#and the one person whos had your back through a lot of it is now

[spiderb00bs]

- YOU'RE MINE

Cairo Sweet x (g!p) reader  (request)

“You were Cairo's new obsession, and even if you didn't know it, you were already hers” 

Genre – smut    Warnings –  daddy kink, reader is three years older than cairo  MDI

Now playing – MUSTANG BABY, by Nessa Barrett Ft. ARTEMAS 

You were never very attached to material things, the moments you kept in your mind being much more important than any material possession you might own. That said, it wasn't too difficult for you to get rid of most of your things in order to move to a quieter place.  

Moving from New York to the suburbs of Tennessee was a rather drastic change for you, but after your grandmother passed away, you thought it was the best decision you could make right now. You never had cousins, your mother was an only child and you had no siblings, and as much as your mother was out there somewhere on the globe, it still came as a surprise when you received a call saying that your grandmother had left her old house to you in her will.   

Your family had always been cold, never showing much love, and you knew that part of it was because they were such a stingy family, and all they cared about was money. But with your grandmother, things were always different. Your grandma was the only person in that family who made you feel loved, and even though you grew up a bit away from her, you always seemed to be connected, and you loved that feeling.   

Getting out of your truck, you looked around, it wasn't bad, but it wasn't a housing estate either. At one point it was quiet, but if you looked a little closer it seemed almost weird. You could see a house right in front of your grandmother's old house, but it was the only one. You wondered if anyone lived there, your grandmother had never complained about neighbors, so you hoped you wouldn't have a problem with that either.   

The barking of Robin, your dog, brought you back to the real world, you smiled at him, stroking his ears, before taking one of the boxes out of the back of your truck. You used to have a room to yourself in your grandmother's house, and you knew it was still intact, and since this move wasn't final, you thought the usual small room might be more than enough for you.   

Holding the box with your left arm, you took the door keys out of your pocket, hearing Robin's bark echoing through the trees. Looking back, you saw him chasing a butterfly. Laughing, you shook your hair slightly, hoping that the neighbors next door wouldn't mind your dog's antics.  

 Your grandmother's old television was still working fine, and the sofa was very comfortable for the amount of time it was supposed to be used, but everything worked very well. You wouldn't say you were adapted to everything, but you certainly weren't uncomfortable with the idea of spending a few months here. The night had fallen nicely, the breeze was a bit chilly, but the heaters did a good job of warming you up, everything there had a lot of potential. You knew you'd have a lot of work to do, starting tomorrow, but you were happy to put a bit of manual work on your agenda and renovate your grandmother's old house.   

With a sigh, you got up from the sofa, snapping your back and picking up the empty beer bottle from the coffee table. The moment you stood up, Robin's ears mirrored your movement, the dog paying close attention to your next move, and if you said the right words, he'd get up in a hurry.   

“All right buddy, do you want to go outside for a bit before you go to bed?” Bingo.   

Rising in a leap, the dog hurried to the front door, waiting for you to open it so he could relieve himself before getting a very good night's sleep.   

“All right, don't go too far.” You said, causing the dog to lunge when you opened the door.   

Leaning against the doorframe, you took a closer look at your surroundings, the night painting the trees a darker shade, and you've watched enough horror movies to know that it shouldn't be 100% safe. It could just be your head playing tricks on you, but you could swear you felt eyes watching your every move. Deciding it was better to be safe than sorry, you leaned a little further out of the house, ready to send Robin in.   

“ROBIN, COME ON BOY!” You shouted, expecting him to come to you as he always did.  

Your answer was only the swaying of the trees, and as much as you knew that your dog was always distracted by sticks, you also knew that he never neglected your call.  

“ROBIN, HERE!” You shouted again, still without an answer.   

Ready to go after the dog, you grabbed your house keys, closing the door and preparing to go down the stairs in front of the small porch, but something in the darkness made you freeze for a minute. A small being moved among the bushes and trees, and you could only wonder who was walking through the forest so late at night.   

The relief you felt when you saw Robin next to the shadow was fleeting, you were happy to see the dog, but who the hell was that creature?  

“Can I help you?” You asked, discreetly signaling to Robin, causing the dog to come running to your side.   

“You must be the new neighbor...”   

Coming out of the shadows, the figure you demonized so much was actually a girl, not a child, more like a teenager? Maybe a young woman? She looked small, certainly much shorter and a little younger than you. Her hair was beautiful and cascaded over her shoulders, and even though she wasn't that close to you, you could still notice the mesmerizing eyes she had. What was she doing alone in the middle of the woods?   

“I'm Cairo, Cairo Sweet.” The woman said, coming closer and positioning herself comfortably on the railing of the porch steps, just four steps from where you were standing. “I live here in front.”   

Sighing, you felt all the tension disappear from your shoulders, she was just your neighbor, she wasn't going to hurt you.   

“Sorry, it's just that you scared me a bit.” You said, laughing slightly, making Cairo mirror your actions. “I'm Yn.”  

“It's nice to meet you, Yn. I saw a new car arriving yesterday and I was curious.” Cairo said, the way she looked at you made you feel strange, it was almost as if she wanted to see through you. “And then I saw this little guy while I was out here and I connected the dots.”   

“It was a last-minute decision, my grandmother lived here.” You said, trying not to give away too many details about this teenager you'd just met.   

“I saw her on the porch sometimes, but she was very private. I'm sorry about what happened.” Cairo said, climbing a step closer to you, her right hand slowly climbing the railing, her head tilted to the left. All you wanted to know was why she was looking at you like that?   

“It's okay, I have good memories of her.” You said, discreetly swaying your body as you tried to regain that same distance between you and Cairo.   

“So, you're in high school?” Her eyes could really hypnotize someone, they were the most beautiful shade of brown you'd ever seen.  

“College.”   

“You look like a mathematician.”   

“Music.”   

“I should know, you musicians are all beautiful.” Cairo said with a smile on her face, which I'm sure she tried to hide by turning her head away.  

Looking towards her house, Cairo descended the step she had climbed, taking one last look at you.  

“Good night, music girl.” 

Unable to say a word, you just waved, making Cairo laugh - probably at your weirdness - and turn around again before disappearing into the mansion where she lived.   

“Why the hell did I talk so much?” You asked, looking at Robin.  

I mean, you didn't want to talk about your college, you didn't even want her to come up the steps of your house. She was beautiful, her eyes were beautiful, she asked if you were at school? How old is that girl? You certainly said more than you should have. 

The sun seemed to be hotter than ever, making a layer of sweat cover your body, it was almost as if the water you drank had no effect on cooling you down. Putting the hammer down and picking up the saw, you cut out the piece of wood you would use to replace the old furniture, taking care not to get the measurements wrong.   

“I didn't know musicians also took carpentry classes at college.”  

The startle of a new voice in the quiet surroundings made you jump, sending a shiver through your body hair as you almost let the saw slip through your fingers. Turning around, you saw Cairo standing in front of the stairs, sunglasses covering her pretty eyes, the girl was wearing a denim jacket with a white blouse underneath, her skirt went down to her mid-thighs, while a pair of socks hugged the rest of her legs.   

“Do you always walk in quietly?” You asked, examining your hand to make sure everything was in place.   

Laughing at your question, Cairo repeated the movement she made last night, climbing a step and tilting her head to look at what you were doing. You couldn't see the look on her face, but if you could see through the glasses, you might be uncomfortable.   

At first, Cairo even looked at all the tools lying around, but that led her to look at your hands, which were dirty and had some veins protruding from them. The veins ran up your arms, which were bare, as you were wearing a white T-shirt. Cairo continued to look up, checking out your muscles, seeing how your biceps showed when you made the slightest effort, and how your shoulders were tense, perhaps still from the fright.   

“It's a very good skill.” Cairo said, smiling at you. That smile made it seem as if you didn't know many things, as if you were a layman, as if she knew something that you would never, not in a million years.   

“So, you were in the woods again?” You asked, hoping Cairo wouldn't notice the sarcastic tone you used.   

“Actually, I have to go to class.”   

 “College?” You asked, taking the hammer from the toolbox.   

“Senior year of high school.” Cairo said, putting his right foot on the second step.   

“Holy shit! How old are you? Seventeen?” You asked, a playful tone in your speech. If you had been more attentive, you would have seen Cairo take her foot off the second step.   

“Eighteen.”   

Cairo's serious tone caught your attention, making you turn your body completely towards her.  

“Got it.”   

“How old are you?” Cairo crossed her arms as she climbed - now with both feet - onto the second step, it was almost as if she was daring you to say your age.   

“Twenty-one.”   

Giving you a smile, Cairo looked at you over her glasses, giving you a glimpse of that look that had stuck in your mind.   

“Bye, Yn.”   

Watching the girl disappear into the forest, you became more intrigued. Why was this girl so enigmatic to you? What did she mean by all those questions? With all her cool-girl looks? She's just a teenager, maybe a young woman?   

Why was she able to get into your head so much? 

It had been almost a week since you and Cairo had last spoken, your schedules didn't seem to match up and you were always too busy renovating the house. You hadn't seen Cairo since that day, but Cairo couldn't say the same about you.  

Sitting at the window, the brown-haired girl watched you, she had just seen you arrive with new things in the back of your truck, T-shirt and jeans dirty from the heavy work you did alone. Cairo already knew that your next steps would be straight to the bathroom. It was as if she already knew your whole routine, it was as if she was slowly getting into your routine, but still too far away to share her knowledge with you.  

The Sweet girl's body warmed up, watching you take your shirt off, unbuckle your old belt and pull down your pants in one swift movement. The muscles in the right places, your breasts trapped in the bra, the way your boxer shorts fit perfectly to your body, the way she could see the outline of your cock, your round ass held up by the fabric, your thick legs, everything made Cairo want to jump out of the window and fall on top of you.    

Desire and libido surged through the girl's body faster than the speed of light, sending heat to the middle of the Sweet girl's legs, who watched your every move as you rubbed your thighs together. Unfortunately for Cairo, you went into the bathroom before taking off all your clothes, but that didn't stop the girl from imagining whatever she wanted with you.   

“Baby, are you coming to join me?” Your voice echoed off the walls of her mind, the noise of the shower loud in her ears, and Cairo could swear she could smell the soap. 

“I was waiting for you to ask me.”   

Walking to the bathroom, Cairo leaned against the doorframe, admiring your silhouette through the blurry shower. Taking off her clothes piece by piece without wasting any time, the brunette approached the glass, opening the door and finding herself facing your back.   

Moving closer to you, Cairo began distributing kisses under your shoulder blades, her hands running from your breasts down your abdomen and reaching what she so desperately wanted. You moaned as Cairo's hands reached your cock, the sensation of her movements making you slightly dizzy. 

Cairo's eyes watched you, her head tilted slightly to the right, allowing her to see a little of your side profile. Accelerating the movement of her hand, Cairo saw you throw your head forward, resting it against the bathroom tiles. The moan you let out sent a shiver through Cairo's body, she loved that you had that reaction to her touch, that only she could make you feel that way, that only she had you in her hands, that only she had you. 

Cairo had learned all about your behavior, how your body reacted to everything, and she could tell with conviction how close to cumming you were. You kept one hand on the wall in front of you, while the other rested comfortably around Cairo's wrist. Your moans echoed off the bathroom walls, the brunette behind you could feel your cock throbbing in her hand.   

The sound of your car driving off made Cairo open her eyes, quickly removing her hand from between her legs and looking out of the window at your car, which was now driving off down the dirt road.   

Sighing, Cairo got up from her window seat and walked over to the bed before throwing herself down. It wasn't the first time Cairo had had such thoughts about you, and she was sure it wouldn't be the last. But she was even more certain that the “waking dream” she had been having would come true. You were hers, and even if you couldn't see it, she would make you see it.   

The doorbell rang throughout the large house. Outside, Cairo waited patiently for you to answer it. The girl had two cups of coffee with her and she was hoping to spend some time with you, ready to put her plan into action by moving up another stage with you.   

Unfortunately for Cairo, she didn't recognize who opened the door. She certainly didn't recognize the blonde hair, or the delicate hands that gripped the handle, or the blue eyes, or the short stature. Who was that woman?  

“Hi, what can I do for you?” Her hair was slightly messy, she looked like she'd just woken up and she was wearing a shirt that was clearly too big for her.   

Cairo could count, and she definitely knew that 2 + 2 = 4.  

“Is Yn here?”   

“She's kind of busy right now...”   

“I bet she is...” Cairo said, leaving an uncomfortable silence in the air as she analyzed the woman in front of her.   

“Do you want me to say something to her?” The blonde asked. Her voice made Cairo want to vomit.  

“No.”   

Descending the steps, Cairo disappeared into the woods, leaving the slightly confused woman at the door. Cairo didn't care, she didn't even look back, whatever this woman was doing to you had to end now. Immediately! 

Sitting on the front steps, you sipped your beer while watching the sunset. With no plans for today, you had decided to just relax while you let Robin run wild. Things had been quiet since you'd moved in, it was almost a month and if you'd known how quiet the small town was, you would have moved in sooner.  

Hearing footsteps in the silence, you saw Cairo approaching, the girl coming out of the vast woods, as always, walking slowly along the strange paths she made a point of following. It had been a while since you'd seen the girl, you'd never met, unlike before when she'd practically come to your door. It was almost as if she was avoiding you, but why would she do that?  

“Do you always choose the strangest paths?” You asked, looking at the girl before taking another sip of your beer.   

“I like walking through the woods, it's exciting.” Cairo replied, approaching you with a slight smile on her face. She seemed happy to see you, or maybe she was just having a good day.   

“You've been kind of missing, haven't you?” Cairo approached the steps.  

“Why? Did you miss me?” A teasing smile appeared on her face as she climbed the first step.   

“I just thought it was strange that you'd disappeared. Anne had told me that a girl knocked on the door the other day, and I knew it was you.” You said, your head tilting slightly upwards to look into Cairo's eyes.   

“Anne? So that's her name?” Cairo asked, climbing the second step and taking the small backpack she was carrying off her back.   

“Annlynn. I met her at the market, she's a nice girl.” You said, taking another sip of your beer while trying to hide your smile as you spoke of the blonde girl. “Very bossy at times, but nice.”   

“Are you two dating?” Cairo asked, climbing the third step as she grabbed the beer from your hand and took a long sip.   

“Hey! You can't drink.” You said, trying to take your beer from her hand, only to receive a slap on the hand and a giggle from Cairo.   

“Don't be a party pooper. I bet you drank when you were a teenager.” Cairo said, finally reaching the fourth step and sitting down next to you.   

“No, I didn't.” You said, looking at Cairo who was staring at you as if he doubted what you had just said.   

You stared back at her, trying to be as serious as possible while the girl tried to get the truth out of you with her eyes. Those beautiful eyes.  

Faced with that situation, you found yourself laughing, making Cairo join you. It was obvious that it was a lie, but there was something about sharing it with Cairo that made you feel lighter, something you couldn't quite identify.  

“Okay, fine, maybe I drank once or twice when I was a teenager.” Laughing, Cairo bumped you with her elbow.  

“I knew it, I know you're not a saint.”   

Smiling at her, you nodded, looking towards the trees as you thought about how troubled your adolescence had been. “No one is a saint. And anyone who says they are is certainly lying.”   

Feeling Cairo look deeply at your profile, you turned your head towards the girl. Her eyes looked at you as if they could see into your soul, deep and questioning, it was as if she wanted to know everything you were thinking.  

“You have a beautiful head.” The silence of the night began to echo louder, as the sun gave way to the moon, which grew larger and larger.   

“No one has ever said that to me.” You answered jokingly, but Cairo's eyes quickly told her you were serious.   

“You don't have to do that all the time. It was a real compliment, I like how your mind works.”  

You were never very good at receiving compliments, your family was never very good at giving compliments. But you tried to cover it up most of the time. But with Cairo, it didn't work, she seemed to know you more than you knew yourself, she seemed to have the power to read your mind. Maybe she had opened your brain while you were asleep and sewn it back together before you woke up, because that was the only explanation for her being able to get so far into your head.  

“You're a smart girl, Cairo.” You say, making the girl come closer to you, your thighs touching, and as sudden as the closeness was, you didn't want to move away, you didn't move away.   

“Is that how you see me? As a girl?” Looking straight into your eyes, Cairo hypnotized you. She had managed to leave you speechless with a simple question. And as much as you thought the answer was also simple, your mind was screaming questions and the different meanings that question could have.  

“How should I see you?” Your faces were close together, Cairo's eyes seemed to scrutinize every feature of your face, while you did the same with hers. The silence was no longer so reassuring, in fact, now the silence reminded you that it was just you and Cairo there, no one else was around and that gave you a strange feeling in your chest.  

“You'll find out.” With a smile, Cairo took another sip of your beer, handing the empty bottle back to you as she got up and started walking to her house.   

With a sigh, you looked at the empty bottle, succumbing to the urge to put your lips to the bottleneck just to seal what Cairo had already sealed. “Good night.”  

Without looking back, Cairo continued walking. And as much as you didn't want to, all you could do was notice how her ass looked in that black dress. “Dream with me, Cowboy.”   

“Cowboy?” you questioned.   

Looking back for the first time, Cairo smiled. You hated that irritatingly beautiful smile, it was as if she knew something you didn't yet know, but that she was dying to tell you.   

“Like I said, you'll find out.” 

Things seemed to be going well for you, you and Anne were still trying to do something – which neither of you classified as a relationship – legal, the house was getting more beautiful every day, and your friendship with Cairo seemed to blossom a little more every day.  

Cairo intrigued you, how smart she was, how she could make you open up effortlessly, how she had much more emotional intelligence than many adults you've ever met. Sometimes you would even joke, asking her if she had ever managed to manipulate a bearded adult, she never answered, only casting a look that pierced your soul. 

The nights went by faster now, and the days were nicer. With all your routine, you still found time to talk to Cairo about random things, and even though she was almost always quite cryptic, you enjoyed the time you spent together. You'd never admit it out loud, but at times you found yourself genuinely attracted to Cairo, fooled by all the beautiful and mysterious words that came out of her mouth.  

Every night was surprising, and it was never different. Just like every other night, you heard the doorbell ringing through the walls of the large, newly refurbished house. Getting up from the armchair in the living room, you shouted that you were coming, opening the door immediately only to see Cairo standing there in a white dress.  

“I didn't see Robin running through the trees, so I decided to check if everything was all right.” Cairo said as soon as the door opened. You still didn't know what it was, but there was certainly something different about the look in her eyes.   

Scratching the back of your neck, you looked into the house, making Cairo follow your gaze, only for her to see the dog lying on the carpet near the stairs leading upstairs. “I took him into town today, he's pretty tired.”   

“So that means you're not going out either?” Cairo asked, her gaze almost begging you to give her some of your attention.   

You and Cairo used to talk casually in front of the door, sitting on the fourth step from the front of the house. You had never invited Cairo in, but Cairo had invited you to her house, which you refused because you always had something to do.   

“No, I'm sorry.” Ready to convince you, Cairo didn't have time to open her mouth, your voice spoke over it. “But you can come in if you want.”  

Cairo's eyes sparkled, almost as if she were a child in a candy store. Unable to contain the smile that escaped, Cairo nodded positively, making you step aside, giving her the space to enter.  

Your house was beautiful, cozy, Cairo looked at every detail as if she were in love. She didn't know what your grandmother's house had looked like before, but she knew you had done a good job. The large bookcase in the living room was definitely what caught the Sweet girl's eye, and in that minute she thought about what it would be like if she lived there with you.   

Waking up every morning next to you, wrapped up in you, the sheets falling to her hips, exposing her naked body from the previous night's activities. Her waking up to your kisses on her neck and your hands massaging her breasts, making her moan sleepily. Your mouth between her legs would be your breakfast, and then after she'd finished, she'd go to the kitchen to prepare coffee for you so you could fuck her while she tried not to burn the pancakes.   

She imagines herself complaining to you about the noise you're making putting together the crib for your baby while she's trying to write the sequel to the book she'd released before she got pregnant. It was perfect.   

“Cairo!” You called out, rousing the girl from the trance she had fallen into. “ Is everything all right in there? I've been calling you for a few minutes.” You said, walking into the kitchen, Cairo sitting on the sofa. 

“Yes, I'm just admiring the books, sorry.” Cairo said, seeing you come back with two glasses of wine in your hands.  

“Oh, that's fine. Some of them were my grandmother's, others I brought with me.” You said, sitting down next to her and handing the glass of wine to the brunette.   

Taking a sip of the wine, Cairo groaned at the taste, having never tasted anything so good. “Wow, this is good.”  

“Really? I don't know much about wine. Anne gave me the bottle last time she was here.”  

Despite not wanting to hear Anne's name, Cairo took your comment in stride, at least it was her you were drinking that expensive wine with, and not that dumb blonde.   

“Does she still come here?” Cairo knew the answer, she saw you and Anne through the window constantly, having to put up with every moan the blonde let out just so she could watch you fuck her.   

“Sometimes, I mean, she's nice.” You reply, taking a sip of your wine.  

“I bet she is.” Cairo says, using a sarcastic tone that passes you by. “I bet you have some very interesting conversations with her.” Bringing the glass up to her lips, Cairo looks at you over the glass object.   

“Talking isn't on the list of things we do...” You say embarrassedly, Cairo could tell how embarrassed you were to talk about the blonde. “I try, but she never wants to spend more time than necessary, if you know what I mean.”   

Looking at you, Cairo tilts her head to the left, making you look into her eyes. You didn't understand how, but every time she did this you got a little lost, her eyes were a window that pulled you out of your zone, every time.  

“Maybe she's not the right girl for you.” Cairo says, her eyes were mesmerizing, and still conveyed that same enigmatic sparkle as when she first appeared on your doorstep. “Maybe you're looking in the wrong place.”   

But there was something else, her eyes shone in a bigger way today, almost as if her pupils were all her eyes had. Leaving the cup on the table, Cairo moved closer to you on the sofa, taking your hand in hers.  

“Don't you think someone else might be waiting for you, Yn?”  

You couldn't answer, completely mesmerized by the way Cairo spoke, how she moved, how the tone of her voice danced in your ears. Was it the beer? The wine you're drinking, why did Cairo's mouth look so beautiful from your view?  

It was always like that with Cairo, everything was an enigma, a mystery, the way she spoke, the way she walked, her touch, and the way your mouth was simply stuck to hers now, everything was a mystery.   

Cairo was a witch, that's what your mind was screaming, because that was the only explanation why your mouth was now on the Sweet girl's. Your lips were moving in sync with hers, her hands were tangled in your hair, her perfume was making you dizzy, and it felt like you were falling off an abyss. And as soon as you landed on the ground, you pulled away.   

“Cairo, I... I'm sorry-”   

Cut off by Cairo's lips, you quickly let yourself go. The Sweet girl climbed on top of you, her thighs on either side of your body, pinning you to the sofa, while your hands timidly ran around her waist. Taking your hands in hers, Cairo guided them to her ass, your brain sending information to the rest of your body.   

Your hands squeezed Cairo's ass, the younger girl moaning and rolling her hips on top of you. Your cock starting to show signs of life, making you remember to think a little with your head up.   

“Cairo... we can't...” You tried to speak between gasps, as Cairo's mouth continued to do a great job on your neck. “You're too young.”   

Cairo's kisses went down to your neck, and you tried to push the girl off you only to hear a sneer come out of her mouth “Don't be stupid Yn. I'm old enough to say what I want and don't want to do. And I want you!”   

Kissing your neck, Cairo slipped her hands under the fabric of your shirt, grabbing the hem and pulling the garment off your body. With a smile, Cairo observed your muscles, getting even happier when she realized you weren't wearing a bra.   

“God, it was almost as if you were prepared for this.” Cairo said, attacking your lips without even giving you a chance to say anything.   

Your mind was screaming no, but your body was screaming yes. You were lost, you were three years older than Cairo, and for a moment it didn't seem right. But when you remembered all the deep conversations, the looks you exchanged, the smiles, the legs touching, all the intimacy, you couldn't resist.  

“I've been waiting for this for so long...” Cairo said, trailing kisses down your collarbone and down to your breasts.   

“You have?” The sensation of her kisses around your nipple was wonderful, almost as if you were in heaven.   

