#but I’ll be looking around for someone who fits!!

[ladykailitha]

Spellbound Part 1

Normally I would post Caged Bird today, but this has a much larger backlog, sooo! Happy himbo witch time!

Summary: It's a quiet, idyllic life in the town of Hawkins. For everyone but Eddie Munson. You see, his look and cottage scream witch. The long, curly, dark curls, the black clothes, and dark and broody cottage all point to Eddie as a witch. But no. That title belongs to Steve Harrington down the way. In bright and cheery house, dressed in green and a sunny disposition. Things start turn in the town when Chrissy shows up on Eddie's doorstep thinking he's the witch.

~

Eddie Munson was everything one expected a witch to look like. He had long, curly, dark brown hair and dark brown eyes. He wore dark makeup and painted his nails black. In addition to the only color palette liked was reds and blacks, he wore lots of jewelry, including many things that people associated with witches like pentagrams, animal teeth, and beads.

The house he shared with his Uncle Wayne was light grey, ramshackle, little cottage with black roof, door, and trim. The front of the house was overgrown with vines and wild flowers.

So he really shouldn’t be surprised when people would knock on the door looking for a witch.

He opened the door with a sigh. “Can I help you?” he asked the stranger.

She was pretty thing, a little younger than him. She had bright green eyes and her strawberry blonde hair was neatly arranged on the top of her head. She wasn’t very tall, but her green dress gave her long lines.

“I need a love charm?” she asked with a blush. “I just want to know if the man my father wants me to marry is the right one, you know?” She twisted her handkerchief nervously in her hands.

Eddie sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The witch lives two houses down and across the street. Great big sign that reads: ‘Harrington Witchery, charms, curses, and wishes performed here’.”

She looked down the way at the bright yellow house surrounded by neat plants and the perfect ray of sunlight on the door and then back at him in confusion. The door opened and the witch stepped out. He had honey colored hair and hazel eyes. He wore bright blue robes today and had the sunniest smile.

Eddie could feel his face flush as the witch waved over at both of them.

“Here he comes,” he said with a pinch of dismay.

“Hi,” the witch said brightly. “Are you looking for the witch?”

The young woman looked back at Eddie and then at the witch. “Yes?”

“Fantastic!” he said beaming at her. “I’m Steve Harrington, witch extraordinaire. Please to meet you!”

“Chrissy Cunningham,” she said shyly. “I was wanting a love charm?”

“I’d be happy to help you with that,” he said putting his arm over her shoulder, “let’s leave the grumpy Gus to his music playing, shall we?”

Eddie huffed. “That’s Mr. Grumpy Gus to you!”

Someone smacked him on the back of the head. “Don’t you go antagonizing the man who makes my arthritis medicine, boy.”

Steve stopped and turned around. “When do you need a top off on that, by the way?”

“I’m running a bit low,” Wayne admitted. “It was bit rougher this week with that huge storm we had.”

Steve nodded. “I’ll be over with the packet after I’m done with Chrissy.”

“I’ll have the tea ready for you,” Wayne said with a fond smile.

~

Chrissy looked around the house as he led her through to the back of the house. It was neat and tidy with every clearly labeled in a neat cursive hand. There was something bubbling on the fire, but from the smell it was probably dinner and not a potion. She could smell the beef and vegetables.

There were two rooms off the one side and the privy to the other. It was everything the opposite you would expect of a witch’s house. The animals on the other hand fit. One was a raven sitting in the windowsill being fed by a beautiful woman dressed in a dark blue gown. The other was a Tortoiseshell cat with bright green eyes, who meowed at her and jumped away.

“Merlin!” Steve admonished. “Be nice.”

The cat stopped in its hasty retreat and meowed back at him.

“Well she can’t help that,” he answered as if he understood what the cat was saying. “Now, run along and actually catch the mouse that has been stealing your food.”

Merlin meowed again and was off.

“He’ll never catch that mouse,” the woman said.

The raven crowed, seemingly in agreement.

“Then you catch it, Circe,” Steve huffed, hands on hips. “I know you can and you complaining about Merlin’s abilities doesn’t catch the mouse any faster.”

The raven crowed and flew off, causing the woman to laugh. “She won’t catch it either.”

“Yes,” Steve agreed, “but with her it’ll be because she doesn’t like being told what to do and not because she can’t.”

