a relaxing day. it was nice.” you manage to speak, but you stare ahead, not bold enough to look up at the face he’s making while he touches you. he finally lowers his hand to his side and inside, you scream about it, protest profusely to the removal of his closeness. “what about you? was work okay?” you ask, breathing returning to normal as he heads back to the kitchen to unpack his things.

the first item he takes out is a little bottle of hazelnut creamer, and your heart is so warm you think it’s become nothing but a puddle of adoring liquid. “work was less stressful. we’re close to done with this project. so now there’s not as much silence in the office. everyone is slowly starting to act like real people again. it was driving me insane. when intense projects happen, it disrupts my routine so much. people stop saying good morning. i don’t feel comfortable saying anything more than i already don’t. and i think the secretary hates me because i kept messing up my report and printing it incorrectly. it created unnecessary work for her and it wasted a lot of paper. i made sure to pick some up while i was at the store to replace it, but…” he stops suddenly and frowns. “sorry, i just realized i was rambling again.” you can’t hide your loving smile even if you bother trying. “you’re talking about your day. there’s nothing wrong with that, especially if the person you’re talking to wants to know all the seemingly useless details.” xavier has this habit of just peering at you at times when you respond to his long-windedness with openness to experience. and boy were you dangerously open to experiencing him. “and…do you…?” he asks you slowly, his head tilting to the side. “…want to hear even the unimportant details?” you shrug casually and nod once. you decide on an endearing response with a touch of humor to soften the landing for your heart as it’s doing its somersaults. “i don’t mind hearing about your day in great detail…it’s like listening to an audiobook for free. or a podcast.” “you…” he rolls his eyes, lips quirking. a soft shake of the head. “anyway, what’d you do today? stay on the couch engrossed in your dramas?” “i cleaned up a bit, did some homework, met our new neighbor, and binged on a drama, yes.” his brows bundle together. “we didn’t already have a neighbor?” “that’s what i said! i didn’t know the unit across the hall was empty, but he came by to ask if he could have some butter and introduce himself.” xavier’s face scrunches up, slightly disgusted and confused. “butter? like…to just eat?” “xavi, what?” you ask, bubbling a laugh. “no, dummy. he’s a baker. he started making cupcakes and realized he didn’t have any. he said he’d bring back the excess.” again, a repulsed display of emotion. “i don’t want any food back after it’s left this apartment. there are all kinds of new germs and particles on it now. why would i consume that or allow you to? what kind of person do you take me for? god only knows what he does in that unit. and if he double dips? if he sticks his fingers in his mouth and touches the container without washing his hands? ew. there’s no way for us to even verify. the number of available and unfavorable possibilities is disgusting in itself. and bakers seem like the…‘lick their fingers clean’ type, so…he can keep the butter. i’ll get us more.” you purse your lips together, clasping them shut to keep your amused smile from showing how endearing you find him to be and also to keep from laughing at the severity of his seriousness, at how comical all his particularities are but adorable in the same breath. peculiar as ever. “okay, if he tries to return it, i’ll reject him.”

“that would be best.” a familiar, curt nod. “i’m making dinner in a little while…do you…want to help me? or will it throw your relaxation routine off?” you snort. “xavi, i don’t have a relaxation routine. the relaxation is disrupting the routine in a good way. but yes…what are we making?” and there it is again, that little smile that makes you want to clutch at your chest. having a second tuesday is another wonderful disruption to the routine.

the following tuesday, you’re giddy as you head home from class. you aren’t sure what moment does it for you, but you’ve settled comfortably into the fact that you like xavier, that given the opportunity, you’ll peel back every single layer of his existence to taste and lick and know every part of him. it doesn’t bother you to be just friends and roommates with him, though. you guys live together. even if something comes of it, if it goes south, it’ll really destroy the living dynamic you guys have cultivated, which is quite comfortable. gentle. tender. safe. besides, he reserves special kinds of platonic affections for you that suffice. as you approach the building, you see your neighbor, rafayel, struggling to balance a tall stack of white, flat boxes while he tries to open the door to the building. you jog up and hold it open for him. “ah, thank you, miss hunter the neighbor.” he says graciously. “saving me yet again.” rafayel is nice enough but he seems to be quirky in his own way. you’re starting to wonder if it’s a prerequisite for being accepted for housing in this place. as it stands, though, tensions are high between your household and his. when he returned the butter, rafayel was immensely offended by xavier’s suggestion that he ‘tainted the butter with his baker’s breath’ and the stern demand that he take it back, to which xavier’s lip curled in disgust as he emphasized that he especially didn’t want it then. it ended with rafayel leaving the butter by the door and sitting it on the ground, both oddballs unwilling to claim the absurdity. you ended up picking it up and throwing it away. while it was a comical event all around, seeing the two of them standing in the doorway trading glares over the sanitation of butter was amongst the strangest things you’ve witnessed. “do you need help, rafayel?” you ask with a laugh. “you look like you’re one, fragile step away from it all crumbling down.” he sighs. “if you don’t mind and it won’t taint your precious hands to touch my baker’s boxes, then yes, you may help me.” “for the record, i have absolutely no stock or stance in the butter sanitation conundrum. i am but an innocent bystander. so, no, your baker’s boxes aren’t at risk of tainting my hands.” 

