#and that squeaky old chair???

[dindjarindiaries]

The Razor Crest cockpit

[waloeders]

see if i could just lie down while i draw thatd be poggers

[ebodebo]

Hot For Teacher!

—professor!simon riley teaching anatomy… MDNI

(DISCLAIMER: in this fic, the reader is getting their master's, so reader is an adult! that said, this is still a student-professor relationship, so beware!)

"I heard he was from Germany….or somewhere."

"He's probably sooo old."

"I can't find his rate my professor anywhere!"

"I heard he only has one leg!"

Murmurs can be heard spread around the room; your fellow graduates flooded the lecture hall seats, not an empty seat out of fifty in site. They were itching with anticipation and anxiously awaiting the arrival of your new gross anatomy professor, including yourself.

You were even more nervous than when you had to present your senior thesis for your bachelor's to four of the most knowledgeable, bright minds you had ever come into contact with.

That was intimidating, but this somehow feels worse. You find yourself sinking into the squeaky plastic chair, praying that whoever walks through that door is as gracious and kind as your last professor.

Heavy steps echoed down the hallway, slowly and steadily etching closer and closer to the room you sat in. Your eyes nervously shifted up to look at the wide open front door, and you tapped your foot, restlessly, to a non-existent beat in your head.

The footsteps became louder and louder until the man finally stood in the doorway, sparing the class not even a singular glance. He steadily turned to the right and walked up to the chalkboard, back towards the class, carefully etching something onto the board with a small piece of chalk.

The murmurs around the room seized as the screeching noise of the chalk against the board bounced off the walls and went straight into everyone's eardrums.

It was a quick, illegible scribble.

He set the piece of chalk down and turned to face the class, eyes roaming around the room, allowing you to get a better look at him.

He wore a black surgical mask just below his nose, covering his lips and jaw. And, God, was he tall. He had to be at least six-two, maybe even six-four. He wore a charcoal gray button-up tight enough to display his broad shoulders and buff biceps, with kaki cargo pants that did nothing to hide his thick thighs. 

Fuck, he was hot.

"Your last professor was quite lenient," his gravelly voice echoes around the room as he begins, leaning his hip on the table before him. "Don't expect that from me."

His eyes roamed some more, and the murmurs you heard about how hot he was seized as he spoke again. "If you think this class will be easy, you're sorely mistaken. Excellence is the bare minimum I expect from each of you," he sternly says. "I don't tolerate excuses. You're in the wrong place if you can't meet the deadlines."

You didn't know the first time meeting your professor would just end up with him lecturing you about his obscure conditions and rules like this was a damn military base.

You try to remember if this course was even required for your degree: it is.

"If you miss class, don't bother returning," he continues. The mood in the room had shifted entirely. There was no excitement left; it had been completely sucked out and replaced by regret and anguish. You swore you even saw some people with their computers quickly going to your university's directory, hoping they could still withdraw from a course.

"Lastly, mediocrity has no place in here. Push yourselves or find another course," he gruffed, pushing himself off the desk he leaned on and maneuvering back over to the chalkboard.

"What are the instructions on the board?" Your eyes snapped to a random girl raising her hand adjacent to you, and you were surprised by her bravery in speaking.

The professor glanced at the girl.

“Ah, yes. These are instructions on how to withdraw from this course if you so choose," he said. "Save me the headache and you, your dignity, and withdraw now if you cannot abide by my terms," he almost seemed disinterested. "Also, you will call me Dr. Riley."

He picked up the chalk, quickly etching a strand of words onto it. "These are my office hours," he says, setting the chalk back down. "Any questions?" He asked, turning to face the class.

Not a single peep can be heard. There was only a tiny squeak from one of the chairs. He crosses his arms. "Alright. Quiz tomorrow. Class dismissed," he concludes. You freeze up in your chair as everyone around you starts moving as quickly as possible to get out of there.

You're wondering what you learned today that could be material for a quiz. Instead of waiting behind to ask, you shuffle your things in a bag and speed walk out of there.

This was going to be a long semester.

It was three months in, and this class was kicking your ass. 

No, that's not right. The class was outwardly blistering your entire existence. You pulled countless all-nighters to try and keep up with the material, but it was too much. There weren't enough hours in the day to study the copious amount of material.

It didn't help that Dr. Riley was a bit of a dick. He gave no leniency. Can't make the exam? Too bad. F. Didn't make class? Yikes. Get ready to recite the last lecture in front of the class when you return! Can't answer a question he asks? Well, well, it looks like we have a slacker on our hands. Have a lovely time writing an entire essay on the topic question you failed to answer!

"Can anyone explain the process of bone repair following a fracture?" Dr. Riley questions, taking his eyes off the chalkboard and turning towards the now half-full class. You snap out of your daydream, carefully looking back to your computer to continue typing what he writes.

Everyone averts their eyes from him to avoid getting called on. "No takers?" He asks once more, eyes narrowing slightly. You look over the top of your computer, eyes wondering over the messy array of notes he wrote to try and decipher them. "You," he says, flicking a finger towards you. "Give it a go."

Your eyes flick to his before widening in horror. Shit. You hadn't even gone over this week's slides because you were still working on the hundreds of slides from last week. 

"Preferably today," he raises a brow, impatience written all over his face, crossing his arm over his chest. You take a deep breath, quickly scan your notes, and sublimely thank God you found what you needed.

"Well, first the bone goes through clot formation, then callus formation, then new bone tissue forms, then finally the bone remodels," you explain, issuing a polite smile after you finish, breathing out a sigh of relief as he nods.

"Uh-huh. It's a very interesting process. And do you know which of those processes has the longest duration?" He says blandly. You tilt your head a little, surprised to see he has another question.

"Well, I think that would be the bone remodeling," you affirm, shifting in your seat a little.

"And the shortest?" He quickly supplements. 

"Clot formation?" You say unsurely. 

"You seem unsure of your answer. Do you truly think it is clot formation?" He crosses his arms over his chest. 

You were sure of it, but then again, why would he ask you if you thought it was wrong if it was right? You open your eyes wider, almost like you have just had an epiphany. "I—no. It's callus formation," you say matter-of-factly.

"Incorrect," he says, uncrossing his arms and turning his back to you. "I suggest trusting your instincts next time." You sink deeper into your chair, hoping that somehow it will shield you from his scrutiny. 

"On that note, class dismissed." You quickly gather your belongings, but not before Dr. Riley pulls you aside to assign you a three-page, single-spaced essay about the formation of a bone after having a fracture due in two days.

"Also, be sure to discuss clot formation heavily," his voice carries a condescending tone. "So that when you present to the class, they understand the concept better than you did." 

Your brows furrow a little. "Wait, I do understand—" You begin, though he interrupts.

"That's all," he cooly says, turning to grab his things from the desk in the front before switching the light switch off and stepping around you to leave the room. "See you and your paper Wednesday." You scowled as he turned away from you to go to his office.

This was such bullshit. You answered all his question, but God forbid you answer one incorrectly—well, not even incorrectly; he just made you feel it was wrong.

This was far from over.

"Dr. Riley. I, um, I don't understand why I have to write an essay," you found yourself saying later that day in his office, around six p.m. or so, when most of the faculty had already called it a night and left. His eyes stayed laser-focused on some papers he was going over.

"You didn't answer my question," he says, scribbling something on the paper. 

You find yourself coming in, shutting the door behind you, and sitting on the chair before his desk. "Yes, I did. I answered all one hundred of them," you say matter-of-factly. The corners of his eyes crinkle as they finally flick to yours, clearly amused by your exaggeration. 

"One hundred, huh?" He sets the pen down, leaning back in his chair, threading his fingers together. Your eyes wander to his arms. He had rolled up his sleeves to reveal his veiny forearms covered in tattoos. 

You flick your eyes back to eyes in a panic, praying he didn't notice you essentially checking him out. "Yes, sir," you tried to keep your voice even.

"So, you want out of an essay I assigned to you? 

"I—well. I was hoping…" You trail off, eyes averting his.

"No," his tone is authoritative, final. You release a small breath, sagging into the chair, feeling defeated. However, you caught your eyes wandering back to his forearms before moving up to his biceps. Fuck. They would have busted out of his button-down if they were any bigger.

He was a massive asshole. But, so fucking hot nonetheless. Had the most enormous thighs and arms you'd ever seen. Taller than anyone you'd ever met. Had a gruff, thick English accent you drooled over. Not to mention his raging ego, which did something for you.

"What is it?" Your eyes snap to his. Oh, God. Not again. 

"Nothing," you said quickly. He looked puzzled. You sat back in the chair, smiling awkwardly. He followed, leaning back in his seat and spreading his legs wider to get more comfortable.

You find your eyes drifting down, observing his clothed cock in his pants. "Nothing? Huh?" The corner of his lip quirks. You stare back at him; your face is hot, and your hands are clammy.

This time, there was no denying what it was you were ogling so intently. 

"Listen," he sits up a bit, placing his elbows on his desk and threading his fingers together. "I sympathize with your situation." You raise a brow because there is no way in hell he was sympathetic. His lip quips at your expression. "So, I believe I have a solution to your dilemma." That has you perking up in your seat, feeling a sense of hope.

"It's a bit...unorthodox," he mumbles, eyes boring into yours.

You squint your eyes in confusion. "Okay..." You trail off uneasily, sitting up a little straighter. "What did you have in mind?" He tilts his head up a little, carefully observing your face, before standing up and gripping the knot of the tie and carefully pulling it down so it rests lazily on his sternum. 

"Tell me," he prompts, easing his way around his desk to lean against the side you sit in front of. "What is it that caught your attention earlier?" You raise a brow, not only at his new position but also at his question.

"Pardon?" You prod. He lets out a small, scruffy, breathy laugh, crossing his arms over his chest and showcasing his huge biceps again. You release a slight breath as your eyes wander back to his arms. He tilts his head back as he examines your facial expression, dragging his eyes down your line of sight. He gives a breathy laugh as he realizes you are shamelessly checking him out. 

"Mhm," he hums. You snap your eyes to him in an instant, though this time you aren't embarrassed at the notion of him catching you. No. You wanted him to notice. Maybe, just maybe, then he'd finally find the courage to fuck you over his desk like you'd wanted since the first day he had arrived. "Your mind seems elsewhere," he observes.

"No, I'm—I'm just thinking," you whir, sitting in your chair.

He tilts his head back slightly. "What about?" His tone dripped with condescendence. He most definitely knew. He could read you like one of those fancy anatomy books he frequented. You lean back in your chair, legs spreading ever so slightly. His eyes glided to leer at your slightly agape legs. 

God, you had on that little fucking skirt you wore every so often. The damned thing was a couple of pieces of denim fabric. Not too short, but, ya, if you opened your legs at just the right angle, you could get a nice shot of your panties underneath. How lucky for your professor, who was at the receiving end of that.

"Oh, I don't know. Just things, you know?" You spread your legs just a little wider, and you swear you hear him release a breath. "It's the first day of fall tomorrow. Did you know that?" You casually say, spreading your legs that much further so he could get a better view of the wet spot already growing in your panties at him watching you. 

"I did."��His voice was dry; he was surprised to get a damn word out. 

"Crazy, huh? Also, I'm thinking about our lecture tomorrow. What's it going to be on anyway?" You find yourself dragging your hand up your leg to the buttons of your shirt, carefully unclasping each of them gently. He could feel his cock straining against his jeans seeing you, legs spread, fingers fiddling with your cute little button-up top with frilly sleeves.

"Sexual reproduction," he gruffs, fingers moving to undo the buttons on his shirt. You get the final button of your shirt unclasped, carefully sliding it off and onto the floor, revealing a lacy bra that matches your panties. You honestly thought you'd be more nervous, but with a guy that hot and educated staring at you like you were the sexiest thing alive, how could you be?

"Maybe I should get a head-start, no?" You proposed as he unclasped his final button, slipping his shirt entirely off. Good-God. The man was chiseled and hairy. The scars etched into his skin only made him that much sexier. He reached for his tie next. "No, no. Leave it on," you voice, getting up from your chair to stand before him. 

His greedy hands instantly sought refuge on your waist, dragging his fingertips along the waistband of your panties, giving them a little pull. You release a slight whine as the elastic slaps back onto your skin.

"Like fuckin' music to my ears," he groans, pulling you flush to his body, ripping his mask off to encapsulate your lips with his hungry ones. 

You yelp into his mouth at the sudden sensation, though you find yourself getting into a rough rhythm. His hand's paw at your ass as yours covetously grips his shoulders. Although you were flush against him, you sought more contact. "I need—I need," you whined in his mouth. 

"Need me to what? Say it," he urged, hands slipping to thread through your hair, pulling it gently. Your mouth falls agape at the action, allowing him to slip his tongue in your mouth. You moan into his mouth once more.

"I need you to—to," you stutter, unable to speak from how out of breathe you were.

"Say it," he hissed, pulling your hair harder.

"Fuck me. Please," you finally managed to say. He wasted no time picking you up by the back of the thighs and hastily placing you on his desk, flinging the loose papers and books that dawned it on the floor.

You reached between you to undo his belt and pant button as he slipped your panties down so they dangled loosely around your ankles. 

Your lips never disconnecting once. 

Once you got his pants undown and he your panties, he gripped your waist, hoisting you so he could pound his cock into you. You both moan at the contact, gripping each other tighter.

"Fuck," he groans, "Feel so good." You press your lips back to his as he makes work pummeling into you, his hands digging into the flesh of your hips to get as much friction as he can.

You were sure you'd have purple and blue bruises tomorrow.

He brings his mouth to nip and kiss at the side of your neck, his teeth gently grazing against the sensitive skin. "Drivin' me fuckin' insane," he grits, teeth nipping your skin again. You whined, bringing your hands to thread through his hair.

"I drive you insane?" You breathe out, dumbfounded, his cock still sliding in and out of you at a hurried pace. His tongue brushes your neck until it reaches your lips, quickly bullying itself into the sanctity of your mouth.

"Such a good student. Aren't you?" He gruffs into your lips; your mouth hangs agape at the feeling of him in you. "Always do such good work. Don't you, sweetheart?" You moan at his words; he presses a thumb to stimulate your clit. "Fuck—you, you drive me mad," he grits, moving his thumb faster.

You let a string of incoherent words, too caught up with his cock in you and thumb on you to form any real words.

"Huh? Ya, ya. But you must know that already. Or else you wouldn't have worn this—" he signals to the matching bra and panty set you had worn, "to meet with me," he finishes. You respond with another pathetic whimper, feeling your impending climax.

The moment he whispers into the shell of your ear, "Better come quick, or I may change my mind about that paper," you're a goner. You clamp around him at record speed, gripping his shoulders impossibly tighter, as you loudly moan in his mouth. His fingers dig deeper into the fat of your hips as his orgasm chases yours.

It takes both of you a second to catch your breaths, both heaving and chests rising with much pace. After you have caught your breath, he helps ease you off his desk, deftly reaching for your panties that slipped off your ankles in a frenzy and softly putting them back on you, followed by your skirt resting on the floor nearby.

You slipped your shirt back on, buttoning it as he focused on dressing himself. It didn't feel awkward like you had thought it was going to. Sure, it was quiet, but it was comforting.

You grabbed your bookbag, giving him a slight smile as you walked over to the closed door. "I appreciate you meeting with me. See you tomorrow, Dr. Riley," you kindly say.

He nodded, pulling his tie to rest neatly on his neck. "Don't forget about the paper," he plainly said, moving to pick up some of the loose papers on the floor.

A confused expression overtook your face. "I thought—" you began.

"I don't play favorites, sweetheart," he interrupted. "Write the paper."

Okay, he was still a dick, but oh well, sure, you'd write the damn paper, maybe even put a couple of errors in it so that he could deduct some points off, and you could request to meet with him again.

Ya, that sounded like a fine plan indeed.

a/n: inspired by a lovely who commented on my poll about professor!simon <33 @aiqsa (this took me so long omg)

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[peachylynnie]

gift exchange

word count: 2.4k

synopsis: in which you get sick on christmas, and sylus is there to make it better.

contains: sylus x mc!reader (not dating but sylus is down bad), christmas themes, a singular reference to his myth, a singular reference to grassland romance, mentions and consumption of food, suggestive themes, cursing, angst, and fluff.

a/n: i got sick. again. on christmas too. you know what that means. sylus time! on a related note, i hope everyone had a wonderful christmas. my rafayel fic is gonna upload soon as well. enjoy! reblogs and comments always welcome! do NOT copy or translate my work. sylus does NOT endorse plagiarism.

you curse as you rip open a hot chocolate packet. "sick on christmas," you grumble as you pour the contents into a mug. "how the fuck is that even possible."

of course, anyone can get sick at any time. it's inevitable. but, seriously? of all the days the pain in your throat and ears could have appeared, it just HAD to be on fucking christmas day. sure, it's not like you had any plans. normally you would celebrate with grandma and caleb by feasting on countless dishes and singing christmas songs from an old karaoke machine caleb swears isn't broken. but they're not around anymore.

you sigh miserably as you trudge over to the water dispenser for hot water, not wanting to think about your lost family. as you press the button for hot water, you lean against the dispenser, trying to figure out what you're going to do for the rest of the day. you were planning on visiting the market to make a nice dinner or perhaps order takeout at your favorite restaurant. but those are no longer viable options since your throat is killing you and your ears are incessantly burning. maybe you can order delivery? but that means you're going to have to clean up afterward, and you did NOT want to clean anything at the moment, especially with the state you're in.

shaking your head, you bring your mug back to the kitchen counter and search for a spoon.

"water for hot chocolate? i'm disappointed, sweetie."

you jump, an "oh, fuck!" leaving your mouth. sylus had materialized in front of you, a plastic bag in his left hand and a present box in his right. not like you noticed though. you were too startled by his sudden appearance. "what the fuck, sylus?! can't you knock?!"

"no," he deadpans, placing the bag and box on the kitchen counter. his fingers make quick work of untying the double knot on the bag. "besides," he spares you a glance. "i don't think someone who uses water to make their hot chocolate deserves a knock."

you roll your eyes. of course he fixates on that and doesn't explain why he's in your crappy apartment slandering you instead of downing at LEAST three glasses of wine in his luxurious penthouse on christmas day too. "well, screw me for being lazy, i guess," you mumble, crossing your arms.

"don't tempt me."

"huh?"

"what?"

you shoot him a look before grabbing your mug and heading to the other side of the kitchen counter. sitting on your squeaky high chair, you ask, "why are you here, sylus?"

he takes out a styrofoam container and opens its lid. immediately, the comforting smell of miso greets you. as sylus opens a cabinet to retrieve a pot (you don't question how he knows where to find it), you try to look at what else is in the plastic bag. tilting your upper body, you notice another container and hope it has some rice inside. what you don't notice is sylus' breath hitching when he turns back to you after pouring the miso soup into the pot and turning on the stove.

you were wearing a nice, loose top in your favorite color. except, its neck portion was completely cut off, leaving your collarbone and shoulders deliciously exposed. and because you were leaning on your side to take a look at what he had brought you (he loves when you're curious about anything involving him), the sleeve was slowly yet surely sliding down your arm, threatening to show a cup of your bra.

sylus instantly turns back to the stove, even though the miso soup shows no signs of boiling. rubbing a hand over his face, he shakes his head. no, he's not here to ogle at you (the top looks really good on you, and fuck, did your bra cup your breasts really nicely). he's here to take care of you. earlier, mephisto alerted him you were taking some cough drops. and knowing you, you probably didn't have any food on hand to sustain you through your sickness, given his last (secret) visit to your apartment to stock your (empty) fridge. taking a deep breath, sylus returns to the kitchen counter, reaching for the other container. he notices your inquisitive eyes.

"i'm here because it's christmas." he opens the container, and to your delight, it's omurice. marveling at how fluffy the omelette looks and how savory the fried rice appears, you almost miss his answer.

"huh?" you frown. "you're here because it's christmas?"

"is that not what i just said?" sylus jests as he plates the omurice and places it in your microwave.

"well," you start carefully. "shouldn't you have better things to do? like take luke and kieran shopping or pop open another bottle of wine because woo! christmas!"

the silver-haired man shakes his head with a chuckle, propping his hands on the kitchen counter. you try not to focus on his exposed forearms too much. forget the omurice and miso soup; you'll take his arms instead.

"first of all, luke and kieran are busy—"

"on christmas?!"

"yes, sweetie, on christmas." he raises a brow at you for interrupting. you drag your sleeve back up sheepishly.

"second of all, what makes you think i haven't already indulged in a bottle of wine today?" he tilts his head and crosses his arms, gazing at you with a hint of amusement in his ruby eyes.

you pout and look away. "fair point, i guess."

enjoying your cute reaction, sylus returns his attention to the stove. pleased to find the miso soup boiling, he turns off the stove and takes out a bowl from your cabinet (again, how does he know where to find that?). using a ladle to pour into the bowl, he hums a little tune. you try not to snicker at how terrible he sounds. after sliding a bowl of soup and a plate of omurice to you, sylus plants his elbows on the counter and rests his chin on a palm, allowing him a perfect view of his beloved (though you don't know you're his beloved yet; luke and kieran called him a loser before getting their asses handed to them).