Letting out a moan when Cairo put your nipple in her mouth, you threw your head back, holding onto the brunette's hair so she could get on with the job.  

“Ever since I first saw you, Yn. I want you, no matter how old you are, it's only three years.” Cairo said, looking at you before starting to unbutton the buttons of your pants. “Nobody's a saint, right?!”   

Shaking your head negatively, you moaned as Cairo's hand began to make light movements on your cock over the fabric of your boxers. “Then let me make you feel good, daddy.”   

Your pupils dilated, Cairo's words piercing your eardrums like a heavy rock song. Your hands quickly reached for the hem of her dress, pulling it off her body in one swift movement. Cairo's breasts were free of any bra, just as she had found yours, and her warm skin in your hands made you feel that it was all right.  

“God, you're so hot.” You said, running your hands over Cairo's breasts before putting the right nipple in your mouth.  

Feeling the hairs on her body stand on end, Cairo pushed your head closer to her body, moaning loudly and rolling on top of you. “Let me ride you, baby.” Nodding your head, you gently placed Cairo on the sofa, reaching up and pulling your pants and boxers off your body.   

Cairo looked at you with hunger in her eyes, calling you with her finger, the girl made you kneel in front of her, grabbing your head and combing through your strands of hair. “Take it off for me, daddy.”   

With unregulated breathing, you pulled Cairo's panties down her legs, kissing the girl's thighs as she smiled at you. Now that smile made sense to you, now everything she hid beneath that smile was brought to light. You could finally look at Cairo more intimately, in every sense of the word.   

Taking your chin in her hand, Cairo pulled you into a lustful kiss, full of intentions and directions of where this night would end up. “Let me ride you, Cowboy.”   

 Winking at you, Cairo smiled, tilting her head and motioning for you to sit on the sofa again. You obeyed her as if Cairo's word was a law that couldn't be broken.  

 “Wait, I have to get a condom.” You said, trying to get up, only to be pushed by Cairo back to where you were.   

“I trust you, daddy.” Cairo said, as she put one leg on either side of your body. “In fact, it's not like you're going to want anyone else after this.”   

Guiding your cock into her pussy, Cairo relaxed her body onto you. You both moaned as your bodies fit together, feeling as if you were made for it. You had never felt so good with any other girl, and Cairo didn't even think about past experiences, she knew you were made for each other.   

Starting to move up and down quickly, Cairo grabbed your hair, making you look into the same mesmerizing eyes you've been looking into since you moved in. The way her hips rock on top of you is taking you to a completely new state, the sensation is completely magnificent, and you swear you've never felt like this before.  

“Do you like fucking your little girl, daddy?” Cairo asked, stopping her movements on top of you when you didn't answer. “Admit it, daddy...”  

Your head was screaming danger, maybe this was her way of getting what she'd always wanted, you, completely for herself. “I love fucking you, babygirl.”  

Fuck it. 

Giving you a genuine smile, Cairo resumed her hip thrusts, increasing the speed as she began to feel close to cumming. “Fuck, daddy. Are you feeling it too?” Shaking your head, you agreed with Cairo, your hands going down to her ass and impaling her even more on your cock.   

“Keep going, baby. Please.” Listening to your begging, Cairo continued rolling and bouncing on your lap, the orgasms of the two of you getting closer.  

Your hands fit perfectly on Cairo's curves, but now they were shaking, announcing how close you were to getting your jollies. Cairo was trapped in her own world, not even listening when you announced that you were close.   

With her eyes closed, the girl continued to roll her hips wonderfully on top of you. Her moans were getting louder and louder, just like yours, and you could feel exactly when she finally came. Her inner walls tightening around your cock, making you unable to hold back any longer.   

“Cairo, I'm going to...” Even though you tried, you couldn't get the girl off you. Feeling the jets of your hot seed gushing inside her was like heaven for Cairo, it was as if she had finally won the prize she had been chasing for so long. Happiness hung over her face, and the smile on her face would stay there for days to come. 

“Have I been a good girl to you, daddy?” Kissing your lips, Cairo looked into your eyes, the mischievous glint now transformed into pride.  

“You didn't let me leave, Cairo.” Your tone was weary, accepting that you had lost the war, the battle, everything. You were hers.   

“It's all right, my love. It just proves how much you're mine.” 

OMG, this took forever to be ready, but I did it!

you guys saw what I did with Anne, Annlynn... Sabrina Annlynn Carpenter... Anyway, I just wanted to make a reference to my girl cause I'm so proud of her. 

The Grammys? The hug she and Olivia exchanged??? Oh, I've been blessed for the rest of my life.

Well, that's it. I hope you enjoyed the fic, stay safe, drink water

xoxo, spider.

[hazelira]

heavy little love

Heeseung sighed, adjusting his hold on his chunky little boy, who refused to sit in his car seat until you returned. The mall’s parking lot was dimly lit, neon signs flickering against the windshield, but inside the car, it was warm—filled with the scent of baby lotion and the soft coos of his son.

His tiny hands, round like dumplings, grasped at anything and everything—Heeseung’s tie, shirt collar, and even the dashboard buttons. The car was off, but his baby was still fascinated by how the buttons felt under his chubby fingers, slapping them with increasing force as if expecting a reaction.

“Hey, hey—" Heeseung chuckled, gently prying the small hand away before his son could honk the horn. "You're gonna give Mama a heart attack if you do that.”

His son merely blinked up at him, drool glistening on his bottom lip, before deciding that his dad’s face was far more interesting. Chubby's fingers reached out, grabbing at his nose, jaw, and tie again, yanking it with surprising strength.

"You're strong for someone who still needs his butt wiped every few hours, you know that?" Heeseung teased, loosening his tie slightly. His son only giggled a bubbly little sound that made Heeseung’s heartache.

He softly kissed his baby’s forehead, running his hand down to his pudgy little feet, rubbing slow circles into his silky, warm skin. His son kicked in response, wiggling his toes, watching his dad with wide eyes.

The baby bag sat in the passenger seat, slightly unzipped—bottles of milk, a few stuffed toys peeking out, sleep mittens, extra tiny socks that he somehow kept kicking off throughout the day. The thought of you packing everything so carefully before they left made Heeseung’s throat tighten.

He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was exhaustion. Perhaps it was the fact that you were just inside, probably scanning the menu one last time to make sure you got the order right. Or maybe it was the reality—that this was his life now. He had a little person in his arms who depended on him entirely.

“You love your mama, huh?” Heeseung murmured, watching his son keep glancing toward the door as if expecting you to walk out any second now. His tiny fingers had stopped their assault, now just resting against Heeseung’s chest, gripping onto his shirt.

Another pang in his chest.

“You make me wanna be better?” he whispered, barely audible, voice cracking slightly. “You and Mama.”

His son didn’t understand, of course. But he still looked up at his dad, eyes so bright, so full of wonder. Heeseung wished he could see himself the way his son did. Strong. Capable. Safe.

He swallowed the lump and kissed his baby’s pudgy little hands.

Just then, he saw you walking toward the car, carrying the takeout bag in both hands, scanning the lot for them.

“Look, Mama’s back,” Heeseung whispered, nudging his son slightly. The baby squealed, kicking his feet and making little grasping motions toward the window.

Heeseung smiled, rolling it down a little so you could hear.

“We missed you,” he said softly.

You slid into the passenger seat, setting the takeout bag down, only to be greeted by a sight that made you smile—Heeseung, struggling to strap your stubborn baby back into his seat.

"Come on, buddy," Heeseung grunted, trying to pry tiny fists off his shirt. "You've been with me this whole time. Just sit in your seat for a bit, yeah?"

The baby clung tighter, his big eyes glossy, as if he were about to start wailing. His bottom lip trembled, and Heeseung let out a defeated sigh, giving you a helpless look.

"Yeah, that’s not happening," you mused, biting back a laugh. "Looks like he's sticking with you tonight."

Heeseung exhaled through his nose, adjusting his seat to lean back. "Guess we’re eating like this then," he murmured, settling the baby against his chest. "Heavy little thing…" He kissed the top of his son's head, letting the baby nuzzle into him, his tiny hands pressing against his daddy’s chest to ensure he wouldn't go anywhere.

You dug into the takeout bag, unwrapping the warm containers of food. The smell filled the car, making you and Heeseung sigh in anticipation. You grabbed a piece of food with your chopsticks, bringing it up to Heeseung’s lips.

"Open," you said, holding back a teasing smile.

Heeseung raised a brow. "You’re feeding me?"

"You’re holding the baby."

Heeseung smirked slightly before leaning in and taking the bite. "Mm," he hummed in satisfaction. "You got the good stuff."

You grinned, taking a bite, but the moment you did, you noticed something—your baby boy staring up at you two with his mouth wide open as if waiting for his turn.

You choked on a laugh. "Oh my god, look at him."

Heeseung glanced down and let out a breathy chuckle. "Buddy, you can’t eat this yet," he cooed, tapping a gentle finger on the baby’s pouty lips. "Just milk for now."

The baby furrowed his brows, confused but hopeful, his mouth open. You couldn’t take it. He was too adorable.

"Here," you whispered, reaching into the baby bag and pulling out his bottle. You shook it briefly before placing the bib around his chubby neck, ensuring he was cozy against Heeseung’s chest.

Once Heeseung had a secure hold, he pressed the bottle to his son’s lips, watching as the baby latched on instantly and drank eagerly.

"There you go," Heeseung murmured, rubbing his son’s back as he fed him. The sight made your chest ache with warmth. Heeseung looked so natural like this—holding your baby close, his long fingers gently supporting the bottle, his eyes watching him with so much tenderness.

"You're a good dad," you said suddenly, almost without thinking.

Heeseung stilled for a second before glancing at you, eyes soft. He swallowed, looking like he wanted to say something, but he gave you a small, bashful smile instead.

You scooped up another bite of food and held it to his lips again. Heeseung took it without complaint, still cradling his son as he ate.

The baby sucked on his bottle contentedly, tiny fingers gripping the fabric of Heeseung's shirt. You fed Heeseung another bite, then brought the shared drink to his lips, tilting it so he could take a sip.

"You're spoiling me," he mumbled against the straw.

You shrugged. "You spoil me, too."

Heeseung smirked, chewing his food. "True."

You two ate like that—him holding your heavy little love while you made sure he was fed, sneaking in bites for yourself in between. The occasional quiet sighs of satisfaction, the baby's soft gulps of milk, the warmth of the car surrounding the three of you—it was all so simple, yet it felt like everything.

As the baby slowed down, eyes growing heavy with sleep, Heeseung chuckled.

"Guess we both got full," he whispered, kissing his son's temple. Then, turning to you, he reached out, brushing a thumb over your cheek. "Thank you."

You tilted your head slightly, pressing a kiss to his wrist.

"Always."

As the last bites of dinner disappeared and you set the empty containers aside, Heeseung let out a slow, contented sigh. His hand instinctively rubbed small circles on his baby’s back, feeling his tiny chest's gentle rise and fall.

It was only when he glanced down that he realized—his little boy had dozed off, completely squished against him, his chubby cheeks smushed against his daddy’s abs like a newborn scrunch, legs tucked under his belly as if he was still curled up in the safety of your womb.

Heeseung let out a chuckle, the corners of his eyes crinkling with affection. “Look at this guy,” he murmured. “Sleeping like he owns me.”

You leaned in, heart melting at the sight. His little fists were still gripping Heeseung’s shirt as if he feared his daddy would move. His breathing was soft and even, and his tiny lips parted slightly. His pudgy little face was entirely at ease, peaceful, and safe.

"Well," you whispered, a teasing smile playing on your lips, "he kinda does own you."

Heeseung huffed a laugh, careful not to jostle him. “Yeah, yeah.” His voice softened as he continued, “He sleeps just like you did when you were pregnant.”

Your breath hitched slightly, and you remembered those nights when your belly was heavy, and your little one would shift, pressing close against anything warm. Heeseung had spent many nights tracing slow, soothing patterns over your skin, whispering soft words to the baby he couldn’t wait to meet.

And now, here he was—his mini shadow, still seeking the same comfort, still finding a home in his daddy’s warmth.

Heeseung exhaled deeply, adjusting his arms to cradle his son closer. “He’s so… tiny,” he murmured, almost to himself. “And he trusts me so much.”

Your hand found his, fingers lacing together as you gently squeezed him. "Because you're his home, Hee."

Heeseung turned to you, his eyes glimmering in the soft glow of the streetlights outside. He looked like he wanted to say something—something deep, something vulnerable—but instead, he just smiled, lifting your intertwined hands to his lips and pressing a lingering kiss against your fingers.

Outside, the world moved on—cars passing, neon lights flickering, life continuing. But inside that car, wrapped in warmth, in love, in the quiet sounds of your sleeping baby’s breaths—time stood still.

requested by anonymous

my perm taglist<3 <- request here

@seonhoon @dollrincess @ethanatvre @rei4sunoo @shxhdsstuff @jakeflvrz @laylasbunbunny @jiiyen @saphiranishimurashan @lovelycassy @starry-eyed-bimbo @babyboomysweetie @24svnn @pinkglitterpuke @mellowgalaxystrawberry @dolliewon @s1rawb3rry @freaky-enhamadswriter @aishigrey @yangjungwonnie @lilmarsh-t @hoseokteardrop @mrsjjongstby @ro-diaries @ijustwannareadstuff20 @leilamaybelyla @celestialen @yejisuu @kpopslays @berryberrystrawbery

[4mrplumi]

ZERO : SCAVENGERY . (ms/next)

-> plot synopsis - you don't think you're as odd and horrifying as the news makes you out to be. but you have never much cared for the validation of others, and certainly not theirs.

-> batfamily x serial killer reader. playlist (wip) ask 2b added to taglist

-> tw; gn reader, guns, referenced assault, violence, toxic relationships, eventual fem love interest, bug taxidermy, unhealthy coping mechanisms, murder, sociopathic tendencies, full on master list.

-> a/n; horribly in love with the idea of a self-sufficient classy mean judge. reblogs and interactions appreciated!! a lot (●'◡'●)

in fact, you are grateful for their ignorance. you do not need their recognition, their thanks.

you won’t say you’re not petty, not childish, not absurd and not disgusting for what you’re doing, but you’ve heard it innumerable times before, and don’t mind it now. in a matter of days, the limits you’ve placed on yourself have become the bane of your existence.

bright, technicoloured posters with you favourite bands and characters hang on the walls, music playing merrily on a small portable speaker you’d bought with your self-earned pocket money. it all provided the perfect image of a regular teenager, to the extent that you weren’t really creating a civilian identity like your family, but living through it. normally.

it makes you giddy, and you know it shouldn’t, to be so unsuspecting. your grades are mediocre, but your teachers praise your work, you’re not popular enough to go be invited to every party, but enough to be friends with three quarters of the grade, not dedicated enough to a franchise to know it super well, but still enjoy it through multiple perspectives. normal, exceptional, and normal.

that’s what makes it all the more rewarding to do what you do. since being adopted at eleven, you’ve pieced together the caped identities of the monolith you call your family with lovely colour-coded pin boards and pictures. you know they escape into the night to fight not criminals, but fight crime, beating and getting beat in the process.

you think it’s tedious, but you never comment. there’s not much you remember prior to coming into the manor, except the raw experiences from fleeing cheerfully down unkempt, spray painted, molding stairway chambers with your friends away from an angry neighbour, laughing the whole way down. sharing fries for one among six to seven people, since money was hard to get by and harder to go around and listening to the one person who could afford school talk about it. pushing your friends on the swings and them tying your laces in return, since the swings were too far from the ground to push yourself, and scratchy velcro was for “sissies”.

you could say your childhood was rugged, but fairly kind for a gothamite. you weren’t given the life of a gilded richman’s son like tim, or the hard street crime life of jason. you weren’t raised by assassins or masters like damian and cassandra, not clever and determined like duke, not gifted with athleticism like dick. normal, incredibly. lucky, even.

you cannot think of anyone when you think of family. you considered your group of friends (acquaintances does your relationship better justice, but at ten, everyone was a friend if they didn’t wear a badge and a cap) family, but you knew that’s not what the word meant. they’d go back home to fighting parents, single mothers, thieving fathers, earning siblings or aging aunts and uncles. you would go home to a quiet one-room apartment and a poor quality mattress.

it’s not fair to say you weren’t cared for. the neighbourhood considered you their darling child, your friends’ parents sending you food, aunties reading you stories and elderly residents providing comfort when you wanted the rare support of an adult. but you had no family because by your accord, you would have to return home to them for someone to be family.

it’s the opposite now. you return home from school to bruce wayne and his entourage of misplaced children, but your interactions are stiff as stone. you go out to diners and have the most soulless conversations, stay in the house and refuse to partake in their exchanges.

because you are different. their morals are aligned to your guardian’s, of justice and strength and so on, so on. your morals are aligned with your survival, no one else's, selfish, scavenging. you cannot get along on a base value, because you don’t belong to their nest of canaries. you are, as a silly buzzfeed quiz at five in the morning said, a shrike.

yet still, you seeked the warmth of family. the resurgence of that feeling you once had in your old life. you could never return, having now experienced the fruits of luxury, having lived too far from “home” for far too long, with the added weight of a bruce wayne shaped shadow that followed you. the immense danger it would bring to yourself and those around you would be preposterous, unimaginable, but no more horrifying than the awkwardness you'd receive from you old not-family. scrutinising stares, untrusting glances, forced waves. no, no, it wouldn’t do. you don’t want to feel miserable. 

it’s enough that your presumed family already gives you those looks. sneers from damian, concerned glances from cassandra, brief unease from dick, ignorance from tim, you could go on and on and on. and you’re not stupid. you only have yourself to blame.

your vanity, as the buzzfeed quiz had said, in curling cursive font that sometimes turned to boxes on the ui, presented itself as a horrifying ignorance. unlike a peacock’s gushing beauty, your pretty-factor extended only as far into first impressions. when someone gets closer, enough to see the white of your eyes, they shrink away.

crude comments, satirical dismissal, and sharp judgement are things that have, in air quotes, made you unlikable. when watching a documentary about bug-taxidermy on one of the tvs, damian had walked in and commented on the generous “inhumanity” of it. instead of justifying the practice with explanations of how ethical it was, you’d scoffed and called him dramatic. he antagonised you, and you couldn't care less.

mean things left your mouth without hesitation, “who cares” and “you’re doing too much” at the simplest things. but you didn’t do it on purpose. growing up, kindness was reserved only for people in your circle, barterers of goods and generosity. you were polite to the old ladies who brought you food, nice to the new kid who looked at you for guidance, and offered support to people who’d offered that to you too.

you had no obligation to be kind to the wayne household. they had done nothing for you, other than pulling you out of a blood stained alley and providing you a home you didn’t ask for. you weren’t let in on their family bonds and not given the chance to create mutual trust with them, and were not keen on it after their whitewashed kidnapping either. 

perhaps you had the frayed edges of low-class living from gotham’s alleys, but you also had firmly set, stich, stern and strict guidelines about your behaviour. you would not make the first move, and you would not do more than fulfill debts. one favour for another, never more.

that’s what makes your secretive secret side job exhilarating. you have no need to do what you do, except for a sense of duty. the term itself, obligation, is unfamiliar, exciting. like many, but not the majority, the batman and his menagerie’s morals seem too high standing for the crevices of gotham’s underworld. only the red hood can relate, and even he is too far from the truth in your eyes.

death was a permanent solution to the wrongs of people. but you could not simply just wipe out a criminal from the street and call it a day. the only striking similarity between you and bruce wayne, was that the two of you didn’t fight criminals, but fought crime. you snuffed it out as it started hinting at the surface, not waiting for a track record or a ticket list on a license. nothing was forgiven, because you were not obliged to forgive.

you did not forgive, but did excuse. the theft of food, the death of someone too touchy, the fractured ribs of a parent too cruel, were excused. because like you, the suspect, the criminal, was also simply bartering. a favour for a favour, a wicked death for a wicked life. they would be let off from your radar, until someone else got to them. you were not obliged to save them. you are duty-bound only to rid. 

out of habit really, you resorted to violence. seeing a lady bothered by a fellow too close a few months back, you did what came naturally without the supervision of domineering adults and officers and shot him point blank. for a second, the woman stilled, painted in blood from the spray that arced to her, before screaming in horror and fleeing, without so much as a glance in your direction. 

you were unperturbed by the lack of thanks, with a hint of humour at the thought, since it meant you were not indebted to her and she was not to you. 

but it’s the realisation that comes shortly after, that a fine or a scolding would not similarly scare away the man, and he was now well taken care of. and you think of the other scummy people hiding gotham’s crowded basements, and think of their freedom. it makes you angry, it always has, truly it does. death was not an uncommon occurrence in gotham, the murders and abductions, cruelty and pain all as abundant as the trash, poverty and crime within the city. why was it only an offense when it came to the people who perpetuated it?

comfort does little to save victims. a bag of cash and a pat on the back will not rid them of their memories, sadness, or their losses. you are neither sympathetic nor can you relate, but you are angry. have been angry. on their behalf. the world is a rotten and sick place, and this city is especially so. and while batman is a poor janitor, the red hood one too late, and the monolith of your family too distant, you are decided. you’ll wash this place clean like a broken truck, knowing it’ll never work again, but look pretty as it remains.

and you, a good-for-nothing, always scorning, useless kid, are unsuspecting. you are grateful for their ignorance. you do not need their recognition or their thanks.

-> a/n i think this is a solid part one for a prologue bit. the crow choir series is getting a bit neglected because i want to think over its intricacies a bit better. in contrast, this is a very kick and throw kind of plot line, more fun to write for.

i've been super nervous to post on tumblr but am enjoying it. hopefully will upload the next bits soon, interactions so very very appreciated! esp ideas in comments or asks, because it makes me feel like i'm not wiling away the time i should use for other things (T_T) overall just feels nice too.

thank you for reading!!

[joooooniecore]

Dior's beloved prince

mingyuxfem!reader, rivals to lovers, Reader as a designer, Mingyu as the brand ambassador of Dior and a model, Mingyu is the biggest flirt, Mingyu has a nickname for reader.

PLOT: When Mingyu was chosen as the brand ambassador of Dior, you couldn't help but sigh annoyingly. It got worse when you were asked to design an outfit for him for the upcoming fashion show. Will you be able to do it without any issues? Or will old grudges resurface?

WARNINGS: smut, explicit scenes, foul language, minors dni, smut scene has been marked, skip if uncomfortable

You have been in the fashion industry for quite a long time. From time consuming projects to extensive runway shows, you have done it all. You have devoted your entire life to make a name out of your talents. You are currently working under Dior as one of their main designers. Your team makes sure that every piece that comes out with the tag of Dior gets its deserved attention and love. You love your job and most importantly you love being able to creatively think and make designs that are appreciated by millions. You have always wanted to be a famous fashion designer and now being at such a peak, you are nothing but grateful.

The only thing or rather you say person who makes you dread fashion weeks is Kim Mingyu, the most famous brand model and also ambassador of Dior.

Mingyu has been with the brand for years now, working side by side with you for several fashion weeks. He is everything that annoys you. He is tall, handsome, flirtatious and extremely cocky. He knows that he can make heads turn whenever he enters the room. Kim Mingyu has been a bane to your existence since years now. He openly flirts with you and annoys you with his infinite confidence.

If he toned down his cockiness a bit, then he would not have been on your hit list. He looks exactly like the man you ever dreamed of. He is sweet to everyone, has dashing looks and is very tall, above six feet if you dare notice. He towers over you by a lot and it sometimes causes a funny feeling in your stomach. You are no doubt attracted to him but you will never confess that. He doesn’t need any more assurance that he is desired by everyone. You are basically the only person who seems immune to his charms and you would love to maintain that personality.

It was a fine day in the Dior building, you were in your studio working on some new men’s fashion pieces. The fashion show was in a few months and the hectic schedule was basically locking you and your fellow designers in the office for several hours. You have finalized a few designs but most of them needed some alterations before they could be shown on the runway.

The first and only obstacle came in the form of Mingyu himself. He was asked to come in and see some of the latest collection clothing and that meant you have to tolerate him for a few hours. You could tell when he walked in through the door of the studio as everyone working turned their heads to get a glimpse of him. Mingyu had that aura. He was extremely charismatic and kind and everyone loved getting attention from him. He would stare at you as if you have hung stars in the sky. And somehow despite being such a sweet person, he never failed to annoy the living shit out of you.