you roll your eyes at him. “you’re really dramatic, you know.” “criticizing me is not helpful.” he notes. “and i’m not certain, but i thought you asked to help.” “fine,” you grumble, grabbing a stack of the boxes out of his hands. “what’s all this for anyway?” he smiles triumphantly. “i got my first big gig as a freelance baker. i’m making fifty fishie cupcakes for a five-year-old’s birthday party tomorrow.” a playful smile. “wow, that’s really cool. congrats on that one. are you excited?” “excited…is certainly a word. maybe not one i’d use to describe this, but a word nonetheless. if you can’t tell by the thick layer of perspiration and sweat gathering on my forehead, everything is great and not stressful at all.” you pout, oddly concerned for his results. “are you going to be able to pull it off?” “well, the thing is that…no?”  he laughs and so do you. “my friend thomas was supposed to be my helper so i could pull it off, but apparently chasing skirts is more important than making and icing cupcakes for a child’s birthday party. i wouldn’t know since i respect the brotherly code of conduct and would never, but it’s fine. i hope he gets laid.” you nod. “me too…but i hope he has a hard time performing. he shouldn’t have bailed on you. this seems…important to you.”

“ah, miss hunter the neighbor is quite observant, rafayel notes.” he narrates himself in the third person. “it is pretty important to me. but…just to me.” that upset you deeply. you know what it’s like to have your dream not be taken seriously. all this time, you’ve been in school to join the hunter’s association of all things. no one really sees the benefit or believes in what you want to do. you have a heart condition, after all. you’re basically out here trying to prove your entire family wrong, that you’re capable of developing a strong, steady life without needing endless aid. 

you hate the idea that rafayel is clearly very passionate about baking, about doing this kind of custom work, but his friends aren’t supporting him, and now he’s scrambling. “do you have to be a talented baker to be a baker’s assistant?” you ask, biting your lip. the flame in rafayel’s eyes twinkle. “not at all! you just need two hands and a decent enough ability to follow a series of simple directions.” nodding resolutely, you smile. “then consider me self-appointed as the baker’s elf. let’s go get these cupcakes made, rafayel the baker neighbor.” to this, he beams. “miss hunter the neighbor is starting to seem a bit like a friendly neighborhood fishie herself.”

making cupcakes from scratch is no fucking joke. there’s so many steps. it really is a series of simple directions, but if those simple directions are off even by a small margin, it ruins the batch and you have to start again. you didn’t realize how time-consuming it would be. in fact, you didn’t really keep up with the time at all, but when you catch a glimpse of it on his television, it’s already eight ‘o clock, and your eyes widen. “shit! i need to go to my apartment.” you tell him urgently. “are you okay from here or should i come back?” rafayel shakes his head, grinning. “you’ve done so much. i just need to finish working on these last fifteen. i got it. thank you so much. you didn’t have to help but you did. it means a lot.” “no problem, but next time, i expect to take home one of my own.” he laughs. “next time?” “rafayel the baker neighbor seems to need help a lot.” you say with a shrug before ducking out quickly. “see you later!” even though you’re only across the hall, you feel like you’re going to walk in and be in an insane amount of trouble. you haven’t even bothered looking at your phone. 