"uh," you look at sylus, then at the food, and then sylus again. "you're not going to eat?"

he shakes his head. "i already ate before coming here."

hesitantly, you pick up your utensils. "you know you technically haven't answered my question, right?"

"i'll tell you once you finish." sylus responds immediately. it's almost as if he knew what you were going to say.

no longer wanting to torture your stomach, you cut into the omurice and take a bite. "mmm!" you cover your mouth as you chew. the softness of the egg, the savoriness of the fried rice—oh, you're in heaven. "this tastes really good, sylus!" you take a sip of the miso soup as well. not only does the warm broth soothe your throat, but the spice that comes with it clears up your sinuses, ceasing the burn in your ears.

the man in front of you can't help but smile at the sight. you, in your most vulnerable, beautiful state, enjoying his cooking. he could die a happy man here. and it wouldn't be the first time his cause of death is you. not that he minds or anything.

"thank you, sylus." you take a few more bites before swallowing. "seriously, i needed this."

"i know, sweetie," he says gently. "i know."

you glare at him, but not with as much malice as you used to. "did mephisto snitch on me or something?"

sylus lets out a laugh before grabbing the present box and joining you on the other side of the counter. "he simply saw a poor little hunter in need of some saving."

"since when does being sick mean needing saving?" you mutter as you set your utensils down, having finished the meal. you make a mental note to ask where he got the food. you're definitely going to visit wherever this exquisite meal came from (the man sitting next to you would die if he knew you wanted to visit his place).

sylus hands you the present box, causing your eyes to widen as you finally process its existence. "merry christmas, sweetie."

instead of accepting it, you jump out of your seat and dash to your room, though not without yelling a "wait here!" your heart beats rapidly as you open your closet door, your eyes landing on a small box wrapped in glossy black paper. yes, you were planning on spending christmas alone. yes, you were planning on giving this to sylus as nonchalantly as possible AFTER christmas (as much as he infuriates you, you still wanted to gift him something. why? you're not sure). and yet, here you are, holding the gift to your chest as you sprint back to the kitchen. "here," you pant as you thrust your gift into his lap. "merry christmas, sylus."

now it's his turn to be surprised. peering at what you just put in his lap, sylus can't help but blush profusely. you gifted him something. you actually gifted him something. you went out of your way to buy something for him. you thought of him. sylus brings a hand to his mouth, his fingers gripping the sides of his face hard. oh, you're too much. it's taking him everything to not crash himself into you and hold you tightly with his arms, to press himself so deeply into you until there is no chance in heaven or hell you could be separated from him.

"sylus?" you snap him out of his thoughts. "you okay?"

he blinks. "ah." releasing his face from his grip, sylus looks at you with a composed smile. "i'm alright, sweetie. thank you for the gift," he says as he starts unwrapping.

"it's not much," you say shyly. "thank you for your gift too. i'll open it after you finish opening yours."

sylus nods as he opens the box. his lips part when he finds what lies inside. a pair of black gloves, thermal lined with genuine fleece and adorned with adjustable straps. but most importantly, embroidery by your hands. he could recognize your handiwork anywhere thanks to your previous adventure in the grasslands. the white dove delicately sewn into the wrist of the right glove and the initials of his name intricately engraved into the wrist of the left. the man can't help but smile for the umpteenth time tonight. you really were something else.

"i noticed you wear fingerless gloves whenever you ride your motorcycle," you start as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt. "as stylish as they are, mr. sylus," you tease. "i think it's better to have gloves that keep you warm during late-night joyrides, especially now since it's winter." finding the courage to grin at him, you conclude your explanation with, "merry christmas, sylus."

sylus swears he sees an angel sitting next to him. how could you not be an angel? with the way you're smiling at him right now? and the amount of thought you put into this gift? (he's trying not to obsess over the fact that you observe him whenever he rides his motorcycle.) the head of onychinus has never believed in angels. but now, he does. thanks to you.

"thank you, sweetie," he tries to say as calmly as possible. "i will cherish them." when he attempts to put the gloves on, you stop him.

"wait, you don't need to put them on yet! you're going to get hot."

"it's fine," sylus assures as he secures the straps. "i want to."

"okay," you flush, happy that he likes the gift. "let me open yours now."

you wonder why his box is so heavy as your fingers rip off the tape. a gasp escapes your mouth as the wrapping paper falls to the ground. "sylus," you tremble. "i can't accept this."

a record player. a sleek, gorgeous record player with an obsidian platter, supported by a mahogany base and a crystal case. you stroke the tonearm, dragging your index finger all the way to the headshell and relishing in the cool feeling the metal provides. "sylus…" you trail off.

"there's more, sweetie." he murmurs. out of thin air, sylus materializes several vinyls with his evol. your eyes widen, recognizing the images that lie at the center of each disc.

"oh my god, sylus!" your favorite band, he got you vinyl records of each album from your favorite band. they've never even had vinyl records before. holy fucking shit. "sylus!" you chant excitedly, leaping into him as you wrap your arms around his neck. "sylus! you shouldn't have! oh my god!"

you jump up and down eagerly, leaving the man stunned in his chair. his arms are outstretched, unsure what to do for the first time ever. you freeze, realizing the position you are in. "oh uh," you quickly retract from him, a red hue forming on your cheeks. "sorry about that." you go to sit back down in your chair, but sylus doesn't let you. he pulls you back to him with an arm around your waist and a hand at the back of your head. standing at full height, the head of onychinus hugs you tightly, so tightly it's as if he never wants to let you go. you hesitate before returning the hug, questioning the man's motives. but he doesn't say or do anything. just stands embracing you. realizing he bears no ill will, you pat his back playfully. "you know i'm sick, right?"

his grip doesn't loosen. "yes, i know."

"you're going to get sick, sylus," you tease, trying to pull away. as much as you appreciate his warmth, the last thing you want is for him to get sick. just the thought of it strikes fear in your heart. you're not sure why. "come on, let go."

sylus sighs before untangling his arms and sitting back down. he'll give in for now. besides, he wouldn't trade that elated look on your face when he revealed the records for anything in the world. he supposes he can enjoy such a view some more.

you giggle excitedly as you examine the vinyl records. "oh, should i play this one first? oh, what about this one? no way! you got this one too?!"

as always, you don't catch the woozy, lovesick smile that appears on sylus' face as he folds his arms and leans back to admire you. if this is what christmas with you is going to look like in the future, sylus desperately hopes you'll spend every christmas with him from now on. but, just to be sure, because nothing is guaranteed in the future, he follows your example and says for the second time of the night, "merry christmas, sweetie."

[girlygguk]

OLD DRAFT / CUT SCENE / NOT IN THE MAIN FIC

omfg??? i’m going thru easy chap 1 rn and LOOK at what i just found in my docs from the og outline... AHHHHHHHHHH 🗣️🗣️🗣️ they were initially gonna be bffs that kiss in the first fawking draft...😭 boundaries is not a word in my vocabulary actually

idol jk x idol fem reader, sleepy cuddling, s i m p jeon jeongguk, touchey lovey bffs, sfw, fluff, 531 words

“when are you gonna get a bigger bed? you have superstar money now; i think you can afford to upgrade to at least a double…”

jungkook’s lips curved into a soft smile at your teasing, though his eyes remained closed. you weren’t wrong — he could upgrade. hell, he could buy ten california kings without even batting an eyelid. he’s nineteen now, probably overdue for something a little more grown-up than a single bed.

…but during his rookie days, he fought so hard for this single bed. it wasn’t just a bed. it was victory.

out of two crappy choices in the room he shared with taehyung and jimin, it was the better option: a tiny single bed where his feet hung slightly off the edge or half of a squeaky, ratty bunk. it had taken him three hours of intense negotiations, whining, and almost getting his ass beat by both his hyungs to claim it as his. giving it up now just because he had money felt wrong. it was the sentiment... right?

right. and maybe — juuuust maybe — it had something to do with how this bed kept you so close to him when you wanted to relax. what if he upgraded, and suddenly there was too much space? what if you didn’t cuddle as close anymore?

“i will soon, haven’t had the time lately,” he finally responded, his voice soft and unhurried.

“oo, do you wanna go furniture shopping? we can sit on all the fancy display chairs and beds like we always do, but this time you’ll actually be buying something—”

“later,” he cut you off with a small smile, his eyes still closed but shifting a little closer until he could feel your breath ghosting over his face. “we’ll go later.”

“kay,” you murmured, your eyelids growing heavier as you watched his peaceful features. “you gonna nap?”

“want to,” he nodded gently. “d’you?”

you reached out to brush a piece of fringe from his eyes, the movement making it fall in soft waves. “sure,” you murmured, your fingers lingering for just a moment before settling back under your cheek. as you snuggled into his pillow, his familiar scent enveloped you, a warm, comforting embrace that felt like home.

but just as your body started to relax, you sat up abruptly, reaching for your phone. jungkook’s eyes slowly cracked open, heavy with sleep as he watched you.

“whatcha doing?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with a gentle rasp.

“setting an alarm,” you replied, rubbing the back of his hand as it rested between you. “have dance practice at 12, nari-unnie will kill me if i’m late.”

“ss’ok, i’ll wake you up.”

you glanced down at him, your lips twitching into a small, knowing smile. you both knew he’d do no such thing.

his soft, fluffy hair framed his face, his pouty lips slightly parted, just enough to reveal a hint of his bunny teeth. his big, sleepy eyes gazed up at you with a quiet patience, boba-like and heavy with drowsiness. adorable.

wordlessly, you finished setting the alarm, placing your phone on his bedside table before slipping back under the blanket. this time, you moved closer, and without hesitation, his hand lifted, draping naturally over your waist as you shuffled nearer, closing the small gap between you.

the room fell into a peaceful silence, your breathing syncing as you both basked in the quiet comfort of each other.

until his soft voice broke the stillness.

“you smell so good.”

“yeah?” you murmured, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

“yeah,” he replied, a little dazed.

“it’s the perfume you bought me,” you reminded him, the smile audible in your tone.

“i know,” he whispered, the distance between you shrinking as his hand slid further around your waist, his fingers curling gently over your side.

“was it expensive?” you teased lightly.

“mhm.” even with his eyes closed, he could sense the way your head turned into the pillow, your neck slightly bared. he leaned forward, just a little, until there was no space left between you.

you exhaled softly as his nose brushed against the crook of your neck, and your hand shifted to rest gently on his chest.

“really expensive…” he hummed into your skin, his breath warm against your pulse. “spent all my money on it. i’m broke now.”

[angel-sweets666]

stuck together

Barbarian bakugo x princess! Reader

Your parents arranged you to the brash and rude prince of the barbarians to save their own skin. CHAPTER TWO HERE

warnings and stuff inside of the story: talks of virginity, talks of a virginity check (its accurate to the time period ok?) a/n should I make this a series? I think it’d be fun but idk ur rich btw so just like there’s rich stuff.

THE FULL VERSION IS OUTTT, truely ask and you shall receive. Anyways this is the full edited and lengthened part one I hope it’s better then the sneak peak I gave you guys

AGED UP

Mitsuki leaned back, her piercing gaze fixed on your parents. "So, what do you say? You give us your daughter, and we'll form an alliance," she proposed, pausing for their response. "It would offer protection from the Todoroki kingdom Flamoria, no?" The blonde woman smiled at your father, trying to sway him.

Flamoria had a habit of attacking your home kingdom, however in recent years the bakugos have managed to not only defeat the todorokis but make their kingdom subservient to them.

Your mother hesitated. "I mean, I dunno…"

"We'll do it," he interrupted, cutting off your mother.

"Huh?!" Your mother turned to him, shock evident on her face.

"Perfect. Sign here," Mitsuki said smoothly, handing them a piece of paper which already had both mitsuki and masarus names written down. It was a betrothal agreement, arranging the marriage between you and her hot-tempered son, Bakugo.

Your father reached for the pen, the gravity of the situation pressing down on him. "This will secure our safety and ensure a powerful ally," he murmured, almost convincing himself as much as anyone else.

"But our daughter…" your mother started, her voice filled with concern and disbelief. She looked at Mitsuki, then back at your father, torn between the political necessity and the love for her child.

"We don't have a choice," your father replied firmly, signing the paper. "This alliance is crucial for our kingdom's survival. The Empyrean empire is strong.”

Mitsuki's smile widened as she took the signed document. "Excellent. You won't regret this. Bakugo will make a fine husband, many heirs will come from this, she is a virgin right?” The blonde asks “we can get her checked for it, *name* was very sheltered growing up so we can assure you she’s a virgin.” Your father explains, leaning back in his own squeaky wooden chair. His gaze turns to your mother, who seems distraught about marrying off her child to the barbarian prince. Someone famous for being a violent person.

at 17 years old bakugo had brought back the head of a powerful tribe leader and put it on a stick for everyone to see, at 18 years old he had gathered a small army of men and defeated the midoriya kingdom and had a bloody cloak from the one of the dead soilders to prove it. Then at 20 years old bakugo had forced izuku, the Feywood king to surrender his crown. Which put feywood in the empyrean empire. No one knows where izuku midoriya currently is, all the people know is that he was last scene getting dragged by his green locks by bakugo and was never seen again.

Later on

“YOU ARRANGED ME TO WHO!?” You screamed, staring at your parents in complete horror. How could they do this to you? You make one wrong move and your own husband would order your death! “Look it’s not so bad..” “NOT SO BAD? HES KILLED HUNDREDS! THOUSANDS EVEN” “He won’t kill you though!” Your father exclaimed, An attempt to calm you. “Look, bakugo may seem like a man killing war machine of a prince but his parents assured us that he’s very gentle with women.” You scoffed, leaning your weight to one hip “bullshit. He’s gonna kill me. Brutally, he’s gonna hack off my head just you watch”

Over the next few weeks, you tried everything to call off the arrangement. You attempted to run away before the virginity check, faked illness, and came up elaborate excuses. Nothing seemed to work. Your parents were stubborn, insisting that you marry Katsuki Bakugo for the strength of their own kingdom.

Lying in bed, you tossed and turned, unable to escape the looming dread of marrying the great, scary barbarian prince, soon to be barbarian king. What if he rips your head off just because you refuse to give him a kiss? The thought made your heart race with fear.

Suddenly, a knock on the door snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts. A maid entered, her eyes gloomy with pity . "Your Highness? Tomorrow we will wake you early to help you begin packing for the travel to the Empyrean Kingdom," she said softly, her voice trembling as she tried to avoid any kind of trouble.

You groaned and turned your head toward her. "When am I being sent to them?" you asked

"U-uh, most likely the day after tomorrow," the maid stammered, clearly uneasy with your distress.

You sighed deeply, feeling the weight of your impending fate settle even heavier on your shoulders. "I see… thank you," you muttered.

You looked back at the red headed maid “How far is the journey?” You asked her softly, she fidgeted with her fingers “a-about two days, they live f-far from our kingdom your highness” she stammered. You smiled to the red head and dismissed her.

As she left you stared at the ceiling, your mind racing. The thought of being married off to someone you had never met, someone with a terrifying reputation, filled you with a sense of dread and hopelessness. Your parents decision felt like a betrayal, a sacrifice of your happiness for the supposed greater good of the kingdom

You stood in the corner of your large room, watching as numerous servants took gowns, corsets, shoes, and other clothing items, placing them into bags. "U-uh, don’t barbarians wear less formal clothes? Shouldn’t I bring less?" you asked the maids. All of them turned to look at you, a hint of surprise on their faces.

"Her Highness makes a point," the same red-headed maid from the night before whispered to an older maid. The older maid, seemingly more experienced, turned toward you with a thoughtful expression.

"You're right, Your Royal Highness. They would probably end up burning these clothes or turning them into barbarian-styled garments," she conceded.

You sighed, your shoulders dropping in resignation. "What do barbarian women wear?" you asked the older maid, hoping for some clarity.

"Hm… flowy skirts, I’ve seen a few wear headdresses," she replied, as some of the gowns were hung back up in the closet. The maids began to sift through your belongings, selecting items that might be more appropriate for your new life.

As you watched the process, you couldn’t help but glance out the window. Your mother and father were walking in the garden, deep in conversation. They seemed so in love, so perfectly matched, yet they were throwing you into a marriage that promised nothing but misery. The contrast between their happiness and your dread was almost unbearable.

"Your Highness, we’ll pack lighter, more practical clothing for your journey," the older maid reassured.

"Thank you," you murmured, though your heart wasn't in it. The thought of being dressed in unfamiliar clothes, adapting to an unknown culture, and being wed to a man you feared only added to your anxiety.

As the servants continued their work, you wandered over to your bed, sinking down onto the edge. The weight of your impending departure pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe. You had grown up surrounded by luxury and love, and now you were being sent away, to marry probably the most violent man you’ve ever heard of

Tears welled up in your eyes as you thought about the future that awaited you. Would you ever find happiness in the Empyrean Kingdom? Would Katsuki Bakugo, the fierce and terrifying prince, ever come to care for you, or would you be nothing more than a means to an end?

"Your Highness, is there anything else you would like us to pack?" one of the younger maids asked, her voice gentle.

You shook your head, wiping away a stray tear. "No, just… make sure to leave out a few comfortable things for me to wear until we leave."

"Of course, Your Highness," she replied, her expression sympathetic.

As the maids continued their preparations, you lay back on your bed, staring up at the white ceiling. You tried to find comfort in the familiar surroundings, knowing that soon you would be leaving them behind.

"So, what's the barbarian kingdom like?" you asked, looking over to the maids. The older maid once again turned her head to look at you.

"Most of the people live in either big wooden houses with all sorts of weapons around or in these hut-like tent things. Either way, they have all these symbols painted on them," she described, clearly having been to the Empyrean Kingdom before.

"And what about the Bakugos? Where do they live? You asked

"They live in a stone castle with intricate paintings on it, and there's a lot of security. The last time I was there, they had spikes on the bridge leading to the castle, with people's heads mounted on them," the old maid replied,

"How long ago were you there?" you asked, feeling a chill run down your spine at the gruesome detail.

"When the young prince was about fifteen, so around five years ago," she said, placing one last corset into a bag.

You glanced at the six bags of items packed for your journey, feeling a mix of relief and trepidation. It was a smaller amount than you had anticipated, yet it seemed to signify the end of one life and the beginning of another.

"Did you meet the prince?" you asked, trying to glean any information that might help you understand the man you were to marry.

"Briefly," she replied, her expression softening. "He was intense, even as a teenager. Always training, always pushing himself. But there was a sadness in his eyes, a loneliness."

You sighed, trying to reconcile the image of the fierce, terrifying prince with the glimpses of vulnerability the maid described. "And the people there? How are they?"

"Fierce, proud, and loyal," the older maid said. "They value strength above all else, but they also have a deep sense of honor and community. If you earn their respect, they'll defend you with their lives."

The more you learned, the more daunting your future seemed. Yet, there was a strange comfort in knowing that the barbarian kingdom, despite its harsh exterior, had its own codes and values.

As the maids continued their work, you tried to imagine what life in the Empyrean Kingdom would be like

"Is there anything else I should know?" you asked, your voice softer, almost hesitant.

The older maid paused, considering your question. "Just remember, Your Highness, that if you respect them and they’ll respect you."

Her words resonated with you, giving you a small but vital sense of empowerment. You nodded “alright, seems easy enough..”

The day that you needed to travel to the empyrean kingdom came, your parents watched you walk to the carriage by the gate as your mother sobbed into your fathers chest.

The ride to the Empyrean Kingdom was grueling. As the carriage rattled over uneven roads, you gazed out the window, the lush greenery of your homeland gradually giving way to the rugged, bushy but covered in tall trees landscape of the barbarian territory. The closer you got, the more your anxiety grew, each kilometre bringing you closer to the empyrean land

When you finally arrived at the castle, you were struck by its threatening look. The stone walls were decorated with weird red painted symbols, and the spiked bridge, as described by the maid, loomed menacingly ahead. Your heart pounded as you stepped out of the carriage, taking in the harsh surroundings.

A group of stern-faced and very attractive guards escorted you inside. The castle's interior was as intimidating as its exterior—dimly lit, with weapons and trophies of past battles displayed prominently on the walls. You felt a shiver run down your spine as you were led through the cold halls. You swore that if you listened close enough you could hear peoples screams in the dungeons below. Fuck was this hell with its 7 rings?