“Hello Miss ____. It’s always a pleasure to work with you.”, Mingyu said with a smirk and stood in front of you, bowing ninety degrees.

You bowed back and said through gritted teeth, “Same goes for you too.”

Mingyu smirks as he takes the seat beside you while you ask your assistants to arrange the designs he needs to look into. You got busy with other work but you could constantly feel him watching your every move. Your entire body felt squirmy as you could feel his hot gaze following you. This is the kind of effect that Mingyu had on you. It infuriated you. You have been known as a very work-oriented person and you never waste your time casually dating or even one-night stands. You don’t easily get attracted to anyone in particular and you are sure that Mingyu is to blame for that. You have never felt your heart beat so fast for someone before him.

“Do you need anything?”, you finally ask, unable to ignore his constant stares.

“Huh? No.”, said Mingyu as he slowly smiled.

“Then why are you staring at me?”, you snap back.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I was just interested in seeing your designs.”, Mingyu replied with a smirk as he scooted closer and took a hold of one of the numerous sheets of paper that were scattered across your desk.

You slightly tilted your head to see the one he was looking at and got back to work, mentally promising yourself to not get effected by his presence. A few minutes later, Mingyu was called in to see into the different designs and you sighed in relief as he walked away. He was supposed to see few designs from each of the designers and choose one from among them for the day of the fashion show.

You waited impatiently as he skimmed through the pages, and discussed with his manager. You stood their silently as you tried to peek at every outfit he looked at. Mingyu would have looked good in every single outfit and honestly it kind of annoyed you. At last, he stopped on a page as his eyes twinkled. You couldn’t decipher if it was interest or mischief.

“I think these designs are great. I like the embroidery used in them.”, Mingyu explained in a serious tone.

Your heart started beating fast after hearing the decision. No matter how much you hate Mingyu, you knew he was extremely famous and if he were to wear an outfit designed by you then it will only boost your popularity. But this comes with another terrifying truth. You are hit with that reality. Choosing your design means you have to work close to him. The fashion show was a month away and you were now supposed to work with him for most of it.

The thought made you sigh exasperatedly. Mingyu was a perfectionist and it would have been an owner for any designer to work with him. Not for you. You and Mingyu go way back in college. You both knew each other’s everything. You both weren’t friends, but more like academic companions. Since college, you both were at each other’s throats and you have no idea how that seeped into your work life.

When Mingyu became famous, you were somewhat proud. Even though you both fought for marks and good grades in college, you knew he was hardworking. Hence you even decided to congratulate him by sending him some flowers which were blatantly ignored by him. At first you thought maybe he didn’t recognize your message so you decided to text him but he never responded. Slowly you realized how the popularity might have gotten into his head and you never tried again. Until now. Until the day he became the brand ambassador of Dior and your life turned upside down.

___________

You still remember the day he first came to meet the designers and how his eyes landed on you and he followed through with a smooth smile and a wink.

“Long time no see firecracker.”, Mingyu whispered low so that only you could hear it.

You have always hated that nickname he used.

“This is disastrous.”, you said through gritted teeth as a smile was plastered on your face.

“You two know each other?”, your fellow staff members asked and all you could was awkwardly nod.

___________

Coming out of your thoughts, you saw Mingyu approaching you with a knowing smile. You immediately knew that he chose the designs willingly. He knew they were made by you. Obviously. He has seen you for so long that he was accustomed to the way you made your designs and it has always given you the ick. You hated how well he knew you.

“We will make a great team.”, Mingyu’s smooth voice brought you out of your thoughts as you looked up to him and found him smirking.

You rolled your eyes and replied, “You better behave.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”, Mingyu teases before he walks up to his manager.

As soon as Mingyu is out of the warehouse, the other designers surround you. They congratulate you for getting such a big deal. Most of them were elated by this news as they laughed and gushed about how you were lucky to bag Kim Mingyu. Some of them were salty as they scurried away to their own cubes and started working, completely ignoring your presence.

You awkwardly thanked everyone as you collected your sample designs and sat down on your chair to fix the schedule before mailing it to his manager for him to cross check and let you know about his free slots.

The main plan was to get his measurements and then tailor the outfit. Try them on him and make alterations as required. Mostly it was your work, while he would just come in once in a while to give his views. You took a deep breath as you jotted down the design details in your writing pad before designing them on your tablet. With quick strokes and a little splash of colors, you created the rough draft for the designs. They looked great but you knew Mingyu didn’t want great. He wants perfection and you were not willing to allow him to disrespect you.

The first day of the meeting and dress trial was fixed. You sat in the room, prim and proper, waiting for Mingyu to arrive.

You were actually a bit nervous about your designs. You were a very confident designer but sometimes doubts clog up your mind and it becomes hard. You never really understood how Mingyu was so rude for the initial years of your career, not responding to you and now being extremely friendly. It made your blood boil. He was so nonchalant and you just couldn’t help but feel the anger.

“Are you plotting a murder?”, Mingyu’s playful voice brought you out of your thoughts.

You looked up to him and scowled. “I might.”, you said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, come on. I am too handsome to die.”, Mingyu dramatically commented.

You rolled your eyes and guided him to the dressing room and handed him the outfit.

“This is the shirt and these are the pants. I am yet to decide on a blazer so you need to try these first.”, you explained as you handed the sample garments in his hands.

He quietly took everything and with a wink and a finger salute he was inside the dressing room.

You patiently waited outside as you heard him hum a song and change. You were actually getting anxious by how much time it took him to wear a shirt and pants.

“Are you done?”, you asked finally.

“Almost. Wait.”, his muffled voice was heard.

“Come on. If you don’t come out within five minutes then I will get in.”, you warned not sure if you will actually do that.

“Wanna see me naked so quick?”, Mingyu’s teasing voice made you roll your eyes for the umpteenth time.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Mingyu came out wearing the outfit you provided.

“This feels a little bland in my opinion.”, commented Mingyu as soon as he was out of the dressing room.

“I think so too, yeah.”, you subconsciously said as you jotted down changes in the outfit.

You were at first asked to put some embroidery on the collars only but it seemed to ruin the balance of the outfit. He was extremely tall and well built. Against his looks, his outfit seemed of extremely poor taste. You couldn’t exactly change the style because it followed the current theme of the fashion show so you needed to make minor changes that would look good but not ruin the overall vibe of the outfit.

“Wow you are agreeing with me? A miracle.”, Mingyu said in a high-pitched voice.

“Don’t get used to it Kim.”, you said and before you could realize that you used the nickname you used in college, he caught on it.

“Are we back in our college era?”, Mingyu smirked.

“Shut up.”, you grumbled and went back to mark down the points in your laptop.

Mingyu came up to you and stood behind you as he bends down against you to look at the designs. His hot breath fanned against your ear and neck as he scrutinized the designs. The warmth that radiated through his body made you feel all hot and bothered. Your fingers trembled a bit as you typed away your ideas.

“Why are you on my head?”, you finally asked.

“Already wanting me on you I see.”, Mingyu huskily whispered which caused a shiver run down your spine.

“Shut up and move Kim.”, you retorted.

“I am just watching the way you work.”, Mingyu stood up straight and answered.

“I don’t want your scrutiny. Our meeting time is over anyways. Don’t you have other things to do?”, you interrogated.

“I do but I love seeing you.”, he said and you just pushed him away. He gladly allowed you to push him as he picked up his bag and was out of your office.

You exhaled a sigh you didn’t know you were holding as you got back to work. You hated how much your body reacted to his closeness. Mingyu knew he had an effect on you and you won’t allow that weakness to become his advantage.

___________

The next few days went by in a blur. You were extremely busy in monitoring the designs that were getting ready for the fashion show. You had several board meetings decided the time and sequence in which the designs would be shown. The meetings were held at odd hours as you worked hard in making this show a successful one.

And as for Mingyu’s outfit, you decided to take the matter in your hands. The main tailoring was obviously done by your staff but you decided to do the embroidery by yourself because you trusted none. Only you knew what kind of design you want and you were going to perfect it.

You altered the design a bit and decided upon adding jewels to the pattern. It was a last-minute decision and your fellow designers approved it for you. You were a bit skeptical with how it might turn out but your colleagues supported you.

The days leading up to the fashion week were hectic. You didn’t get enough time to schedule a meeting with Mingyu so you asked your staff members to look into it and make sure he likes the design.

“Hello miss ___.”, a smooth voice came through the phone as soon as you picked it.

You were currently at home, resting for a bit before you have to rush again for work.

“What is it, Kim?”, you answered without even double checking.

“How did you know it was me?”, he asked in a surprised tone.

“I can recognize your annoying voice anywhere.”, you boringly replied back.

“Aww you love my voice so much?”, Mingyu replied in a teasing voice.

“Do you have selective hearing? I said annoying.”, you snarled and all you could hear was his deep chuckle.

“How do you even have my number?”, you finally asked.

“Got it from your staff to discuss some important matters.”, Mingyu said in a serious tone.

“What is it? Is the outfit not satisfactory? Are any alterations required? Wait let me grab my notepa-”, before you could finish the sentence, Mingyu spoke.

“No need. I just wanted to let you know one thing.”, Mingyu said cutting through your blabbering.

It made you panic more. He is never this serious when it comes to talking with you. The way he sounded so professional somehow caused you to blush. His voice was commanding and deeper than usual and it created some kind of reaction in your body.

“I didn’t like that you weren’t present at the dress trial meeting.”, Mingyu finally spoke in the same light hearted voice.

“Goddamit. I actually expected you to say something important!”, you sighed loudly as Mingyu doubled up in laughter.

“Come on. I can never not annoy you.”, Mingyu said and all you could do was roll your eyes.

“But honestly, why weren’t you there?”, Mingyu asked in a soft voice.

“I have been busy. With the fashion show happening soon, I have to make sure that everything is perfect and I also needed some rest so I let my staffs take on the meeting.”, you didn’t know why but you thought he deserved this explanation.

The rest of the days went by and the tension just simply increased. You hated Mingyu’s guts. He would randomly text you or call you or even come to your office to meet you. Annoying remarks, accidental touches and stern gazes just got all bundled up in your head. You were hot and bothered but still not ready to back down. You were never going to let Mingyu win this game.

So, you decided to dress to impress. The fashion show went by in a glimpse but the main event for the ambassadors and designers was the after party. You have decided upon a dress designed by your friend. She was extremely happy when you asked her about it. It was a strapless black short dress with the white underskirt visible only at the hem. The dress had intricate designs that subtly covered the entirety of the bodice. It was perfect, elegant and flattering.

___________

As you got ready for the afterparty, you scrolled through your social media and it was full of pictures of Mingyu. He was looking extremely handsome. His looks did justice to the outfit. It was a simple fit but him being the one wearing it made it look even better. You couldn’t help but deny the way the shirt fitted him like a glove. His strong biceps straining the material to its farthest limit when he raised his hand in the pictures. Even through the blazer, you could trace his muscles perfectly. He looked mouth watering and you allowed yourself to fantasize him for a bit.

After applying a subtle makeup along with a bold lip combo, you decided to blowout your hair for it to form the desired waves you wanted. The face framing layers made your face look exactly like you wanted it to look. You smiled looking at the mirror and after taking your purse, you were off to the party.

The moment you entered the party; you could feel someone’s gaze on you. You turned to see Mingyu intently watching and you mentally congratulated yourself for choosing this dress. You decided to ignore him as you walked up to your colleagues and gave them a greeting smile.

“You look gorgeous!”, your friend gushed as you gave her a twirl.

“You did justice to this dress.”, she complimented.

“No. You made me look pretty.”, you said back as you both giggled.

You weren’t exactly planning to drink much so you took a glass of champagne and decided to nurture it for the rest of the night.

Halfway through the party you saw Mingyu approaching you. You acted nonchalant as you sipped your drink.

“Did you see my pictures?”, Mingyu asked as soon as he sat beside you.

“Why would I?”, you asked back.

“Oh, come on I know you did and you liked it.”, Mingyu said with a smirk as he scooted closer to you. His hand resting on the backrest of your bar stool as he brought his face closer to your ear to speak.

“As if. It was my design which made you look good.”, you answered looking straight into his eyes with a smirk.

“So, I did look good!”, Mingyu triumphantly announced as he gave you his famous lopsided smile that proudly showed his canines.

You sighed loudly and decided to ignore him. You thought if you ignored him enough, he would get bored and leave you alone but alas. The alcohol was slowly affecting you and you were feeling all warm and mushy.

Before Mingyu could say another word, your colleagues pulled you to the dance floor which you gladly allowed. You started to feel the rhythm seep through your body as you swayed your hips from side to side. You felt a presence behind you as you turned to see a guy trying to hold your hips.

The audacity?

Even though it was a respected party, men still had the audacity to make a woman feel uncomfortable. You tried to move away but he wasn’t giving up. You knew this was going to get annoying soon and you weren’t ready to cause chaos. You knew the man by face as he seemed like one of the models who were invited. You noted his face and then scanned the place to find Mingyu standing only a few hands away from you.

You swiftly passed through the two or three people that separated you from him and held his hand. Firmly.

“Missed me?”, Mingyu said with a smirk.

“Shut up and play along.”, you said as you guided his hands to grab your waist.

“Why?”, he asked, clearly amused rather than shocked but then he noticed the man and you could visibly see his face turn into a stern gaze.

“Did he touch you?”, he asked, voice husky and low. It held so much malice that it caused a shiver down your spine.

“He didn’t. Don’t cause a scene. I will report it later. I know his face.”, you softly explained as you looked at him with pleading eyes.

“Fucking shit. Fine. Guess we will be playing along firecracker.”, Mingyu said with a smirk and pulled you into his arms in one swift motion.

He kept his hands firm on your hips as he made you sway. You felt the blood rush from your head to regions you are ashamed to describe. The way he gently but firmly held you, made you feel so safe. You felt so hot and bothered.

You made the wrong decision to look up to meet his eyes and got lost in the intensity of it. He was looking at you with a look that simply was nothing you have seen before. It was full of intentions which you don’t want to imagine.

“Want to get out of here?”, Mingyu said close to your ear in almost a desperate voice.

“Yes.”, was all you could say as you were pulled away from the crowd and out of the arena.

Mingyu ordered his driver to drive the both of you to his house. He lives in the nearby area. You entered his house and stared at the interior in awe. You have had seen prettier houses but his house screamed Kim Mingyu. It was definitely designed by him. Mingyu has always loved interior designing and it was quite evident in the way his house looked so pleasant.

“Have a seat ___.”, Mingyu’s calm voice brought you out of your thoughts.

“Oh. Yeah thanks.”, you dumbly replied as you settled on the nearby sofa. Mingyu brought a glass of water and settled it on the coffee table before sitting beside you.

You drank the entire glass in one go and it made Mingyu chuckle.

“Easy there firecracker.”, he said while he grazed his fingers on your forearm.

“Nice house Kim.”, you finally said, trying to act unbothered.

“Seriously? Is that what you say after gawking at my house for ten minutes.”, he laughs.

“Not trying to boast your ego here.”, you said as you raised your hands in surrender and saw Mingyu’s eyes trace your neckline.

“Why do you think I have an ego?”, Mingyu asked.

“Hah! You do have. I have first hand experience of it.”, you debated.

“Never have I ever spoken rudely to you.”, Mingyu retorted.

“Not in recent years but in the past yes.”, you explained and you saw Mingyu’s puzzled expression as if he was trying to remember it.

“Remember when you got your first breakthrough in modelling career?”, you asked and saw his face twinkle in recognition.

“Yeah. I sent you flowers and even later texted you but you never responded.”, you said and almost felt shy for holding a grudge for this for so long.

“You were the one who sent me flowers?”, Mingyu asked in a surprised tone.

“Huh? Why? I clearly wrote a letter along with it.”, you answered dumbfoundedly.

“Letter? What letter? I never received- oh.”, Mingyu seemed to grimace a little as he looked at you guiltily.

“What is it, Kim? Spit it out.”, you said clearly feeling frustrated.

“I- okay so I was dating this girl then. She was kind of toxic okay and uhm she told me that the flowers are from her and maybe she threw the letter. She knew about you.”, he explained without maintaining eye contact with you.

“I- wow. I didn’t know that. But your number-”, you couldn’t finish the sentence when Mingyu spoke again “Yeah I changed numbers right after college for a fresh start.”

It all made sense to you. You were just holding an immature grudge against him for all these years and now you felt ashamed.

“Then why do you tease me always?”, you finally asked.

“Because I love the way your cheeks flush red.”, Mingyu answered with a smirk.

“W-What?”, you said as blush again crept up your neck.

“Yes, just like that. I love the effect I have on you, my firecracker.”, Mingyu smirked as he inched forward.

“Don’t you feel it?”, Mingyu said as he grazed your waist.

You couldn’t help but melt in the touch. You have tried to control this feeling for so long. The grudge was the only thing that helped you keep your feelings at bay and now the dam was broken. The gush of water was let loose as you gazed up to him with nothing but lust.

!!SMUT WARNING!!

“Fuck you are so gorgeous.”, Mingyu whispered before he held the back of your neck firmly and pulled your face closer to his. His lips inches away as if he was testing the waters.

“Please…”, you whispered and he slammed his lips against you. It wasn’t a sweet kiss. This kiss was all teeth. It was a storm after the eerie calmness. It was like a tsunami caused by the uprooting of a dam that was holding in the water for so long. His tongue played like waves inside your mouth as his hands grazed over every part of your body, as if memorizing you.

You groaned in his mouth as you placed yourself on his lap, kissing him with more hunger in your lips. His hands grazed up and down your entire body as if trying to memorize the softness of your skin, the curve of your waist. His hands gripped on your exposed thighs, elucidating a groan from your throat.

“This dress has been driving me insane all night.”, Mingyu groaned as he firmly gripped your hips and made you grind on his lap. You moaned in response as your slowly moved your hips in a rhythmic motion.

“The moment I saw you, I wanted to slam you against a wall and kiss you dumb.”, said Mingyu as he stared at your eyes with nothing but lust.

Mingyu found the chain of the dress and slowly pulled it down as it bundled up around your waist.

“Fuck.”, Mingyu whispered as he saw the lingerie you were wearing.

“Please tell me that it is a matching set.”, he pleaded and you nodded shyly.

“Did you wear this for me?”, Mingyu smirked.

“Of course not.”, you snarled back and he smirked before cupping your clothed breast and taking one in his mouth. With the material still in between his tongue and your breast, it created a delicious friction that made you grind your hips more.

“Fuck I will go crazy. You are so responsive baby.”, He whispered against your skin as he picked you up along with him.

“Mingyu...”, you moaned.

“What is it darling?”

“Please Mingyu.”, you had no idea what you were begging for.

“What do you want?”, he smirked as he picked you up and threw you on the bed before hovering over you.

“Take it off please. Take your shirt off.”, you begged.

“Patience my firecracker.”, Mingyu said as he effortlessly lifted you and took you to his bedroom. He slammed you against the soft mattress and then in a painfully slow pace, unbuttoned his shirt before throwing it aside. You were welcomed with his toned chest. You audibly moaned and that seemed to boast Mingyu’s ego.

“Loving the view?”, he teased

“Of course.”, you said as you did a come-hither motion to which he complied.

He dipped his head and trailed kisses down your chest. Starting from your neck, he marked every inch of your skin as you writhed under him. With an agonizing slow pace his mouth finally hovered over your core, which earned a moan from you.

“Please. Mingyu, please.”, you moaned.

Mingyu chuckled and finally teased your core with his tongue which slowly turned into more aggressive licks as he devoured you. All you could do was moan and writhe which also got restricted when he used his left hand to hold your hips down with one strong grip.

Soon you were coming undone on his tongue, as your body shook and all you could do was moan his name.

“I love when you moan my name.”, Mingyu said as he looked at you, his chin glistening with your juices which made you even more aroused.

Mingyu kissed you again as you could taste yourself on his tongue. You shamelessly moaned as Mingyu gripped both your hands over your head with his one large palm while the other traced line against your naked skin.

“I like the way you react to me.”, Mingyu whispered as the trail of his fingers left behind goosebumps adorning your skin.

Suddenly he got down from the bed as you groaned at the loss of his body pressed against yours. You looked up to him as he motioned you to kneel down on the carpeted floor. You complied. You kneeled and looked up at him with lust filled eyes before unbuckling his belt and rubbing his throbbing member over the fabric of his underwear. He let out a guttural moan and you smirked in victory. Having such a big strong man moan for you felt so good that you almost got wet again.

“Don’t tease me love.”, Mingyu groaned and who were you to deny him.

You quickly dragged his pants and underwear down in one go and his dick sprang up, standing proud and thick.

“Fuck you are big.”, you moaned as you moved your palm up and down the length before giving the tip kitten licks.

You took his whole dick in and bobbed your head while consecutively using your hand to create more friction. Mingyu’s fingers went through your hair before gripping it tight to control the bobbing of your head, fucking your mouth deep. Your eyes glistened with tears as you moaned at the feeling of being used by him.

“Fuck baby. You take me so well.”, moaned Mingyu before picking you up in one go and throwing you on the bed again.

“So wet from just sucking me?”, Mingyu teased before sinking two of his fingers in.

“Mingyu, please fuck me. I don’t need your fingers right now.”, you moaned and Mingyu obliged.

“Let me get the condom love.”, Mingyu smirked while watching you being impatient.

“I don’t fucking care. I am on birth control and clean. Just fuck me.”, you said to which he led out a guttural moan and kissed you. Hard.

He slammed his dick in you as your body jolted and you moaned shamelessly.

“Fuck you are so tight.”, he groaned, his eyebrows furrowing as he let out a disgruntled sigh.

“M-Min-gyu…”, you moaned his name as you supported yourself by holding his biceps.

“Keep saying my name.”, Mingyu demanded and you moaned his name loud.

You closed your eyes to feel it more but that wasn’t doing it for Mingyu it seemed. He grabbed your neck, gently chocking you as you looked at him with dazed eyes.

“Look at me when I fuck you right.”, Mingyu said as he slammed into you with more intensity.

“Gyu fuck.”, you screamed as you moaned and groaned.

“That’s it. Baby, cum for me. Cum all over my cock. Cream me fuck.”, Mingyu whimpered as he kept his pace steady and firm.

Within seconds you were reaching your high again as you creamed his cock. Mingyu pace didn’t slow as he kept pounding into you, making a mess out of you. Your juices were everywhere as sweat formed on your forehead.

Mingyu dipped his head, as your foreheads were against each other and whispered, “I am gonna cum baby.”

“Look at me as I fill you up.”, Mingyu groaned.

“Yes please. Fill me up.”, you said in a lust laden voice and that was Mingyu’s undoing as he came inside you.

!!SMUT ENDED!!

After catching his breath, he lied down beside you for a bit before getting up to bring a warm water-soaked towel to clean you and then clean himself. After showering, you wore Mingyu’s shirt and lied down on the soft bed. Mingyu joined you as he pulled your back against his chest and nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

“So?”, Mingyu asked as he propped beside you.

“What?”, you asked as you snuggled against his chest.

“Since we have fixed the grudge part, can I ask you out for a date?”, Mingyu softly asked as he played with your hair.

“I think we did it in the wrong order.”, you chuckled as you looked up to him.

“Well, it was your fault to look that good in a goddamn dress.”, Mingyu grumbled and you found it cute.

“Okay! Okay! I would love to go on a date with you.”, you said with a smile as Mingyu softly kissed you.

Maybe loving him will be better than hating him, right? But did you actually ever hate him? You smile as you find yourself going into deep slumber.

___________________________________

Author's note: Got caught up in work so was not able to deliver this on time. Please ignore any kind of grammatical mistakes, I literally rushed to finish this. I hope I was able to meet the expectations. Do suggest me plots for future stories!