when you walk in, xavier is sitting on the couch, but his head snaps up to you immediately. “you’re okay!” he says, relief evident in his voice as he rises to his feet. “where have you been? i hadn’t heard from you in hours and i got really worried about you.” he walks over to you but keeps a small distance between your bodies, looking you over for any sign of harm. your entire face heats up. you feel yourself shrinking before him as you take a breath. “sorry,” you say, looking down at your feet. “i was across the hall. i was helping rafayel wi—“ he cuts you off, brows knitting together, lips in a frustrated pout. “the unsanitary baker? why?” “if you would let me finish…” you snap, giving him a hard look. “his friend bailed on helping him and he got his first big order as a freelance baker. i was home so i helped. i was really busy so i wasn’t keeping track of time well. you wouldn’t believe how hard it is it make cupcakes from scratch.” an exasperated sigh leaves your lips just recounting the last few hours mentally. he’s not looking at you anymore when he speaks next. “you baked cupcakes with him?” he asked. “like…you baked them…together?” you feel confused but nod. “…yes? that’s what ‘helping’ would entail in this situation. he was stressed and i felt bad because i know what it’s like for no one to truly believe in you.”

“fine,” he spits, lips set in a hard line. “i hope it got done. dinner’s on the stove.” he walks past you toward the hallway then, his back turned. “and please wash your hands before you touch anything.” then…he just walks straight to his room without another word, leaving you feeling perplexed by his response. his bedroom door closes a little harder than usual and you fear you may have made a grave mistake by hanging out with rafayel, especially when it’s abundantly clear upon their first interaction they’re unlikely to get along.

maybe he feels like bailing on cooking to hang out with rafayel and not even letting him know is a jerk move and you agree.

since that event, the rest of the week is very awkward. even though you don’t see each other often on weekdays already, you have this inkling that xavier’s avoiding you at all costs. he even stops making his coffee. he just slips out into the early morning. you wake up close to ten am, very late, for every day it occurs. an obnoxious disruption in your routine, and he doesn’t make dinner at all. you go to bed pouting and hungry. but another anomaly occurs when tuesday rolls around again: you wake to find that your class has been canceled. ever the diligent student, you check your emails daily. when you finally get around to grabbing your phone in the morning, it’s the first thing you do. to your surprise, the one class you have is canceled due to the professor being ill. you take great pleasure in this because the regular routine in the home is now also back in motion.

you wake to the heavenly scent of colombian swimming in the air. you wander out into the living room. xavier leans back against the marble counter, sipping quietly from a dark-colored mug. “good morning,” you announce quietly, making sure not to frighten him. his eyes dart to your presence, and you just pause where you are, unsure if proceeding any closer is safe. “morning,” a short and dull response. “you’re up early.” you shake your head, playing with your hands nervously. “i’m always up this early. the smell of your coffee wakes me up every morning. i just usually stay in my room and get ready.” “oh,” his voice is small. after a long pause, he asks, “is it bothersome?” to answer, you smile lazily and offer another small head shake. “not at all. it’s actually my favorite alarm. very quiet and very pleasant. i’ve been waking up late the last week nearly. my routine…was thrown off.”

with all the gall in the world, he scoffs. “since when do you care about keeping a routine?” “what?” you ask softly, voice slightly wounded and face fluttering into confusion. “what do you mean?” “you skipped out on our routine last week and that didn’t seem to matter to you at all.” he states simply. your guilty eyes look at your nervously shuffling feet. “so, what is it? why did you hang out with him and bake with him?” you’re not sure if it’s the irritated tone he’s now choosing to take with you or the underlying insinuation that you, a grown adult, owe him a reasonable explanation for why you exert autonomy and choose to help others. as if you did something morally reprehensible by helping rafayel. you’re not even certain xavier is actually, fully angry that you bailed so much as he’s angry about who you were with and what you were doing instead, which is still unfathomable why it’s his business. yes, you should have let him know and you can own that because you know he probably waited a while for you to show up and you never did, but you’re not going to stand here and let him reprimand you for hanging out at your neighbor’s unit just because he’s decided he doesn’t like him for quite literally no real reason at all. “um, are you my father?” you ask, your face scrunching up in frustration. “he’s our new neighbor, xavier. he needed help. i’m just being kind, and i like hanging out with him. he’s funny an—” he cuts you off, setting down his mug. “you like hanging out with him?” “yes…?” it’s silent between the two of you then, his eyes going blank and glossy. “why? what’s so special about his place? why would you prefer spending tuesday there?” you’re genuinely appalled by his response. you expect he may not like the idea of you hanging out with someone he dislikes, but he’s not your parent or your partner, and he’s only become a friend recently. the way you feel like you’re being forced to justify your very simple, very innocent actions of helping rafayel is absolutely unacceptable because no matter how many times you say it, telling xavier you did it because he needed help and it was important for him to have it isn’t a sufficient explanation for him. but it’s the truth and it not being enough for him is not necessarily your burden to bear.