Finally, you were brought to a large chamber where a tall, muscular figure stood with his back to you. His spiky blonde hair was unmistakable. He was busy looking at a sheet of paper, the one oddly similar to the ones your parents shown you when they first announced your betrothal to bakugo. As he slowly turned to face you, his piercing red eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made you want to look away. He looked almost angry at you, furious even. Which was confusing because you’ve known this man for a whole 10 seconds

he was tall and about 6ft with messy blonde hair, scars all over his body and face, and piercings on his ears and lip.

"So, you're the princess they sent," Katsuki said, his voice dripping with disdain. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, his expression one of barely concealed annoyance. Katsuki had a deep voice that you couldn’t tell if you found attractive or if you wanted to run away and hide.

You straightened your back, meeting his gaze with as much confidence as you could muster. "I am," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady but it ended up sounding shaky.

Bakugo scoffed, looking you up and down as if to check if you were just a weak small baby or strong enough to be a wife and a queen “Great. Another weakling to babysit," he muttered under his breath.

Anger formed within you at his dismissive attitude. "I am not a weakling," you snapped. "And I am certainly not here to be babysat."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "We'll see about that," he said, turning away from you. "Follow me. There's no point in wasting time."

You clenched your fists, biting back a come back to insult him with as you followed him through the castle. Every step echoed in the vast, cold corridors. His steps much louder then yours due to his much larger frame

Bakugo led you to a large hall where a group of people—presumably his advisors and some of the castle staff—were gathered. He introduced you curtly, barely sparing you a glance as he did so. The looks you received ranged from curiosity to outright hostility, they clearly didn’t want you here. Just like the old maid back had home had warned, these people hated the weak.

After the introductions, Bakugo dismissed everyone, including you. "You'll be shown to your chambers. Don't get in my way or else," he said, theblonde clearly trying to end the conversation between you two before he could get sucked into some conversation he didn’t waht

You followed a servant to your chambers, a mix of anger and sadness within you. The room was surprisingly comfortable, a stark contrast to the rest of the castle, but it did little to lift your spirits. You sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of your new reality settle over you.

Over the next few days, you tried to find your place in the castle. The people were distant and wary, their lack of trust clear in their every interaction with you. And Bakugo… he was even worse than most . He ignored you most of the time, and when he did speak to you, it was with a cold, dismissive tone that made your blood boil. He always had a tone of sass, trying to get under your skin constantly.

as the days grew closer and closer to your wedding date he seemed to just get more and more annoying, constantly having some tone of sass. Never wanting to talk to you and constantly flirting with your maids, you even went the effort to fire atleast 4 of them to keep their grotty hands to themselves.

“you done firing my staff now?” Bakugo grumbled as he caught up with you in the stone candle lit halls “your staff? You mean my staff? My staff who you seem to love flirting with” you corrected him, looking over your shoulder at him. The blonde furrowed his eyebrows and scoffed “I pay for them there for their my staff.” He growled, asking faster in an attempt to intimate you “actually, your parents pay for the staff.” “Hah?” “Your parent pay for the staff so their not your staff, their the palaces staff.” You said ignorantly as you played with the lace of your dress. “You gonna get out of that frill fest you call a gown?” He asked, again trying to insult you “if I do I’m gonna shove it up your ass” “excuse me?”

“Want me to say it slower? I—WILL—SHOVE—MY—GOW”

“OKAY OKAY SHUT UP WOMAN” he growled at you and walked off in spite “THATS WHAT WHAT I THOUGHT. THATS WHAT I THOUGHT.” You angrily yelled back to him, which in real aspect you were yelling at the back of his ignorant head. You huffed and stormed away in the opposite direction as you wanted nothing more then to get away from that man. As you stomped down the halls, footsteps echoing with each step; you heard a male voice call out to you

“Princess.”

you looked over, a certain brown haired man similar looking to katsuki stared back at you. It was king Masaru “I was looking for you” he says, walking towards you. You quickly curtsied to the king “About what?” You asked “we have a wedding date for you and my son” he smiled warmly as if this was a good thing “o-oh.. and when may that be..?” Your eyebrows furrowed with frustration “a month from now, they will date you to get your gown fitted this week” he seemed overly happy about something neither you or his temperamental son wanted.

“Will I wear a wedding dress from my country or your country?” You asked softly, trying to keep your cool “uh.. our country.” He informed you “I’d rather wear my own wedding gown though, your majesty” “well.. you belong to our kingdom now. We can give you a dress that’s a mix of the two if you’d rather” he compromised, trying to keep with both your and his kingdom. Letting out a sigh your shoulders dropped “I suppose that be okay…” a look of mild disappointment on your face “wonderful, I’m glad we could come to a compromise” he smiled and walked off, an electric blonde guard following close behind him who you earlier learned his name was kaminari. The blonde goofily smiled to you, he seemed like a character. The two men walked off as they chatted, rolling your eyes you too began to walk in the direction of your bedroom chambers.

you couldn’t sleep that night, you tried changing your nightgown, exercising, reading a book, meditating, everything! nothing would help you sleep this night, you wondered if it was the weird interaction with king Masaru or the fact your own fiance was when you think about it was cheating on you with your own staff members. you slowly slid out of bed and out of your silk sheets, rubbing your face up and down with your hands with frustration. Looking down at your feet you sighed, looking out of the window. the night sky was so peaceful unlike your mind which was running with less the pleasant thoughts. How could you get Katsuki to like you? or at least tolerate you in some way so he wouldn't be the most annoying little shit.

The creak of the door hinges squeaks as you pushed the heavy wooden door open, wincing at the high pitch noise. Slowly but quietly gou walked towards the chambers of your future husband. As you approached the door you hear two voices come from the inside

“you’ll need to learn to cherish and care for her eventually”

“why would I do that?” “She is your fiancé! Your future wife! Future mother of your heirs!”

“you except me to fuck her too? Shit.”

“Yes obviously! Your gonna need heirs for our kingdom!”

“fine. Before or after this whole wedding?”

“well In her kingdom, you two do that on the wedding night but to be honest I don’t really care when you do her”

“Too easy”

safe to say your whole face was pink, with either anger or arousal but you couldn’t tell

Tag list!

@sagejin @teeesthings @hiimsaraandyou

@peachysuguru @luvgumii

@v3n7s @iangeeluv

[dadsbongos]

my wife is cool, understanding, and goes with the flow

5.7 k words / warnings - fem reader (+referred to as mother/wife), chilchuck's emotional turmoil (he's so in love and so incapable of verbalizing it)

summary - general strings of yours and chilchuck's marriage. good to bad to making up.

~~~

“You know,” you whisper, “If you ignore how nightmarish they were to raise, then they’re kinda perfect kids.”

Chilchuck snorts, letting you hang off his arm as you stand in the doorway to your living room.

Meijack and Flertom are strewn across the couch in opposite directions, Flertom’s feet dangling off an armrest and Meijack’s in her sister’s face. Thankfully, Flertom is not awake to notice the violation of personal space. Puckpatti is curled on the floor before the couch, long auburn hair flayed out and draped over her arms, which she uses as a makeshift pillow.

The front door is wide open, gentle pittering rain having lulled the girls to sleep. Puckpatti had been the one to suggest a ‘slumber party’ in the common space as it rained, even likening the cool air and atmospheric petrichor to camping to incite Meijack. As far as you know, however, none of the girls have been camping, so you’re mystified how that reasoning actually worked.

“Mei and Fler are so big now,” he muses, “Mei thinks she’s ready for the adult world now.”

“As if,” you lay your cheek on his shoulder, silently wishing he’d take the opportunity to kiss your temple. He does not, “We were barely ready when we had them. How’s a nine-year-old prepared for that?”

“That’s what I’m asking.”

Meijack, as if sensing her parents’ lighthearted jabs, rolls over with a grumble and hum, flinging a foot into Flertom’s nose. The younger twin’s face wrinkles in protest, head jerking in the opposite direction -- you and Chilchuck freeze, anticipating a shrill cry, until Flertom relaxes again. The sigh of relief is short, though.

Abruptly, Chilchuck goes rigid, jolting you off him, “Why is Patti on the floor? Like a dog?”

“How am I supposed to know what goes on in that kid’s brain?”

Chilchuck shakes his head and steps over the young girl to shut your front door. Squeaky hinges pull a whine from Patti herself, drowsily rubbing her eyes and calling, “Papa, don’t shut it!”

“What? You want a troll to get in?” he asks sarcastically.

“No,” Puckpatti answers in earnest.

“That’s why Papa wants the door shut,” you kneel by your youngest daughter, brushing back her bangs just to watch her eyebrows scrunch cutely, “So no nasty trolls can get inside…” then you remember your husband’s complaint, “Patti, baby, do you wanna sleep in a chair? Or a bed? The ground doesn’t look very nice to rest on.”

“Yeah, Mama’s right. The ground’s gonna mess up your back,” Chilchuck joins you, ready to scoop up your daughter when she shakes her head.

“Wanna stay by Mei and Fler…” she pouts.

“Okay, but let me set out some more blankets, alright?” you kiss her on the forehead once, then twice when she beams and nods.

Chilchuck is already standing to retrieve spare blankets from your closet, he’s back before you can impede the hallway. He stops you from venturing further by propping a leg in front of you, “Don’t worry about it, I got everything.”

“She’ll need a real pillow, too, honey.”

“Yeah,” he taps at your ankles with his foot until you’re relenting, turning back towards the living room, “I said I got it.”

“Thank goodness for my big, strong man, huh?”

“I am the breadwinner,” he teases, granting you a kiss on the cheek before dropping to lay the blankets out as a makeshift mattress for Puckpatti.

“Self-imposed!” you rasp, stage-swatting at his back, “I could get a job, too!”

“Do you want to?” you want to smack the smug grin off his lips, specifically with your own. In a kiss. For a long while.

“...no.”

He laughs at your sudden shyness. Tempered down only to avoid waking your daughters, “There you go.”

“Boo,” you pull Chilchuck to a stand by the back of his shirt. You pull, and pull, and pull, and you don’t stop until he’s tumbling on top of you into your shared bed, with your door haphazardly kicked shut, “You’re mean to me.”

“I’m mean?!” he whisper-shouts, instantly more affectionate in how he wraps his arms around you and buries his face into your neck, “You choked me, yanking on my shirt like that.”

“You’re alive, aren’t you?”

“Barely,” he abruptly goes limp, “I’m half dead.”

“Half dead isn’t a thing, Chil,” you giggle, trying halfheartedly to shove him off.

“It is, I’m half dead,” he insists, “There’s only one way to revive me.”

“Uh-huh… and that is?”

“A kiss,” Chilchuck lifts his head to look you in the eyes, suggestively bumping his eyebrows, “A sloppy one.”

“No!” you gasp, dramatically.

“Loud and wet,” he nods in even measures, clicking his tongue, “Only way, I guess. Really tough for you.”

“I don’t know about that,” you wiggle out an arm from beneath his body to poke his cheek, “You seem fine now. Very lively and talkative!”

“Means I’m dying faster. It’s the final burst of energy before I shit my pants and die.”

“Ew!” your shout is smothered beneath Chilchuck’s hand, his laughter rumbling your body, forehead digging into your collarbones.

Between choked chuckles Chilchuck manages out a meek, “sorry, sorry!” he gasps for breath and releases your mouth, “That was gross.”

“Yeah, now get off me. You’re nasty.”

“See? You’re mean to me, one mention of shit and I’m just an expendable stud.”

As soon as Chilchuck rolls off you and onto his back, you’re crowding onto him, pawing at his chest and kissing his cheek, “You are a stud.”

“Can I get a kiss for that, at least?”

“I just kissed you, greedy.”

His deadpan stare inspires a bizarre longing in your thumping chest, you stretch to grant his wish. Chilchuck’s hands cup your cheek, holding you close to prolong the kiss as long as you’ll allow. Such restless and selfish want is reserved for behind closed doors, which you wish you could understand, but you don’t.

You’re preoccupied with the dread of death. Half-foots are blessed to live past fifty. Sure, you and Chilchuck are merely scratching at twenty, but life is too short for him to be shy about these things.

“I wish you’d be more open and lovey.”

“Hm?” he hums against your lips, pulling away to stare at you strangely, “Why?”

“‘Why?’” you mock, “I’m your wife! That’s why.”

Instinctually, Chilchuck goes to wave off the answer as a joke and roll his eyes, but then something barks. Both of you pause, heads turning slowly towards the now gaping door to find a shaggy white puppy standing in the dim space. Swiftly, its tail wags, and it barks again before charging towards your bed.

Your screech at the dash rouses Chilchuck from his shock. Clumsily shuffling so he’s in front of you, taking the brunt of the dog’s pounce.

“Since when do we have a dog?!” Chilchuck looks over his shoulder at you, as if you’d know.

“As if I know!” you parrot your thoughts, breath slowing to a calm when the small dog cuddles your husband’s arms, “Kinda cute though, right?”

“He broke in!” Chilchuck accuses, lifting a shoulder to prevent you petting it -- his plan fails miserably and you’re easily scratching behind the dog’s ears, “He could have ticks! He could’ve bit the girls on his way back here!”

“No,” you whine, resting your chin on Chilchuck’s shoulder, “He has a friendly face, he’d never do that!”

“And you know that how…?”

“Aw, Chil, honey, have a heart! He was probably scared of the rain and snuck inside to get away from it!” you reach under the dog’s head to now scritch his chin, “Which is our fault for leaving the door open, isn’t it?” you’re already a lost cause to logic, repeating back to the puppy, “Isn’t it? Yes, it is! Yes, it is! He understands me! He’s so smart, Chil, we have to keep him.”

His silent glowering makes you wilt over his back.

You retreat from the dog to hug your husband from behind, “C’mon, have a heart!”

Irritation pulses through Chilchuck at the turn of tonight’s events. Everything before this dumb dog felt natural, smooth, and familiar. Until you said that.

One thing that makes his heart rate spike. Even though, at twenty, it means very little to him.

‘I wish you’d be more open and lovey.’

He knows this means more.

“Okay, okay,” he eases, snatching a chaste smooch from you before combing a hand down the dog’s soft fur, “I’ll work on it.”

You two never had a dog, though.

Puckpatti is allergic -- you never would’ve gotten a dog since it’d cause your daughter so much distress.

What’s in his arms isn’t a dog, but it isn’t a mimic.

What’s in his arms isn’t a dog because this isn’t real.

.

.

.

Chilchuck’s eyes drift open, a dusty ceiling stares down at him. Slowly, a crushing weight is relieved from his stomach.

Blonde and black hair mingle in his peripherals, then Laios is leaning over him obnoxiously, speaking to the other two while looking at the half-foot, “Does Chil sleep with his eyes open?”

“No,” Chilchuck takes initiative, shoving Laios away by the chin and sitting up with a yawn. His back cracks unpleasantly, and eye crust pokes into his fluttering lids. Rubbing the gross clots away, Chilchuck settles his elbows onto his knees before resting that way -- leaning into his hands even after his eyes have been cleared out.

For a moment, he silently mourns the fading images of his dream; already having forgotten the beginning. No matter how desperately he clings to the story, it escapes, leaking out his ears until all there is left to mourn is the fact he’s awake.

All he knows is that dream ended differently than it should have. Hopefully the ending this time was better than real life, not that it matters. He wouldn’t remember, nor would it change the fact that in reality you two are not together.

“Chilchuck? Are you okay?” Marcille sounds hesitant. Worried.

The last thing he needs is her fretting and prying into what his Nightmare could’ve been about, so instead he lamely says, “Tired.”

“Oh, okay,” she sounds entirely unconvinced. He’s surprised when she doesn’t push.

He’s further surprised when Laios does, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

…

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Chil’,” you croon, hands curling around the man’s waist as he silently uncorks a bottle of cheap wine. He makes sure not to jostle you off as he moves the dark glass to his lips, even cupping your overlapping hands with one of his own to steady you, “You should talk to me about these things!”

“It was fine, we went in -- got what we needed -- got out. I’m back and alive.”

‘Alive’ strikes you, it sticks in the back of your head as soon as he says it. Your arms tighten around his slim waist, the slots of his ribs dig into your forearms and it makes your chest tighten. Swirling thoughts colliding and dragging each other deeper and deeper into your darker concerns: Chilchuck starving himself to maintain an unhealthy weight, Chilchuck burning calories in a revival, Chilchuck having to drink himself under just to fall asleep.

“Would you tell me if you died?”

“Why would you want to know that?” he laughs, yet you’re frowning into his back.

You bite your lip until raw iron spills onto your tongue, gnawing it with the anxiety of how to soften this question. How marshmallowy can you make your tone to avoid lecturing while also not patronizing him? Eventually, you settle on just spitting it out,

“Would you even remember it?” he hums, confused, “You drink a lot, Chil’.”

He squeezes your hands, setting down his wine to turn in your hold, now cupping your cheeks -- flush with upset and ready to dampen with tears, “I don’t get blackout on jobs, you know?”

“But,” you don’t want to pester him, to drive him away from home even during his off time, “Chil’, honey, you’re… with your weight, alcohol could- well- !”

“I know,” he interrupts your stammering, drawing a thumb across the apples of your face tenderly. Though his posture is rigid, and his next statement confirms your suspicion that he just wants to stop talking about this, “I appreciate you looking out for me, but really, don’t think so much about it. Work’s not worth talking about at home. And my drinking is totally recreational, I want to enjoy myself and unwind, is that so bad?”

“No,” you heave with defeat, now planting your forehead against his shoulder. Clenching his shirt in a bunch, you squeeze and squeeze and squeeze hoping it’ll squash out any thoughts of continuing to nag his drinking. It’ll end the same way it always does.

Chilchuck is fine because work is fine and his drinking is fine and his diet is fine because Chilchuck is perfectly perpetually fine.

You’re just a worrywart wife. Your kids are grown, having flown the coop, and you’re going mad in loneliness. You should think less. You should learn to be fine like your husband.

…

“Woah, no way! They want to meet me?”

“Uh-huh,” Chilchuck’s eyes trail after you as you rush from one end of the room to the other, clicking jewelry clasps and snapping buttons into place as you go, “It’s nothing to dress up over,” when you seem to ignore him, he only gets louder, “We’re gonna be late, you know?”

Let me dress up! is what you want to snap at him, but you don’t. Instead, you let those comments join the many others from him that rattle around in the back of your mind like rocks.

“I want to make a good impression,” you finally utter, “It isn’t like you tell me anything about work, I’m excited to meet your friends! Besides, if you wanted me to be more prepared then you should’ve said something earlier.”

“I get it,” and in a bid to be polite, but just coming out tumbling into the rock pile is, “If you had work friends, I’d wanna meet them, too.”

The obvious dig is that you don’t get out. Now that the girls are older and independently caring for themselves, you could more easily find work… the problem lies in how you don’t really want to. You’d be too scared of Chilchuck returning home to an empty house, whenever it is that he does come home.

The hidden dig is that he’s fibbing, he would never want to meet your friends like you want to meet his.

Nevertheless, you tuck a white hyacinth cob into your hair and head for the spot Chilchuck claims his group frequents for after-work drinks. Before tonight, it never really occurred to you that Chilchuck might be grabbing drinks with other people. Not that such an idea alone is what bothers you, rather that he’s out so often and for so long potentially enjoying himself while you’re stuck at home sick over whether he’s alive.

Upon arrival, a pair of tallmen greet you both. Smiles light up their faces, cheeks balling with glee, when their eyes spot you. It should probably be embarrassing how quickly such an insignificant act can get you excited. You wave and they wave back.

“Gonna introduce the lovely lady?” the slightly taller one, black haired with stubble stretching down his neck, prompts.

“We should get to the table first,” Chilchuck reaches for the door, holding it open for you.

(if you were presenting Chilchuck to your friends then you’d repeat yourself introducing him ad infinitum with shining pride, but you add that thought to your rock collection)

“This is my wife,” Chilchuck pulls out your chair for you, waiting until you’re sat before adding your name and sitting beside you, “Hope she’s everything you all hoped for.”

You choose to ignore that. Preferring to strike conversation with his friends until,

“You know,” the blonde woman at the head of the table leans forward, you’ve been rudely trying to avoid looking at her. But how can you blame yourself when she stares at your husband with such a sultry, lidded gaze, “I think you were exaggerating how spacey she is, Chilchuck. Adorable thing’s been keyed into our conversation the whole time.”

Chilchuck grumbles into his rapidly emptying mug of ale, then locking eyes with the blonde woman, “You don’t live with her.”

“Hey!” you sound bratty and grating with the whine, but your spirit feels worse, “Is that what you tell them about me?”

“And clumsy,” the gnome directly across from you chirps.

“But!” the black-haired one from earlier interrupts, apparently sensing your drowning mood, “You’re a good mom! Great, even!”

“Oh,” the compliment does very little to satiate you, given what’s been said against you (you don’t stop to consider that Chilchuck mentions those things because he finds them charming). You look over to your husband, “I’m a good mom?”

Chilchuck is drunkenly chortling over something you hadn’t heard the blonde woman say.

But at least you’re a good mom.

Something plops against the hand buried in your lap. A scattered white hyacinth. Embarrassed suddenly by how much effort you put into your outfit, you sweep the flower off your leg and stare at the table -- praying to avoid more glimpses of the blonde at the head of the table.

Nobody seems to notice your veil of silence, not even Chilchuck to tease you proving his point about spacing out.

On the trek home, you trail behind Chilchuck to test if he’ll notice. At some point, you’re three full paces behind him, and you theorize that the weight of all your freshly added brain-rocks is slowing you down. Again, he holds the door to your shared home open, but does not ask the cause for your sour mood.

Assuming he’s even noticed, anyway.

Given the way he leaves the next morning for another job with little more than a kiss to your forehead, you assume he didn’t. Venomously, you wonder if he would notice the blonde in a bad mood.

That same morning, not knowing how long he’ll be away this time, you pack up and head for Flertom’s house with Puckpatti.

(a flickering hope tries to toss the rocks through your ears, assuring that Chilchuck will come for you as soon as he’s seen you missing)

…

Four years later, Chilchuck does finally come for you.

“Hey, Mama?” Flertom creeps around the corner to the kitchen, hands wrinkled in the skirt of her dress nervously, “You have a visitor…”

Looking up from your book, you roll the handle of your coffee mug in your palm, making the bottom scrape against your daughter’s tablecloth, “Who’d visit me?”

“Dad.”

That makes you hesitate before slipping your book closed around your thumb, “Your father’s here?”

“He’s at the door,” she nods, voice lowering as if he’d hear her across the house, “There’s an elf lady with him!”

“Oh, you’re- !” you purse your lips, sighing through your nose, and nod. Rising to a stand, you replace your thumb with a proper bookmark before skirting around Flertom and through the hall. Curses coagulate in your throat, and you suffer them silently, holding them until they melt back into your chest, not wanting to swear out your ex in front of his daughter.

With more force than perhaps necessary, you pull the door open and annoyedly flick your eyes from Chilchuck to the blonde elf woman behind him.

“What? Came to show off?”

Chilchuck flushes red, shaking his head and tilting a preciously wrapped bouquet towards you, “No! No, we’re not together.”

Elf Lady lets out a quiet gasp before refusing sharply, “Not together at all! He’s here for you!”

“I figure he’s here for me,” you’re much more bitter than you thought you’d be, although to be fair whenever you imagined Chilchuck coming to see you he was never with another woman, “If you’re not together, why are you here?”

She frowns at your tone, Chilchuck sticking an arm out in front of her, “She’s my coworker. And friend. She pushed me to come see you,” he steps forward, waving the flowers under your nose, “Can we talk?”

“About what, Chilchuck?”

His eyes widen at the use of his formal name, plastic wrap crinkling loudly as he squeezes the flowers. Then his gaze drops to his feet, “I didn’t realize we were so unfamiliar.”

“I haven’t heard from you in four years.”

“You haven’t heard from me?” he grins sideways, an agitated twitch in his left eye, “Do you hear yourself?”

You open your mouth to retort, only to then catch the sight of Chilchuck’s ‘friend’ lingering -- staring -- not even three feet back. Glaring at her, you begin to slide the door shut, “I think we’re done here. You show up at our daughter’s house, unannounced, with some pretty, blonde filly and expect us to chat like old friends? You’re just as insensitive as always, Chilchuck!”

As you go to slam the door, Chilchuck shoves his foot in the way, hissing at the resounding ache all through his instep and ankle. Breathless from the sudden pain, he worms the bouquet through the slim gap -- a few stray powder blue hyacinth petals fluttering to the floor at the pressure. Just above the plush flowers is the sorrowful sight of Chilchuck’s wet lashes and batting eyes.

“Come on,” he huffs, not even taking a huff of relief when you let the door open wider. Tensely, Chilchuck wraps his other hand around the bouquet as well, “It’s not like that, you know me better, don’t you? I just need to talk to you,” the wrap squeals again as he squeezes tighter, “I just want you to tell me where I went wrong.”

He’s playing to your big headedness, vying that he’s alone in the wrong. You know him better, most definitely, you know that as soon as you two sit down he’ll bring up the way in which you left. You deserve that much, don’t you? If you could change anything (given that what you can pick from is what was actually your fault), it would be the manner in how you left. You would’ve waited until he was home to tell him to his face.

(except that’s a lie, if you had waited then you would’ve let him sucker you with soft apologies and unfulfilling promises to change)

This is the most vulnerable you’ve seen him in years.

“She’s not coming into my home.”

Chilchuck nods, lips stretching fondly, “You’re so jealous.”

“She’s tall, and blonde! And pretty. And- !”

He cuts you off, tone just as soft as it was seconds ago, “And I’m not giving her flowers, am I?”

“Apology flowers,” you mutter, though sweeping the bouquet from his arms into yours. Skimming one of the soft petals under your thumb before gliding from one bob to the other and touching there, too. Turning toward the burning feeling of eyes on your back, you find Flertom’s blown out stare meeting yours.

Flertom holds both hands out silently, brows raised. Pushing in neither way, only offering to hold -- whether she holds you or the flowers is your decision. You choose the flowers. She giggles and waves you off, whispering to the flowers about what a lovely, empty vase she has just for them!

“We shouldn’t talk here,” you step out from Flertom’s home, “I don’t want to include our daughter in our troubles.”

“What a good mom,” he teases, waving off the elf as he steps down from Flertom’s porch, holding out a hand to assist you down as well. The remark has a new defiance bubbling beneath your skin.

“I can walk myself,” you bypass his offer.

“I know you can, but let me be nice.”

“You had lots of opportunities to be nice.”

A retort is trapped on the back of his tongue. Ultimately, he swallows it, and says nothing except to suggest a bar nearby, “That could be a good spot,” at your judgmental stare, he sputters, “For talking!”

“Right.”

Chilchuck has a favored tavern in Kahka Brud, the one where you told him you were pregnant with Puckpatti. He, very selflessly and pumped full of blind joy, bought a round for the patrons. It's not a particularly popular or nice place, there’s a lingering smell of mildew and the usual customers are lonely old men (basically: Chilchuck). And the door still creaks when he holds it open for you.

And the tables are just as wobbly when you sit there. Chilchuck tries in vain to mask the tipping by forcing it to one side by pressing his elbows down.

“So, what was she doing there?”

“She kept bugging me about my personal life, so,” he sighs, unsure how to explain himself without sounding out of his mind, “In short, I promised she could meet my family.”

“Pretty against your usual tough front.”

“Not tough,” he folds his arms now, hands on either bicep, still trying to keep the uneven table steady, “I just don’t think they have to know my business.”

“You realize how stupid you sound, right?”

“Oi,” a deep voice approaches from the other side of the bar, a man unfamiliar to both you and Chilchuck stands behind the counter, “We don’t serve kids here.”

Chilchuck groans, pointing at his ears without looking back at the man, then his eyes catch the way you’re prepared to hop down from your seat. He shakes his head, “Don’t move for this dumbass. If he can’t tell a tall-man kid from adult half-foots, he’s a fucking idiot.”

“I guess, but what if he just kicks you out for being a dick?” you glance at the bartender warily, trying to sense if he’s gearing up to throw you and Chilchuck out by force.

“I’m not worried about him,” Chilchuck leans forward, almost as if he can assert control over the situation by a meager height difference, “I’m here to talk to you.”

You’re unsure how to respond to that. It’s something you’ve always wanted to hear from him, but now that you have it feels unsatisfying. After four years of your sudden disappearance from his life, he’s finally given chase.

“Do you have any idea why I left?”

“Roughly,” he admits, voice quiet, eyes redirected to the table in shame, “I wasn’t there for you, right?”

“That’s a bit simplified. When you were on crawls, it felt like you being away for work felt the same as when you were home.”

“I wasn’t there for you,” he restates, nodding slowly, “So, that was it?”

His lack of tension hurts you more than you’re willing to admit. Enough that you temporarily forget that you wanted to make him feel the distance between you both.

“Chil…”

You revert to his first name.

“It’s okay, you can say it. That was it. You had enough.”

It goes unacknowledged, and that hurts all over again. It hurts so bad, you start to get angry that he even maintains such an effect on your heart.

“I didn’t want- it wasn’t- I’m…” you groan loudly, eyes clenching shut to avoid him, “That’s the problem, Chil,” his silence prods you on, “You think of me leaving as… as a ‘that’s it’ moment. Do you know how hard that was on me?”

“Leaving was hard on you? I came home to nothing that day! I thought you were just upset, maybe a little depressed, I didn’t think you were planning to leave me! I never thought you’d leave.”

“I told you. I told you why I was upset.”

“When?”

“I told you all the time!” before he can open his stupid mouth, you’re yelling again, “And if you knew I was so sad, then why didn’t you ask?! Did it never occur to you that I might need support? That I wanted my husband to talk to me about how I felt? That he should talk to me about how he feels?”

“I’m no good with emotional shit, you know that. When I’m upset I just feel uncomfortable spilling that onto others, I didn’t want to intrude.”

“We were married! Spouses are supposed to intrude!”

His shoulders droop, face falling like you said something genuinely devastating (but that can’t be, right? why would he be so upset about something he gave such little thought to?), “Were?”

“I was gone for four years before you came to see me, Chil,” you lay your head in your hands, “Four years before you looked for me.”

“I thought you didn’t want to see me again,” he whispers, “I asked Fler about you.”

“She never told me that.”

“I told her not to.”

Redundantly, you say, “I didn’t know that.”

“I thought you hated me,” Chilchuck draws a slow breath, it fills his whole chest before he lets it all out, “And for the first couple of months after Fler told me you were safe, I hated you, too. I was so mad that you didn’t even leave a note. I couldn’t eat or sleep, I was just… confused, and angry. I couldn’t work,” he swallows hesitation, “And the worst part was… I couldn’t talk about it because nobody knew you. Re-explaining it to people would just piss me off all over again.”

“Your old coworkers met me. And we grew up with Dandan.”

“I didn’t want to talk to Dandan,” he huffs petulantly, “I wanted to talk to my wife.”

So many feelings are bottled between you both; shaken up to a fizzy, bubbling mess about to explode from one of you. You fear it may be you. You almost crave for it to be him, though. You hate him. You miss him. You love him.

And you’re lying through your teeth, still, because you don’t hate him at all.

“Being with you, I felt so lonely.”

“I never took it seriously when you said I should open up more. I thought that because we were married that was enough and you’d be content to just be there,” he purses his lips, “I was wrong. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” you reach across the table and pull one of his hands off his arm, lacing his fingers with yours, “I should’ve left a note. I’m sorry. You must’ve been worried sick.”

“I thought some bastards took you. Ran up and down the coast accusing everyone I could see of kidnapping,” he chuckles, although the ragged beat in his voice clues to you that the incident was not as lighthearted as he’s making it seem, “But when I found out the truth, I just thought you didn’t want to be found.”

“Because you wouldn’t want to be found, right?”

“Right.”

“But- !”

“You’re not me,” he squeezes your hand tight, you can feel the full warm softness of his palm without those gloves he pulls on for work, “You’re way different. You run away to prove points,” a bratty hey! follows, “You know yourself really well, and you’re good at being open. I’ve never been like that. I never knew how, it makes me uncomfortable. But you’re my,” he swallows, “You were my wife, I should’ve been comfortable being emotional with you. You shouldn’t have been in a position where me being home was the same as me being gone for days on end.”

“Thanks, Chil,” you smooth a thumb from his knuckle and along his index finger. You glance back up to his face. A sick nostalgia, or perhaps revived affections, rage up from your gut and overdriving your heartbeat. He’s more handsome than you remember.

He shrugs, studying your conjoined hands. As if it’s the last time he’ll see them like this.

It might be.

“What now?” you ask.

“Dunno,” he replies.

Is it pathetic if you ask to get back together? (YES)

“Want to meet my new coworkers?” he blurts, a vicious red overtaking his face.

This is a step. Where exactly, you’re completely in the dark, but it certainly is a step somewhere new.

“You’re seriously not with that elf, right?”

“Of course, not! What kind of person tries reuniting with their wife while bringing a new girlfriend along?”

“You really want that answer?”

“Oh, fuck you,” he snides, getting down from his chair and holding out a hand to help you down. This time, you take it, and leave his palm in yours as you both exit the bar, “By the way, my old boss is a king now.”

“What?” you gasp, spare hand flying down to smooth out your outfit, “Tell me we’re not going yet! I can look nicer than this!”

“You look pretty like this,” his eyes scrawl over your frame, “Not that it matters, right?”

“Why not?” you frown, “I should at least try to look my best in front of a king.”

“He’s just some guy,” he double-backs suddenly, shaking his head sternly, “I don’t even think he’s attracted to people, I think he’s into monsters. You shouldn’t waste your time.”

Oh!

You smile at your husband widely, “You’re jealous!”

“Not even a little. Why would I be?”

“Exactly,” you pull him into your side by your hand in his, “Why would you be?”

Is it pathetic for him to beg to renew your vows?

Yes.

Does he still plan to?

Yes.

…

“You have a wife?”

“Is that so surprising?” Chilchuck can’t help but preen at the shock, carding a hand through his hair like some pompous dork trying to act too cool for the attention, “Yeah, I’m a taken man.”

Clara, a blonde tallman he usually laughs at rather than with, pesters for more information, “What’s she like?”

Her curiosity makes his skin itch, so he shrugs and tries throwing out answers as fast as they come, “Kind of a space case, and clumsy. But it’s cute…” he scoffs when his party coos and ‘aww’s like he’s some kid talking about a crush rather than a grown man his wife, “She’s really caring, too, it made her a good mom,” Chilchuck clears his throat, if only to smother the sight of his broad grin with his hand, “She’s great.”

“We should meet her,” his black-haired cleric suggests suddenly, “She probably wants to know what group has her husband away from home so often. Hopefully she doesn’t hate us, huh?”

“No,” Chilchuck lowers his hand, still feeling a gentle giddy lap over him like sunlight at the thought of you, “She’s pretty understanding.”