Tag list: @gyuguys @arusio

[beargirlstink]

"WHAT?!" "...Sorry, yeah. You're not welcome yet. You -" "This is bullshit! Check with St. Peter! Are you telling me I wore this cheap cross and spent my sundays at the church and on my knees for NOTHING?!" "I'm not going to get into that debate, it's somewhat contested, but it's not the important part. The important part is -" "What? What is so important to deny me entrance into the kingdom of the Lord? How can you deny me entrance from the pearly gates?" "...I was getting to that. The important part was that thee early 21st century was a time of hate and judgement, especially focused around things like race, ethnicity, and a whole lot around sexuality. To be clear, "love thy neighbor" means "don't peek through your neighbor's blinds to see what they're doing in their bedroom."" "What, so just because I had opinions on culture and society and - and media and health and CHILDREN means I'm a sinner?" "...Yeah, that's the gist of it. You've kinda got this knot in your head that it's okay to hate people if they deserve it, but that's mostly not the case. The point, like, ideally, is to hate nobody ever, with only a few exceptions." "...Well, then, billions of people are going to Hell. Every single person involved in the culture war... At least those wokists are getting what they belong. Maybe I'll -" "I don't know how to tell you this but... they aren't. A lot of people from there acted on behalf of love and acceptance, and that's a pretty easy in." "Really? Are you telling me every feminist I met online was a kind-hearted angel?" "...Well, not all of them, but... let's get one out for comparison." [Poof!] "This is tigergirl-stretchmarks." "Oh! Hey Zuri!" "Hiiiii! Anyway, you might remember it from-" "Wh- Tiger Girl Stretch Marks is an angel? I refuse to believe that! The Lord didn't send down one of his perfect messengers to post that kind of degeneracy!" "Oh! Oh, this part. So, angels aren't exactly a separate species, it's more of a state of being - you can consider it a job, or maybe a social caste. If you had looked up the original hebrew -" "NO! No, I refuse to believe this! This... FREAK spent every second of their life masturbating, sleeping, eating, ignoring their parents, staying inside, and posting pornographic obsenity! THAT makes them an angel?" "...Yeah. Yeah, actually." "I can back that up. I get to see auras now, and artists who -" "HOW?! How is drawing fat women's engorged stomachs a work of God?" "Well, again, the love-and-equality thing, but, um... I'm not supposed to mention this, but fat fetish pornography boosts your divinity by a LOT. It's considered some kind of saintly material. Jesus personally -" "You're joking me. You're joking me!" "No! No, really. If you'd visit some of our monasteries of -" "Ha. Haha. Hahahahaha! This is a joke. This is an elaborate joke. You almost had me for a second, but did you really expect me to fall for the idea that Heaven is full of stained-glass windows depicting naked obese women holding their stomachs?" "...Hang on, what did YOU think Mary Magdalene looked like?"

[chimielie]

hold ‘em up (above my heart)

summary: Atsumu x Physical Therapist!F!Reader. the sun rises and sets over and over as your relationship progresses from friends to pro yearners to more.

wc: 4.3k

cw: friends with benefits subplot and all that entails; not explicit, just suggestive, reader is fighting for her LIFE in her brain, atsumu is just chilling (not really)

a/n: hi i didn’t die :3

“Hands up,” you say, voice low so as not to disturb the peace of the morning.

Atsumu raises his arms, elbows bent, making a frame of his face. His blond hair is pale, almost white because his little kitchen window faces east and he wakes before it rises above the upper pane. You sidle past him, back to his front, ignoring the weight of his hand as it settles on your hip while you reach up for the granola you keep in the cabinet next to the fridge.

He likes traditional Japanese breakfasts, the savory and umami flavors of natto and rice and miso. You have a sweet tooth and a craving for crunchy food, like a wild animal that needs to grind down its molars. On the days he has work, he settles for an omelette (or scrambled eggs if he fucks it up). You eat the same thing every morning or you'll be sick.

Growing up, Atsumu was never a morning person, but he sleeps better on the nights you're next to him. He doesn't get angry when you slosh milk over the side of his bowl onto his dining table, doesn't snap when you ask him what his plans for the day are. Maybe this is what being an adult is, these steady waters and calm skies.

You don't speak much as you chew, staring into space and thinking the slow thoughts of the exhausted, and he busies himself scrolling through his group messages and social media accounts.

There's a request from a verified account, a retired athlete-turned-model. He knows her name, has seen her in ads, bumped into her at the last Olympics. He clicks on it.

Hey, handsome. I'll be in Osaka this upcoming weekend - let's get a drink!

"I'm gonna shower," you're patting your hair, looking irritated. It always sticks up in the morning, no matter how you sleep on it, a few particular strands defying gravity.

"You should go to work like that," he says, voice still rough even if his mind's woken up. His accent is thicker in the morning, you've told him, but he can't hear it.

"Hell no," you say. "You're the only one who gets to see this morning glory for now."

"I better be," his grin is roguish, running his hand through his own bird's nest. "C'mon, you gonna let me shower with you or what?"

"No, you'll use up all my nice shampoo again!" You fake running to the bathroom, keeping your pace slow enough for him to wrap his arms around your waist and tackle you down, careful to fold himself so that you land on top of him, body between his legs, face cushioned on his chest.

He leaves his phone face up, forgotten on the table.

He's toweling off his hair, dressed in his practice uniform, while you're packing your bag for the day in the kitchen. His apartment is small, way smaller than some of the other guys' on the team, but he grew up crammed into a room with his mom and his brother. He'd toured one penthouse and decided he couldn't live with all that space strangling him.

He'd tried to get Samu to bunk with him like old times, but his brother had just said I'll sleep three meters from your dirty laundry in hell, and that was the end of the argument.

Besides, he has a lot of car bills to pay. He managed to fold another Mazda last month and you've been carpooling in your ancient Toyota while he waits to get license privileges again ever since.

"You got a text, by the way," you say casually, digging through your purse with your lips twisted to the side. "Aha!" You pull out a tube of lipstick triumphantly. "You should respond before you forget."

"Ah, was it Samu?" He asks, crossing back into the bedroom to put away his damp towel.

"Nah, the model," you call. "Sorry, I read your texts."

You're fighting the growing bitterness of the words, trying to sound jaunty and uncaring and casual. The admission of invading his privacy weighs heavily on your shoulders; you can't make yourself look up into his face when he comes into the kitchen.

"I don't care," he shrugs. "You can read whatever you want."

"You shouldn't say that," you try to laugh and wince instead. He just grunts and picks up the phone, swiping away from the conversation and leaving her on read. "I don't have the right, don't I? I shouldn't have—"

"I really don't care," he cuts across your strained attempt at an apology again.

"You should!" You sound like you're about to stamp your foot at him. He doesn't understand why you're so angry; he doesn't bite. "Aren't you gonna get mad? Shouldn't we be fighting?"

"I don't wanna fight," he rubs his large, calloused hand over your shoulder, your upper trapezius, to cup the back of your and pull you into a loose embrace. You stand, dumbfounded, chin pushed into his shoulder, hands at your sides. "Do you? We can if you want to."

"No," you whisper. "Sorry, I—sorry."

"'S okay," he says, digging his thumbs into the tight knots of muscle. "No big deal. Here, you dropped your thingy."

The thingy is the tube of lipstick, a deep berry color, rolling towards the edge of the table. He steps back and squeezes your cheeks in one hands, prompting you to part your lips slightly. He does it how he knows you do, a soft smear on the lower lip and two dabs made sharp by a swipe of his thumbnail on the outer creases, all blended together at the end for a subtle touch of color.

"You look like a frog about to burp," he says when he's done. You laugh so hard you cry.

On the car ride to work, you keep chewing on your lip. He frowns when he notices, all his work bitten off.

You wait for him to get out of the car first, a holdover from the days when you would wait five minutes so no one would notice that you were coming from the same place. In some ways, it's easier that he crashed his car; so convenient that you volunteered to be his chauffeur. He comes to your side, opens your door. You squint at him, jutting your chin out like you're bracing yourself for something.

"I wasn't gonna go out with her," he tells you, a secret between you, him, and the hard asphalt of the MSBY gym's employee parking lot. "Ain't nobody else seein' this in the mornings either. That's all."

He turns around and strides off, leaving you blinking in the morning light.

"Can you move it?" You say, your brows knit together. Hinata grimaces.

"I can bend it, like this—" he curls the injured finger inward. "But it won't stretch out, like this. Ah!"

You release his hand, where you'd applied pressure to the digit. "It's sprained. You're sitting out the rest of practice."

"Aw, but it really doesn't hurt that bad," he protests. You give him a look. "Okay, okay. Can I least do some running and stuff?"

"Do you want to come to practice tomorrow?" You say evenly. He gives you big brown puppydog eyes and you fold like wet paper. "I'll give you some stretches and exercises for your legs that you probably can't fuck up."

"Yay!" He cheers. "Thank you!" He uses an affectionate diminutive of your name with -chan tacked on the end. You laugh and wave him off, walking out of the main gym area toward your office, where you can print him the exercises.

You lean against your desk while the printer huffs temperamentally, taking a long sip of coffee. You should really stop going over to Atsumu's on weeknights, but you've been telling yourself that for well over a year, and it's a lot more convenient since all your clothes and your toothbrush live at his place.

You tell yourself a lot of things when it comes to your blond coworker.

The door to your office slams open and you make an involuntary, high-pitched noise in the back of your throat, focusing hard on keeping the cardboard cup in your hand from jumping with you.

"Sorry, sorry," Bokuto says, his hair drooping dramatically. "It's just really important—Tsumu's hurt!"

You take an inhale so quickly it hurts and burst your coffee cup all over your coat and work pants. Luckily, you take it mostly milk and sugar, so it doesn't burn you, but you don't even really notice it, just shedding the coat and rolling up your sleeves as you stride out the door without hesitation.

Behind you, Bokuto follows, making garbled promises you hear as through water to buy you a house to make up for startling you and ruining your outfit.

You try to take three deep breaths before you enter the gym, knowing you'll be much more helpful calm rather than battling the wall of panic that threatens to overtake you. Atsumu is blocked from your vision by a crowd of his teammates, fluttering around him like a herd of bumblebees.

Iwaizumi is already there, you see with an exhale of relief, ordering everyone around him to stay calm. You motion to the players around him to give him space, hoping your terror doesn't show untowardly on your face, hoping he can feel your singleminded prayer: please be okay.

"Eh?" He has a dopey expression on his face, dopier than usual, anyway. He says your name gleefully, but you're too busy scanning him for visible blood or bone to respond right away. "Nice shirt. Hey, why's your coat off? Were you taking off your clothes in there? Without me?"

"He collided with Sakusa," Iwaizumi tells you. Atsumu reaches for your hand and you stroke your fingertips lightly over the back of it, along the bones and tendons, each touch saying you'll be okay, it's going to be okay.

I'll make it okay.

"Sakusa's shoulder got banged up, you should probably put him on reserve for a couple days," Iwaizumi says. You glance over at the black-haired spiker, who gives you a thumbs-up though his expression is characteristically flat. "Atsumu, though... he fell pretty hard."

You can see that. There's a bruise blooming along the side of his face, like the sloppy trail of your lipstick after a night out. His ankle is swollen, too; the disorientation of the head injury must have impaired the grace of his landing.

You kneel and shift into clinical mode, receding into the comfortable space of your training. You feel along his leg, asking him over and over does it hurt, can you move this, does it hurt when I do this.

"Okay, doc?" His beautiful honey eyes are unfocused. You want to cry. You want to squeeze his hand tighter, but you don't want to hurt him more. "S all good. I'm fine."

You shake your head, grateful it's not worse. Afraid of what you have to say to him.

"That's right, you'll be fine. But the concussion paired with the ankle injury... I don't think it's a good idea for you to return to practice for a month at least."

You squeeze your eyes shut and pull your hands away from him. He probably doesn't want to be touched. He might hate you for this.

What's the point of sleeping with the doc if I don't get special privileges, you imagine him saying, if you're gonna take my life away from me like this. A month of recovery doesn't sound like so much to other people, but you've been working around these volleyball freaks since high school. You know that it's everything to them.

"Okay," Atsumu simply says. You look at him. "You gonna drive me home?"

"If you don't mind," you say softly.

"Yeah, then it's okay," he says, and scoots around, hissing when he forgets and puts pressure on the injured ankle. He leans back, and you catch his head in your lap.

"I'm gonna break my leg," Barnes says from somewhere behind you. "I want the doc to hold me like that."

You hear a thwack and then Iwaizumi's voice: "Sakusa, stop concussing your teammates. L/N only has so much room in her car."

Atsumu recovers more quickly than you expect. You should have known, though; he's always had a strong ability to heal. He rarely gets sick and though he's brash and reckless and sometimes outright stupid, he's lucky. In almost all the inadvisable endeavors you've seen him pull, he almost never gets hurt.

You're not actually a doctor, not that the team believes that. You've been trying to explain that you're a sports medicine physical therapist for the three years you've been working for MSBY and not once has it deterred anyone from calling you doc.

Atsumu was signed six months after you started, and you had only been friends until a year after that. In all that time, you've been the consummate professional at work, never letting your touches linger, never stretching him too deeply, trying not to stare at him like he's just any other player. When he first propositioned you, you tried not to say yes too quickly, as businesslike as possible.

You went into sports medicine because of your sister. She had been a superstar from the moment she stepped foot on a tennis court; even at a young age you saw that she wielded the racket like it was an extension of herself. As the two of you grew in age, you also saw the ways she overextended herself: the swollen knobs of her knees, hidden under frozen packs of peas, the frequent doctor's visits for hyperextension, the tear tracks when she tore her ACL.

You had spent so much of your childhood waiting for her during practice, doing your homework in the bleachers, fielding questions about her play to the uninitiated relatives who came to support her matches that it felt like the most natural course of action to go into a career field that meant you could help her and others like her chase their dreams.

You had also almost exclusively dated athletes as a result. While you were attending university and chasing your certifications, you had been surrounded by two types of people: students and athletes. You had barely any time in your schedule, much less the ability to align it with a similarly crammed med student. Athletes, on the other hand, didn't have an obsession with comparing your knowledge, liked that you were too busy to monitor them all day long, and loved that you had to attend every one of their games because it was literally your job.

By the time you got the position in Osaka, you were beyond over the routine of dating the people in your care. You swore to yourself that you wouldn't mess around with the team and entered a yearlong celibate streak, which Atsumu blew up into a million pieces and never allowed to recover.

To his (and your) credit, the both of you became close friends before ever crossing the boundary of inappropriate conduct. Just because you were strictly business during work hours didn't mean that you, lonely and shy in a new city, were going to turn down your coworkers' offer to go out after practice. You'd gotten to know Meian well and considered Bokuto to be something of a little brother. Then they had traded a couple of players for Atsumu, and the moment he gripped your hand and slapped your shoulder instead of shaking it or bowing like a normal person, you knew that he was going to mean much more to you than any other of your team.

You had fallen quickly into a deep friendship, and his apartment was much closer to the team's favored bars than yours was, so it was just easier for you to go home and crash on his couch. And his couch was gross, because it belonged to a bachelor who had never heard of a steam cleaner, so one night you insisted on sharing the bed, and you had become good friends who cuddled weekly.

It happened like this:

You were the last two left in the booth that had once contained the extremely compressed bodies of several of the largest men in Japan, probably, but they had practice early the next morning and had trickled out, one by one. Atsumu had his head down on the table while you desperately tried to convince him to come home (already you were referring to his apartment as your home without thinking, though only a spare toothbrush and a coat were kept there at the time).

"Please," you said, "I'm so tired. I'm not even drunk anymore."

"I am," Atsumu said, turning his face toward you. "Very."

"I know," you groaned. "Let's go home."

"I can't," he said despondently.

"Why not?"

"Not with you," his words slurred together. "I gotta problem."

"What?" You suddenly felt very, very sick. Maybe you were more drunk than you'd thought.

"Mhm. I gotta apologize, I think."

Oh, you thought. This is it. He knows.

"I've been having," he hiccuped and turned his face into his arms again so that you couldn't hear the next thing he mumbled.

"I can't hear you like that," you say softly. "Please, Atsumu, you can tell me anything."

You've been seeing someone, and she wants me to stop sleeping over. She wants you to stop being friends with me. You need the apartment to yourself to have her over.

"No," he says, turning back to you again, his eyes glossy with drink, his lips pink and just the slightest bit open. "I have been having manly thoughts about you. Unmanly thoughts. Whatever."

"What do you mean?" You'd asked, heart beating fast.

"I wanna have sex with you," he said, and then slammed his forehead against the table until it left a red mark. "I'm sorry, women! It's wrong to dream about kissing your girl friends, I know!"

You ignored his nonsensical shouting and put your hand under his face so he wouldn't injure it.

"Then let's go home so we can have sex," you said. He whipped his head up so fast you worried for his spinal discs.

"You promise?"

You actually didn't have sex that night because he fell asleep as soon as you coerced him into the bed. The next morning, he'd been hungover and ashamed, stuttering and afraid to look you in the eye. You had given him a handful of painkiller pills and waited until he was washing it down with a glass of green juice before you said "I think about having sex with you, too," so that he spewed it all over the floor.

Maybe it was petty, but you needed vengeance for his forcing you to drag him bodily out of that bar the previous night.

After your first time, he said, awkwardly, something about not being able to commit to a relationship at the moment, something about difficulty expressing his feelings, about being too immature to settle. A script you were as familiar with as the back of your hands. You turned to him, swiping sweaty strands of hair out of your face, glowing with a smile as he stuttered his way through it, and said I know the game. We don't have to talk about it.

He insisted that it wasn't a game, that you deserved transparency and to be treated well, and you rolled over on top of him and kissed him until he forgot his own name.

During the month-long recovery period, you had resumed the friendship you had had in the early months of knowing each other, refusing adamantly to do anything strenuous or even unsportsmanly while you had to work much more closely together than ever before. You insist on sleeping at your own apartment for the first week, afraid of aggravating his injuries further, until he threatens to walk to you with his pillow and sleepover bag. You bring him food near-daily and call his brother when your schedule prevents you from doing so.

He's diligent about doing the exercises and stretches you assign him to bring him back to full functionality. Towards the end of his detention (you pinch him for using such a dramatic word), you start taking walks together, in the evenings on work days and the mornings on days off.

You keep expecting him to ask for space, to push you out of his daily routine, to realize that he's bored because he knows everything about you; there's nothing left to hide. Nothing except the one unspoken thing, the one you're sure he knows but you can't acknowledge.

New growth is beginning to sprout on the trees, grey wood dotted with little specks of bright green. Atsumu walks without a limp, now, his posture straight but relaxed, his hands shoved into his pockets.

His body is healed, but his heart aches. You're wearing casual clothes, big soft pants that billow around your legs and a black shirt with his name in yellow letters, and you look far away, worried. No matter how many times he smooths the pinch between your brows away with his thumb, no matter how many times he asks what's wrong, you refuse him a straight answer.

He wonders if he's pulled you too close, in this month dying of boredom, forbidden from running and setting and anything that could damage his brain. He still gets to see you in the morning, your back arching as you stretch and yawn, the crinkle of your nose when your feet touch the cold floor outside of bed, which is probably slowly draining all the function from his grey matter.

You're wearing gloves, your extremities sensitive to the cold. He takes your left hand, tugs it off. When he tangles your fingers together, you look up at him, questioningly, that knot between your brows back again.

"What, woman, now I can't hold your hand?"

You stop walking. He curses his big, fat mouth. He always chooses the wrong thing to say, always has.

Osamu used to ask him what he was supposed to say to girls. Atsumu, proud big brother that he wanted to be, would puff out his chest and give him paragraphs of advice, and Osamu almost never used it. There were so few opportunities for him to advise Samu, though; he was so self-sufficient, maybe more than Atsumu had ever been. He was more introverted, less brash and crass and rude. Sometimes, when Atsumu ceded his insistence on being the wiser one with six more minutes of life experience, he wished he could be more like his twin.

"Do you love me like that, Atsumu?" You ask, mouth pressed into an unhappy line, already pulling away from him like you were expecting him to say something completely insane. "Because I understood fucking, and being friends with benefits, but I don't know if I get going out for food and holding hands and—"

"Like?" He says, refusing to let your hand slip from his. "I love you. That's it."

"Oh," you say, and your mouth is twisted up like you're searching for something he can't see again, but the crease in your forehead is gone.

"You gonna go out with me?" He says, and it comes out way easier than he ever thought it would, and if choosing the rest of his life is as simple a decision as chasing volleyball and you has been, growing up sounds way better than he thought. "'Cause I wanna do it all with you."

Once Atsumu's allowed to drink again, it's time for the real volleyball season to start, and his diet becomes much stricter and your schedule much longer, but eventually the two of you find yourselves back at the same old bar with the rest of the team.

"You're a scrub with no hope of survival in the zombie apocalypse," sneers Atsumu. This is a common topic of conversation among them; each one vying to be the leader of your hypothetical ragged survivors' team.

"I could win a fight against you with one hand tied behind my back," snits Tomas, who usually is oblivious to Atsumu's provocations but gets a lot feistier when he's drunk, to the setter's delight.

"Please don't," says Bokuto, his hair deflating in fear of his friends fighting.

"Haven't you had enough dick measuring," says Sakusa, holding a mug in front of his face like it'll prevent him from seeing Atsumu's and thus pretending he's not there.

"Have you guys ever done that?" You perk up, looking around. "Isn't that supposed to be a locker room ritual?"

"In high school, maybe," snorts Barnes. "We're way too old for that now."

"Yeah, we're real mature," insists Bokuto, his hair bouncing back up into its familiar two-pronged shape. You’ve long wondered how it does that, but if working with MSBY has taught you anything, it’s that science can’t explain everything.

You nod, taking another sip of your beer.

“So how big is it?” Atsumu addresses Sakusa and you squeeze your eyes shut. You just got him to start attending team bonding nights.

“Small. Leave me alone.” You choke on your drink, spluttering as you make eye contact with Sakusa and the tiny, prideful smirk on his face.

The rest of the team dissolves into laughter.

"What about you?" Hinata, his cheeks rosy, says to Atsumu. Before you can think, your drunken mouth speaks for you.

"You can’t have it, I called dibs!”

You slap a hand over your mouth, mortified. You can’t even begin to think about the rest of your coworker’s reactions. You haven’t even disclosed your relationship yet! Atsumu guffaws.

“I don’t think anyone’s trying to take it from ya, doll.”

[simplybakugou]

Story Mode | Mystic Academia: Sero Hanta's Route

⋆ PAIRING: hacker!sero x fem!reader ⋆ WARNINGS/TAGS: swearing; slight danger but nothing TOO crazy ⋆ WORD COUNT: 1.2K

A/N: the first written story mode! It’s inspired by seven’s route slightly hehe

NOTE: credits to @eraserhead-transparents for the kaminari cap

Mystic Academia: Sero Hanta's Route Masterlist

You couldn’t help but pace around the first floor of the office, glancing over at the front door every now and then after you had closed the chatroom app. Sero’s messages and warnings were concerning to say the least and waiting around for him to come over was nerve wracking. Taking a deep breath, you finally forced yourself to sit down instead of borderline running laps in your own living space. 

A knock at the door broke away the panicked trance you were in. You let out a breath of relief as you sprung up and moved towards the door. It calmed your nerves knowing Sero was on the other side and he could fix this in a way that only he could.

Just as you were about to open the door, your hand froze as your fingers barely touched the door handle. You recalled Sero’s warning from earlier in the day and how he instructed you to not open the door for anyone since he knew the PIN to the front door. 

But the feelings of doubt washed away when you heard the beeping that was echoing from the other side of the door as each PIN number was entered. The door opened slowly and you smiled. 

“Sero?” You asked, poking your head out from the ajar door. You furrowed your brows.

Behind the door was a man with a hood covering his head and a black mask covering his face. The rest of his body was adorned in black clothing and the only discernible feature you could make out were his piercing scarlet eyes.

Despite never having seen Sero in person, just going off of his profile picture in the chatroom, you knew one thing for sure.

This was not Sero.

“Aw, were you expecting someone else, princess,” he uttered, his eyes crinkling up into a smile. 

You took a step backwards, slightly frozen in shock and fear. There was no way to anticipate this happening at that moment. Even if Sero had mentioned that the hacker could break into the office, you were reassured by Sero’s desperate desire and urge to make sure he got to you to keep you safe. How naive of you.

The man took a step towards you as you slowly backed away, shutting the door and automatically locking it behind him. He pulled his mask down, revealing what looked like wrinkly and dry skin as if he had a skin condition.