“xavier, i don’t owe you an explanation as to why i had a good time hanging out with him and helping him make cupcakes so his first, real order can lead to more. i don’t have to explain anything i choose to do with anyone. i don’t owe you or your ego elaboration.” “well…” his voice trails and he’s quiet for a minute as his skin slowly reddens and he nervously bites his lower lip. when he looks at you again and speaks, his voice is incredibly soft, unbearably wounded, and pained. “i want an explanation anyway. because i thought you liked spending your tuesday nights with me, but you went over there instead of staying to see me and make dinner together. and you didn’t even tell me. just left me waiting on you. what’s that about?” the sheer shock and confusion of his confession must be evident on your face. you feel your mouth part as if you want to speak but you don’t. your brows knit together, trying to make sense of his stance so you can properly answer his question. 

your heart is racing wildly because it seems xavier may have developed feelings of his own…toward you. “wait…wait…” your voice trails, you’re still looking up, eyes blinking rapidly and narrowing, not in a sinister way but dubious. 

as it stands, your current theory that he might have feelings for you, is unfounded and is permeated by perplexity. 

“is…is that why you’re upset?” you ask him. “because i ended up helping him and missing one tuesday with you?” he sighs and nods, frustration exuded in his body language as if you stated the utter obvious simply to upset him. “you told me you liked our little tradition to cook together, but then picked another guy to make food with the very next week? an unsanitary one at that? and…and…you know what? i want to do that with you. making dinner isn’t fun on my own. not on tuesdays. not if you’re not here with me, and especially not if you’re not here because you’re over there and want to be there more than you want to be here. with me.” your question comes out suddenly, your tone layered in urgency. “xavier…do you like me?” he just stares, mouth slightly agape, looking as if you’ve asked a stupid question yet again. a soundless, ‘you’re not serious, right?’

his next comment confirms your intuition and also attests to your ability to read his expressions clearly now. “are you really asking me that? are you oblivious? after all this time? as if it wasn’t completely obvious that i do.” you snort. “xavier, if you liked me all this time, it was absolutely, undeniably, irrevocably not obvious.” “i gave you a hand towel that matches mine and placed them next to each other.” he details with a flat voice and a roll of his eyes. you look at him, growing progressively more flabbergasted by his position in the ongoing argument. he lives in a delusional mental world where he thinks his feelings, in all their silent conquest, are thoroughly known and understood. even though you’ve never spoken to him about anything of the sort.

“xavier…you do realize you criticized me for the number of paper towels i used, right? i thought you were  just…solving the problem you created.” he has the audacity to groan. “i’ve made dinner for you to eat when you come home since the first time you left me a sticky note apologizing for eating my extras.” “yes, because you always make excess. that’s what you said!” you huff, arms folding over your chest. he can’t seriously believe he has a little avalanche of decent examples of his ‘liking you’ being obvious. there’s just no way. he would have to be completely disregarding every other aspect of objective reality except his own thoughts and perception in order to come to the conclusion that placing a hand towel on a bar or letting you have the extra food he makes regardless are his attempts to court you. “i got upset when you filled in for a coworker on a tuesday instead of coming home and i was only distressed because you weren’t here to tell me welcome home. i told you i didn’t feel welcomed without it!” now his voice is raising, aghast and disbelieving. you shrug, just staring at him with flat affect and dawning freshly picked neutrality. “i thought you were joking and finally developing a sense of humor. i was proud of you.” a squeak. he’s watching all his ridiculous reasonings be debunked and he just continues trailing down the list of them, much to your dismay.

if he’d shut up for a moment, you can get off the topic of what would have made it obvious and move on to something way more important, much more impactful. is he going to kiss you soon or what? so peculiar. he’d rather argue you down than take his shot with you and watch himself hit a bullseye. “i gave you my special mug to keep for your own because you said you wanted it.” another eye roll. “you broke my own special mug and told me to pick the one i wanted! i thought it was an eye for an eye. a mug for a mug!” he gestures towards the refrigerator. “i brought creamer, a banned substance, into this apartment for you.” “it’s creamer, xavier, not a confession. please be serious.” this time, his voice is small and sheepish. “i started giving you…head pats.” you can’t refute the intimacy of that one. you know it. he knows it. the smug smirk on his face not only knows it but is gloating about it. “fine, you got me there, but that still isn’t enough to infer romantic interest.” “i blatantly asked you to make it a permanent date with me to make dinner together on tuesdays. how much more obvious do i need to be?”