~~~

+ and btw and fyi: i think it’d be cool if the dream was actually terrible and only appeared pleasant cuz laios saved chil, like how marcille remembered having a nice dream after being saves. like if the real dream was coming home from a long job to discover his family horribly murdered <3

[rimqueen]

LIMERENCE !

ft. jimmy x fem!reader

tags. implied/reference rape, failed rape recovery, talk of incest and underage but not in regards to reader, public humiliation, obsession on readers part, sort of stalking, one mention of suicide, slight boot kink, just humiliation tbh..

note. waow.. don’t know what this is.. unedited and kind of sucks.. rbs n feedback always appreciated. ignore any typos!

What do you do when your rapist is the most handsome man you’ve ever had the pleasure of fucking?

He wasn’t ugly or fat and he wasn’t the tallest, but everyone has their shortcomings.

You feel like a total fraud, picking at the lint on your sweater as you listen to a girl bawl her eyes out while recounting the time her father raped her in the back of his pick-up after school.

The woman before her was gang-raped by her delinquent boyfriend’s lackeys, the man to her left is the victim of his middle-school teacher, another lady pushed out two rape babies from her deadbeat husband before she managed to get away from him.

They’re all ghosts; beaten down, so broken, and you are you.

The same as before, if not a little bit better.

In fact, you’ve stopped getting those night terrors where all your teeth fall out.

You got raped and everything just felt right.

Like he knocked something into place, dug so deep into your cunt he rewired your brain.

Your therapist said this would be a chance at community, some place to bring you comfort, like-minded individuals who have gone through all the same things you have. Circle time for victims of brutal, life-ruining—life-changing rape, you should fit right in.

But you have never felt more out of place.

Pick-up girl can’t continue, she’s choking on her words, they come out her throat like the creak in an old floorboard. The box of Kleenex is significantly lighter.

“We can move on,” says a lady with kind eyes, shifting on her chair to face your way.

They all look at you with their haunted, dark eyes, gaping black chasms that lead right to fucking hell. God. You’re going straight to hell.

“Erm..” You squeeze your hands into fists. You unstick your thighs from the plastic chair. You count to ten and try not to think about how nice he looked on top of you.

“It’s okay, honey, take your time.” She places her hand on your knee. You think of him. His hand on your thigh, squeezing your tender flesh until it came right off the bone, the way it inched up your skirt.

You go stiff and she notices, gasping softly like she has done something wrong. And she has. She’s turned you the fuck on, the warmth of her encouragement going straight to your cunt.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think about—“

“No, it’s okay,” you strain to get it out, avoiding her eyes like sympathy is a highly contagious disease of some kind.

They’re all feeling bad for you when you have finally started to feel good about yourself.

Man, you suck.

“He was my boyfriend.” Your voice cracks for dramatic effect, hold the applause. You wish he was your boyfriend. “He did it almost everyday.” You wish he did it everyday. “It would be after I came back from work…” It would be great stress relief after your Friday shift, it’s nearing Christmas and everybody is crushed into the stores like cattle in free stall barns.

You open and close your mouth, unsure of where to go from here, so you stand up and the chair screeches against the ground. “Sorry… I’m so sorry—I need to go.”

You leave and it looks real.

Like you are a real victim with a real story and very real feelings. The type you see on TV, dressed in white, trembling like lambs, abhorred by the notion of anything sexual. Squeaky clean like you should be.

For just a moment you feel normal. Your therapist is not eyeballing you like a mildly fascinating organism in her Petri dish. Your friends don’t give you a funny look when you say you’re fine—great actually. Your mom is not hanging her head in secondhand shame when you refuse to file a police report, disturbed when she unearths your bloodied underwear beside the prayer book you keep tucked beneath your pillow, rosary nowhere to be found.

They mutter quietly amongst themselves.

Poor thing she can’t even speak about it, it must’ve been awful, I can’t even imagine what she went through, so young.

You can’t speak about it, you really can’t, you might start reciting wedding vows if you think about him longer than a second.

Your loneliness is like the crack in a China cup, fine and glossy on the outside but delicate from years stowed away in show cabinets, passed from bidder to bidder. He pressed golden lacquer into the seams of your fracture, put you back together like you were something worth holding, something to be used.

Stored away in your bag, a sacred place your mother has not yet invaded, is his work ID. You say his ordinary name like you’re uttering a prayer, you drag the jagged tip of your nail over his tiny photograph. His hair and beard are longer than you remember, he’s handsome underneath the scruff, a strong nose and a broad chest. The collar of his company-issued jumpsuit is half popped, and he’s scowling at the camera like it’s an inconvenience.

There’s no phone number on it and part of you is glad you won’t have to call into the company, requesting Jimmy like The Pony Express is a sex hotline and he’s their newest, youngest, bustiest doll.

You wait outside the warehouse instead. It’s a big old thing, the last of its kind, muted in colour, blending into the silver skies. You look at the horse who sits on top like a weathervane on a cathedral, oversized features and the stomach of a pudgy toddler.

Every day from two to eight you circle the block a few times, take a window seat in the cafe opposite until the staff begin to stack tables and chairs, sit at the bus stop beside the same lot of people who wonder why you never get on.

The horse watches from above, wide eyes glowing in the dark beside the moon, unsettlingly reverent, sparkling with diamond-sharp logic, like it knows something you do not, a silent witness to your dog-like devotion.

One day, you leave work early and find a truck parked in front of the hulking, metal mass. Two men are unloading it, one is old and the other is blond, but they don’t matter to you. A third steps out of the cab, your breath gets caught in your throat, scared your exhale might blow him away.

You don’t look when you cross the street.

“Excuse me?” You call out, you’re sure he hears you, but he’s choosing to ignore it. “Are you Jimmy?” You ask once you're close enough to go unnoticed.

“Depends,” he says in that voice you have heard so many times in your dreams, rough like the serrated edge of a knife. “Who’s asking?” He hasn’t looked up once, disinterested and completely unaffected while you burn just being near him.

There is a woman near those other two men, leant down amidst some crates, a clipboard pressed to her chest. Her face is white and her nose is long like the snout on a hound dog, her charcoal eyes are sad and droopy.

You wonder if he has touched her like he has touched you. Either she just has one of those faces or she can take your slot at circle time. She would fit right in with the rest of them. Herbivores hiding in long grass.

“I’m asking.” You clear your throat, he looks up at you with his lidded eyes and you don’t look away, openly admiring the colour of them, how they look in the sunlight. There are a million things you want to ask him.

Was it just me? Was I your first and only? Have you been thinking about me? Do you want a summer wedding or a winter one? Vanilla or chocolate cake? We could do floral arrangements in your favourite colour.

He seems to grow slightly antsy when you continue to stare, Adam’s apple bulging out of his throat when he swallows. He looks like he’s started to feel sick, like he’s waiting outside the principal’s office after breaking a window.

It’s different, he’s different in the day. Long gone is his barbed tongue and wolf-like smile. “What do you want?”

You.

Your fingers toy with the rounded edges of his employee card, if you hand it to him now it’ll all be over.