“You know, it took a lot of work to get to you, Miss Coordinator.” The man continued to advance towards you until your back hit the wall. He blocked your body from moving with his own as he planted his palms on the wall on either side of your head, preventing any chance of escape. “Master said he definitely wants you on our side now.”

“W-Who the hell are you?! What do you want from me?!” You blattered out, working the nerve to confront this man.

“Oh? I see… I guess you never did get to actually speak with me. Especially since I only led you to this office through mere texts.” Your eyes widened.

It was Unknown. The man who talked to you about the apartment and M.F.A.

“Well, I’ll explain everything later. For now,” he paused for a moment as he reached down and grabbed hold of your wrist tightly. “We have to go to Paradise.”

Your eyes widened even more. This was all related to him. The weird flyer Mina and Kaminari received, another emergency security system being installed… it was all linked to this one man. 

Unknown turned his body and walked back towards the door, dragging you by the wrist behind him. You tried to pull away from him, attempting to yank yourself free but to no avail. Even pushing at his body with your free hand did absolutely nothing.

The door swung open just as you were about to lose hope and accept your faith. Both you and Unknown whipped your heads up to see who it was and you could almost feel yourself burst into tears of joy.

It was Sero. And this time it genuinely was as his dark eyes and hair matched his profile picture.

Sero panted, his breath nearly stopping as he took in the sight before him. If he was even a minute late, you would have been long gone.

“Well, well, look who it is,” Unknown muttered slowly, chuckling to himself. “It’s been a long time hasn’t it, Cellophane.”

Sero’s eyes nearly bugged out his head as he blatantly stared at Unknown. “You.”

“How sweet of you to remember me.” Unknown grinned, sending a shiver down your spine.

Although he was still stunned, Sero blinked and snapped out of the shock he was in. He looked down at Unknown’s grip on your wrist and your other hand attempting to push him away.

“Let her go,” Sero said firmly.

Unknown laughed and shook his head. “I don’t think so. We need her for Paradise. Master wants to see her.”

Sero clenched his teeth. “Fine. You leave me no choice then.” He swiftly pulled his phone out of his pocket and typed in something with one without ever breaking eye contact with Unknown.

Suddenly, an alarm blared throughout the office, emergency lights flashing and a shrill beeping sound echoing in the room. 

Both you and Unknown flinched at the sudden sound and he finally dropped your wrist to cover his ears. You did the same, looking at Sero concerningly who hadn’t moved at all. 

“What the hell did you do?!” Unknown exclaimed angrily. 

“I installed a bomb in this office for intruders. I just set it off manually and I’ll let it go off unless you leave.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” Unknown groaned at the incessant and annoying sound. He waited a moment until he realized Sero was serious and he laughed. “Looks like you win this time. But this isn’t over, got it?”

Sero ignored him and the two of you watched as Unknown casually walked out of the office, his cackling laughter following him out the door. 

JOIN THE TAGLIST

[alaia777]

HIIII I hope you’re doing good! I just LOVE YOUR WORKS!! And I just saw that your request were open soooo… (It isn’t actually a request at first I just wanted to share a thought I had and you can write something for it if you want or ignore it as well it’s fine too but I just felt like sharing this idea!)

So basically, I was thinking about a Reo x Reader in which the scenario would basically be:

Reader is a friend of bachira, Isagi & Chigiri (obviously reader is chaotic & unserious if friend of bachira) and like Reo rlly likes reader’s vibes and kind of fall in love with her, but he doesn’t allow himself to have these feelings for her because he thinks reader is not from the same world as him and his parents will never accept him dating someone like that.

BUT dot dot dot,

Like a week later, his parents are having like some meeting with others important persons and their children have to be there too bc why not so Reo is here, AND WHO HE FIND AT THIS MEETING? READER!! And then he realises we’re actually from a rich & high status family and he sees us acting way different than we did when he saw us hanging out with bachira, like we are now acting respectful and serious while it was the opposite when Reo first saw us, and basically Reo is like ‘wow, she’s perfect’

THANKS FOR READING MY REQUEST THROUGH ITS NOT REALLY ONE, I just felt like sharing that thought! Remember to eat & drink well, byee!

hellooo!! i really loved your idea, it was so much fun to write! i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed working on it! take care, sending you all my loveeee <333

you’ve been friends with isagi, bachira, and chigiri for a while now. you were first friends with chigiri, who introduced you to them, and honestly, it felt like you fit right in—your personality blending perfectly with the other three.

you don’t like to pick favorites since that can break friendships, but if you had to, bachira might be something close to that. he’s always buzzing with energy—while the other two can have their moments of calm, bachira never seems to run out of battery. it’s like he’s constantly on, always looking for the next thrill, the next laugh, the next game to turn life into.

and you love that—finally getting to cut loose and just have fun. with bachira, it’s always something ridiculous. once, you both convinced isagi and chigiri to have a shopping cart race in an empty parking lot. you pushed bachira at full speed while he screamed like he was in a high-speed chase, and chigiri nearly crashed into a bush because isagi was too focused on winning to steer properly.

another time, you and bachira tried to see how many arcade claw machine prizes you could win in a row, turning it into a full-blown competition. bachira ended up with a ridiculous number of stuffed animals, chigiri kept missing on purpose just to avoid carrying them, and isagi nearly broke the machine by shaking it too hard.

“this thing is obviously rigged,” he muttered.

“or maybe you just suck at it,” you teased, grinning as you pulled out yet another prize on your first try.

even the simplest things turn into adventures with them, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

there has been an addition to your friend group. well, not exactly an addition—they were already friends with the others, but you hadn’t met them before. their names were nagi and reo.

nagi was easy to figure out. he was laid-back, always looking like he was five seconds away from falling asleep, but somehow still keeping up with the chaos you and bachira stirred up. he never tried to stop it—just stood on the sidelines.

reo, though—reo was different.

he was friendly, easy to talk to, always jumping into conversations with a confidence that made him seem like he belonged. but with you, there was something else. something hesitant.

he seemed to gravitate toward you without meaning to, always ending up next to you in conversations, standing just a little closer than necessary. but then, just as quickly, he’d pull away—like he caught himself getting too comfortable. like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to.

and you couldn’t figure out why.

he could figure out why.

he liked you.

your eccentric personality, the way you always seemed to smile—not just around his friends but around him too—made his heart weak. you had this way of making everything feel exciting, like the world was a little brighter just because you were in it. and unfortunately, he knew that whatever he was dreaming of whenever he looked at you was just that—a dream.

you two were from different worlds.

he couldn’t show up to dinner with his parents and introduce you as his girlfriend. not because he didn’t want to—god, he wanted to—but because he knew exactly how that conversation would go.

“who are her parents?”

“what does her family do?”

“does she understand our world?”

and he wouldn’t have the answers they wanted to hear. because, as far as he knew, you were just an ordinary girl from an ordinary life. no name that held weight, no empire backing you, no future that had already been paved out for you like his had.

so he kept his distance. as much as he could, anyway.

except it was impossible. because no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that it wouldn’t work, that it couldn’t work, he’d always find himself right back next to you—laughing at your jokes, getting caught up in your energy, wanting more of you in ways he knew he shouldn’t.

but dreams weren’t meant to last. and this? whatever this was? it was never supposed to start in the first place.

that thought followed him everywhere—at practice, at home, and even now, as he sat stiffly at a round table, surrounded by people who spoke in dull, rehearsed tones.

these events were routine. his parents dragged him to them from time to time, expecting him to sit through dinner, shake hands, and engage in polite, empty conversations. it always bored him out of his mind. the food was expensive, the champagne flowed freely, and yet, it all felt lifeless.

there were other people his age, but they were no better. perfectly mannered, perfectly dull, sticking to scripted pleasantries that never led anywhere real.

he wanted you here.

he wanted to hear your laugh cut through the hum of forced conversation, wanted to see the way your eyes would light up whenever bachira pitched some ridiculous idea.

he could already picture it so clearly. except—

why was he actually seeing someone that looked exactly like you a few tables over?

his breath caught in his throat.

same face. same familiar spark in your eyes. but the version of you sitting there was—classier.

your hair was styled differently, and you wore a dress that looked like it cost more than someone’s monthly salary. it fit you effortlessly, draping over you in a way that made you look like you belonged here, like you were born for this world he’d convinced himself you weren’t a part of.

except it was you.

and reo felt his entire reality tilt on its axis.

he couldn’t stop himself from approaching your table, and when your eyes met his, you greeted him with a sweet smile—polished, composed, a little too perfect compared to the one he was used to.

“good evening, reo. it’s a pleasure to see you again,” you said, your voice smooth and measured.

the words felt so foreign coming from you that he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “why are you talking like that?”

for a split second, your expression wavered, the ghost of your usual smirk threatening to break through. but just as quickly, you reined it in, maintaining the same poised demeanor.

your parents, however, exchanged puzzled glances.

“honey,” your mother asked, her tone curious but polite, “do you know this young man?”

reo’s gaze flickered between you and them, his mind still struggling to reconcile the version of you he knew with the one sitting before him now.

you smiled—again, too polished, too controlled—and folded your hands neatly in your lap. “yes, mother. this is reo. we have mutual friends.”

mutual friends.

reo didn’t know why that made his stomach twist.

“is that so?” your father chimed in, looking him over with the kind of careful scrutiny reo had grown up around. “and what do your parents do, young man?”

reo didn’t answer. he was still looking at you, waiting for you to crack, to drop the act, to laugh and tell him this was all some elaborate prank. but you didn’t.

instead, you tilted your head ever so slightly and gave him that same polite smile.

and reo—who had spent weeks convincing himself that he could never be with you because you were from a different world—suddenly realized he had never known a damn thing about you at all.

reo didn’t give you a chance to react. one moment, he was standing beside your table, and the next, his hand was wrapped around yours, pulling you away from the lingering stares of your parents and the stiff, dull atmosphere of the event.

“reo—” you started, but he didn’t slow down, weaving through the elegantly dressed crowd until he found a quieter spot, a secluded balcony overlooking the city. only then did he let go, turning to face you with narrowed eyes.

“what the hell is going on?” he demanded, breath slightly uneven, whether from frustration or something else, you weren’t sure. “why were you talking like that? why are you here—like this?”

you exhaled, leaning against the cool railing. “because this is my life,” you admitted. “the one i never told you about.”

his jaw clenched. “so what? you’ve been lying to us this whole time?”

“no,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “it’s not like that. i just, i didn’t want this to matter. with you, with nagi, with bachira, with chigiri and isagi—i didn’t want to be this person. i just wanted to be me.”

reo ran a hand through his hair, his expression unreadable. “so you’re telling me you’re rich. like, stupidly rich.”

you huffed a small laugh. “yeah. basically.”

he let out a long sigh, looking away for a moment before glancing back at you. “so all this time, i thought i couldn’t be with you because i was the rich one and you weren’t.” he scoffed, shaking his head. “turns out, i was completely wrong.”

your lips parted slightly. “wait, what?”

he blinked, as if realizing what he had just admitted. his ears turned the faintest shade of red. “nothing,” he muttered quickly. “forget it.”

but you didn’t. a slow smile crept onto your lips. “reo, were you avoiding me because you liked me?”

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “can we not do this right now?”

but you were grinning now, stepping closer. “so if i had just told you the truth from the beginning, we could’ve been on a date ages ago?”

“alright, that’s it,” he huffed, and before you could react, he grabbed your hand again, but this time, it was different. slower. more deliberate.

“dance with me,” he said.

you blinked at him. “reo, there’s no music—”

“so?” he smirked. “i bet you’re a good dancer. with all that rich people etiquette training, right?”

you rolled your eyes, but your heart was racing when he pulled you closer, one hand settling at your waist.

“if i take you on a real date,” he murmured, “you won’t run off and hide another secret life from me, will you?”

you laughed softly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “no more secrets. promise.”

reo grinned, spinning you under the city lights. “good. because i’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.”

[stvrnloghost]

————————————————

How fratboy!Chris and innocent!reader met!

⚠︎ - not really much just some fluff, alchohol, and drugs!

in which the most popular guy in campus somehow ends up with the most innocent and sweetest girl at a party?

————————————————

ever since you were younger, you were sheltered your parents not daring to even let you lose your innocence. Which resulted into you falling behind in trends, and growth. Which also made an impact with your friends as you grew, you practically didn’t have anyone besides well, your parents. Just how they liked it. Their sweet little innocent girl, who never ever would do wrong.

So when you went off into collage it was like a whole new world. There was so many parties, alchohol—which you knew you never would even touch it, right? But other than that it was just a lot overwhelming for you. It was hard fitting in that’s for sure, you didn’t know how to make friends really so your dumbass thought it would be a smart idea to go to a party.

————————————————

Somehow you eneded up having one drink, trying to fit in. Which quickly escalated to two, ofcourse you not ever drinking before you were a lightweight. Feeling the buzz and claustrophobic you needed to find a room to go—anywhere.

After a while of stumbling past people, upstairs, and finding a door that you were sure was the bathroom you opened the door. You were quickly met with the sight of a boy—who you knew as Chris. He was smoking some type of drug sprawled out on his bed, in nothing but plaid pj bottoms, and his hair messy. “M’ s-sorry.” You manage to slur out your vision slightly blurring as you clutch the door frame.

The boy sat up tilting his head taking in your appearance. You didn’t even look like you belonged here. You were wearing leggings and a hoodie—definitely not the typical thing a girl wears to a party. You just had this innocent aura radiating off you.

after a beat of silence—mixed with your heavy breathing and some hiccups. He rolled his eyes and sat up placing his blunt in his ash tray. “Yeah s’ whatever kid.” He grumbled out though his tone was definitely bitchy his features had some concern in them.

————————————————

Honestly the rest of the night was a blur for you, you kinda remember throwing up, him helping you, then it was all black. So you were slighlty confused when you woke up in another persons bed—thankfully fully clothed, but in different clothes, boy clothes. And that’s when you saw him—Chris you’d heard about him a few times. He was cute, but you knew you’d probably never even speak to him—now you’re in his bed?

You immediately shuffled up quietly. Starting to grab your stuff. Your gaze lingered on his peaceful face as he slept, the way his chest rose and fell, his arms. You quickly snapped yourself back to reality and grabbed the rest of your belongings and left.

The whole day you couldn’t keep your mind off Chris, ue was consuming your mind. You felt bad for leaving but he probably didn’t care did he? He probably woke up with so many girls in his bed.

As you were walking down the sidewalk, your favorite latte in hand, music playing in your ears through your headphones, and your head down as you held your book in your free hand. You accidentally bumped into someone your coffee spilling all over you. You immediately spilled out a bunch of apologies before looking up and meeting his gaze—Chris.

“Nah..uhm s’ okay kid, m’ sorry about your coffee.” He mumbled out, his blue eyes staring into your pretty eyes, a red tint spread over his cheeks as you took his hand helping you get up. “No no it’s okay I just, I wasn’t paying attention.” You whisper out quietly suddenly feeling nervous.

“Uhm..yeah you uhm I—uhm I think you left your lipgloss in my room last night.” He mumbles out softly his hand still in yours. “I swear we didn’t do anything I just…uhm you were pretty wasted and…uhm tired.” He added on quickly.

“Oh..I uh thank you—for the help and uhm…I’ll get my lipgloss another time.” You whisper out shyly, your eyes flickering across his face. “I should get going..gonna go get a new coffee.” You add on quietly.

“No no, you should uhm let me pay and..here.” He quickly takes his jacket off wrapping it around your form that had coffee spilled all over it. “Let’s go I’ll buy you a new coffee, I was headed that way anywyas.” He mumbled out leaving no room for protest. His hand that was still in yours dragging you along with him.

————————————————

A/N: hi so this…SUCKS but I’m also tired as fuck and have so many assignments but meet Fratboy!chris and innocent!reader!! Thank you for reading this shit I’m sorry 😭 anywyas have a nice day my little ghosts! (It’s not proofread either)

Taglist: @sturnsrecord @chrepsi @drewswife @crtlness (sorry if I’m missing anyone!!)

[rekino2114]

If I'm not too late, could I please ask for Valentines prompt 17 with M!Reader and Makima rewatching their wedding video (bonus points if it's with their child Nayuta)?

Love your work!

You and makima rewatching your wedding video

Pairing:makima x male reader

A/n:this takes place in the nayuta daughter au

Valentine's prompt#17

Prompts list

If there's one thing makima loves....then it's you but if there are two things she loves...then it's you and nayuta, but somewhere on that list is watching movies.

She always liked movies, but especially now that she has someone to watch them with she loves those moments even more, and she doesn't mind rewatching for the 7th time whatever Disney movie nayuta is currently obsessed with. She even buys her daughter merchandise of them that she brags about to everyone at school.

But her favorite "movie" to watch is by far your wedding video. Just remembering that day causes her heart to beat faster than usual, and watching it is just amazing it feels like reliving that beautiful moment, so much that it had become a tradition to watch it on valentine's day, even after nayuta was born.

"Daddy, mommy, the movie is about to start"

Makima giggled and placed nayuta into her lap while using her other hand to pull you closer to her

"It's not a movie nayuta, it's a recording"

"Oh......of what?"

"Of the best day of my life"

"*gasp* it's when I was born right?"

"No, sorry sweetie, that's the second best day of my life"

"Then what's the first one?"

"Just watch and see"

Nayuta started eating the popcorns you made her, which had way too much butter to be considered a light snack but quickly coughed because of the gasp she emitted when the video started playing

"It's you mommy! And you're a princess!"

"Oh am I?"

"Yeah, yeah, that dress is definitely a princess one"

You smiled and looked at the video, makima really looked beautiful in her black dress. She always looked beautiful but on that day she was special just like everything else

"Seems like I'm not the only one who liked that dress"

"I think I know exactly why you liked it, dear"

"Can you blame me? You looked stunning"

The video continues with makima walking down the aisle and coming face to face with you

"*gasp* it's daddy too!"

"Yes and he looked stunning too"

Makima gave you a loving look that you reciprocated and got even closer to you, continuing to watch the TV attentively

"What are you doing now?"

"Reciting our vows"

"What does that mean?"

"It's like.....promises that you make to the person you love and that you have to keep forever"

"Really? Forever? Isn't that tiring?"

"It's not, it's just promising to love each other forever and in any condition, and saying how much their love changed you"

"Daddy changed you?"

"More than you can imagine"

Makima continued stroking her daughter's hair while watching the video, she remembered all of it like it was yesterday. the joy she felt seeing you there,the music, the people, she just felt pure happiness in that moment.

When you read your vows to her, she felt so loved and genuinely happy. All your promises and declarations made her heart and soul warm, and her eyes water a bit. However, she vowed herself not to cry during such a moment, so she didn't. She had a lot of experience in hiding her emotions, but of course, she didn't hide the widest smile she ever gave to you, she wanted you to see how happy you made her, it was only when the ceremony was over and you were alone in your room that she truly cried tears of pure happiness while vowing to love you and never leave you again, she felt loved and she wanted nothing more than to give you that love back, she wanted you to see all the emotions you made her feel, the pure happiness and love you made her feel bot through smiles and tears.

Just watching the kiss again and thinking about it made her feel exactly like that again.

"*gasp* daddy! Mommy is crying"

Makima snapped out of her thoughts and touched her cheek, how did she not notice the tears until now?

"Are you alright makima?"

She looked to her right to see your concerned face, the face of the person she loved and wanted to give the world to, the fact of the person who she had a child with, the face if the person she married.

She wiped her tears and looked at you with a wide pure smile, very similar to the one she gave you on the day that was playing on the tv

"It's nothing darling, I'm just so happy"

[mintyys-blog]

PETERS SECRET— peter parker x stark! reader

WARNINGS: implied sex

Tony Stark prided himself on being an intelligent man. Genius, billionaire, philanthropist—he had a lot of titles. But clairvoyant? Yeah, not one of them.

So when he found a box of condoms in Peter Parker’s backpack while rummaging for a piece of Stark tech the kid had borrowed, he did what any reasonable father figure would do.

He sighed, put them back, and pretended he didn’t see a thing.

Peter was a good kid. He had a life outside of the Avengers, and Tony wasn’t about to metal in his dating life. The kid was responsible, respectful, and, more importantly, not some playboy running around breaking hearts.

So Tony let it go.

That was his first mistake.

His second mistake?

Not checking who, exactly, Peter was dating.

Which led to his third and worst mistake—walking into his daughter’s room one afternoon, completely unannounced, only to find her tangled under the sheets with none other than Peter freaking Parker.

For a full three seconds, there was nothing but dead silence.

Then—“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?” Tony’s voice boomed, making both of you jolt.

“OH MY GOD—DAD!” You frantically scrambled for the blanket, yanking it higher over yourself while Peter nearly fell off the bed in his attempt to escape.

“Mr. Stark—SIR—this isn’t what it looks like!” Peter blurted, eyes wide in terror.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Oh? Because it looks like you were about two seconds away from defiling my daughter in my own house!”

“No, no, no, sir, I would never defile her!” Peter waved his hands frantically before realizing how bad that sounded. “I mean—I would—I mean, not in a bad way—I mean—”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Peter, stop talking.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he squeaked.

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply through his nostrils like he was physically holding back an aneurysm. “Parker.”

“Sir?” Peter swallowed hard.

Tony pointed a deadly finger at him. “I let it slide when I found condoms in your backpack. I told myself, ‘You know what? The kid’s growing up, he’s responsible, I don’t need to know who he’s seeing.’ But now—” He let out a humorless chuckle. “Now I know. And I do need to know. Because I am two seconds away from throwing you out the damn window.”

Peter paled. “I—um—I can survive that, but I’d really rather not.”

You groaned again. “Dad, please—”

“Please what? Let you two get back to whatever this is? Hell no!” Tony crossed his arms. “I trusted you, Parker.”

Peter looked like he wanted the Earth to swallow him whole. “I—um—I still want to be trusted?”

Tony scoffed. “Yeah? Well, I trusted Steve too, and you know what happened? He ran off with my murderous ex-friend and hid my parents’ killer from me.”

Peter blinked. “That… that seems like a separate issue, sir.”

“Oh, so now you’re giving me therapy, Spider-Boy?”

“Okay—both of you, stop,” you cut in, grabbing the blanket more securely around yourself. “Dad, I get it. You’re mad. But we’re both adults.”

“You’re nineteen.”

“And legally an adult!”

“Not in my damn house!”

Peter slowly raised a hand. “Mr. Stark, sir, if it helps, I love her.”

Tony snapped his head toward Peter so fast that Peter actually flinched.

“Love?” Tony repeated, like the word offended him on a personal level. “Kid, if you really love her, you wouldn’t be rolling around under the sheets while I’m in the house!”

You groaned. “We weren’t even—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

Peter frantically nodded. “I won’t! Sir, I swear, I respect her! More than anything!”

Tony exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before muttering, “You know what? I need a drink.” He turned, making his way toward the door before pausing.

Then, without looking back, he said, “Peter.”

Peter stiffened. “Sir?”

Tony glanced over his shoulder, his expression as serious as a heart attack. “If I ever catch you in her bed again, I will build a suit specifically designed to kill you.”

Peter audibly gulped. “Understood, sir.”

With that, Tony left, slamming the door behind him.

Silence fell over the room.

Then, Peter slowly turned to you. “So… do you think I should start writing my will?”

You sighed, collapsing back onto the pillows. “I’ll help you draft it tomorrow.”

[monstersflashlight]

Monster smash (part 2)

A/N: Hi lovelies! Welcome to this new-ish blog, I thought a good way to move was to post part 2 of this story y’all loved so much.

Multiple monsters x fem!reader || sfw, funny situation

You wake up to the sound of voices. Many voices, some grumbly and some other very deep, inhumanly deep. But there’s also clicking sounds, like the ones little forest creatures make when you get too close. You don’t even remember what happened. Did you faint?

“Honey… Are you all right?” A deep voice asks as your eyes flutter open, they feel incredibly heavy. There’s a lady with too many teeth in front of you… She’s scary enough that you close your eyes instantly, breathing hard as you try not to panic. And then the memories come back rushing through your mind.

The monster smash!