you furiously shake your head, protesting his claim. “no, no! you formally requested assistance with dinner on tuesdays. the word date was not aforementioned. you made it seem mandatory . in fact, you said it was only fair.” now, he’s blushing furiously, the tips of his ears going red. “it’s not mandatory, per se. it’s just the principle. and even still, you say that as a counter, yet you went over to his place instead of coming home to be with me…doing the cooking we agreed on and mutually enjoyed.” you scoff. “but it’s not mandatory to cook?” “well cooking isn’t mandatory, but it is mandatory that you genuinely like me back if we’re going to be doing domestic things like making meals to eat together. consistently. and openly. so when you do it with me for weeks and tell me entirely unprovoked that you like doing it with me, it gives the impression you want to be domestic with me. i only spend time at home, so i take that very seriously. i was starting to feel played with.” you won’t lie. all of his nonsense is just that: nonsense. but the idea that you left him feeling like you were giving mixed signals or like you were stringing him along for the fun of it deeply wounds you inside, because you also like him a hell of a lot. you would never go off and be intentionally confusing. “i wish you had said it clearly. we would have been on the same page a long time ago probably. i wouldn’t be spending a single tuesday there if i knew why you wanted me here.” xavier grumbles, “i genuinely don’t understand how you didn’t notice.”

“i genuinely don’t understand how you could possibly think i would?” you counter, the statement falling from your lips like a question that requires clarification. he steps closer to you, and for the first time, you see something new in his eyes: determination, passion, need, and desire. your breath catches in your throat when one hand goes around your waist, pulling you closer to him, the other cupping your cheek. your heart. that’s all you can hear is your heart thumping in your chest as if it might combust. “how is this for being crystal clear? i like making dinner for you and with you. i like that our hand towels are matching and next to each other. i like that the smell of my coffee wakes you up in the morning…i want to be the one that wakes you up in the mornings. so…with that being said, it’s tuesday and i want to make dinner with you tonight. if you want to make dinner with me, understand that you’re consenting to complete romantic affiliation.” “understood,” it comes out with no hesitation, your eyes glancing between baby blues and pretty, tinted lips begging and beckoning. “so, you’ll make dinner with me and consent to romantic affiliation?” he confirms, a lopsided grin forming. his choice of words begs a chuckle from you. you nod. “xavi, are you seriously asking me that? are you oblivious?” “can i kiss you now? i’ve been dying to.” you pout, feigning a great deal of disappointment and concern. “if you don’t know the answer, then maybe i really should go back across the hall…” his grip on your waist tightens, a soft thumb caressing your cheek and there’s that subtle smile you adore. “we’re definitely kissing because you have to be quiet. like right now.”

you laugh. “wow. that one was actually funny.” “what?” he asks, thrown by your response. “oh, nothing,” you sing. “c’mere,” smiling at your urge to draw him in, he leans down then, no longer willing to waste time being idle with you or staring into each other until you can’t take it. when his lips touch yours, the only thing you can think about is how soft they are, how smooth, silk against velvet. all you can think about is how gently he keeps you against his torso, how shyly his lips move with yours like he needs to test you out and know how you feel, like his lips have more to offer, but much like his conversational skill, you’ll have to coax him out of his timidity. when you both pull apart, you reach your hand up to touch his, tugging very gently on his fingers. he obliges your silent request for his hand, watching you with an enamored gaze, moving his palm from your face and allowing you to tangle your fingers together. you officially love his hands very much. you felt it on your cheek and now you feel it wrapped around every space between your fingers. the most peculiar thing of all about xavier seems to be just how correct your theory is: his hands are like satin, and they take immaculate care of anything they’re tasked with touching.

[monstersholygrail]

Wild Domination

Lion Hybrid bf x Antelope Hybrid fem!reader— exhibitionism, voyeurism, rough sex, aftercare

Your Lion Hybrid bf not choosing a Lion for his mate had been a very controversial choice within his pride. But he had stuck by it. Stuck by you, his Antelope Hybrid mate.