“Listen,” Jimmy starts, lowering his voice, “if it’s something I did, I’m sorry.” Apprehension twists his mouth into a frown, and he doesn’t sound all that sorry. “But you can’t show up—“

“Here.” You fish his ID from your purse, reluctant to hand it over. His fingers don’t brush yours like you hoped and he seems all too eager to get rid of you.

“Thanks, cool,” he says with all the enthusiasm of a funeral celebrant, tucking it into his breast pocket for safekeeping, his disengagement is a knife in your chest. You’re a stain on a shirt he has no intention of cleaning.

“Yeah…” Does he not remember you? Is there nothing about you that is worth remembering? Were you not good? “Cool.” The longer you stand there the more likely it seems he’s going to grab a broom to chase you away. “Well, bye, Jimmy.” You blink at him sadly, expectantly, longingly. This is it.

You walk away and that was it. That was it. You’ll never see him again, you have no reason to be caught lurking outside the warehouse.

You start to think long and hard on your way home about the fuck is wrong with you.

Everyone is shaped by the sum of their exposures. A product of the people you meet, the enemies and friends you make, who you go home to. Every smile, every scowl, every bad habit is the reflection of another. But to be completely fucking honest, you think you’re just like this. The root of the problem is you, it stems from deep inside your very core, a fundamentally fucked up instinct that makes life a fucking inconvenience. It turns everything into a complication and that is why you’re like this.

God, you wonder what it would be like to wake up and think about normal things like normal people who do not have this constant flurry of wrongness whirling around inside of them. You want to go through life like you’re meant to be on earth, not like an alien species that crash-landed here and never managed to get out, unable to acclimatise to the human way, not like you’re a manufacturing defect.

You want to laugh at the right moment, you want to know what everyone else is thinking, you want to be raped so badly. Again and again and again. You can’t be normal if you can’t stop thinking about the most abnormal thing about you, that just defeats the fucking point.

Your friends think it is their fault for bringing you home that night, for letting you go home all on your own, for getting drunk and leaving you sober. They feel responsible for the best night of your life and you hate it. You hate that they don’t get it. You had a good time in your own right, they don’t need to feel guilty—Or maybe you need to start thinking how they do. Like normal people. They’re horrified when they’re supposed to be horrified. Their minds are tailored to the tastes of this world, yours is somewhere else, some rotten, tumultuous, toxic planet.

Therapy is supposed to be helping you learn how to be even slightly human, little by little, step by step. But you can’t take it in small doses, you need all of this wrongness gone at once like a decidual cast. It doesn’t make you lighter, it doesn’t put a pep in your step, it doesn’t do shit.

So you keep going to wait outside the Pony Express warehouse. You camp out in that cafe all day on days off from work. The staff know you by name, six holes punched in your reward card, special access to the staff bathrooms. You’re set for stalker life.

He never comes again, but you do everyday.

The nights are getting darker, stars bleed into the sky as the sun dims, the moon is larger than usual tonight and if you weren’t so taken by the brightness you would be quicker to notice the dark figure in your peripheral.

When you finally do, you think it’s the devil, cloaked in darkness like the devil probably should be. “Oh, it’s you.” You try to hide the smile in your voice as you watch him put a cigarette between his crooked lips.

“Yeah, it’s me.” He’s unbothered in tone, indifferent in manner. It would be flattering that he remembered you if he hadn’t said it like that.

“Do you remember me?”

“Yeah, from last week.” Jimmy’s eyes glow radioactive in the dark like tiger eyes when he lights his cigarette, the flame flickers and casts him uneven light, softening the right side of his face with a golden haze and plunging the left into shifting darkness. “You stalking me?”

“No!” You say all too quickly. “No, no… I study at the cafe opposite you.”

“Okay.” He was joking you think, making fun of you maybe, you wouldn’t be able to tell either way. “Studying the menu or what?”

That was a joke, that has to be a joke. It’s your cue to laugh so you force one out, it crackles unnaturally. “I wish, but I meant before that, do you remember me from before that?”

You look different under the street lamps, they do nothing for your skin, light pools unfavourably in every pore, the jewel-toned dress you picked out today must look washed out.

Jimmy’s lazy eyes rake up your body, and then he shakes his head slowly. “No.” Even to someone like you, it’s clear he has no interest in taking this conversation anywhere.

“It was in November, the beginning, I was on my way home, and it was late...” You should’ve done this at circle time. “You grabbed me and I let you take me, and then after you told me to walk down the block and call a cab, and I did.”

“Hm,” Jimmy shrugs, though you notice his hand trembling as he raises his cigarette to his lip, “nope, don’t remember that.”

Frustrated, you clench your fists, wondering what could jog his memory—Did he do it often? Nab a girl off the street corner so regularly that he didn’t remember a single one, faces all blurring together, the same hole with a different set of tits.

“Remind me again.”

“How?”

“Take off your jacket.” Jimmy’s cigarette gets crushed beneath his boot, he’s looking at you now. Really looking at you, and this is where it all goes pear-shaped. Your whole life is pear-shaped of course, but this is just fucking sad. You beg yourself to think it over, to think of the dozens of security cameras on this street alone. None of it seems too important when he’s here.

And then, you shrug your coat off your shoulders.

“Okay.” You’ve always been obedient because you have no reason to say no, you don’t care if he’s going to mug you, at least he’s talking to you now. At least he is looking at you.

“Think I’m gonna need to see more to know who you are,” he says, detached like there are a million better things he could be doing with his time, but he’s spending it with you. “Take off your dress.”

“What…” You’re shaking slightly in the cold, wind stings your cheeks and the tip of your fingers have started to ache.

“Take off your dress, I might know you.” Fair enough. He’d seen your ass more than your tits and your tits more than your face. It was forced into a flat pillow for three quarters of the night, between his thighs for the last quarter.

You take off your dress, edging it off your ankles. He drapes it over his arm - he’s got enough humanity to not leave your pretty clothes on the pavement.

It’s cold. The type of cold that makes your brain freeze, the type of cold that only Siberian Huskies and yetis enjoy.

And yet here you are in nothing but your cotton panties, t-shirt bra and boutique winter booties looking like the most expensive kerb crawler in all the world.

“Turn around,” Jimmy hums, his hand is cold but not as cold as you, tracing along your spine when you listen like a good girl.

From here, the horse is watching you. Seeing it all, cartoonish eyes forced in your direction. It’s late so the cars that whiz past have no intention of stopping, some houses have their lights on.

Humiliation prickles your skin, it could be the cold, but you don’t think the cold gets inside of you like this. What are you doing? What are you doing? What is mom going to think? What is dad going to do? What are they going to tell your family when you’re sectioned for Christmas?

”That’s good,” his voice comes out in a whisper, “take ‘em off and get on the ground.” Lukewarm hands slide over your hips, checking you over like a piece of meat.

“Okay,” you whisper back to him, and you’ve gone so far there’s nothing to lose, stepping out of your underwear and doing just as he says.

There’s no praise from Jimmy’s end and you don’t expect any. His stern face, his flat tone, it’s all unforgiving like this cold, hard sidewalk is on your hands and knees.

“Jesus, there something wrong with you?” He sounds surprised and you don’t know what you’ve done wrong. (You do know. You do know.) Isn’t this what he wanted? “Sorry,” Jimmy says, not sounding sorry at all, “I shouldn’t say that, you’re not all there.”

Your head isn’t entirely intact, and there is this worm hole that eats away at your insides, but you’re here. You’re here and you’re on the ground, on your knees with your cunt bared to him. Does he not see you?

The horse sees you, perpetually wide-eyed and forever watching.

Something cold, like the nose of a dog, presses against your pussy. It takes you a moment to figure out that it’s the toe of his boot, the leathery texture is wet almost, smooth and still textured, grainy. The cold is making it too hard to focus on the feeling of it nudging your swollen clit. You close your eyes and focus on anything but your hands burning on the ground, how the wind is going straight to your bones.

You’re going to make this worth it. You will. You’ve been wet for months and you won’t let it dry up so quickly, not when the cause of the leak is here to plug it up.

Just as you’re about to push back into him, grind your clit into the leather, show off how much you want him—He kicks you down, your body skids forward, elbows scraping on the cement. It’s painful, but you’re so cold, so shocked, so confused.

Quietly, you hear him under his breath. “What the fuck… Fuckin’ freak.” You don’t know if it’s in awe or disgust. He drops your coat and dress over the flat of your back, you scramble to put them on. “Why did you do that?” Jimmy asks, and he is looking at you like you’re crazy, like he’s disgusted.

You can’t tell if it’s a trick question. “Because you told me to.” It’s a simple answer, the only answer. Your chest heaves, teeth chattering as you stand on aching legs. God. It feels like your bones are fragmenting.

“Are you a dog?”

“No.” You check your pockets to find some loose change is missing.

“Then you didn’t have to do that, it’s not fuckin’ normal.”

Rape is not normal. And neither is asking seemingly nice, well-meaning girls to undress in sub-zero temperatures. But you don’t want to talk back, you don’t like to talk back, you don’t want to scare him off.

“Okay… Then, I’m sorry.”

“What…” His tone lilts in what might be confused laughter, everything you say is a twist or turn in a tangled thread he can’t quite follow. “Don’t say sorry, no, I don’t—I don’t know, just go home.”

“You’re not going to take me?” You gaze at him sadly. Wanting, yearning. “I think I’m going to kill myself tonight,” you proclaim softly, not because you want to make him feel bad, but because you don’t know what to do with yourself and he is distant enough to confide in.

“Alright,” Jimmy shrugs, he lights another cigarette, the smoke billows out of his thin lips, lined with the slightest smile. “Tell me how that goes.” Well, now you feel stupid and wish to take it back. Then, before he goes, he asks a little too casually, “Your dad touched you or something?”

“No…” You answer slowly, wondering if you should’ve said yes, if that was what he wanted to hear, gauging his reaction like you’ll be able to read it at all.

“Right.” He laughs, and his shoulders are still shaking in disbelief as he wanders into the dark like something out of a nightmare.

You look over to the horse, it tells you he’ll be back.

Considering he works there and all you thought the same, so you’ll be back alive and well.

[kisses4reid]

big change | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

summary - cutting spencer’s hair results in more than just a ‘big change’ appearance wise.

genre - fluff!!!!! cutesy yearning

warnings - idk u scared of haircuts?? scissors??? kissing?? (barely edited btw)

a/n - sometimes i black out and write a fanfic and then find it later on and then i’m like shit this kinda fire and then i edit it and then i post it and then-

You roll your chair over to Spencer’s desk after much staring, and rest an elbow on a low stack of manila folders. Your sneakers squeak as you slow yourself, causing a visible flinch from the long haired boy.

His brunet hair was flicked up at the ends which touched his shoulders, the front pieces tucked behind his ears. As he lifted his gaze, hard expression softening immediately, you whispered, “I know your secret.”

His smile jolted, heart beat quickening. You had a cheeky smile on, hair twirling between your fingers, talking so low. You couldn’t possibly know his secret.

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” He asked, placing his pen down and turning to give you his full attention.

“You don’t know how to cut your hair.” His long hair suited him, you thought he looked as handsome as he did on your first day of work how many years ago. The day Spencer fell in love.

Dumbfounded, Spencer replied with a pout, “I know how to cut my hair.”

You raised an eyebrow, and suddenly he was aware of the jagged lines and length of his hair, and how he was now bringing hair ties with him everywhere. Which was actually convenient for all female members of the team. He had to admit, it was inconvenient at times, and it wasn’t his favourite to deal with or to look at. He looked back into your sparkling expecting eyes, smiled softly, and continued, “You should cut it for me.”

You lifted your head from your palm and raised your eyebrows, a pink flush ghosting your cheeks. The offer was innocent, it was a favour, but something about it felt so domestic in your head that you couldn’t help but smile hard, cheeks pressing, “Yeah, of course.”

You pushed off his desk and returned to yours, though his gaze never left your sunny appearance.

The next day, you were knocking on a familiar apartment door, rocking on your sneaker heels, eyes wandering anywhere but where you thought Spencer would be when he opened the door. But even when he did open his door, after a thud and small ‘ow’, you couldn’t help but look at him and savour the last moments with his long hair.

He had a navy blue sweater over a white t-shirt, some sweatpants that looked more formal from afar, and mis-match socks on. You gulped and stepped into his apartment, taking everything in as if you hadn’t been there before.

You took off your light purple scarf and placed it on the kitchen counter, along side the small hair cutting kit you had gotten a few years ago (you couldn’t afford a hair cut before your first day at the BAU, it was a diy emergency).

The apartment was dark and cosy, cabinets a rich wood tone, countertops squeaky clean, couches plush and thrifted. You two often talked about the best thrift stores to visit, you had even planned to go to one together one day. As Spencer pulled a wooden bar stool into the kitchen to sit on, you tied your own hair up, reminding yourself of why you were here.

He smelt amazing, like a new book and burnt marshmallow, and as he gazed into your eyes waiting for you to speak, a cat caught your tongue. You were alone in this warm apartment, only the soft music of Spencer’s old playlist in the background, and a heart beating that you weren’t sure was yours or his.

“Um- Okay. Do you have a reference photo or?”

“Yeah,” he pulled his phone out of his back pocket and showed you a reference photo. It was like he wanted to be a boy band member, and as you imagined him with it, you couldn’t be happier.

He got nervous watching your reaction, it was a very drastic change. You placed his phone on the counter top next to your hair kit, his eyes following your every move like if he blinked you would dissipate. And when a small smile ghosted your face, he felt a weight being lifted off his shoulders.

"I like it."

"Good."

You leaned close to Spencer, your heat radiating onto him, to pull a lever on his chair to lower him to your eye level. A spray bottle appeared in your hand while the other covered Spencer's brown eyes. Suddenly, cold sprits of water caused Spencer to flinch every time he heard the trigger fire, causing you to giggle lightly. "It's just water." "I didn't get any warning though." He replied sheepishly. He couldn't hear much over his heartbeat, or see much other than you.

The next 15 minutes was spent in radio music and being surrounded by your sweet perfume, trying not to grab you or touch you as much as he wanted to. You were stood in front of him now, eyes focused on his bangs and the hair around his ears, scissors and comb in hand, and he couldn't stop gazing into your eyes like a little boy looking at the stars.

You were utterly gorgeous, beautiful, unreal. Spencer often wondered, especially at the start of your relationship, how nobody else had tried to date you in the team, or in general. But as the two of you grew closer, he realised you were telling everyone no. You were waiting for someone, and it made his heart break everytime he remembered your words.

If only he knew. Your hands jittered slightly, feeling insecure at his hard gaze that you simply couldn't ignore. You hoped in the dim lighting he couldn't see your red cheeks or steep breaths, or that he could. You hoped you never finished cutting his hair, and you thought of other ways you could stay this close. He was tall, warm, comfortable. He was smart, caring, clean. He was Spencer, who wouldn't want to stay with him? A gulp escaped you, and he ripped his eyes off of yours, looking down to avoid your eyes and to see the damage.

There was piles of hair beneath your feet now, and he smiled at the sight.

"Spencer, stop moving your head. I couldv'e cut off your eyebrows." Your laugh filled the apartment, and he looked back up at you.

He hadn't realised how far you had gotten, your eyes scanning his hair for any improvements before a small smile of approval appeared on your cheeks. A breath escaped him. You turned to close your kit. He stood up and placed a hand on the front of your neck, turning your head, and planting his lips on yours.

You squeaked in surprise, quickly kissing back as his hands traveled to your cheeks, holding onto you like you were the only girl in the world. Your fingertips splayed on his chest, you pulled away only to be followed for another kiss, only broken up by a millisecond of a breath.

You opened your eyes and pushed him softly away, noticing the lipstick now stained on his lips and around them. The dim kitchen was spinning, your chest was heaving, and your heart was racing a million beats per minute. You even got a little light-headed before Spencer took his hands from your face and rest them on your waist.

He was much taller now that he wasn't sat, and he looked even more handsome with the haircut you had given him. For a second you thought you were hallucinating. Spencers eyes played between your lips and your eyes, before meeting you in the middle once again. He lifted you slightly, kissing you with movements full of yearning and passion, slowly with multiple breaths in the middle to give you time to reject him (which he expected), but you never did.

You put one hand on his cheek as he pulled away. He smiled widely at you, taking the enthusiasm back as a good sign. He didn't totally fuck up. You whispered, "You kiss your barbers often?" He replied with a cheeky smile, "Only you."

taglist: @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es

[stargirl-int3rlud3]

𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬.

monkey d. luffy x fem! reader

🗯 ! swearing, old man being gross, kicking ass, sexualizing, injuries, luffy being a cutie pie per usual !

synopsis; luffy notices a girl being hit on by a creepy old man and informs his crew of the occurrence as he goes to try to break up the interaction. unbeknownst to luffy, she can handle herself. — ♡ ᵎᵎ

You had walked into an establishment hoping for a nice meal and something to quench your thirst. After days of the beating sun on your skin your body needed rest to recharge. The place looks nice enough and to be fair it was. a blonde waiter took your order, of course he was clearly flirting with you but you took it more as a compliment as he told you how beautiful your hair was. You had no idea letting one person harmless flirt with you would lead to this.

A much older looking man approaches you as you're enjoying your meal.

With a smirk on his face he says, "Nice ass, young lady"

The vulgar use of language caught you off guard as you choke on your food for a split second.

"Excuse me?" You ask in a squeaky voice.

"You heard me, nice ass" He chuckles loudly, gaining unnecessary attention towards you two.

He seats himself next to you, far too close for comfort. This makes you scoot away from him. A frown flashes on his face as he grabs the legs of your chair, moving you even closer to him than before. You could feel his god awful breath on your skin and you swear you could vomit right now.

Luffy watches the whole thing go down and for the second time in his life, he isn't hungry anymore as he witnesses the old man attempt to grope and grab at you. Luffy thought you were a pretty girl and he knew that you didn't deserve to be treated that way. He tells his crew that about the situation. Before Luffy can step any closer the old man flies across the room into another table.

The aggravation in your eyes was more than obvious as your leg was stuck out from kicking the man. A small group of men race towards you as you roll your eyes. All you had wanted was a meal and drink, apparently that was too much to ask for.

You take out two of the men with a kick to the face from your leg. You flip backwards, your palms on a table, shooting your heeled boots into another guy's face. You grab hold of a chair smashing into a guys face, you use it to boost yourself into the air, you flew in the air like an angel. Landing gracefully back onto flat ground you dust your hands off with a satisfied smile. A guy perks back up causing you elbow to him in the face making him fall back down.

You take your leave, setting money down on the table of your empty dishes. However, you weren't able to get far before Luffy approaches you.

"Hey!"

You swivel around to be met with a Brazillian boy with dark chocolate hair and eyes to match well with his honey skin. He has a wide smile across your face.

"Yes?" You respond.

"That was so cool! Would you like to be apart of my pirate crew!" He asks with a cute smile, a group of people follow behind him.

Looking at them and then back to his beautiful eyes that wait for your response, you smile, "Sure! Why not!"

As if you had just hung the stars for the boy, he looks at you and somehow his smile grows wider than ever. He jumps up punching the air, letting out a loud laugh before his feet hit the ground once more.

You can't help but giggle at his cute mannerisms.

☆ | kind of short, but i had the urge to write for my cutie patootie luffy!!

[kandyshoppe]

Just some baby ideas that I (hopefully) will (eventually) draw!

Riddle as a little baby and kid was in and out of the hospital. I feel he was a premie baby, and really struggled for a few years. He’s obviously better now, but a lot of his younger years were spent in hospitals and sickly.

Trey working the counter, and younger Crewel buying something, and just fawning over the cute baby! And Trey being like “can I takes you order!” And “fank you!” As he waves at Crewel with his arms FULL of baked goods! He bought them out, just so he could stay with the baby longer!

Cater playing with a camera, I bet he LOVED being his sisters camera man much more than their dress up doll. He liked pictures cause he can go through them and remember stuff!

Deuce just being a mama’s boy. Helping carry anything and everything, though the grocery bag drags on the ground, trying to cook and burning the eggs, picking flowers for her.

Ace just following his brother like a duckling, copying whatever his big brother does! (Silver doing this with Lilia too!)

Leona also having a nice relationship with his brother, but his brother is probably a little overbearing as many kids can be. Leona is such a cat he needs his space sometimes, but Falena just loves his baby bro so much!

Ruggie helping granny with laundry, and cleaning. Also crying cause he ate all the food, and it’s gone, he knows he ate it, but he wanted more! Oh! Ruggie was probably a messy eater, sprinkles and frosting everywhere!

Jack doggy paddling, Jack chasing his tail, Jack playing with squeaky toys, just Jack being a little puppy!

Azul helping cook, and run the restaurant! I like the idea that he would make pretend food and feed the customers the “special” he cooked up! Showing people to their tables, and helping taste test food! As well as his first Father’s Day present for his step dad!