The person in front of you with thousands of pointy teeth is… the grocery lady! Shit, shit, shit… What did you get yourself into? Your brain is running so fast you feel almost dizzy, your body threatening to shut up again, but you breathe through your nose until you feel calm enough to re-open your eyes. The lady is not there anymore, but the tech dragon from your building is.

They are staring down at you with slow blinking eyes and a tiny smile, their nostrils flaring as if smelling your emotions. Can they do that? Can dragons smell emotions? Shit, what if they can? What are they able to smell? Can they smell your fear? Shit, could they smell that you didn’t shower for a week back when you had a big project at work? Oh, shit… Now you have to rethink about all the encounters you had with all of them.

“Pull back, you big dragon, let the lad have some space!” Someone else reprimands, pulling the dragon away with a chuckle. You only see a big gray hand but you can’t see who it belongs to, they move too fast to be caught by human eyes. What the fuck?

How can this be possible? How the fuck did you find yourself in that situation? Surrounded by monsters in a speed dating event… For fucks sake what was even your life anymore?

You try to sit up, but your brain is not agreeing with that decision and you fall back. You brace for impact, but you don’t land on the hard floor, but a soft surface that reminds you a lot to somebody’s lap. You look behind you and stare into thin vertical pupils that make your blood run a bit colder. That’s, that’s…

“You are a lizard woman!” You say a bit too loud if the flinch of everyone around you is any indication. But you don’t care, your confusion and hint of fear are rapidly replaced by indignation. You know that face, you know those eyes. You know them very, very well. “We shared tea many times and you didn’t tell me you were a lizard woman!?” Your tone is almost as angry as Bella Swan when she discovered Jacob named her daughter like the lake Ness monster.

Shit, was the lake Ness monster real? Was Twilight based in real events?! You have so many questions your brain can’t stop spinning.

“Darling, I-” Your friend from 4B tries to argue, but you are not having it. You sit up straight and get help from your landlord to get up, the minotaur landlord. The minotaur landlord that has no shirt on and has a very hairy chest you lowkey want to bury your face in. Focus, you remind yourself.

And the realization hits you like a brick.

You live in a monster building.

All your neighbors are monsters.

The one you considered your best friend is a lizard-woman.

What the actual fuck?

[sai-int]

LOW COUNTRY | INTRODUCTIONS

johnny mactavish x reader

[NEXT] [AO3] [MLIST]

mild swearing, lots of plot

The farm isn’t just a home—it’s a responsibility, a burden you never planned on shouldering alone.

You left this place once you were fresh out of high school, eager to escape the quiet, the isolation of the small town you grew up in. The city called to you, and you answered. New York City—the hustle, the noise, the lights. It was everything your small-town heart dreamed of. The world felt wide and full of possibility. You imagined yourself growing into the person you’d always wanted to be. College and a future in the city, away from the farm, away from the confines of the life that had always been so familiar, so small.

But then, one night after a bar-crawl with your friends marking the end of your Senior year, you got the call.

Your Ma had passed away. Just like that—no warning, no time to prepare.

You dropped everything. That’s what you do when family calls. You go home. The city and all your plans  felt so far away as you packed your bags and made the drive back to the farm. When you drove up the long driveway, the house sat there in the distance, almost looking the same, but so much different all at once. It felt wrong without your Ma's laugh echoing through the halls, her hum in the kitchen, her steady presence.

The funeral came and went in a blur of emotion, family, and loss. It was all a whirlwind, a blur of faces, of handshakes, and hushed condolences. But when the dust settled, the reality set in. Your Pa needed help. There was no denying it. He wasn’t the same man anymore—not without your Ma beside him.

So, you stayed. You told yourself it was temporary—just a few weeks, maybe a month at most. You’d help him get back on his feet, make sure everything was squared away, then go back to the city. But days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Mere months  turned into two years. One look at your Pa—slow-moving, his back hunched a little more each day, his hands trembled a little more than they used to—and you knew.

You couldn’t leave him.

The farm, with all its heavy tasks and responsibilities, became yours. For a while, your Pa tried to help, tried to keep his old pace. But as time passed and his grief only grew, his strength had faded, and soon, the weight of the work was yours to bear alone. He couldn’t lift the hay bales like he used to, couldn’t herd the sheep the way he had before. And those trips to the farthest corner of the farm on horseback, checking the fences, making sure everything was secure? You reckoned he couldn’t even get on a saddle.

You didn’t mind at first. It was just the two of you now, and you loved this place, loved the land, loved what it represented, It was home. But there were moments—the quiet ones, when everything slowed down—that the weight of it all settled heavily on your shoulders. You weren’t a farmhand. You were a woman who had spent her whole upbringing dreaming of more. A different life. But now, you’re tied to this place. Tied to your Pa. And your Ma's laugh still lingers in the walls, thick and heavy like the humidity that Summer brings each morning. 

You’re exhausted, frustrated—running on fumes. You can’t keep doing it all, but there’s no choice. The farm, the animals, the crops, the house... and Pa. You’re stretched thin, your bones aching under the weight of responsibilities that pile up faster than you can manage. The idea of doing it all alone feels like a cruel joke.

Something’s got to give. 

The help-wanted flyers were your last-ditch effort. You spent the better half of the previous night making them yourself, attempting to make them each as uniform as possible. 

‘FARMHAND WANTED. 

DEPENDABLE WORKERS AND SERIOUS INQUIRIES ONLY. 

CALL XXX-XXX-XXXX FOR DETAILS.’

If you didn’t find someone soon, you didn’t know how much longer you could keep it together. So, as the clock striked 8 AM the next morning, you climbed into Pa’s old pick-up, the engine coughing to life as you made your way into town.

You’d been born and raised here. The downtown—if it can even be called that—of Williston is small, everyone knows everyone, and most folks are working-class, middle-aged. The kind of people who offered a warm smile and a helping hand without a second thought. You’d grown up with their kindness, and now, as you hung those flyers in their storefront windows, you could feel the weight of their stares—half concern, half curiosity.

They all know your story by now. They’d watched you grow up, watched you leave, and then watched you come back after everything fell apart. You could feel the sympathy in their eyes, but they never let it show—there was a quiet understanding between you all. Their hospitality was something you could never take for granted.

But no amount of kind gestures could change the fact that you need help. And fast.

You pull into an empty parking space a block away from Main St, quickly hopping out and make your way through town, handing out flyers to shop owners and sticking them to cork boards. It’s routine. A simple task, but the weight of it all makes it feel heavier than it should. The town’s small enough that you’re familiar with most of the faces, and it feels like you’ve talked to half the town by the time the afternoon rolls around. You’re famished—your stomach growling louder than the engine of Pa’s truck as you finish your rounds.

You head into the local bar/diner/cafe/pawnshop, the comforting smell of fried food and coffee hanging in the air. The place is familiar, cozy—its booths all torn leather, worn but inviting. Al—or Crazy Al, as most call him—the owner, gives you a warm smile when you walk in, his graying hair poking out from beneath his old baseball cap. He’s been here longer than anyone can remember.

“Ya look like ya could use a milkshake,” he says, already putting scoops of vanilla ice cream into the blender.

You nod, grateful for the small kindness. Al gestures toward one of the metal bar stools in front of him, you sit and his eyes narrow a little when he notices the exhaustion written across your face.

“What’s got’ya  all wound up, kid?” he asks, pouring the milkshake in a mug and handing it to you

You eye the mug with momentary confusion before you choose to ignore his choice of cups. You take a deep breath, the weight of the day hitting you all over again. “It’s the farm,” you say, swirling the straw in the thick milkshake, not sure where to start. “Pa’s slowing down. I’m running everything from the crops, to the cows, to the house. I can’t keep up.”

Al nods, his expression softening in sympathy as he leans back against the counter. “That’s a helluva load for one person. Yer doin’ right by yer Pa, though, kid. Ya know that?”

You smile faintly, but it fades quickly. “I’m just doing what needs to be done, but it’s just not enough anymore. So I’m trying to find someone to help—a guy, young and strong, you know? I just can’t do it all by myself.”

You slide one of the flyers across the counter to Al, asking him to keep an eye out. “If you see anyone, just... send them my way? I’m desperate, at this point.”

He takes the flyer, his gaze flickering to the paper before meeting your eyes again. “Funny ya mention that,” Al says, scratching his chin. “There’s a new guy who popped up not a day ago. Didn’t think much of it at the time, but he was askin’ around for work. Thought he looked a little outta place for this town, but...”

You raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean ‘out of place’?”

“Just dun’ seem like he belonged, I guess. Looks like he went to Iraq or wherever they’re fightin’ these days.” He shrugs. “But hey, if ya need someone, ya might want to track ‘em down. If I see ‘em again, I’ll send him yer way.”

You nod, feeling a spark of hope. “You’re a Godsend, Al.”

About a week later, it’s a humid Wednesday morning in the heart of August. The kind of heat that clings to your skin, even when the sun’s hiding behind a blanket of clouds. A slight fog lingers in the air, and the scent of sweet grass drifts through the open windows, carried by a lazy breeze. The sun’s rays begin to break through the mist, casting long fingers of light across the fields and trees in the distance.

You finish cleaning up after breakfast, the dishes clinking softly in the sink. Pa’s moved from the dining table to sit in his ratty old armchair in the corner, eyes half-lidded as the local weatherman drones on about tomorrow’s rainstorm. It’s a quiet, familiar morning—the kind you’ve gotten used to in the last couple of years. Your hair’s tied up, a few loose strands sticking to your sun-kissed skin as you wipe down the counter, sweat beading lightly on your neck.

Then you hear it—boots on the porch.

Your body tenses instinctively, the old reflex kicking in. You consider grabbing the shotgun atop the door frame, but a second later, you shake the thought off. It’s overkill, and you’ve got enough sense to know it.

You open the door, not expecting much, probably some girl scouts, or worse, another annoying sales rep. from out of town.

You grasp the handle, pulling open the door, “Look, whatever you're selling, I ain’t buying. I got enough shit to pay fo-”

Standing there is a man, 6 '2 if you had to guess, built like a damn ox, all sharp angles and hard muscle, hair a cropped mohawk that looks like it belongs on someone ten times tougher than him. His eyes are so blue they nearly blind you, but they seem to hold a storm behind them, like he’s seen some shit.  But what really gets you is that smirk. It makes you want to both slap and kiss him at the same time.

And then he opens his mouth, and…

Definitely not American. Not even close.

You blink, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve stepped into some strange dream. You’ve always been more open-minded than most of the people in town, but hearing that thick accent in the middle of your quiet, rural world makes everything suddenly feel a little too strange. Now you get what Al was talking about when he mentioned, “Not from around here.”

He’s dressed in a dark blue flannel, sleeves rolled up to reveal a white wife beater underneath, the fabric stretched tight over his chest. A neat, tiny gold cross between each pec, as if to say ‘Hey! Look at my man-tits!’ His denim jeans are worn, the brown scuffs on the knees looking like he’s been praying in dirt. And those forearms… Thick and muscular, veins running like rivers beneath his skin- stop it.

You force your focus back up to his face, and it’s just as distracting. Soft stubble accented by the sharp slope of his nose. He stands tall, looking at you like he’s waiting for something—oh. He spoke, and now you were supposed to respond. That is how conversations work.

 You’re not the type to generally stare at people, but something about him, something in the way he carries himself. You try not to notice how his broad shoulders fill the doorway like he’s daring you to le- STOP.

He shifts on his feet, a hint of uncertainty behind that cocky grin. You can tell he’s not as sure of himself as he’s trying to appear. Maybe that’s the only thing stopping you from slamming the door in his face.

Still, you don’t trust him. Why would a guy like that want a job on a farm in the middle of nowhere? He looks like he could be doing much more important things—literally anywhere else—but he’s here. Standing on your porch with your flyer slightly crumpled in his big hands. 

“What can I do for you?” You try to sound cool, collected, but your tone comes out a little sharper than you meant.

He tilts his head, the smirk never wavering. “I hear ye're lookin’ for a hand.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That right?”

“Aye,” he answers, his accent thick and heavy, rolling the words in a way that makes the air feel hotter than it already is.

He steps a little closer, just enough to make you take a half step back. “Name’s Johnny-” he stretches his hand out, “Mactavish. I’m lookin’ for work. Could use somethin’ steady.”

You study him for a second, arms crossed, and wonder if you should even entertain this. A man like him could be trouble. Hell, a man like him is trouble. You take his hand in yours, giving it a solid shake.

“Do you know anything about farms?” with crossed arms and raised eyebrows, you don't bother to hide the skepticism in your voice.

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “I’ve done my share o’ heavy liftin’. Hard work don’t scare me.”

“Alright,” you hum, stepping back and letting the door swing open a little wider. “Come on in. I’ll get you something to drink, but don’t think you’re on the job yet. I’m just…” you pause, “Interviewing, I guess.”

He gives you another smirk,more amused than cocky as he steps past you. “Yes ma’am.”

You step aside, letting him in, and the moment he crosses the threshold, he fills the space. It’s not just his size—though, yeah, the man is big—it’s his presence. Something about him shifts the air, like he’s the sun and everything around him are just mere planets, susceptible to his magnetic pull. The house, your home, suddenly feels a little too small.

His smile fades, just slightly, as he takes it all in. Maybe it’s the warmth of the place, the scent of coffee lingering from breakfast, the old family photos lining the walls. Or maybe it’s just the quiet—different from whatever he’s used to.

“The hell is this?”

Pa’s voice cuts through the room, sharp and confused. He’s already halfway up from his chair, eyes narrowed, hands braced on the armrests like he’s about to stand but isn’t quite sure if it’s worth the effort. His gaze flicks between you and the very large, very unfamiliar man now standing in his house.

You sigh, already anticipating the reaction. “Pa, relax,” you say, walking over to him, ready to placate. “I was just looking for some help around the farm.”

Pa squints at the stranger like he’s trying to figure out whether he’s real or just a heat stroke-induced hallucination. “Help? With what?”

“With everything, Pa.” You lower your voice to a whisper-shout, rubbing your temple. “You can’t keep up the way you used to, and neither can I. We need someone else.”

Pa grumbles something under his breath before scoffing. “And how exactly do ya plan to pay ‘em, huh? We can’t afford that.”

You set your jaw firm. “I’ll make it work, I promise”

That makes him pause. He knows that tone. Knows it the same way he knew your mother’s, unyielding and steady, like a tree standing firm against the wind. Your roots bury deep in the ground you walk on, just like her. There’s no use arguing when you get like this, and he’s too tired to fight a battle he knows he’ll lose.

Still, his lips press into a thin line, his weathered hands gripping the armrests of his recliner before he exhales, slow and resigned. “Stubborn like your mother, I tell ya.”

The words land heavier than you’d like. You huff out a breath, shoving it down before it can settle too deep—before your guest gets too curious. You don’t need a stranger poking around and popping stitches.

So instead, you turn away from Pa as he sits back down, still muttering under his breath, and quickly clear the dining table of a few lingering cups from breakfast. The kitchen’s only a few steps away, the open floor plan letting you move freely. You rinse out a glass and fill it with cool, sweet tea, condensation already forming on the outside as the humid air clings to it. It’s an old habit, a simple kindness—making sure guests have something to drink.

When you turn back, you see that Johnny’s wandered toward the wall, where a small collection of family photos are hung in mismatched frames. He’s standing still, his broad shoulders relaxed but his head tilted slightly, studying them. Studying you.

Your stomach twists when you realize which one he’s looking at.

It’s old, a little faded in its frame, but still clear—you, small and bright-eyed, cloaked in your Ma's too-big dress and classy jewelry, drowning in fabric and pearls as you grin at the camera. Your Ma's crouched beside you, laughing, her arms wrapped around your waist to keep you steady. The slight shadow of your Pa holding the camera, capturing a moment frozen in time.

You clear your throat, the sound cutting through the quiet hum of last night's baseball game replaying from the tv. Dave Winfield hit his 400th home run last night against the Twins. Johnny’s attention was pulled back to you. His blue eyes flicker with something unreadable before he schools his face.

You don’t give him the chance to say anything. Instead, you hold up the glass and gesture toward the dining table. “Sit.”

He does, pulling out one of the side chairs and settling into it with an easy, almost lazy confidence. You set the glass in front of him and take the seat at the head of the table, watching him as he wraps his fingers around the sweating drink.

And for the first time since he showed up, he’s quiet. 

You realize, rather suddenly, that you’re not actually sure what to ask him. You’ve never interviewed anyone before—never had to. The farm’s always been run by family.

You clear your throat, shifting slightly in your chair, trying not to feel small under his gaze. He’s watching you—not in a way that feels threatening, but in a way that makes you hyper-aware of yourself. Of the way your fingers tap against the tabletop, of the bead of sweat still clinging to your collarbone from the August heat.

You square your shoulders and push past it. “So,” you start, “what kind of experience do you have with hard labor?”

He leans back a little, forearms flexing just enough to be distracting. “Done my fair share,” he says, voice casual, like he’s talking about the weather.

You arch a brow. “Like?”

His lips twitch, just slightly, like he can tell you’re trying to keep up the tough act. “Military.”

That gives you pause. Military. You study him again, looking past his too-relaxed posture. Yeah, you can see it now—in the way he holds himself, in the sharpness of his gaze, in the way he takes in a room like he’s cataloging exits.

“What branch?” you ask.

“UK Special Forces.”

That surprises you, but you keep your face neutral. You wondered what brought him here, of all places. Obviously he wasn’t American, he sounds like Groundskeeper Willie, for Christ's sake. Your fingers tap against the table once before you ask, “What’d you do?”

He hesitates. It’s slight, barely there, but you catch it. His jaw tenses for just a fraction of a second before he exhales through his nose. “Served where I was needed.”

You tilt your head. “Iraq?”

His eyes flicker—not with surprise, but with something else. A shadow. It’s gone just as quickly as it appears, buried under that same easy smirk. “Among other places.”

You don’t push. You just nod, sensing that it’s not something he wants to talk about all that much.

You’re fine with that. Everyone’s got their wounds.

You exhale, shifting slightly in your seat, fingers drumming lightly against the wooden tabletop. “How much can you lift?”

Johnny takes his time answering, reaching for the glass of sweet tea. He swirls it absently, watching the condensation bead and trail down the sides before taking a slow sip. “Depends,” he finally says, setting it down with a soft thud.“What’re we talkin’? Hay bales? Fence posts? You?”

Your lips press together in a flat line. You refuse to bite. “Let’s stick to hay bales.”

His grin is slow and amused, like he enjoys getting under your skin. “Can handle hay bales no problem.”

You roll your eyes and shift topics before he can drag this out. “Ever ridden horses?”

He stretches slightly, rolling his broad shoulders before settling back into the chair. “Aye, a few times,” he says, tipping his head. “No’ often, but I ken how.”

You nod, working through his accent in your head, but ultimately satisfied enough with that. “Ever herded sheep?”

His brow quirks, and he tilts his head just slightly, giving you a look. “Aren’t there dogs for tha’?”

You let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking your head as you lean forward to rest your elbows on the table. “Yeah, there are. But Dixie’s old now and too nice for her own good. Sleeps with the sheep more than she herds them. Think she likes being part of the flock.”

Johnny’s expression shifts just a fraction—nose wrinkling, jaw tensing like he’s biting back a reaction. Then, casually, like it’s nothing, he mutters, “No’ really fond o’ dogs.”

Your fingers tap against the table once before you hum, neither surprised nor bothered. “That’s fine. Dixie’ll leave you alone if you don’t want to interact with her, she’s a sweet girl though.”

Johnny exhales through his nose and nods, shifting in his chair. He leans back, resting one arm over the backrest like he owns the damn thing, settling into an easy, almost lazy posture. You, on the other hand, are still sitting straight, trying to keep some sense of control in this conversation. You move toward the standard questions—his work ethic, reliability, how soon he can start. Hopefully ASAP.

He answers everything with the kind of confidence that makes it clear he’s no stranger to hard labor, though he keeps the details vague, like he doesn’t see the point in spelling things out to you

Eventually, you sit back, rubbing your hands over your thighs before resting them in your lap. “Look,” you start, exhaling slowly. “I’ll be honest with you. I can’t pay much. It’s a lot of work for a little money.” You’re already bracing yourself for rejection.

Johnny’s quiet for a moment, like he’s really thinking it over. His fingers tap lightly against the table’s edge before he shifts, rolling his shoulders once more before leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “I’ll work withou’ pay,” he says finally. “So long as I get a place tae sleep. An’ meals.”

That throws you a little. Your fingers tighten around the fabric of your worn jeans as you study him, searching his face for any flicker of dishonesty. But he doesn’t look like a man trying to con you—just someone who’s already made up his mind.

He watches you right back, head tilted slightly, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll argue.

You think on it. It’d be more cost-effective to add a couple extra eggs or greens to each meal rather than shell out cash on the daily. You don’t particularly like the idea of someone working for free, but if he’s willing, if it helps keep the farm running.

You nod, exhaling through your nose. “That can work.” This time you extend your hand first, across the table and palm up. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Johnny glances down at your hand, then back up at you. Slowly, he reaches out, his grip firm and his hand dwarves yours. Working hands, warm, rough with calluses. The shake lingers just a second longer than necessary before he lets go, settling back into his seat with an easy smile.

“Guess I’m yours then, boss.”

You spend the next few hours showing Johnny around the property, riding side by side on horseback. Before you even get 5 minutes out of the barn, you realize—for all his confidence—he’s not the best at riding. His posture is stiff, his grip on the reins just a little too tight, and when the horse starts to trot, it becomes painfully obvious—he can’t post to save his life.

You bite back a smile, watching as he bounces awkwardly in the saddle, his jaw tight with concentration. Yeah. That’d be a lesson for tomorrow.

For now, though, you make things easier on both of you. You have Johnny dismount the horse and put her back in her stall. He does so with a small huff, rubbing the back of his neck in embarassment, and you gesture for him to get on behind you on Shimmer—your brown beauty with a white patch on her forehead. She’s steady, calm, used to being ridden double.

He hesitates for only a second before swinging himself up behind you, settling in close. Closer than you’d realized he’d be.

It makes sense, he takes up a lot of space compared to you. Granted, Shimmer is a horse for your size, not his. His chest is flush against your back, warm and solid, and suddenly, you’re very aware of just how big he is. His arms rest lightly on either side of you, long enough for his hands gripping the saddle’s pommel as he adjusts. 

You swallow hard, fighting the blush creeping up your neck. Focus.

“You good back there?” Your voice is steady, but barely.

Johnny shifts slightly, just enough that his chest presses firmer against you. “Aye,” he says, low and smooth. “Though, I cannae say I mind the view from back here.”

You roll your eyes, forcing yourself to focus on guiding Shimmer forward instead of the warmth of him against your spine.

Tomorrow, you’ll teach him how to properly ride a horse.

You guide Shimmer across the acres, Johnny still seated behind you, his chest a steady presence against your back. You don’t bother overwhelming him with too much about the animals—there’d be time for that later. For now, you focus on the land itself, pointing out the ins and outs of the property. The best routes to take. The spots where the fence needs checking. Where the land dips and swells, where the ground gets soft after rain. What to avoid.

To your surprise, he doesn’t just nod along like he’s only half-listening—he absorbs everything.

You’d expected some level of attention, but Johnny takes it to another level. He’s perceptive, and alarmingly so. He never asks you to repeat yourself, doesn’t need clarification. His responses are short but sharp, repeating directions back to you with precision, like he’s filing everything away for later.

It shocks you a little. Most people take weeks to learn the best ways around the farm, to memorize which fence posts need reinforcing, which pasture belongs to which animal.

Johnny’s picking it up in hours.

You exhale, eyes scanning the land ahead as you consider it. Must be the military. You don’t know much about what exactly the UK has their Army doing, but you imagine remembering terrain was part of the job. Mapping escape routes, tracking paths, knowing where to move and when. James Bond shit.

It’s a little unnerving, if you’re being honest. But at the same time, it’s... reassuring. If he can learn this fast, maybe he’ll actually be useful around here.

By the time the sun starts its slow descent, painting the sky in hazy streaks of orange and pink, you’ve spent the better part of the day word-vomiting everything Johnny needs to know about the property. He took it all in with that same sharp, unnerving focus, barely asking questions, barely missing a beat. You’d expected him to lose interest, to at least seem overwhelmed, but he never did. It’s strange.