And you were gonna stick by him through it all too. No matter how often the other lion hybrids looked at you like you were their next meal. But not in the way your bf always did. Or how they whispered cruel words as you passed them by.

Though while you were determined to make friends, thinking if they loved you they’d be more accepting of you, your bf knew only one thing would work.

Dominance.

He had to show them all who was still leading his pride and that no disrespect to his mate would be tolerated. Because you were his love and the one who would be leading alongside him. So in a way you had to show your dominance. Or be dominated.

You shyly follow behind him as he gathers everyone to address his pride. The entire lot of you all standing in the large dining room of his home.

“I hear there is some uncertainty on the claim I have made to my mate,” your bf rumbles out, a subtle threat to his tone. They all avoid his gaze.

You blush as he brings you to stand in front of him. His hands on your shoulders and the comforting presence of his heat on your back helping to calm you. His hands draw down your body with desire, sliding along and groping at your delicious curves, feeling the flesh give away under his intense affection.

You don’t mean to but you end up meeting the eye of everyone at the other end of the table, seeing varying degrees of displeasure.

“I’ve brought you all here to clear any remaining doubt.”

You feel a light pressure on our back and you instantly submit, following your bf’s silent instructions. But your eyes widen as you find yourself bending over on top of the table, cheek squished against the glass.

“Love, what’re you doing?”

He doesn’t respond and for a moment you worry he hadn’t heard your breathless question. Then he flips up your dress and kicks your knees a part so that he can fit snuggly between your legs even with your tail. Any lingering questions fly out of your head the second he pushes your panties to the side and you feel his wet tip pushing through your folds.

“So that you know her heart is mine, her soul is mine, her body is mine, and most of all her perfect pussy is mine,” your bf says with a blissful sigh and he pushes into you.

With a growl he refuses to hold back, wanting everyone to understand the claim he has on you and that you have on him. His hands return to your shoulders as he starts pounding away at you, tail flicking furiously. You moan wildly, struggling to push back against his every thrust when he’s pinning your body down. But knowing you need even more of him.

The other Lion Hybrids look on, acceptance and denial in their expressions. Yet no matter what the smell of arousal was clear from both sides of the room. Your own bliss grows at the sight of them all enjoying the show and you cry out when your bf starts hitting those special spots inside of you, his length spearing through your gummy walls till your toes curl.

“Look at how well she takes my cock. Made for me to be inside of her. No one else- no one else can make me feel like this,” your bf snarls loudly, his voice echoing throughout the room as he keeps pumping his cock inside your tight cunt.

By now you can see just about everyone at the other end of the room touching themselves to the sight of you and your bf. It makes your skin buzz and your pussy flutter around your bf’s dick.

Your bf growls again and a second later you feel his hot breath on your neck. You shiver, leaning into him and his relentless thrusts. The new angle hitting even deeper inside you.

“You like this, sweetheart? Having our pride watch as I take your soaked cunt and stretch it with my cock,” He whispers in your ear and you can’t help but clench down on him, moaning raggedly.

He chuckles as if your reaction had given him all the answer he needed. His thrusts start to turn sloppy and erratic and you know he’s close. Wanting to feel you milk his cock, your bf grips your sensitive horns and guides your body back. You cry out, jerking in his hold but not wanting him to stop.

“Now I want you to cum and prove how much of a slut you really are for me.”

You immediately explode over his cock, your orgasm crashing through you as if just waiting for him to let you release. A long mewl leaves your lips as you unnaturally bend so you can feel him as deep inside you as possible. Your body shakes as your bf continues to snap his hips into your squeezing cunt and with how damn tight you are he can’t hold back his own climax for long.

It only takes a couple more snaps of his hips before he’s following after you, filling your pussy with every last drop of his cum he can. Moans from the other end of the table echo down the way but neither of you pay them any more mind.

He sits down in a nearby chair and pulls you into his arms. Cradling your plump frame in his broad chest and sagging against the piece of furniture. Your bf dares to relax before remembering the rest of the pride down the room. He gruffly dismisses them and as soon as you two are alone he sighs and buries his face in your neck.

“You’ll probably have to give a different version of that speech again. I don’t think anyone heard you,” you comment, lazily reaching up to brush your hands through his mane. A gentle rumble passes through your mate’s chest.

“Oh, I plan to rehearse this speech as many times as you can take me…”