Jade And Floyd just being brothers, fighting, stealing, arguing, but also just having so much fun together. Being silly and having fun.

Kalim chewing shiny jewelry, and just being a silly baby. I also like the idea he would run through the fountain with his nice party clothes, right before the party!

Jamil probably adored having his hair done by his mama, and would try to do his sisters hair, but as a baby she had short hair and he couldn’t do much. Put bows all over her! I also be as a little little kid he was allowed to shine, and liked showing off to his sister.

Vil just being a cutie! He’s adorable no matter what he does! He probably wasn’t a big model as a kid, and his dad tried to protect him, but man! Holidays are fun, and he does share his holiday pictures with Vil. Not to mention Vil’s Halloween MEGA photo shoot, cause his dad is a Halloween lover!

Rook being in his outdoorsy family, learning to fish, and track, helping garden. I have a headcannon that as a toddler, and he was mad, he would go eat the mint plant (his mother’s favorite) as like a gotcha! He always felt bad and would help heal it, but three year olds don’t think far ahead.

Epel helping Granny in the kitchen, covered in flour, carefully carrying the eggs! I also bet he was a big helper with picking the apples! On his dad’s shoulders, reaching as high as he can for the shiniest apples!

Idia and Ortho! Idia holding baby Ortho, showing baby Ortho his favorite games, and his toys! Crying when Ortho drooled on his favorite stuffies, and his mama comforting while she dries the toys.

Malleus learning how to shift to his human body, and him having hiccups that make him blow small fires!

Silver and Lilia! Omg! So many ideas! I love the idea of Lilia struggling with baby Silver, as a new parent, exhausted from baby cries, panicking over every little thing, ect! Lilia also crying and having to be comforted by Silver on Silver’s first day of school.

Sebek with his little crocodile tail, and teething! I bet his home has a lot of teething damages on chairs and table legs. Bet he had a favorite blankie too! Oh! And him and Silver being friends!

[neostrayteez]

SOMEONE WITH SECRETS

PAIRING. lee jeno x female reader

WORD COUNT. 6.9k

SUMMARY. you have detention thanks to your temper and unfortunately, so does jeno, the boy you hooked up with last summer.

WARNINGS. smut, profanity

PLAYLIST. “gangsta” by kehlani

YOU GOT ME HOOKED UP ON THE FEELING GOT ME UP SO HIGH I’M BARELY BREATHING

The library was quieter than usual. There was almost an echo to the old clock on the wall, ticking by the seconds that felt like hours. A minute may as well have been a day in here.

You were - humiliatingly - two minutes early. It wasn’t that you were eager to serve your sentence, but political science finished a bit fast and you were actively avoiding your peers after the scene you made during lunch that landed you in here.

Their looks of scorn, adoration and worst of all, pity, were uncomfortable.

The library was empty. A perfect place to lay low and hide. You picked a seat at the second table a respectable distance from the front. Mr. Kim waltzed in, looking perturbed as ever, and called you by name.

“A whole week, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

He bobbed his head.

You were lucky not to be suspended for the outburst, but your squeaky clean record up until this point had swayed the principal in your favor.

Mr. Kim checked his watch. For a moment, there was a tiny sliver of hope that you would have the library all to yourself, serving detention alone. But then, five minutes late, Jeno strutted through the door.

“What’s up, Mr. Kim?” he asked gruffly.

You wanted to crawl under a rock and die.

Jeno noticed you, his eyes locking onto you like a sniper’s scope, and pure mischief spread across his face along with a grin.

“You’re late, Mr. Lee!”

“Well, well, well,” Jeno taunted, as if he’d not heard him, cocking his head and sticking his tongue out at you. “What do we have here?”

“Fuck off, Jeno,” you grumbled.

Mr. Kim chided your choice of language and barked, “Mr. Lee, take your seat.”

“Of course, sir,” Jeno said silkily, dropping into the chair directly behind yours.

You rolled your eyes. Of all the tables and chairs, he positioned himself there to be a nuisance to you. You expected nothing less.

Jeno leaned forward. “You know, ‘fuck off’ isn’t what you said to me the last time we were alone together,” he whispered in mocking. “It was more like, ‘Fuck me, Jeno. Ooh. Ahh. Fuck me.’”

You flushed with embarrassment and your heart dropped into your stomach. You didn’t need to be reminded of the ridiculous shit his dick made you say that night.

To your relief, Mr. Kim spoke like he didn’t hear the filth rolling off Jeno’s tongue, “You’ve both got an hour in here. No talking. No running about. Just sit and contemplate your bad decisions.”

You and Jeno fixed him with equally blank stares.

“But since I know you won’t, just study or nap. Whatever. I don’t care.” Mr. Kim pointed his finger squarely at Jeno. “Just no funny business that could get me scolded by the principal. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, sir,” you and Jeno said in sync.

Mr. Kim gave a nod and left, adding that he would be checking in every once and a while to ensure nothing scandalous occurred on his watch.

The moment the door closed, Jeno stood, flipped his chair around and straddled it. Overlapping his arms on the back, he said, “Never thought I’d see the valedictorian in detention.”

“You know why I’m in here,” you hissed, leaning back, trying not to let him get under your skin. Of all people, to be stuck with Jeno? This was an extra serving of penance you didn’t sign up for.

It’s not that you disliked him. Not entirely anyway. It’s just that Jeno had the ability of seeing right through you. You couldn’t fool him or sway him, like you could everyone else. Jeno had you completely mapped out after one night.

And what a night that had been.

Jeno chuckled. “I must say, watching you fuck Kylie up in the cafeteria was not on my bingo card for this semester, but it was a thrill. The judo-style throw to the ground was immaculate.”

He was tempted to add that you had permission to throw him like that any time you so desired.

You snorted, but said nothing. You didn’t feel guilty about fighting Kylie - the bitch had it coming the moment she crossed you - but fighting wouldn’t look good on your pristine record. And although you’d already landed a coveted spot at an Ivy League school plus a hefty scholarship, you were in no position to jeopardize either with your temper.

Jeno scooted his chair toward you noisily. “Why’d you fight?”

Folding your arms across your chest, you turned to finally look at him and snapped, “How many languages can you say ‘none of your business’ in?”

“Three. Now, come on.” Jeno whined your name. “We’ve got an hour in here together. Plus five extra minutes, in my case. Tell me why you leveled her.”

You clamped your lips shut.

Jeno was nothing but persistent. “Did she plagiarize your essay? Did she make fun of your clothes?” Jeno lowered his voice and asked, “Did she steal a certain boy from you?”

A bolt of anger went rushing through you like lightning. Whipping around to face him again, your eyes shone with emotions you went to great lengths to hide. “You know?”

Jeno nodded.

“Everyone knows. Don’t they?”

He nodded again, but this time, the mischief was gone from his face.

You hung your head. There was no way to adequately describe this feeling. You wanted to cry and would probably feel better if you did, but you dared not shed a single tear over a boy that didn’t love you.

The saddest part was you thought he could. It stung the most. Like getting bit and feeling the venom slowly poison you for days afterward until you finally succumbed. The bite itself was bad enough, but to languish in misery and pain? That was cruel.

Jeno got up from his chair and took the seat beside yours. He stretched his arm out on the table and propped his head in his hand, trying to search your face, but you were well-hidden behind your hair.

You didn’t say anything when Jeno tenderly tucked some of the strands behind your ear.

“Don’t lose sleep over Mark Lee.”

“I won’t,” you said roughly, lifting your chin high and forcing out the breath you’d been holding, along with the tears you successfully stifled.

Jeno smiled. Then, seeing you were no longer on the verge of crying, resumed his teasing. “I never thought someone like you would fight over a boy. It’s beneath you.”

Your lips parted in disbelief. “I wasn’t fighting over him,” you exclaimed. “I fought her because she disrespected me.”

You were telling the truth. The moment Mark betrayed you, your feelings for him evaporated into thin air. Jeno was right. You would never chase after a boy. The betrayal still stung though.

Jeno smirked and licked his lips. “Well, you definitely got your respect back, baby girl.”

You grimaced. “Don’t call me that.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but we hooked up last summer. Didn’t we?”

“That doesn’t mean you can slap a dumb pet name on me.”

“Not the only thing I slapped, if memory serves,” Jeno murmured darkly.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. The heavy smack of his hand landing on your naked ass echoed in your mind. The memory was still fresh, like it happened yesterday, and it made you press your thighs together.

That was what frustrated you most about Jeno - your body craved him, remembering how good he made you feel.

Satisfied by your reaction, Jeno sat up, slouching in the chair. He spread his long legs, his knee brushing against your thigh, but you didn’t move away. You didn’t want to give him an ounce of submission.

If you gave him an inch, he would turn it into a mile.

You sized him up. Jeno looked a little too good with long hair, dark like his eyes. The leather jacket fit him like a glove, as always - he never left home without it, and his jeans looked ripped from use and not that he bought them that way.

Jeno marched to the beat of his own drum. He didn’t give a shit what people thought about him, but they knew better than to voice any opinions either way. Jeno lived in detention for bending people into submission with force. He didn’t tolerate disrespect on his name.

Apparently, you had that in common.

It took you a moment to realize you were eyeing him. Who could blame you? His thick thighs in those jeans warranted at least an extra second or two of staring.

Jeno was enjoying it. He smirked. “Like what you see, baby?”

“You look good,” you said shamelessly. You had history together. You knew he liked to be complimented on his body and looks. And if you fucked someone, didn’t that give you license to flirt with them later?

“Thanks. So do you,” Jeno replied, eyes lingering on your cleavage.

You started to grin and quickly turned your head to hide it.

That didn’t matter. Jeno knew you were pleased. And he wanted to lewdly elaborate that you looked mouth-watering. With your pretty black skirt and v-neck tee. Your body was strong from volleyball, where you spiked the ball almost as hard as you socked Kylie in the face for stealing from you.

Rumor had it you crushed on Mark Lee for months and his oblivious self had no fucking idea where to buy a clue. You finally had the courage to make a move on him - as much as it killed you to be the one to initiate - but after one perfect date after another, you thought there was a future between you and Mark.

Which was dashed the moment Kylie flaunted the hickies on her neck and the bruises on her thighs Mark had left behind at a party.

Jeno frowned. Mark didn’t deserve you. You needed someone worthy that could match your fire and energy, not staunch it. Someone that would protect your heart and worship your body.

Kylie would have never been able to take Jeno away from you. He was as loyal as he was fearless. Any disrespect showed to you, was disrespect shown to him.

But… you weren’t his, Jeno remembered.

His mind wandered, back to the summer. Jeno could still smell the salt of the sea as it wafted on the breeze through the open windows. He could still hear how you moaned his name and sometimes, if he closed his eyes, he could still feel your fingernails dragging down his back as he fucked you in the backseat of his car.

Mr. Kim walked in then, whistling as he did. He saw Jeno’s new position beside you and the look of sheer annoyance on your face, and quirked a brow, but nothing else was amiss so he didn’t care. Jeno gave him a wave, you offered an awkward smile, and Mr. Kim returned to his office with a half-hearted warning to behave yourselves.

As Mr. Kim’s footsteps echoed further down the hall, Jeno slid his chair closer to yours, but this time, he crowded your back.

You felt the heat of him first and you shivered when the scent of him really hit you. His cologne was something earthy and clean, but curiously, he smelled like strawberries, which caught you off-guard. That was when you noticed he was chewing gum.

Jeno blew a bubble that burst with a loud pop.

“Strawberry?”

“Mmhm. Want some?”

“No thanks.”

Jeno raked his eyes up and down your body. He so badly wanted a taste of you, no matter how small it was. If you only knew he would do anything you asked of him for a kiss.

He closed the rest of the distance between you, which wasn’t much, and brushed your hair to the side slowly, leaving your neck exposed for him to begin trailing soft kisses up the column of your throat.

“Jeno...,” you said, your tone full of warning, but you didn’t tell him to stop.

Jeno slipped an arm around your waist like a snare, shifting you toward him. He was logging away every second that you didn’t push him away. “Hm?”

“If you get me in trouble,” you mumbled, but your actions betrayed your words. You tipped your head back, giving him even more access to your neck, and you reached behind to slip your fingers into his long hair. You’d been wanting to run your hands through it since you laid eyes on him.

Damn it. Why does he have to feel so good?

Jeno chuckled darkly. You were falling apart in his arms, just like you did last summer. He kissed and suckled the sensitive spot beneath your ear, and tightened his grip around you until your shoulders were flush against his chest.

There was definitely a connection. Jeno’s heart didn’t race when he saw other girls, even the ones he’d hooked up with, but any time he caught a glimpse of you, his heart went wild, taking his pulse with it.

You hummed, eyes fluttering closed. His kisses grew louder and wetter, nibbling aggressively beneath your jaw. He was turning you into mush. You could feel yourself getting weaker, running your hands over those burly arms, imagining them around your naked waist as he drilled you from behind.

In an instant, you were back in his car, feeling it rock underneath you with Jeno’s rough movements. He filled you so deeply - so completely. You felt a pleasure and release more than you’d ever known before.

Jeno was the best sex of your life; a crown no other boy had come even remotely close to taking from him.

You remembered where you were (which was not the backseat of his car, unfortunately) and why you were there in the first place (because of a stupid boy that broke your heart), and you unwound Jeno’s arms from your waist and shook free of him.

Jeno studied you, cocking his head coyly. His eyes, though clouded with lust, were also twinkling with affection. Like you were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

“We can’t,” you said weakly.

Jeno purred your name. “You can kiss me. There’s no one here, but you and me. Just you and me.”

You wavered. He had never looked so kissable than at that moment.

What the hell was this emotion sitting heavily on your chest? Had you missed Jeno? You would never voice that though. You were no fool.

Jeno reached for your waist slowly, giving you every chance to draw away from him or bat at his hands, but you didn’t. He steered you toward him again, this time face to face, and whispered, “I’ve missed you.”

That makes two of us, after all.

“I’ve been here the whole time,” you told him, a little stern, your expression sour. “You could have asked me out.”

“Pfft.” Jeno scoffed dramatically. “Yeah, the deadbeat and the valedictorian. Very Beauty and the Beast of us. What would your friends say?”

You’d never seen him so bitter. It almost knocked you back. “You think my friends have any say over who I date?”

“Yes, because that’s why you wanted Mark as bad as you did.”

You bristled. Did he really think that little of you? Or was that jealousy talking?

Jeno kept going, pretending to swoon. “Perfect Mark Lee. Top athlete. Class president. Headed to an Ivy League, like you. Rich parents. He’s the whole pretty package.”

“I liked Mark because he was kind. Not because of what he had,” you said in a small voice.

“Sure, babe.” Jeno rolled his eyes.

Your first instinct was to get annoyed, maybe even offended, but instead, you saw right through him. As Jeno shifted away from you, you moved closer to him and asked, “Do you wanna know why I slept with you last summer?”

“Because you were horny?”

“Because you asked me to dance with you.”

Jeno paused.

You chuckled fondly to yourself, thinking back to that night. You and Jeno never crossed paths at school, but fate must have been at play then.

“I was so tired and burnt out and stressing over every goddamn thing in my life that I had to get right, and I was wondering what the hell I would do if I failed. If I screwed everything up and let everyone down. My whole family is counting on me to make something of myself.”

Jeno listened, looking at you a little differently.

You smiled as you said, “You approached me at that party. You made me laugh. You got me to dance for the first time in years. I used to love dancing. You made me forget how fucking exhausted I was for a night.”

A grin spread itself across Jeno’s lips. “And exhausted you in other ways.”

You nodded, fighting a laugh.

Jeno reached for your face, stroking his thumb over your cheek, and whispered, “Aren’t you just full of surprises, baby girl?”

This time, you didn’t correct him on the pet name. It was starting to grow on you. You bit your lip, wishing you had the courage to admit just how badly you wanted him to touch you.

Jeno confidently pulled you into his arms again, reading your mind, and brushed his lips over your cheek before kissing the corner of your mouth. You made the softest sound, like this one gentle kiss had completely ruined what was left of your resolve.

Sound beyond the door made you part from each other, sitting rigidly in your chair to avert suspicion. Mr. Kim peeked his head in, asked if either of you needed to use the bathroom, and when you both declined, he left again.

The door closed and Jeno reached for your hand. You let him, watching curiously as he surveyed the bruises on your knuckles. There were a few jagged cuts of broken skin that the nurse disinfected after the fight. She said they would heal faster in the open air, but you could bandage them later if you felt it necessary.

Jeno pressed a kiss to your bruised knuckle, then the other, carefully avoiding the cuts. It turned him on; you being strong and vicious, so hell-bent on punishing disrespect shown toward you. You had that in common with him.

It was sick and twisted, Jeno was well aware, but that was part of what made it even more attractive and arousing to him. Kylie stole Mark, not because she wanted him for herself (she wasn’t the least bit interested in him, much to Mark’s shock when he realized he lost two girls in one night with one fuck), but because she wanted to take something away from you that you really wanted.

You sucked in a breath when Jeno’s lips and tongue drifted to your wrist. He really was determined to seduce you and you were getting closer and closer to surrender. You glanced at the clock. Detention was half over now. He was running out of time.

Between kisses, Jeno said, “I don’t think Mark would know what to do with you if you had him.”

Your brows stitched in confusion.

Jeno glanced up, fire flickering in his eyes. “You’re way too powerful for him.”

That made something inside you snap. In the next second, you crashed into Jeno, locking your lips to his in a kiss that put the others to shame.

Jeno was ready to catch you, getting his arms around your waist and lifting you into the air like you weighed nothing. You held his head in your hands, tangling your fingers in his long hair, and made a noise when he set you down on the table, popping your legs around his hips where they belonged.

This boy was yours. There was no doubt in your mind. The way he kissed you and the way he held you to him, there was nothing on this earth he wouldn’t do for you. To have you.

You slipped your tongue into his mouth and Jeno kneaded your hips, his hands rough as he roamed them over your body. There was a catch in your breath when his fingers slipped under your shirt, desperate to touch your bare skin.

“Fuck,” Jeno groaned between kisses, his jeans getting too tight. He settled his hands on your thighs to anchor himself to you and thrust his growing bulge against your clothed sex, feeling your warmth.

You lost track of time. And everything else. Fuck it all. There was only you and Jeno, just like he said, kissing and touching. Reckless and hungry, one for the other.

The sound of the door sent adrenaline prickling through every inch of you, but you were too drunk on his kisses to give any thought to self-preservation. Jeno reacted much faster than you did, dragging you off the table and clumsily to your feet. You managed to throw yourself into the nearest chair while Jeno - for whatever stupid reason had popped into his head - dove under the table.

Mr. Kim poked his head inside and upon seeing only one of two criminals, came marching in. “Where is Mr. Lee?” he exclaimed.

You smoothed your hair back, desperately trying to catch your breath and get just the tiniest bit of composure. Mr. Kim would raise hell if he knew you’d been making out when you were supposed to be dying of boredom.

“He, uh,” you stammered. Fuck! “He went to the bathroom.”

Mr. Kim narrowed his eyes. He was not convinced.

Your eyes, on the other hand, widened.

Jeno’s hands were running up your bare thighs, pushing up your skirt.

“Are you sure?” Mr. Kim pressed.

No. He’s between my legs. Your heart was racing out of control. Your lungs were going to combust. Jeno’s hands were on your hips and his head was between your knees. You could feel his warm breath on your inner thighs.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “Positive, Mr. Kim. He’ll be right back,” you said hurriedly.

Jeno lifted your skirt a little higher, knowing you were hidden from the waist down by the table, and smirked at the sight of your pink panties. And buried his face in your clothed pussy.

“Fuck,” you squeaked out in a high-pitched whimper.

“Language,” Mr. Kim chided once again. “Tell Mr. Lee he now has to stay an additional ten minutes for taking a stroll!”

You threaded your fingers into Jeno’s hair, trying frantically to slow him down, but he was kissing your sex with the same passion and intensity as he’d kissed your lips - like he was trying to make you scream. And you weren’t far from that.

Nodding rapidly, you said, “Yes, Mr. Kim. I’ll tell him. I promise.”

Suspicion was clearly written all over Mr. Kim’s face, but you knew Jeno giving you head underneath the table was not on the list of possibilities going through his mind. Thank god.

Jeno kept a punishing grip on your hips, kissing and tonguing at your folds, tasting your arousal despite the panties in his way. He couldn’t wait to peel them off and make you beg.

When the door closed, sending a loud slam echoing through the library, Jeno quickly slipped out from between your legs, knowing exactly the reaction he was going to get.

You reached under the table, swatting at his head as best you could. “Fuck you, Jeno,” you yelled. “Fuck you!”

“You will in a minute,” Jeno retorted, grabbing your knees and spreading you apart for him again.