It’s late afternoon. You bring him inside, leading him upstairs to the guest bedroom.

The layout of the house is simple. All the bedrooms are on the second floor. Pa’s bedroom is to the left of the stairs, along with a storage room and a couple of closets down the hall. He’s got his own ensuite bathroom, which is a luxury in a house this old. There’s a small common area at the top of the stairs, more of a nook than a real room, where an old desk and a shelf full of worn books sit untouched most days. To the right of the stairs and down the hall is your bedroom, and next to it, the guest room—now Johnny’s room. Directly across the hall is the bathroom, which, as of now, isn’t just your bathroom anymore.

It’s Johnny’s too, now. You just had to pray he would remember to put the seat down. 

You pause outside the guest room, pushing the door open so he can step in. It’s simple—a sturdy bed, a nightstand, a decently sized dresser. Nothing fancy, but clean and comfortable enough.

Johnny steps inside, tossing his bag onto the bed and glancing around. He gives a small nod, like he approves, before shooting a look over his shoulder.

"Cozy," he remarks, that damn accent making the word sound richer than it has any right to.

You cross your arms, leaning against the doorframe. “My room’s next door,” you tell him, nodding toward it. “And we’ll be sharing the bathroom across the hall.”

Johnny quirks a brow at that, glancing toward the bathroom before his gaze slides back to you. His lips twitch—not quite a smirk, but damn close.

“Hope ye dinnae take long showers, then,” he teases.

You huff, pushing off the doorframe. “I don’t. I won’t be in your way. Hope you won’t be in mine.”

He chuckles, low and amused, before stretching his arms above his head, the hem of his wife beater riding up just enough to reveal a dark tuft of hair, tastefully accented by a vline and the bottom half of some abs. He sighs, rolling his shoulders. “Well, as long as ye don’t mind m’walkin’ around in a towel,  we’ll get along just fine.”

You blink. Once. Twice. He’s messing with you, but you wouldn’t mind a bit. You don’t give him the satisfaction of hearing that. “I’ll let you get settled,” you say, tone flat. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Johnny watches you for a second, then grins—a lazy, wolfish thing that makes your stomach flip in a way you’d rather not acknowledge.

“Yes ma’am,” he drawls. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. You turn on your heel and head back downstairs, exhaling as you step into the kitchen. Dinner. You’ll focus on dinner. For you, Pa—and now, Johnny.

Like it’s normal. Like you’re not dangerously aware of the Greek God now living just a door down from you.

The sun’s nearly set by the time dinner’s on the table, casting a warm orange glow through the kitchen windows. The air is thick with the scent of home-cooked food—something rich, filling, the kind of meal that sticks to your ribs after a long day’s work. You don’t cook fancy, but you cook damn well, and the proof is sitting right across from you.

Johnny practically groans after the first bite, dropping his fork against his plate and leaning back in his chair like he’s just had some religious experience.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” he mumbles, chewing through another mouthful, shaking his head in near disbelief. “This is th’ best thing I’ve eaten in—hell, I dunno how long.”

You scoff, stabbing a piece of chicken with your fork. “You act like I just served you the cure for cancer.”

Johnny just points his fork at you, eyes damn serious. “Might as well be.”

Pa huffs out a chuckle, though he’s still regarding Johnny with that wary, fatherly suspicion. He’s been watching him since he sat down, not quite unfriendly, but assessing. The kind of look that says ‘I don’t trust you yet, but I’m willing to tolerate you.’

“So,” Pa starts, setting his glass down, “what’s a young guy like yourself doin’ lookin’ for farm work? Dun’ seem like the kinda thing a soldier would go for.”

Johnny doesn’t falter. He wipes his mouth with a napkin before answering, “Needed a change o’ pace,” he says. “Figured I’d try m’hand at something new.”

Pa isn’t impressed. “Ya ever worked on a farm before, boy?”

“No’ exactly, no.” Johnny pops another bite into his mouth. “But work’s work, aye? Ye put in effort, ye get results. Simple enough.”

Pa hums, clearly not satisfied with that answer. “... And where’d ya say your from, again?”

“Scotland.”

“Huh.” Pa leans back slightly, arms crossed. “Ya don’t say.”

Johnny just grins, sensing the old man’s suspicion and, by all accounts, enjoying it. But then he shifts gears, effortlessly steering the conversation in a different direction. “Caught some of tha’ baseball game ye had on this morning.,” he says, casually, like it’s just an offhand remark. “Did nae get tae see th’ end of it, though. Who won?”

That gets Pa’s attention. His eyebrows lift slightly, suspicion briefly forgotten. “Ya watch baseball?”

Johnny shrugs. “Not often, bu’ I like a good game when I see one. And from what I saw, th’ Angel’s were struggling there for a bit.”

Pa scoffs. “Struggling? Boy, they were getting their asses handed to ‘em. Pitcher was all over the damn place. If I’d been on the field, I’d have-”

And just like that, the two are off, talking baseball, going back and forth like they’ve known each other for years. You groan, pushing your food around on your plate as the conversation carries on, completely hijacked.

You should’ve known this would happen. Give two men a sport to bond over, and suddenly, they’re best friends.

You zone out for a while, chewing absentmindedly, half-listening as they talk about batting averages and pitching speeds. You don’t notice it at first—a gentle nudge against your ankle.

You flinch slightly, assuming Johnny just bumped you on accident. You shift your foot away under the table.

He follows with his own. Your brows furrow slightly, shooting a glance at him. He doesn’t even look at you, still chatting with Pa like nothing’s happening.

A moment later, another nudge—softer this time.

You realize he’s doing it on purpose.

You sit up straighter, stiffening as you move your foot again.

Johnny follows.

Your jaw tightens, eyes narrowing. What is he doing?

You flick your gaze toward him again, and finally, he meets your eyes. Just for a second. Just long enough for the ghost of a smirk to tug at the corner of his mouth before he looks back at Pa, completely unfazed.

You resist the urge to kick him under the table, opting instead to glare daggers at him, your expression screaming ‘What in the absolute fuck are you doing?’

Johnny, the absolute menace, doesn’t react beyond the occasional brief glance in your direction, his smirk lingering like he’s enjoying this way too much.

Meanwhile, Pa’s none the wiser, still going on about how baseball’s gone soft over the years. And you’re stuck sitting there, silently fuming, trapped in a footsie war like you’re in grade school.

Dinner winds down, the conversation between Johnny and Pa finally tapering off. Johnny, mercifully, lets up with the footsie nonsense, though not before giving one last, slow brush of his ankle against yours—like a final, smug little victory lap. You pointedly ignore it, pretending not to notice, even as heat creeps up the back of your neck.

Eventually, Pa calls it a night. He pushes back from the table with a tired groan, muttering about how he’s “too damn old to be up this late,” before shuffling off toward the stairs.

You listen to his slow, steady footsteps as he heads up to his room, waiting for the familiar click of his door shutting. And then—you’re alone.

Johnny lingers in the kitchen, standing near the island, hovering. He looks out of place for the first time since he showed up, like he’s not sure if he should offer to help or just let you do your thing. Instead, he leans against the counter, arms crossing over his chest, his weight shifting from one foot to the other.

It’s awkward—unlike him.

You stack plates, rinsing them under the faucet, letting the warm water fill the quiet. But you can feel him watching you. Not in a weird way—just... observing. Like he’s waiting for something.

And you’re not about to let that something slide.

“So,” you say, voice casual as you scrub a dish, “what was with the footsie?”

Johnny makes a noise in the back of his throat, amused. “Thought ye’d never ask.”

You scoff, shooting him a look over your shoulder. “Seriously?”

His smirk is pure trouble. “Could nae help myself, lass,” he says, leaning forward slightly, elbows braced on the countertop. “Ye just looked so serious, sittin’ there all quiet, tryin’ not tae react.” His voice drops just a bit lower, teasing. “Was cute.”

Your heart stumbles in your chest, a traitorous little skip that pisses you off.

Because, genuinely, what the hell? Sure he’s probably the most attractive man you’ve ever seen, and potentially your exact type to a T, but you’ve only known this man for a day. There’s no way you could be that desperate, no way you’re already feeling anything. Right?

The thought alone makes irritation creep up your spine. You shut the faucet off with a little more force than necessary, turning away from the dishes completely so you can fully face him.

“What are you playing at?” The words come out sharper than you intended, but you don’t care. You fold your arms, leveling him with a look. “Are you actually here to work? Or are you just here to freeload an-”

Johnny pushes himself off the counter, not playing around. He stands up straight, tall, and present. And when he looks at you this time, there’s nothing cheeky about it.

“I’m here tae work,” he says, steady, certain. “Ye need help, and I can handle it. Tha’s why I’m here.”

His smile returns, but it’s softer this time. Honest. He lifts a shoulder in a slow, lazy shrug, his voice dropping. “But you’re gorgeous, and there’s no denyin’ that. Just sayin’.”

Your brain stalls. Stops working entirely. There could very well be steam coming out of your scalp.

He moves beside you, completely unfazed, grabbing a towel like it’s the most natural thing in the world and starting to dry the dishes you had already washed. Meanwhile, you just stand there, staring where he was just standing, still feeling the heat of his gaze on your skin.

You’re in trouble.

[justsomerandomfanfic]

The Top Shelf - Jack Daniels X Female Reader

Title: The Top Shelf

Jack Daniels X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Ginger, Tequila (Mentioned), and Champ (Mentioned)

WC: 5,707

Warnings: Short Reader (mentioned to be below the average height for a woman), Kingsman canon violence mentioned (ie. killing/death), cursing, italics, nicknames, teasing, banter, flirting, Jack being Jack, jealousy, age gap very briefly mentioned, suggestive, slight angst, and fluff

You were going to kill whoever put your special snack on the top shelf. Actually, maybe you would torture them a bit first. Everyone in Statesman knew you couldn’t reach the high shelves, they knew that you had your own special cupboard to hide your snacks, and yet, your stuff somehow made its way to the top shelf. You knew you didn’t put them up there. 

Now, standing in the kitchen, staring up at the top shelf, you glared at it; all the while, you were thinking about all the possible weapons you could use to cause harm on the person responsible. You were short, pretty short. You were below the average height for a woman, and you were mighty proud of it. Most people, mostly when you were still in school, would always say how lucky they were to be tall. 

“Oh, I can reach things easier.”

“I can see easier in crowds.”

“I am the perfect height to be a model.”

Ugh. It was annoying as hell. There were a lot of things that you could do too. You could make your way through crowds easier, sliding through gaps. You got a lot more leg room in cars and planes. You could fit into smaller spaces; which oddly helped in your line of work. And you were often seen as less intimidating in social situations, which definitely helped in your line of work. 

Being short was amazing, but not when people actively tried to make it harder for you. 

And so, here you were, arms crossed as you tried to make up your mind on how you were going to get your favorite snack. You had three options. One; grab a chair or stool. Two; climb the counter and stand on it to reach. Or, three; ask for help. And you were not going to ask for help. You liked most of your co-workers, but you were a grown-ass woman - strong and independent - and you didn’t need help. 

But, it seemed that fate - or destiny - was going to delay your snack time. 

“You need any help, sugar?” You heard the deep, smooth southern voice behind you, and you immediately sighed. Even though you drank two cups of coffee that morning, his presence always made you oddly exhausted. 

Turning around, you frowned, staring up at the man who had that stupid grin on his face. “No, I do not need help, Whiskey.”

The cowboy raised an eyebrow, eyes lifting to your snack and back down to you, “Are you sure?” He placed his hands on his hips, jutting out a hip, “I could grab that for you, if you want.”

You mimicked him, jutting out your own hip, your eyes narrowing, “No, thank you, Whiskey. I can get it on my own.”

Whiskey raised both his hands up in the air in defence before backing away, making you sigh and turn back around. 

You huffed, biting your bottom lip as you started at the shelf. Maybe if you jumped just right, you could knock the damn thing down. Or if you really committed to climbing the counter… No… After the day you had? A grueling mission, a headache that wouldn’t quit… No, maybe it would be best to ask someone for help. Not from Whiskey or Tequila, but maybe Ginger would help you. You two were very close, so you doubted that she wouldn’t help.

With a spin, you turned around, planning to leave to seek out Ginger, but you jumped, letting out a squeak. 

Jack- Whiskey was still there.

Leaning against the entrance way, his arms were crossed over his broad chest. That stupid smirk of his hadn’t faded, either. Jack’s smirk only widened, having the gall to look you up and down.

“Why are you still here?” You asked, crossing your arms again.

He didn’t miss a beat, “Enjoyin’ the view.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, “You’re insufferable.” You moved, slipping past him, muttering out an ‘I hate you,’ for good measure, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Mm,” He hummed, tilting his head as he watched you go, “You love me, sugar.”

You ignored him, forcing yourself to keep walking down the hall. Except, despite your best efforts, your mind drifted back to him. God, you loathed him. Him with his perfect body, perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect eyes, perfect voice, perfect- ugh. You hated him. 

Ever since you started at Statesman, Whiskey - or Jack, as he told you that you could call him, but you never did - spent a lot of time with you. He’d seek you out sometimes, just to ask a dumb question that either Ginger or Champ could answer. He’d talk to you the most outside of missions, and even during missions, and by ‘talk,’ you meant flirt. He was such a damn flirt. It wasn’t just the smirks or the innuendos. It was the way he always made you the center of his attention. The way his voice dropped just a little lower when he spoke to you, and just you. The way he’d look at you like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the worst part.

Not to mention that, despite being so… Flirtatious with you, he would always stay a gentleman. He wouldn’t push things too far. He wouldn’t make you genuinely uncomfortable. For all his teasing and smooth-talking, there was a line he never crossed. Jack Daniels could be a cocky bastard, sure - but he was also a gentleman. And maybe that was what irritated you the most. Because if he was just another flirt with no sense of boundaries, you could dismiss him. You could roll your eyes, scoff, and walk away without a second thought.

But no. He had to be charming. He had to be kind. He had to have that damn Southern drawl that made your name sound sweeter than honey. And worst of all?

He had to make you like him.

And sometimes, you wished you could just have a real conversation with him. No flirting. No smirks. No subtle innuendos. No trying to get you all flustered. Just a real talk. But with Jack Daniels? With Agent Whiskey? That seemed damn near impossible.

You pushed open the door to the tech lab, stepping inside to find Ginger working away at her station, fingers flying across the keyboard with practiced ease. She didn’t look up as you fully entered, too focused on whatever complicated codes or systems she was working on.

With a dramatic sigh, you made your way to an empty chair - one of the spinny ones, thankfully - and all but collapsed into it, giving yourself a slow, lazy spin. At that, the corners of Ginger’s lips quirked up in amusement, though she still didn’t glance away from her screen.

You never really understood high-tech or coding. It just wasn’t your thing. Yeah, you were pretty good on a phone or computer. You did the basics and even a few tricks you picked up through the years. You could even use a fax machine, but you liked being in the action, doing the fieldwork, bringing justice. You left the screens and wires to Ginger, trusting that whatever magic she worked back here kept you alive out there.

Slouching slightly, you swayed the chair side to side, another softer sigh slipping past your lips. 

Finally, Ginger spoke. 

“Bad day?” She asked, a knowing lilt to her voice. 

You sighed again, “You have no idea.”

“I kind of do,” Her grin widened, “I was watching over you and your mission this morning.”

“Yeah, yeah…” You muttered tiredly.

Ginger hummed, still typing away, “Whiskey?”

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you gave the chair one last spin. “...Yeah.”

Ginger finally stopped typing, finding a stopping point, and turning in her chair to face you as you lazily pushed your chair with your feet, rolling yourself closer until you were right beside her. She studied you for a moment, clearly amused but also curious.

“What’d he do this time?” She asked.

You huffed, leaning forward against the desk, resting your elbow on it and pressing your cheek into the palm of your hand. “He was just being himself today,” You muttered, voice heavy with exhaustion. “Flirting, smirking, calling me ‘sugar’ like it’s his damn job.” Ginger snorted, waiting for you to continue. You sighed again. “Honestly? I’m more pissed about something else.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly, intrigued. “Oh? Was it Tequila?”

“No, not him,” You sat up a little, frowning, “I went to the kitchen to grab a snack, right? But when I got there, it was on the top shelf. My special snack. The one that I always keep in my cupboard. 

Ginger’s lips twitched, and you could tell that she was trying not to laugh.

“And?”

“And I can’t reach it,” You grumbled, flopping back against the chair, “I swear, not being able to have my snack was more annoying than Whiskey today.”

At that, Ginger actually laughed, shaking her head. “Now that’s saying something.”

You nodded, pursing your lips as you began slightly turning the chair again. Ginger knew about your… Situation with Whiskey. You wouldn’t say everyone knew, but occasionally, Tequila would throw out some comment about how Whiskey was like your loyal puppy, always following you around, eager for your attention. It was annoying. And mostly untrue.

Mostly. 

But Ginger? Ginger knew. And, more importantly, she knew about the part you refused to admit out loud - the part where, despite all of your frustration, all of the teasing and bickering, you were attracted to the older man. You trusted Ginger. With your life - both figuratively and literally. You knew whatever you said here, in the privacy of her tech lab, would never leave the room.

And yeah, she teased you sometimes. Tired to nudge you toward saying something to Whiskey instead of just glaring at him across the room or table during mission briefings. But she never pushed too hard. She knew when to joke and when to let you be. 

“You know,” She trailed off, “I could always call Whiskey in here to help you with your snack problem…”

You only groaned, letting your head drop onto the desk. “Ginger. No.” You answered, your voice muffled from your arms. 

You lifted your head just enough to give Ginger your best pout, eyes wide and pleading. “That’s why I came to you,” You said, “I was hoping you’d be a dear and grab it for me.”

“And why can’t you just ask Whiskey for help?”

You groaned again, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “Ginger, I know you are just pulling my leg, but come on! You are missing the point!” You sat up straighter, launching into a full-on rant. “If I ask him, then he’s gonna tease the ever-loving crap out of me. He’ll say something about how he’d love to help me out or some other nonsense that’ll make my cheeks all hot, which is annoying! And then, if I let him help, not only will his ego grow, but the next time this happens - god forbid - he’s gonna make it a huge thing!” You gestured kind of wildly. “Like, ‘Oh, need my help again, sugar?’ or ‘I think you just like havin’ me around, sweetheart.’” You mimicked his voice, lowering your own and adding his Southern accent on it. “And I know he’s the one putting my snacks up there in the first place, just to mess with me!” You let out a deep breath when you finally finished rambling, your arms falling limp at your sides. Ginger blinked at you, lips twitching, clearly holding back some laughter.

“... Alright, alright,” She relented, shaking her head, “I’ll help you.”

You let out a sigh of relief, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re a lifesaver, Ginger,” You said, standing up as she did.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t mention it.” She teased, nudging your shoulder as you both exited the lab. As you walked side by side down the hall, Ginger glanced down at you, “So, what’s this snack, anyway?”

You perked up slightly, “My jumbo family-size bag of chips - my favorite flavor,” You emphasized, “I just got them last time I went out, and I’ve been dying for the right day to open them up.” You sighed wistfully, already picturing the evening ahead. “And tonight is the night. After I get my chips, all I want to do is go to my room, collapse on my bed, cuddle up with my favorite blanket, and put on my favorite movie.”

Ginger hummed in approval, “Solid plan.” As you neared the kitchen, she glanced at you again. “So… Aside from Whiskey, who do you think would’ve put your snack up there?”

You shrugged, “If it wasn’t him, then it was Tequila.” But as you turned the corner into the kitchen, you stopped in your tracks. There, sitting right on the counter, were your chips. Someone had pulled them down for you. Your brows furrowed as you slowly stepped forward, staring at the bag.

“Huh.” Ginger stopped beside you.

You glanced around, as if expecting someone to jump out, but the kitchen was empty.

“…Weird,” You muttered, reaching out to grab the bag. You stared down at the chip bag in your hands, your eyes narrowed in suspicion. Your eyebrows furrowed as your lips pressed into a tight line. Ginger, who had casually leaned against the fridge, tilted her head as she observed you.

“You know who would’ve pulled it down for you?” She asked, a knowing look in her eyes.

You tilted your head, eyes still fixed on the bag as you sighed. “I might have a clue,” You muttered, clearly still trying to wrap your head around the situation. “Thanks, Ginger,” You added, flashing her a small smile as you turned to leave. “Have a goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

As you walked down the hallway, the weight of your thoughts started to sink in, and just like that, Whiskey’s presence seemed to take over your mind once more. For the millionth time today, he invaded your thoughts. It was almost impossible not to think about him - his smirk, the teasing tone of his voice, the way he always seemed to know just what to say to get under your skin. 

You weren’t entirely sure if it was him who had pulled the chips down for you. But Whiskey was the only person who knew you had been eyeing that snack that was too high up to reach.

It frustrated you - more than you were willing to admit. Why couldn’t you just hate him, like you always claimed? You stopped in your tracks for a moment, letting out a frustrated sigh. You were finding it more and more difficult to pretend you hated him and it was becoming a problem. It wasn’t supposed to be this complicated. But here you were. 

~~~

Does this person know that you have plans on killing them?

You stared up at the top shelf, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. Once again, your snacks had been moved. This time, it was your candy.

It had been a couple of days since the chip incident, and now you were starting to wonder if this was a full-fledged conspiracy. At this point, you were getting really annoyed. Maybe it was time to just keep all your snacks in your room and save yourself the trouble.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, you turned around, already planning to find Ginger and ask for help again - only to nearly jump out of your skin. Whiskey stood there, leaning casually against the counter with that infuriatingly smug grin.

You slapped a hand over your beating heart, glaring up at him. “God, stop doing that,” You huffed.

His grin widened. “Darlin’, I figured you, of all people, would’ve known I was standin’ here. Ain’t you supposed to be a top-tier agent?”

You rolled your eyes, exhaling sharply. “Yeah, well, I guess I’ve been too busy trying to figure out who the hell keeps moving my snacks.” You raised a suspicious eyebrow at him. “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who’d do such a thing, would you?”

Whiskey shook his head, an innocent smile stretching across his face. “No clue, sweetheart.”

Liar.

You didn’t believe him for a second, but before you could call him out, he casually strolled past you, making his way to the coffee maker.

And that’s when your brain short-circuited. Your eyes followed him instinctively, trailing down as he moved. The way his jeans fit - God help you - was downright unfair. Your mind screamed at you to stop staring, to look away, to get a grip. But your heart? Your heart was having a much harder time listening. Hell, it was only fair for you to stare at him. He stared at you all the time and teased you relentlessly about it. Turnabout was fair play, right?

Your gaze lingered a moment longer before you quickly looked away, hoping he hadn’t caught you. But, of course, you weren’t that lucky.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that, sugar, and I’m gonna start thinkin’ you like what you see,” Whiskey drawled, amusement dripping from his voice as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

Your eyes snapped back to his face, heat creeping up your neck when you saw him already looking at you. “I was not looking at you.”

Whiskey took a slow sip of his coffee, smirking over the rim of his mug. “Oh, darlin’… Don’t lie to me.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes again. “I hate you.”

Whiskey leaned against the counter opposite of you, sipping his coffee with that smirk still in place. “Sure you do, baby.”

“‘Baby?’ That one’s new.” You turned away from him, trying your best to ignore him as you glared up at your candy, still annoyingly out of reach. You really didn’t want to trek all the way to Ginger’s lab again, only for the candy to somehow miraculously appear on the counter like last time. You felt bad dragging her all the way here just for her help when it hadn’t even been necessary.

With a deep, resigned sigh, you finally muttered in stubborn defeat, “Whiskey… Can you help me?” 

You didn’t have to look at him to know his grin widened. You heard it in the smug silence that stretched out before you heard the quiet clink of his coffee mug being set down. Then came the slow, deliberate footsteps. You barely had time to react before his presence pressed close. Your breath hitched as his chest brushing against your back, the warmth of him seeping through your clothes. One of his hands curled around your upper arm as he reached up with the other, easily plucking your candy from the top shelf. And just as quickly, he moved away, his hip bumping against the counter as he leaned against it, looking down at you with that insufferable, satisfied grin.

“Here ya go, darlin’,” He drawled, holding out the bag - only to pop a piece of candy into his mouth before handing it over.

You gaped at him. “Hey!”

He winked. “Payment.”

And with that, he sauntered off, whistling as he went, leaving you standing there, your face burning hotter than a furnace. You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, your body still tense from the lingering warmth of him. Pressing your back against the counter, you gripped the edge with both hands, your fingers curling tightly around it as if that would somehow ground you.

Why did he have to make things so complicated?

Your heart was still racing, your face still hot, and your breathing was irregular. Snapping your head toward the kitchen doorway, you shouted, “I still hate you!”

There was a beat of silence before his voice rang back down the hall, smooth and teasing-

“Liar.”

Your grip tightened on the counter as you clenched your jaw, staring after him.

That man was going to be the death of you.