You fell back against the chair, gasping at how he manhandled you. “Oh shit,” you moaned as he yanked your panties to the side and dived back in.

Jeno steered your legs onto his shoulders and found your clit with his tongue. He soon grew frustrated with your underwear, which seemed to be intentionally trying to block his way. Winding his hands through them, Jeno tugged sharply, ripping your panties with ease and letting them fall to the floor.

“Not fair,” you whined, pulling on his hair in retaliation and earning yourself a moan that made your toes curl.

Jeno kissed the inside of your thigh and said, “All’s fair in love and war.”

At first, you kept your eyes worriedly on the doors, but soon, your eyes were winched closed, your head tipped back. You writhed on the chair, arching and squirming, because it had been a while since someone ate you out, but mostly because Jeno was kissing your cunt like a man starved.

Jeno slipped his tongue into your hole and lapped at your slick. He was a lucky bastard to be burying his face in your pretty pussy. You weren’t exactly an easy girl to bag. Boys were lining up around the building to fuck you, but only Jeno had scored last summer. You’d told him as much.

Had you been saving yourself for Mark since then? It would seem so, given how sensitive you were to Jeno’s mouth. He was going to unravel you in no time.

You bounced into his face, covering your mouth to muffle your sounds, your other hand cupping his head. Jeno reached under your shirt, under your bra, and palmed your breasts, which were shuddering with the rest of your body. He kneaded them and pinched your nipples, teasing his fingers around the nubs until he felt them stiffen.

Jeno shook his head between your legs, your thighs clamped tightly on him. Your pussy was fucking addictive. He knew he should stop - that he needed to stop - but he just couldn’t. He wanted to suck every drop out of you until one of you passed out from exhaustion. Or orgasm. Whichever came first, because Jeno was so hard in his jeans there was a strong chance he was going to come untouched in his pants.

“I’m coming,” you cried out, your lashes fluttering as he played with your nipples and your clit. Your mouth was dry from panting. “Jeno… Jeno, please!”

Fuck, he loved how you said his name and how you begged for him, on the cusp of euphoria. But Jeno made a disapproving sound and gave one last kiss to your perfect pussy.

Your eyes went wide, just like they had when he first started, as you watched Jeno come out from beneath the table. “What are you doing?”

“Hm?” He played clueless, much to your annoyance, and he nonchalantly swiped your ripped panties off the floor and tucked them into his back pocket.

“Why are you stopping?!” You sounded desperate, because you were. Climax had been right there, close enough to taste. You were experiencing the most powerful tunnel vision of your life, thinking only of how you could get him between your legs again to finish what he started.

Jeno came to stand over you. He sure did enjoy watching you lose your mind. He cocked his head for the millionth time that afternoon and just smirked down at you. “Who have you fucked since me?”

“No one.”

“Should I believe that?”

He did believe it actually. Jeno just liked toying with you. And with how badly fucked out you were already, the edge of your orgasm slipping away with every passing second, you weren’t exactly in good shape to lie to him.

His hesitation infuriated you, as it should. Was he implying you’d been whoring around? You got up, shoving him away from you, and whined, “You bastard, I hate you!”

Jeno grabbed you and stole a kiss in the time it took you to blink, before you could even react. But it didn’t matter. You folded into him like you had not a shred of self-respect left to your name, like he was the only thing you wanted.

“Fuck me like you hate me then,” Jeno growled, watching you expectedly. You were still reeling from the kiss. “If you wanna come, baby, you gotta do it on my dick.”

He made you crazy. You didn’t know whether to suck him dry or slap the shit out of him. He would enjoy both. You glanced down, seeing the hard bulge in his jeans, your mind filling with memories of that big cock and what it could do to you.

Jeno raised a brow. “How about it?”

You scowled. He truly was annoying as all hell in addition to being stupidly good-looking.

Jeno watched as you turned away from him, reaching for your bag and rifling through it hurriedly. And he chuckled darkly when you pulled out a condom packet and slapped it into his hand. Sex Ed gave them out by the bucket full, after all.

Delight filled Jeno’s face. “Always full of surprises.”

You squeaked when Jeno took you by the hand and started rushing toward the back of the library, dragging you behind him. You struggled to keep up with his long strides, but you couldn’t stop giggling. The excitement in your chest threatened to burst you at the seams.

It should have been a crime to be this aroused by someone. The chemistry between you and Jeno was off the charts; highly destructive and flammable, consuming everything in its path.

Including both of you, together, engulfed in flames of your own design that burned hotter in your midst.

Tucked away in a nook behind rows and rows of old books, where the blinds were shut on the windows and the soft lights overhead gave a warm yellow hue, Jeno spun you around in his arms and sealed his lips to yours.

It was a passionate, almost rough collision of teeth and tongues, like two cars racing toward each other at breakneck speed. The kind of kissing reserved between two people desperate to bring one another to ecstasy.

You whimpered into Jeno’s mouth when he shoved you against the wall, forcing his hips between your thighs to rub his clothed cock against your sex. Jeno could feel the wet heat of you and thrust his bulge on your folds, hungry for friction. His tongue slipped between your lips just as his fingers prodded at your entrance.

A pitiful sound escaped you. Two long thick digits curled into your pussy, finding that spot inside you without hesitation and stroking, crooking, making your hips rock into his hand.

You wrapped your arms around Jeno’s neck and broke from his kisses to stare into his eyes. His pretty irises were almost gone, dilated to black. He was so turned on he couldn’t see straight and you weren’t faring much better.

“I thought I could only come on your dick?” you stuttered, his fingers thrusting faster into your cunt.

Jeno nodded and nipped at your lips. “Just kiss me and let me prep you, yeah?”

You did, kissing him hungrily. Every now and then, you moaned or cried into his mouth, those fingers hitting you just right, but you wanted that cock and so you kept reaching down to palm at him.

Little by little, you got his leather jacket and his shirt in a pile on the ground, letting you brush your fingers over his nipples and the sharp lines of his abs. Then, you unfastened his jeans, but couldn’t get them past his muscly thighs at this angle. Not that you cared. You were fisting his cock, pumping it with the same speed he fucked you with his fingers.

Jeno panted and moaned in the crook of your neck. “Shit,” he snapped, finally breaking.

He spun you around, pinning you to the wall, but drew you toward him by the hips harshly. You tried to find purchase on the wall while Jeno tore open the packet and rolled the condom down his length, his cock so stiff it twitched with need at the sight of your glistening pussy. You wiggled impatiently, shifting your weight as you readied yourself for the stretch, glancing over your shoulder to salivate over that big dick.

You bit your lip as he steered the head of his cock to your folds, arching your back, bracing your hands on the wall. Jeno curled an arm around your waist, pressing his palm into the lowest part of your stomach and drove in deep, pulling out of you to thrust back in, a little deeper each time.

Sucking in a breath, you were about to moan at the top of your lungs, but a hand swiftly clamped over your mouth. You cried out Jeno’s name, muffled against his palm, and rocked back with his movements, trying to take more of him. All of him.

“Open up for me, baby,” Jeno whispered into the sore sensitive flesh of your neck, where he kept biting because he needed an outlet for just how good the hot vice of your cunt felt around his cock. “Tight fucking pussy.” Jeno groaned, sneaking a hand under your shirt to hold onto one of your breasts.

Tears pricked at your eyes. Jeno was dancing on the line of pleasure and pain. His cock was so hard and thick, bottoming out and making you see stars. You held onto his arms, shivering at how your walls burned and stretched to accommodate him, already screaming for more.

Jeno’s hand fell from your mouth to wrap around your neck possessively. You moaned softly. He was being surprisingly gentle, though you knew him as the opposite. It was very telling how tightly Jeno held you against him, how slowly he dragged his cock back and forth inside you.

But once Jeno was satisfied you could handle him, his pace started to build until he smacked his hips into your ass, your soft flesh heating up beneath his hands as he brought you down to meet his thrusts, slamming that cock into your sweet spot.

“Like that, baby,” you begged, desperately trying to keep yourself in place to get every inch of him. “I can take it.”

I know you can. Jeno brushed his parted lips up your neck and kissed your jaw. He’d give you anything you wanted if you kept begging for him. He stuffed you full of his dick a little harder and hissed, “You’re so fucking good. So wet for me.”

You bounced your hips, matching his rhythm. It annoyed you; the two of you could have been fucking each other’s brains out this whole time had you not been cowards last summer.

Jeno glanced down, watching you throw it back on him, and grabbed the nape of your neck, pinning you to the wall.

“Jeno… fuck!” You gasped as he fucked you hard and fast. You winched your eyes shut and squirmed, but you were nothing compared to his strength.

Jeno shoved himself balls deep in your cunt and stilled, groaning with pleasure. Before you could catch your breath, he pulled out of you, making your arousal slip down the inside of your thighs and flipped you around to face him impatiently. He smashed his lips on yours just as you opened your mouth to complain and lowered you to the floor underneath him, sucking on your tongue and thrusting his cock back inside you. You spread your legs and drew him into you by the hips, watching Jeno hook your knees in his arms.

“This is mine,” Jeno said, his voice raspy and dangerous. Both of your mouths were open, lips brushing, panting for breath.

“Yours,” you said without missing a beat, drifting your hands down his back to his ass. “Whenever you want it, it’s yours, baby.”

Jeno rewarded that with a kiss and a hard thrust of his hips.

The desperation took over both of you. There was only you and Jeno chasing the high, stealing pleasure from each other’s bodies as hard as you could. Jeno crushed you into the floor with his weight, his hand tangled in your hair, the other covering your mouth, because you couldn’t keep quiet. He was so rough, starved for you, and all of the unspoken, unresolved feelings between you coupled with him taking you for all you were worth made you break.

The orgasm began like waves between your thighs. Your body went tight, your back arching like you had no control over it anymore, and you screamed into Jeno’s palm as your walls pulsed and squeezed his cock.

Jeno felt you unraveling and swore, his hips stuttering at your pussy sucking him in. He hurriedly got ahold of your hands, pinning them to your sides, and thrust in as deep as he could go, emptying his load into the condom.

You blinked to clear your vision, watching Jeno close his eyes and moan, shaking with his own pleasure. Hooking your legs through his, you grinded into him, milking his orgasm, smirking at the total euphoric daze on his handsome face.

Jeno finally lowered his head, meeting your eyes, and you both chuckled at the same time. You smiled when he didn’t hesitate to kiss you, his cock still buried inside you, his hands still pinning you to the ground.

“Any boy you fuck that doesn’t deserve you…,” Jeno whispered, his breath hot on your lips. “I will kill him.”

You wilted. It shouldn’t have aroused you, but it did. You felt your body tighten on him one last time for it. “If you want me so bad, why don’t you ask to keep me?”

“Would you say yes?”

“Ask me and find out.”

Jeno lost himself in your eyes, staring, burning. He inevitably surrendered, hands falling away from your body, soft cock slipping out of your core.

You watched him rise to his feet and peel off the condom, and you sat up, adjusting your clothes as he threw it away. “Don’t tell me the guy who doesn’t give a fuck is scared of rejection like the rest of us,” you taunted, wanting to goad him, because you wanted a reaction.

You needed a sign that he was capable of loving you.

“Fuck off,” Jeno snapped, zipping up his jeans.

You took that in stride and stood, sucking in a sharp breath at the soreness between your thighs. “‘Fuck off’ isn’t want you said to me last time,” you retorted, using his own words against him. “It was more like, ‘Please, baby girl. Please let me fuck you. I’m the only one good at it.’”

Jeno wanted to laugh at your impression of his voice, but he was too busy deflecting. He fished his jacket off the floor and clocked you a glance. “Am I?”

You rolled your eyes. “You are so fucking obnoxious.”

“We have that in common. Among other things.”

You snorted. Why he couldn’t just talk to you after you’d had sex was a mystery. How could he be so intimate with you one way, but not the other?

Jeno saw the sadness forming on your face and he reached for your hips, bringing you flush against him. You smiled in pleasant surprise, content to be in his arms again, and closed your eyes when he graced a quick kiss on your lips.

For a moment, Jeno studied you, like he was committing you to memory. Jeno anticipated this would be the last time he would ever hold you or touch you again.

“Maybe I don’t deserve you either,” he whispered bitterly.

You frowned. Your whole body tensed with it. “Then… no one does.”

Jeno’s eyes widened. You would be the first and only person to have ever found any worth in him. Jeno wasn’t ready to accept that yet. It was such an utterly foreign feeling to him.

You said, “No one deserves anyone, Jeno. It’s about effort. Do you feel something for me or not?”

“Do you feel something for me?” he shot back, his heart on the line.

You forced out a tiny laugh and worked your hands up to his face, cradling his cheeks. “This is how the night ended between us last time. We’re both too scared to do anything with this.”

Jeno bobbed his head. “Yeah.”

You sighed. Mark was supposed to be safe. That was why you really wanted him. He was kind. He was reliable. He was cautious.

But he crumbled at the first gust of wind.

You looked at Jeno. He was passion and fire, made of steel. Much like you. He kissed your wounds. He would destroy anyone that tried to hurt you.

Nothing would break Jeno. Loving him would be risky, you knew that, but you accepted it, because in his arms would be the safest place in the world.

The two of you resigned yourselves to this little stalemate, though the tension dissipated. Both you and Jeno knew there was something worth fighting for between you.

Jeno held you by the hand, mindful of your wobbly steps as you returned with him to the tables. To your relief, Mr. Kim was nowhere to be seen.

He appeared five minutes later, announcing the hour of detention was over, but Jeno had to stay an extra fifteen minutes. You gave your lover a smirk of amusement as you gathered your things.

You told Jeno and Mr. Kim goodbye, the latter already out the door, but Jeno grabbed your wrist as you began to leave.

“How long did you get detention for fucking up that bitch?”

“A week,” you replied calmly.

Jeno laced his fingers through yours, bringing your battered knuckles to his lips to kiss. “Hm. I guess tomorrow I need to get myself sent here again.”

You chuckled with a shake of your head.

“And the day after that. And the day after that too.”

“I’m sure you will,” you purred, taking your hand back and grabbing him by the chin, stealing one final kiss.

Jeno grinned as you walked away and propped his feet on the table, overlapping his hands behind his head like he was sitting on a beach somewhere.

By the last day, he would find enough courage to ask to keep you.

END.

[ghostboneswrites2]

Silent Night || One Shot

New account! @ghostbones was banned! Transferring all my work here slowly!

Request from my old blog: "I was wondering if you could to a little thing of daryl and a female mute reader? If you can, maybe selective mutism, so there can be some trust building themes and things! Just fluff, and two idiots in love"

Summary: You get stuck in a cabin overnight with Daryl. He tries to get to know you. Lots of trust building and cute bonding.

18+MDNI || WARNINGS: profanity, sad backstory, TW: child loss, mostly cute

        Daryl lit the fire in the old fireplace, rubbing his hands together and holding them out to soak up the heat. It was dark and rather chilly with the roaring storm outside. It had blown in fast, and the torrential downpour was too much to drive in. With slow squeaky windshield wipers and dim headlights that desperately needed replacing, there was no other option. Daryl pulled over to the first cabin he saw and rushed you inside, leaving the two of you to spend the night in an old dusty cabin that smelled like mildew and aged wood.

        "Should start warmin' up in a bit." He told you, standing up and looking around. He didn't bother waiting for a response, you wouldn't have anything to say. Nobody had ever heard you talk. I mean, sure, people did when yo were younger, before the turn. You weren't deaf like Connie. You thought it was probably just a trauma response. The day you came home to find your fiancé hunched over your two year old daughter, blood pooling on the ground... You could just never bring yourself to speak after that. When you heard your voice, you heard goofy laughs with your baby, sweet talks in bed with your man, phone calls with family and friends. Nowadays there was never anything worth talking about. Every time you tried to speak you were flooded with sweet memories and clouded by the terrible image of your undead lover eating your baby, your world. It was like this large painful lump in your throat had made a home there and prevented any sound from coming out.

        Nobody actually even knew your name. You never told them. They usually just called you Jane, as in Jane Doe. Daryl didn't mind you at all, though. In fact, he was quite fond of you. You were pretty, you could hold your own, and you were also... pretty. So pretty. He couldn't keep his eyes off you some days. He was never sure if you noticed, and you really didn't. That was really only because you tried your best not to look at him. You were helplessly attracted to him, so anything to avoid giving that away, you did.

        "Still got them bars in your bag?" He asked you, referring to the protein bars Carol sent you with. You opened your bag and tossed him one, opening another one for yourself.

        The two of you ate in silence. He tossed you a water bottle from his own bag, and you drank.

        Then, it was just the two of you, left to occupy yourselves. He spent an hour or so sharpening arrows and tweaking bits and pieces on his bow. You mostly just laid on the couch and picked at your nails, or scabs, or stared up at the ceiling, watching the spiders in their webs. 

        His mind was plagued with questions. Every time he was alone with you he found himself wondering the same things. Where were you from? What was your story? Why didn't you speak? What was your name?

        He got frustrated with he lack of answers or anything else to stimulate his mind and distract him. He sighed and pushed himself back and forth in the old dingy rocking chair.

        "Need to find you a notepad or somethin' like Connie has." He spoke.

        You looked over at him.

        "Just sayin', silence is deafening, y'know?"

        You just looked back up at the ceiling.

        "What about.. Okay." He sat forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. You looked back at him. "What if I asked you... yes or no questions. You can just nod or shake your head." He sounded hopeful and bored. You almost wanted to laugh at his eagerness, like a little kid trying to get his grandpa to tell him stories from the war.

        You didn't answer, because, of course not, but you just watched him curiously, not giving any indication of refusal.

        "Alright. Do you like fishing?"

        You furrowed your eyebrows. 

        "Right. You don't fish." He nodded. "Stupid question. What about.. Okay. Have you ever talked?"

        You gave a single nod after a moment of deciding if you want to tell him that or not.

        "Do you know why you stopped?"

        The question was like a dagger in your chest. You decided you didn't wanna play anymore. You just sighed and turned your attention back to the ceiling. 

        He didn't press further. He just stood up and started to wander, checking all the cabinets in the kitchen for anything useful. He found one thing, a can of Spam. 

        "You like Spam?" He asked, walking back into the living room. You glanced over at him and shook your head. You weren't hungry. He shrugged. "Suit yourself." He said as he dug into the canned meat.

        "Y'know, I had a friend. Her name was Beth. She died, and uh, I didn't talk much after that. It was hard to. Like my throat got all tight every time I tried." He said. "It took a while, but I got through it."

        You knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to relate, hoping you'd open up some. You wished it was that easy, you really did. It was miserable having all these thoughts, needs, desires, and no way to express them.

        You knew you could speak, if you really wanted to. The problem was that you had never wanted to work hard enough to get past the lump.

        "You, uh, you're really no fun at sleepovers. Y'know that?"

        Silence. He waited a while. He wondered if he could make you laugh. He couldn't recall ever seeing you give more than a smile. He remembered the story he told Andrea all those years ago, and how it made her laugh.

        "Y'know, this one time when I was a kid. I got lost in the woods. I'm talkin' days, right. So, I gotta use the bathroom at some point. I wiped with leaves, cause I didn't have toilet paper or nothin', and turned out, it was poison ivy. I made it home eventually. Ass itched somethin' serious. I'm talkin' pullin' my underwear 'til the wedgie was so bad it gave me rug burn. Tried everything. Even took a fork outta the kitchen  and tried that. Nothin' helped."

        You were watching him now, grinning. A fork? Really? You wanted to ask if he threw it away or left it to get washed and used. He admired your smile for some time, before it faded. At least he got that.

        "My brother was in juvie back then. Dad wasn't around either. Did I ever tell ya about the time Merle got crabs?"

        You shook your head,

        "Well, he came home one night from the bar. Passed out. Next day he couldn't stop itchin'. Come to find out, there were little bugs crawlin' around in his pubes."

        You frowned in disgust.

        "Anyways, tried to tell the dumb son of a bitch to just shave 'em off, but he didn't wanna so I had to ride with him to the free clinic to get some kinda dick shampoo. Turns out he slept with the same girl like three more times. Kept goin' back to her 'til the shampoo ran out. Guess he figured it didn't matter if he could keep washin' 'em out."

        You looked mortified.

        "Yeah, guess that wasn't funny." He agreed. "He was a nasty son of a bitch."

        You raised your eyebrows and nodded in agreement.

        "I see you hang around Connie a lot. She ever teach you any sign language?"

        You shook your head.

        "I got a book back home if ya want it."

        You shrugged. Could be nice to communicate again.

        "Looks like ya need new shoes." He commented, nodding to your feet propped up on the arm of the couch. The rubber soles were starting to detach from the shoe itself. You nodded. "Wanna stop somewhere and look?"

        You thought for a moment, nodding and shrugging at the same time, as if to say, 'Why not?'

        He sat back down in the rocking chair and rested his head back. He wasn't tired really. It wasn't even that late. The rain just made it seem darker than it was. He listened to the crackling fire and the windy storm outside, the occasional thunder booming around.

        He looked down at you. You seemed just as restless.

        "Wish I knew more about ya." He admitted.

        Usually he wouldn't be so forward with a pretty girl, but your constant silence made him feel like he was just talking to himself. He didn't have to worry about your reaction, though he often wondered what you thought of him.

        You looked at him again, curiously.

        You glanced around the room for anything you could use to tell him something about you. It could be like a game of charades.

        You noticed a map on the wall and walked over to it, pulling the large frame off the nail and walking over to him. You placed your finger on your home state to show him.

        "That's where you're from?"

        You nodded, a small, sad smile on your lips.

        "I'm from Georgia." He said. You gave an acknowledging nod.

        "Ever been to any other states?"

        You dragged your finger from your home state to  Virginia, showing him you had only been through the states that led you to wind up as one of the Saviors. Of course, you weren't one of Negan's fighters, you were just a maid on the cleanup crew. He had actually seen you a few times during his captivity at The Sanctuary. You almost looked as miserable as him.

        "Mm." He nodded with understanding.

        You set the map on the coffee table and walked around the room, looking for anything else to use as a clue. Your eye caught on a little pink bow, the kind with an elastic band that would go around a baby's head. You picked it up, eyes watering as you ran your fingers over it. You turned back to him and walked back to where he sat, holding it out to show him.

        "Ya like pink?" He asked, not quite understanding. You shook your head, trying to think of a better way to explain. Then you remembered the horizontal scar over your lower abdomen. You had your daughter via C-section.

        You lifted your shirt and pulled the waist of your jeans down slightly to expose the scar. You held the bow up again, then pointed at the scar.

        "Oh." He said lowly. "You had a daughter?"

        You nodded, still teary eyed. You took the bow to your bag, concealing it in one of the zipper pockets. You had run out of the house horrified on that awful day. You had no time to grab a memento for her, so that bow would have to serve as one.

        "I'm sorry." He told you. You just nodded in place of a thanks, wiping the tears away. You continued your search around the little cabin for clues. It was kind of fun, albeit painful. It was like a game.

        You took a little longer this time on your search, until you found a phone book. You took it and flipped open a page and walked back to him. This time he was standing up. 

        You held the book open so that he could see it, and pointed to two individual digits.

        "That's how old you are?"

        You nodded.

        "Is your name in there?"

        You shrugged and set the book down, reasoning that it'd be too much work to find it in all those pages.

        "So, you're (age), you had a daughter, and you're from (state)?"

        You nodded and smiled. This was the most you had communicated with anyone in years. It was nice.

        "Cool." He nodded with a small half smile. "You hungry?"

        You shook your head no.

        "Thirsty?"

        You waved your hand to say kind of.

        "I found some tequila in the kitchen."

        You raised your eyebrows. Now that was temptation if you ever saw it. Tequila was a luxury you hadn't come across in, well, you didn't even know how long. You nodded giddily and he huffed a silent chuckle, shaking his head as he walked into the kitchen and came back with a bottle of clear, liquid joy. You rushed over and grabbed it from him, twisting off the cap and taking a swig. You made a dramatic face as you shook your head. God, you didn't remember the burn being that bad.

        "Easy, tiger." He teased as he took the bottle and had some for himself.

        You smiled at him as he handed it back, the two of you taking turns until you felt that alcoholic heat in your ears and cheeks.

        "You like tequila?"

        You shurgged.

        "Just like drinkin'?"

        You nodded.

        "Good to know. If we don't finish this off we can bring it back for ya."

        You nodded and grinned. It was cute how happy you got over a simple drink, but he guessed with so little means of communication, anything was nice to take the edge off. He wondered if you felt lonely, like he often did. His was from a place of feeling misunderstood, though. Maybe it wasn't so different than being mute.

        "Is it hard?" He asked, taking a seat in the rocking chair as you sat on the coffee table just a foot away.

        You tilted your head inquisitively.

        "I mean, not bein' able to talk to nobody." He clarified.

        You nodded truthfully, looking down at the floor as you grabbed the bottle from him. 

        "Do ya remember what your voice sounds like?"

        You thought for a moment. Of course you did, that was what made it so hard. Your voice was linked to memories that you couldn't bare.

        You nodded.

        "Maybe I'll hear it one day."

        You smiled sweetly before you took a swig and passed the bottle back, nodding. Maybe he would.

        "Something on the bottle caught your eye, a little sticker stuck to the bottom. You reached over and peeled it off as he tipped it back to take a drink. It was a simple yellow smiley face. You smirked and waited for him to put the bottle down before you reached over and stuck it to his nose.

        "The hell?" He grumbled, peeling it off and looking down at it. You couldn't help the silent giggle, your shoulders rising and falling as you scrunched your nose. The little sticker just contrasted his dark, serious exterior too well.

        He noticed your silent laugh and stuck it back to his nose, smiling a little at your amusement. You reached for the bottle and had some more before you passed it back.

        "Y'think that's funny, huh?"

        You nodded, still grinning. He swished the drink around in his hand, staring at it thoughtfully. He had learned more about you in a couple of hours than anyone probably had in the years you'd been around. Still, it wasn't enough. He was greedy and he wanted more.

        He glanced around the room, the fire growing smaller making it fairly dim. He noticed a little banjo off in the corner near the couch.

        "Ya like music?"

        You nodded.

        "Rick, too. Always playin' the worst CDs he can find. Makes my ears bleed." He complained. "What about like.. drawin' or anything. Got any hobbies?"

        You shrugged. Before, you mostly just liked being a mom and watching your favorite shows. Now, you really only worked to survive, so what hobbies were there really?

        "What about church? You like that kinda thing?"

        You shook your head.

        "Yeah me neither. Never believed in it much."

        You nodded in agreement.

        "My mom did, though. Liked to read the bible. She died. When I was a kid."

        You placed a hand on his knee, letting him know you empathized.

        "Yeah. Dad was a real ass, too. Merle was all I had and he wasn't around all that much."

        You gave a sad, thin smile.

        "What about you? You had both parents?"

        You nodded.

        "Brothers? Sisters?"

        You shook your head. You were an only child.

        "Consider yourself lucky." He joked. You nodded. "Pets? Did ya have any?"

        You nodded.

        "Cat?" 

        You shook your head.

        "Dog?"

        You held up the number two with your fingers.

        "Always wanted a dog."

        You smiled. You loved your dogs.

        "Ya miss 'em? The dogs."

        You nodded.

        He yawned.

        "Ya tired yet or ya wanna keep goin'?"

        You shrugged.

        He passed you the bottle and stood up, ruffling your hair a little. You swatted his hand playfully and took a drink.

        "Gon' make sure the doors are sealed up tight." He announced, walking off to find the back door and reinforce it.

        You stood off the coffee table, the hard surface making your butt sore. You stretched and walked back to the couch. When he came back he asked, "You sleepin' there?"

        You nodded. You would offer it to him, but last time you guys had to share a sleep space he hogged the bed and snored as loud as humanly possible, so this time you were doing him no favors. He laid out some blankets he found, making a nice palette on the floor to lay on. You set the bottle on the coffee table, feeling pretty tipsy by now, and relaxed on the couch the way you had before. He laid down on his back, propping his bag under his head for comfort.

        It was silent for a while, just the two of you enjoying the sounds of rain and the flames that were slowly dying down.

        "Thanks." He spoke up. You peeked down at him from the couch. He was mostly obscured by the coffee table but you could see half of his face.  "For tellin' me all that."

        You just smiled to yourself as you turned on your side, facing away from him and curling up into the ball you usually slept in. A few minutes went by. Just  as his eyes got heavy, he heard it.

        "(Y/N)." You said. "That's my name."

[theseraphimficwriter]

poor!soap x boss!reader

warnings . a bad interpretation of soap’s scottish accent, i do not know how :(

contents . soap tries to find a job and ends up finding the perfect one !

poor!soap, who was new to the city—searching for a job to provide for his family back in the provinces. he has asked his friends—the 141—for advice on where to look for a decent job, and they all answered the same; “the city.” so, of course, johnny wanted to see if what they said was true.

poor!soap, who finds the perfect job—being a maid. he expected a very strict boss, an old man who wanted everything to be squeaky clean once he’s home. but johnny was so wrong. once he got the job, he raised an eyebrow as he saw you—claiming to be his boss. huh? a fine lass like you? “erm, ma’am, are you sure you ain’t the boss’ daughter?” he asked, watching in disbelief as you chuckled, “no, i’m your boss.”

poor!soap, who was overflowing with joy when he finally thinks of the pros of having a boss like you, pretty with hair that flows perfectly, a skin color that matches your beauty, he really hit the jackpot. he gets to see your face everyday at work, he gets to serve you, who’s talking about a perfect job? as expected, soap went all out on his first day—being nice to you, being so obedient, maybe even to an extent where you found him intriguing—so hardworking.

poor!soap, who shares his experience with the 141 on his day off, talking about how beautiful his boss is. “you lads won’t even believe it, my boss’ a looker,” he shares with his friends, smiling like a maniac at his phone—that was newly bought. “really? well i wish to see her soon,” kyle would mutter, noticing the smile on johnny’s face. “you like her?” ghost asked, his deep voice rumbling through the phone. hold on, did johnny like you? ....couldn’t be.

poor!soap, who doesn’t realize the way you treat him nicer than all of his other coworkers, the way you give him a subtle higher paycheck—not really that subtle, a couple thousand is noticeable. maybe it was because he looked so determined in pleasing you, working so hard, being the perfect maid, who knows. the way johnny’s face lit up when he saw the money you paid him was satisfying, almost euphoric, maybe you had a little something for your employee?

poor!soap, who gets teased by his friends when he doesn’t notice that you’re practically favoring him above his other coworkers, the higher paycheck, the way you treat him nicer, the way you look at him, it all pointed to one thing, and one thing only—you liked your new employee too much.

poor!soap, who doesn’t know what to say when you ask him to accompany you to a restaurant. do maids even accompany their boss to public areas? he thought that the bodyguards did that. but what he wasn’t expecting was a full on restaurant—with nobody inside. johnny was sure that this particular restaurant was popular, though. hesitantly, he followed you inside, sensing the obvious romantic atmosphere around the entire place. “you meetin’ with someone, boss?” johnny would ask, earning a chuckle from you. “mhm,” you reply, leading him to one table that had a big window next to it, seeing the bright streets outside, with two chairs. “so, when will they get here?” he mumbles naively. “they’re already here.” you hum, sitting down on one chair, then gesturing to the other. “come, sit down.” you would smile up at him.

poor!soap, who will definitely enjoy working for you for the next couple of years—maybe forever if you’re up for it.

[bless-my-demons]

Redamancy: Chapter Twenty-Five

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: None

Notes: Holy shit I’m back and boyyyyy does it feel good! I missed you guys and I can’t thank you enough for the love and support🥹 Jasper and Reader need to go through this icky before getting back to normal and going through the craziness of Eclipse. This made me fuzzy on the inside to write because it’s healing this shit Bella and Edward never went through but needed to lol

Word Count: 2125

Series Masterlist

• March 24th, 2006 • Forks HS •

Reader

Two days.

Forty-eight hours since I told Jasper Hale I needed time, space. Insane, really. Insane that even though he’s gravity, he’s in every thought scrolling through my brain, I asked him for the very thing my heart abhors. The very thing my brain needs.

It’s exhausting, my rational brain warring with my irrational heart. He’s here, he’s home, I just need to soak up every second. But on the other hand… for how long? We still have the same issue - my humanity and his control.

My hand shuts my locker door not-so-softly and I stare at my fingers on the cold metal. They could be touching cold skin instead- fuck, this stupid beating organ in my chest.

Frustration drives me to dig my phone out of my pocket as the bell for fourth period rings, the hallway behind me emptying out quickly.

He answers on the second ring and relief loosens the knot in my chest fractionally.

“Hey girly, what’s up?” Quil’s chipper tone brings a grin to the corner of my lips.

“Kidnap me? Please?”

He must hear the desperation in my voice, since he agrees immediately. “Absolutely, I’ll be there in twenty.” A shout of protest echoes in the background and he apologizes quickly, he was in class I can’t just ask him to- “Lunch?” He asks, jogging now by the puffs of his breath.

“Quil, that's a thirty minute drive-” I protest, worried.

“And you need rescuing, figure out what you want for lunch.” He ends the call abruptly as the squeaky door to his junky old car opens.

Sighing at my phone, I pocket it and turn towards my next class. I can survive until he gets here, right? I’ve been climbing the walls for the last two days, the object of my thoughts noticeably absent from school.

That’s a good thing, right? He’s doing what I asked, allowing me the space I need to think clearly, without his persuasion.

When in all actuality, I can’t help but feel like the walls are shrinking.

He’s here, he’s home, he said he wasn’t going anywhere, his family is still here.

The affirmations trickle over my buzzing skin.

I saw Alice in second period. Emmett is sitting behind my empty seat in Trig - I just have to walk through the door.

How the fuck am I going to move forward, to figure out a solution with Jasper, if I’m also trying to tackle their abandonment?

I might as well be trying to move forward through mud - thick, dark, and fucking everywhere.

My phone vibrates about fifteen minutes before the end of class, I don’t dare pull it out of my pocket to confirm that it’s Quil.

My hand raises and immediately catches Mr. Varner’s gaze in the quiet classroom, “Yes, miss Y/l/n?”

“May I run to the bathroom, please?” I ask, trying to keep the sudden impatience out of my voice.

His nod is all I need to pack away my items quickly, behind me I hear the groan of the desk supporting the hulking frame of my other best friend.

“Y/n, what are you-” Emmett’s hushed whisper makes my pulse jump.

“I’ll be safe, promise.” I whisper back and practically run for the door.

A chair squeaks and Mr. Varner calls out, “Mister Cullen, she does not require assistance finding the ladies room, sit down.”

I flash him an apologetic smile as he slowly retakes his seat before I push the door open. I feel horrible, but I need the freedom waiting for me in the student parking lot.

Sprinting through the exterior double doors, a full-on smile overtakes my face as Quil leans over the center console to open the passenger door, “Hop in, loser!”

Sitting in the parking lot facing First Beach with the windows rolled down, munching on cheap burgers and fries, I feel like I can finally take a deep breath.

“Okay,” setting down his shake to begin his interrogation, I brace. “Not that playing hookie isn’t the best idea ever to kick off the weekend, but what’s wrong?”

“He’s back.” I stare at the last few bites of my burger as I set it down in my lap, the paper crinkling loudly.

“He as in-”

“Jasper.”

“Oookaaay,” he draws out the vowels, not really following the obvious dilemma. “You wanted him to come back, right? I mean, you were a fucking mess the last six months.”

“Yes I wanted him to come back! I just-” I hesitate, “I just don’t know how to feel about it.”

“If my boyfriend-” I level a look on him that he ignores, “He’s yours, hook, line, and sinker - c’mon. If my boyfriend up and abandoned me, and I hadn’t gotten over it in six fucking months, suddenly is back in my life, what’s there to feel other than relief? A reprieve from what you’ve been feeling without him?”

“Since when do you know-”

“Stop deflecting, I’m here to solve this shit because my best friend needs help.” He’s munching on fries like this is goddamn entertainment. “Answer. Now.” This fucking fucker.

“Fine.” I puff out a breath and stare at the waves. “We’re still in the same situation he left me in-”

“The situation you won’t tell me about?”

“Yes.” The exasperation in my tone brokers no room for argument on the subject, so I move on. “I feel like the rug is going to be yanked out from underneath me because of it. There’s no way, over or through this mountain, it’ll always be there.”

“Mountains wither over time; if creeks can be persistent enough to become rivers, then so can you. I don’t know what this mountain looks like, but have you ever asked him for help to explore it? To find a path in the trees one step at a time?”

I look at him, gobsmacked. He makes it sound so easy.

“Don’t look at me like that, I may not have experience, but I can tell you what I feel like is right. And it feels right to just talk to him. I can tell you what to do all day until I’m blue in the face, but only he can reassure you in ways no one else can.” The empathy in his face makes my eyes sting, fuck he’s right.

“You are a treasure, you know that Quil Ateara?” I give him a sad smile trying to reign in my stupid tears, reaching for his hand.

He gives it to me and squeezes, “Of course,” he says it like it’s as obvious as grass being green. “And someday I’ll be as wrecked about a girl and you can regurgitate this shit back to me.” His shit-eating grin contains a little mustard in the corner and I bust out laughing.

“Ancestors help her, she’ll have to put up with a lot when it comes to you.” I tease and he winks.

“I’m nothing but a hoot, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Cranking his museum piece of a car, he turns it in the direction of his house and we leave today’s worries in the sand to be washed away with the tide.

•March 24th, 2006 • Forks Community Hospital•

Jasper

The swish of the automatic front doors of the hospital snap me from the thoughts pinging around in my brain. The cold crystal in my hand gathering condensation brings me back to my mission.

Striding down the familiar hallway that contains Carlisle’s office, I stop at the door displaying his name. Peeking inside to confirm my hearing, my adoptive father is definitely absent from his worn leather chair. No matter, procrastination won’t win me anything.

Continuing down the hallway, my steps are nearly silent as the nurse’s station comes into view with the object of my mission sitting alone behind a massive monitor.

“It’s after visitation hours, you��ll have to come back-” She finally raises her eyes and her sentence peters off quietly, “tomorrow-Jasper?”

Y/n’s mother stands from her chair as she registers my face, eyes falling to the bouquet of flowers set in one of Esme’s many crystal vases.

“Take this one, she’ll know you mean business.” Esme deposited the vase on the kitchen counter in front of me this morning while I was lost in thought on how to talk to Y/n’s mom. Apparently flowers are still the way women prefer their apologies.

“Y/n is still at the Reservation-” She starts, assuming it’s her daughter the flowers are for.

“I know.” Placing the arrangement Rosalie helped me with on the counter, I turn my supernatural gift inward and mellow out my nerves. “These are for you, ma’am.”

“Oh.” Surprise fills the air as her speechlessness pulses for a few seconds, the beeping of heart rate monitors echo around us. “You didn’t have to-” Gasping, her eyes narrow when they meet mine, weariness floods her senses. “You’re not asking-”

I chuckle, knowing what this looks like, “No ma’am, I’m here to apologize.”

Nerves fill my throat in an unfamiliar sensation for a reason not related to this apology, she thought I was asking to marry her daughter.

I store that thought away in the recesses of my mind, I can’t even begin to fall down that rabbit hole of complication.

“I’m not the one who needs an apology.” Her tone is soft as she plucks at a deep red rose petal.

“Your daughter will get an apology from me for the rest of my life, if she chooses to let me continue to be in hers.” That grabs her attention again. “You deserve one too, you were with her when I wasn’t and it put an immense amount of unwarranted stress on you both. I hope you accept my sincerest apology, even if you decide I’m not worth your good graces.” I take a deep breath and speak from the heart with my next words. “In September I was given a challenge that I failed and it rocked my world in a way I’m not even sure I know how to handle even now. I thought that if I simply removed myself, she could continue on like she had before we met. I know now… I know now that was not the answer and it never will be.”

I notice her eyes begin to turn a little misty as she processes my words and it wrenches a little something in my chest, I didn’t want to make her mom cry.

“She makes me want to be better, do better.” I glance at the empty hallway, quiet this late in the afternoon. “I want to be someone she’s proud of, someone worthy of her, no matter how hard it is. I want you to be able to trust me with her, which is why it was important to tell you how sorry I am.”

After a moment of surveying my face, pure joy radiates from her pores as she rounds the end of the desk to face me fully.

“Of course I accept your apology,” she envelops me in what would be a bone crushing hug, “thank you.”

Relief courses through me as we separate, glad I decided to do this.

“I appreciate your apology and these gorgeous flowers,” she rubs my shoulder in such a soothing mom-manner before leveling me with a no-kidding look. “Whatever my daughter decides, goes.”

“Absolutely,” completely serious, “I am at her mercy and if she wants nothing to do with me, I’ll respect that.”

“I knew you were a good one.” She winks at me before returning to her seat with a smile. “Your dad should be finished with afternoon rounds, now that you got the hard part of your visit over.”

“It’s never hard, talking to a pretty lady.” Now it’s my turn to wink, she responds with a genuine laugh that makes me smile.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mister Hale.” I take my leave as she resumes her typing.

Navigating back to my father’s office, I drop myself with relief into the chair in front of his immaculate desk.

“I’m pleased that went well, you did good.” He doesn’t even glance up at me, but the smile and his emotions oozing happiness tell me I did something right for once.

“One down, one to go.” I lean my head back in the chair and close my eyes, allowing myself to feel the relief of winning her mother over again.

“One down, one to go.” He repeats back, his smile evident in his voice.

I needed this win. I needed to succeed at something with this balled up mess in my chest.

Now I just need her.

Next

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