~~~

It had been a long mission. A draining one.

All you wanted to do was grab something to eat, lock yourself in your room, and not emerge for the rest of the day. You weren’t needed for anything else, and your mission paperwork? That could be done just as easily from the comfort of your bed. You were exhausted, body aching, but if you were being honest, that wasn’t the only reason you were in such a sour mood.

No, that had everything to do with Whiskey. Normally, working with him wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Sure, he was insufferable, always teasing, always finding new ways to get under your skin, but you could usually go about your job, ignoring him to an extent. But this mission? This mission had made that almost impossible.

It was difficult enough, requiring both of you to be at the top of your game. You had gotten the information you needed - you sneaking in to grab the hard drive while Whiskey ran his distraction. And it had worked. Flawlessly.

Except… It was his distraction that left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You never thought it would bother you. Not really. But watching him turn on the charm, flashing that signature smirk, whispering sweet nothings into some stranger woman’s ear, touching them so casually, so easily-

You had no right to be upset. It was just a mission. And yet, you were upset.  But, green was not a pretty color on you. 

You stood there, staring up at the top shelf in the kitchen, your gaze fixed on the bag of chips that had been placed there again. For the third time in a row. It wasn’t just the chips. It wasn’t about the bag of snacks at all, really. It was about everything else. The mission. The way Whiskey had acted. The way he always acted, and the way you couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it. Your mind was tangled in a mess of frustration, jealousy, and... Something else you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

You stood there, frozen, staring at the chips, replaying the mission again and again in your head. You were so lost in your head, so absorbed by your own swirling emotions, that you didn’t even hear Whiskey enter the room. His humming filled the space briefly, but it faded as soon as he saw you.

He stopped, his head tilting to the side as his gaze fell on you, his eyes narrowing as he observed your face. He stood there for a moment, studying you. "Need some help?" He asked, voice light, teasing.

You didn’t even look at him. “No.” The word came out softer than you intended.

Whiskey’s grin faltered, and he took a step forward. His brows furrowed as he approached, now genuinely concerned. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer at first, your eyes still fixed on the top shelf. The silence stretched between you, and you could feel his eyes on you. You almost wished he would say something - tease you, make it light again - but instead, he stayed silent, waiting for you to speak.

But you didn’t. You didn’t know what to say.

Whiskey took a step closer, moving with that familiar, confident grace. He found his spot where he had stood just days ago - his side pressed against the counter, just a foot or so away from you, his presence still as intimidating as it was comforting. His eyes were trained on you, no longer teasing, but genuine concern written across his face.

“Want to talk about it, sugar?” He asked, his voice low as his hand reached up, fingers brushing against a few strands of your hair, tucking it gently behind your ear. “Might help.”

You took a step back. All the weeks of frustration - the teasing, the confusion, the ridiculous tension that hung between you two - came rushing to the surface. You couldn’t stop it. “Can you just stop teasing me all the time?” You blurted, shaking your head. “It’s not fair that you always play with my feelings like this.” Your voice cracked, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “You’re always messing with me, making me question everything - whether you care or not. And I-” You cut yourself off, you had already said a bit too much.

You expected him to laugh it off, maybe smirk. But instead, Whiskey’s expression shifted. His eyes softened for a split second before they hardened, and in one swift motion, he stepped forward, his hands landing on your waist. Without warning, he lifted you, effortlessly placing you onto the counter in front of him.

Your hands instinctively landed on his shoulders, gripping them for stability, but as soon as you were placed on the counter, your palms dropped to your lap, your body frozen in surprise. Your heart raced as you stared up at him, eyes wide, and your breath caught in your throat. He was right there, so close you could feel the heat of his body. His face was a mere foot from yours, his expression less playful and more serious than you had ever seen. And his eyes, so dark, like chocolate, they were searching, confused.

His small frown deepened, his eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean I don’t care?” Whiskey asked, his voice soft but firm.

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, caught between wanting to push him away and feeling an overwhelming urge to pull him closer. Your mouth felt dry, the words stuck in your throat. 

You opened your mouth, but it was like the tension in the room made everything seem miles away, your thoughts jumbled. You ignored his earlier question, focusing instead on what had been eating at you. “Then why do you tease me so much?” Your voice was quieter this time, but the frustration still seeped through. "If this was all some kind of game-"

“You think I’m playin’ a game with you?” He cut you off before you could finish, his voice low and serious, with an edge that made you freeze. You nodded, your eyes dropping to your hands in your lap. “Look at me.” His voice was firm, insistent. Slowly, reluctantly, you did. “I ain’t playin’ with you,” Whiskey said, his tone softer now but no less intense. His hands moved to the counter beside you, leaning in close, effectively caging you in. “And I never have been.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, heart racing. Was he serious? Was he telling the truth? You couldn’t think, couldn’t move, but everything inside you screamed to reach for him. To believe him. But you were still afraid. You dropped your gaze, unable to hold his stare any longer. But he wasn’t having that.

Whiskey moved closer as he raised a hand, tugging his cowboy hat off and tossing it onto the counter beside you without a second thought. His fingers brushed along your skin as he reached for your chin, gently tilting your head up, forcing your eyes to meet his. His gaze searched yours, his fingers barely grazing along your jawline. He sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly, before his voice filled the space between you.

“Sugar, if you think for one damn second that I don’t mean every word I say to you, then you don’t know me half as well as I thought.” His fingers trailed along your cheek, “I tease you ‘cause I like seein’ you all riled up, yeah. But I sure as hell ain’t playin’ with you. I do care.” He sighed deeply, “You got me all twisted up, darlin’. And I don’t know what else I gotta do to prove it to you.”

His confession hung heavy in the air, settling deep in your chest. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t teasing - this was real. And it scared you more than anything.

You swallowed hard, a tiny sigh escaped your lips before you muttered, barely above a whisper, “I hate you.”

Whiskey’s lips twitched, the smallest hint of a smile appearing as he shook his head. “No, you don’t,” He said, his voice softer now, steady.

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, his touch lingering, sending a shiver down your spine. Then, slowly, he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. But he didn’t close the distance - he stopped just short. You couldn’t look away. His eyes held you, drawing you in. Every breath you took seemed to sync with his, the space between you shrinking with every passing second.

Nervously, your hand slid to his on the counter, “Jack,” The sound of it barely escaping your lips.

He let you a shaky breath at the sound, so sweet from your lips. He leaned closer, his nose brushing against yours, his hand moving to fully cup your cheek, the calloused pad of his thumb brushing along your skin; his hand on the counter moved, resting on your waist. His gaze flickered down to your lips, then back to your eyes, giving you a chance to pull away.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

The moment his plush lips pressed against yours, a shiver ran down your spine. The kiss was slow at first, testing, his lips moving against yours with a softness that sent your heart hammering against your ribs. A sigh escaped you, your eyelashes fluttering along your cheeks as your hands instinctively slid up his shoulders, wrapping around his neck. Your fingers found their way into the hair at the nape of his neck, threading through the soft strands before giving a gentle tug.

Jack let out a low, guttural grunt, the sound vibrating against your lips. His grip on your waist tightened slightly as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. His other hand slid along your jaw, fingers curling around the side of your neck, his thumb brushing over your pulse - where your heartbeat pounded wildly beneath his touch. The kiss was breathtaking. Dizzying. It stole the air right from your lungs, leaving you lightheaded in the best way possible. His lips moved against yours with a maddening mixture of tenderness and intensity, like he’d been waiting for this - aching for it - just as much as you had.

A soft whimper escaped you before you could stop it, your body pressing closer to his instinctively. Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging once more, and Jack groaned against your mouth, his grip on you tightening; swallowing every tiny sound you made like he needed them to breathe. Your legs parted slightly where you sat on the counter, and Jack took full advantage, stepping between them, his hand on your waist sliding down to your hip, thumb brushing over the exposed skin just above your waistband. His lips trailed over your bottom lip, teasing, before he stole another deep, lingering kiss, his breath mixing with yours, making your head spin.

His lips brushed against yours one last time before he pulled back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting lightly against yours. His breath was heavy, warm, fanning over your lips as his thumb traced slow, lazy circles against your hip. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of what just happened settled between you, thick and undeniable. Jack’s eyes searched yours, dark and unreadable, before the corner of his lips curled into the faintest smirk.

“Well, sweetheart,” He murmured, his voice husky, still laced with the remnants of the kiss. “That sure didn’t feel like hate.”

You let out a small huff, still feeling quite breathless. Before you could say anything back, Jack’s hands found your waist again, his grip firm yet gentle as he effortlessly lifted you off the counter, setting you on your feet. The warmth of his touch lingering even after he let go. Wordlessly, he reached up and grabbed your bag of chips from the top shelf, handing them to you with an easy smirk.

Then, he casually asked, “Feel like hittin’ up a diner with me tonight?”

You stared at him for a moment, still reeling from everything that had just happened. Your heart was racing, your lips warm and tingling, and now he was asking you to dinner like it was nothing? Like he hadn’t just kissed you breathless?

You clutched the bag of chips to your chest, exhaling through your nose. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

Jack just grinned, tilting his head. “That a yes, sugar?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Yeah… It’s a yes.”

His grin widened, pure satisfaction flashing in his eyes. “Knew you couldn’t resist me.” You scoffed, smacking his arm lightly before turning away. As you left the kitchen, Jack’s voice rang out behind you. “I’ll pick you up at six!”

You glanced over your shoulder, a smirk tugging at your own lips. “Don’t be late!”

He just chuckled, his voice muffled as you turned the corner and practically speed-walked down the hall. The excitement from the kiss still buzzed in your veins, making your steps feel light and fast. You reached your room, shutting the door behind you with a soft thud. For a moment, you just stood there, leaning against the door, your heart still racing. You pressed your fingers to your lips, replaying the kiss in your mind. A soft, almost giddy giggle escaped your lips before you could stop it.

Meanwhile, Jack stood in the kitchen, hands on his hips, a smile on his face. He stared at the floor for a moment. Then, his eyes flicked up to the top shelf, and with a mischievous grin, he walked over to your cupboard. With a smooth motion, he grabbed your fruit snack box and placed it high up on the shelf. Picking up his cowboy hat from the counter, he placed it back on his head. With a final glance toward the doorway you had disappeared through, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

“Damn,” He muttered to himself, running a hand over his jaw before turning on his heel and striding out of the kitchen.

Six o’clock couldn’t come soon enough.

~~~

Main Masterlist | Kingsman Masterlist

[nameless-jamie]

Hi, I absolutely love your PA series! And I'm craving some jealous Jamie :) Could you maybe write something like that? 🫣 Maybe Edwin Akufo or Shandy make a comeback and try to stirr shit up for the team? Thanks 🤭

A Nice Guy

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing, suggestive scenes

Being Jamie Tartt’s PA meant dealing with a lot of things—his ridiculous schedule, his forgotten appointments, and the occasional existential crisis when he’d suddenly decided he had to go on a juice cleanse and then immediately regret it.

What it didn’t include?

Dealing with a jealous Jamie Tartt. That wasn't in the job description.

But here he was, sitting stiffly across the room, jaw clenched, arms crossed so tightly across his chest it looked like he was physically holding himself back from doing something stupid.

Which, to be fair, was likely.

His glare was locked onto Y/N like she had personally offended him.

Which was insane, because all she’d done was laugh at something Ewin Akufo's assistant, said.

It was a post-match event—some fancy dinner, media, sponsors, the usual. Edwin Akufo was there again, this time he was scouting players from the other team, Westham United, and his assistant and 'hand-shake-guy' Francis was with him. Y/N and him have started a great conversation, both having very eccentric and needy bosses, that's why they kind of bonded. He also bought her a drink.

Jamie had played brilliantly, scoring two goals and basically running circles around the other team. He should’ve been basking in the attention, flashing that cocky grin at every camera in sight.

Instead, he was a table with some Richmond players...sulking.

Y/N caught his eye across the bar, raising an eyebrow. What’s your problem?

Jamie just stared.

Isaac, sitting next to him, nudged his arm. “Mate, you alright? You look ready to kill that man.”

Jamie exhaled sharply through his nose. “Fine.”

He was not fine.

Because Y/N was still smiling at Edwin Akufo's assistant—Franky something?—Jamie did not know his name. Edwin Akufo was the enemy and therefore this guy was too. Especially because he was talking to her like she was the most fascinating person in the world. And Jamie hated it....him.

"Oh, no Edwin is here? That is going to be a weird night," Sam interrupted his thoughts. "Uhm guys, why is Jamie staring down Edwin's assistant Francis?"

"Jamie's jealous because that guy's talking to Y/N," Isaac smirked at Sam and the whole situation, knowingly.

"Ah, I see... I mean Francis is a smooth guy," Sam said, having fun in riling up Jamie some more.

And Jamie was not having it.

She was his.

Wait—no. Not his his. But, like… his. Kind of.

She worked for him. She spent more time with him than anyone else. She put up with his antics, laughed at his jokes, rolled her eyes at his stupidity in a way that made Jamie’s chest go all warm and stupid.

And now some random bloke thought he could just—what? Make her laugh? Charm her?

Not happening.

Jamie stood up so fast his chair scraped against the floor. Isaac and Sam barely had time to react before Jamie was already moving, striding toward Y/N with a forced, polite smile.

“Oi, who the fuck are you, then?”

Francis looked up, blinking in surprise. “Oh, Mr. Tartt. My name is Francis. Y/N has told me a lot about you. Great game tonight, man.”

Francis put out his hand for one of those manly handshakes. Jamie looked at Y/N and she gave him that warning 'be nice' look.

So, Jamie played nice and gave him a hand. And fuck that handshake really was smooth as fuck. He was a smooth motherfucker, fucking prick.

"Well, Jamie. You are lucky you have such a beautiful assistant like Y/N." Francis said, about to put an arm on Y/N's shoulder.

"Ain't I a lucky guy, huh? Y/N's actually pretty busy, so we have to leave now." Jamie ignored his antics to start a conversation completely, eyes locked on Y/N as he tugged at her wrist. “You ready to go, love?”

Y/N sighed, clearly catching on. “Actually Jamie—”

But he was already tugging her away, ignoring Francis's confused stare. He didn’t stop until they were near the entrance, away from the crowd.

Y/N yanked her arm free, stepping back to face him. “Okay, what’s wrong with you? I had a great conversation with him. I also have your schedule memorized and we both have the rest evening off, so...”

Jamie scoffed. “Me? What’s wrong with me? Nah, what’s wrong with you?”

She crossed her arms. “Oh wow, great argument, Shakespeare. Real convincing. Please, elaborate!”

Jamie ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Why were you even talkin’ to him?”

Y/N blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

She let out a short laugh. “Jamie. It was a conversation. That’s what people do at events. I can talk to whoever I want.”

Jamie scowled. “Yeah, well, he was definitely flirting with you.”

Y/N tilted her head. “And that bothers you because…?”

Jamie hesitated. “’Cause…”

Because you’re mine.

But he couldn’t say that.

Instead, he muttered, “He’s a dick. You know he's Akufo's assistant so he's probably proper evil, like his boss.”

Y/N huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s your reason?”

Jamie doubled down. “Yeah. That. And—uhhh— Sam was also proper mad at you, because of his thing with Akufo and all stuff.”

Man, oh, man. Jamie used to be so much better at lying... Sam Obisanya mad, at her? Yeah, right.

“Jamie.” Y/N pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am serious,” Jamie shot back, stepping closer. “What could he possibly have to say that’s so funny?”

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek, realizing he wasn’t going to let this go. “It wasn’t even that funny, Jamie.”

Jamie threw his hands up. “Exactly!”

Y/N shook her head, watching him. He was all riled up, eyes bright with frustration, jaw tight.

And she realized—this wasn’t just annoyance.

This was jealousy.

Jamie Tartt, jealous.

Something about that sent a thrill down her spine.

She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “You do know I talk to men all the time, right?”

Jamie’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Yeah, but not like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you were actually enjoying it.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so I’m not allowed to enjoy conversations now?”

Jamie pointed at her. “Not with him.”

Y/N huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “You are ridiculous.”

Jamie scoffed. “Yeah, well, you—” He stopped, exhaling sharply, hands going to his hips as he looked at the floor. Then, quieter, he muttered, “I just don’t like seein’ you with people that think they can have you, alright?”

Y/N froze.

Jamie noticed.

Y/N blinked at him, Jamie’s words hanging between them.

'I just don’t like seein’ you with people that think they can have you, alright?'

For a second, neither of them said anything. Jamie had that look—like he’d said something too real, something that made his chest feel all tight and uncomfortable. Y/N knew him well enough to see it, to recognize the way he immediately started backtracking in his own head.

So, of course, she had to make it worse.

She smirked, tilting her head. "Jamie Tartt, are you jealous?"

Jamie scoffed, arms crossing over his chest. "No."

"You so are."

"I’m not," he insisted, but his ears were turning red.

Y/N grinned. "Oh my God, you’re actually jealous."

Jamie exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Nah, see, I’m just lookin’ out for you."

"Looking out for me?"

"Yeah," Jamie said, a little too quickly. "’Cause, like, you deserve better, don’t ya?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Better than a nice, normal guy who wanted to talk about my work and buy me a drink?"

Jamie made a face. "Nice is just another word for boring, and you ain’t boring, are ya?"

Y/N hummed, pretending to consider it. "Hmm. So what you’re saying is, I should be with someone... exciting? Like an astronaut, huh?"

Jamie rolled his eyes. "I’m sayin’ you shouldn’t be wastin’ your time on a prick who works for someone like Akufo. And who doesn’t even know that you hate red wine."

Y/N’s smirk faltered.

Jamie caught it, but instead of panicking, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Yeah. Thought so."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You are unbelievable."

"And yet," Jamie grinned, all cocky now that he had the upper hand again, "you’re still standin’ here talkin’ to me instead of goin’ back to your nice, normal bloke."

Y/N exhaled, shaking her head. "Well, I would go back, but unfortunately, my very high-maintenance boss decided to have a full-blown tantrum over it."

Jamie pressed a hand to his chest, gasping dramatically. "Me? A tantrum? That’s slander, that is."

Y/N laughed, shoving his arm. "Whatever. I’m going to get a drink."

Jamie grabbed her wrist before she could walk away, his grip loose but warm. "I’ll get it for ya."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Making up for ruining my night?"

Jamie smirked. "Nah. Just makin’ sure no one else tries to."

And maybe Y/N should’ve called him out on it, pointed out the way his jealousy kept creeping into everything he said. But instead, she just smiled, letting him hold onto her wrist for a second longer than necessary before pulling away.

"Alright, then, Tartt," she said, glancing at the bar. "Surprise me."

Jamie grinned. "Oh, you’re in for it now, love."

And maybe neither of them were saying what they really meant. But they were still enjoying the tension.

[superpowereddonut]

Spencer's Star (Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader)

Hi! I was just re-watching Criminal Minds and had to write this short little drabble! Also, this is my first time experimenting with the use of 2nd person (ie. using 'you'), but I still didn't use Y/N. Please let me know what you think!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader / Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

Episode: 5x13 'Risky Business' (end scene on the jet)

Warnings: Slight (canon) Spencer-targeted bullying by the team (but not from reader!)

Word count: 907

*****

It had been a good case. Well… good by BAU standards. 

Since the team had arrived in the small rural county in Wyoming, there had been no further deaths and within only 48-hours they had caught the unsub - an EMT who goaded teenages into choking themselves to death through an online ‘game’. Still, despite the quick solve, the whole case had been disturbing. You wondered whether anyone else was still dwelling on the twisted man who had repeatedly choked his own son. Or if anyone but Hotch had noticed JJ’s seemingly personal stake in this case. Move on, you reminded yourself, tomorrow there will be another case, and then another, and another. You can’t afford to dwell on each one. 

Shaking your head slightly, you forced yourself to focus on the present, just as Emily took out a wooden shape and placed it on the table between you. “What is that?” Spencer asked from the seat to your left.

"It’s called a star puzzle.” Emily replied, “It’s basically impossible to figure out.” 

You watched with interest as she began to take it apart, and noted Spencer’s quick eyes tracking each of her movements. “You have to put all of the pieces back together to form a perfect star,” she explained, “but the origin of it is kind of a romantic tale.” 

Emily began recounting the story, her voice soft and lilting. “There was this young prince who wanted to win the heart of the fairest maiden in the land. So, he climbed to the top of the tallest tower in the kingdom and he caught a falling star for her.” 

The whole plane seemed to be listening to Emily now - Rossi was watching from where he leant against the plane window next to her, and Penelope was hanging off her words as she carefully knitted what looked like a bright blue tea cosy. Even Derek, lounging on the seats behind you and Spencer, had taken off his headphones to hear better. But - as it so often did - your attention had moved to Spencer, who now had a slight crease in his brows. 

“Unfortunately he was so excited that he dropped it and it smashed into all of these pieces…” Spencer reached out to pick up the now-separated pieces of the puzzle, his arm gently brushing yours as he moved. “...so, he frantically put it back together again to prove his undying love for her,” Emily was saying, “and he succeeded, and they lived happily ever after.” You caught Penelope’s soft sigh from the back of the plane before Spencer spoke up, “That doesn’t make any sense.” He said, and you had to hide your smile at his adorably confused tone. “What do you mean?” Emily replied, now frowning as well.

“You can’t catch a falling star. It would burn up in the atmosphere.” It was becoming difficult to hide your fond amusement, and you almost had to physically sit on your hands to keep from reaching out to smooth his furrowed brow.

“Yeah but it’s not literal, Reid, it’s a fable.” 

Spencer didn’t seem satisfied, “But there’s no moral. Fables have morals.”

“Okay, so it’s just a romantic little story,” Emily rebutted, growing exasperated, “The point is, it’s basically impossible to do because you have to take all of those pieces and fit them together exactly…” 

You watched, transfixed, as Spencer’s long, nimble fingers worked quickly, slotting each piece together with precision before he gently set it down in front of you, once again in its complete shape.

“There’s a lot to hate about you Dr. Reid.” Emily said, sarcasm softening her harsh words. You heard Derek chuckle from behind you.

“Play poker with him sometime.” Rossi said with a quiet smile.

“Try playin chess with him.” Derek chimed in.

“Or Go” came Penelope’s voice from the back.

You rolled your eyes at the familiar teasing jabs, but your smile fell when you saw Spencer’s face. You knew that look. He was feeling insecure, running back over the entire interaction to see where he had missed a social cue, or messed up in his contribution to the conversation. He didn’t seem to have picked up on Emily’s sarcasm, instead taking her comment to heart.

“Don’t be fooled,” you spoke up, “he watched you take apart the star and memorised the movements. He just had to repeat the pattern in reverse.” 

Emily’s eyebrows shot up before she turned to Spencer. “Did you really?” She asked, and her tone now held unmistakable awe. He just shrugged, though you noticed the set of his shoulders relax slightly and his cheeks flush pink at her admiration.

The rest of the team gradually turned their attention elsewhere, and you were about to go fishing in your bag for a book when Spencer’s arm brushed yours again. You looked up to see his dark eyes fixed on yours. Oh, those eyes. They had always reminded you of old, cosy libraries and soft caramels that melt on your tongue. It was an effort not to lean into his warmth.

“How did you know I memorised the pattern?” He asked, his voice a soft whisper as though not to draw the attention of the others.

You allowed yourself a small smirk. “I know you too well Doctor Reid,” you said, equally quiet, “you’re going to have to try harder than that to impress me.”

His answering grin made your heart skip a beat. 

“Challenge accepted.”