Chrissy shifted nervously from one foot to the other. “So about that love charm?” she asked tentatively.

Steve jumped. “Oh! Oh my god! I got so wrapped up in familiar politics I nearly forgot you were there. Here, just let me...” he began gathering supplies.

Some twine, a bit of silk, some herbs and oddly a couple of flowers too. Ivy, lilac and pansy. He swiftly made them into a doll and handed it to her. “A lock of your hair, and snip of your petticoat will finish the job. Then whisper into its ear all the things you want in your true love. Then the next time you touch your betrothed, you will know if he is your true love.”

“That’s all?” Chrissy asked, staring down at the doll, no bigger than her palm.

“Yep!” he said brightly. “Robin will help you with the hair and petticoat. I’ll be in the front room preparing Wayne’s medicine.”

Chrissy blushed and nodded. Robin stood up and wandered over to the desk to grab the scissors.

“Are you a witch, too?” Chrissy asked as she held still for Robin to clip a bit of her petticoat.

Robin stood up with a smile. “Not yet, but I hope to be. Steve is teaching me. I’m still a little clumsy with the potions but I’m good with the herbs. Steve says that I could be a hedge witch!”

“Oh!” Chrissy cried. “I didn’t know there were different kinds of witch. What kind is Steve?”

“The tired kind!” Steve huffed from the front room.

Robin giggled. “Don’t make me laugh when I’m about to cut her hair!” she admonished.

Steve looked over his shoulder and gave her a completely unrepentant grin. Robin huffed and gently took a bit of curl from the base of her head near the neck. She took the doll back from Chrissy and tied both pieces to the doll.

“Now,” she said brightly, “just whisper all your wants and desires for a future soulmate. It’s actually good you’re doing it now. A lot of people do it as kids with childish hopes and dreams which isn’t great for adult relationships.”

Steve came into the room dusting his hands off on a towel. “That’s unfair,” he huffed. “It’s not childish, it’s childlike. And who knows love better than someone who hasn’t been taught to hate yet.”

Chrissy tilted her head to the side. “I think I’m with Steve on that one, Robin.”

“Yeah, well,” Robin said rolling her eyes and stepping back. “Doing it as a child hasn’t done Mr. Witch over here any good. He had his made by his mom when he was seven and fifteen years later, he still hasn’t found his true love.”

Steve threw the towel over one shoulder and put both hands on his hips. “I still maintain that it’s because I’m witch and can’t get out much that’s why I haven’t found them yet.”

“I still thi–” Robin began and then was cut off with a wave Steve hand. She glared at him.

“It won’t last very long,” Steve growled, “but long enough that Miss Cunningham won’t be here for that particular argument.”

“She thinks you’ve already met your true love?” Chrissy surmised.

Robin jumped up and down and nodded with a huge grin.

“Robin is operating under the delusion that the goth down the road is my soulmate,” Steve huffed putting his hands back on his hips. “Never mind, it’s a guy, he absolutely hates me because people keep mistaking my house for his.”

Chrissy blushed a deep red. “Yeah, sorry about that. But it’s the commonly held belief that witches are–”

Steve held up his hand. “I’m going to stop you there. I won’t gag you like I did Robin. But I don’t know where those ‘commonly held beliefs’ come from, but witches have never worn black or had black cats or flew on brooms. Hedge witches in particular favor nature’s colors of blues and greens and browns. But you’re all set to go.”

Chrissy recognized the dismissal that it was and turned to leave. She barely got a single step when she turned around.

“What about payment?” she asked, uncertain. “Surely you need something in payment.”

Steve’s eyes seemed to glow gold for a moment as he spoke. “There is no need to pay for a love charm, there being more love in the world is enough for the spell. And it is only spell that does so.”

“Your other charms and spells have payments?” she asked, now a little nervous.

“Most of them require a trade or a simple favor,” Steve said, seriously, “like running an errand for me. But if you ask for a potent charm, one would almost call a wish, that is all you will get from me. You’ll never be able to find my house ever again. You’ll see me around town and I can visit you. But you require some powerful magic, then that’s it. I will not be used to fix every problem you see fit.”

Chrissy gulped and nodded. She clutched the doll to her chest and ran off.

“Steve...” Robin said, darkly. “There was no need to frighten her.”

Steve leveled her with a glare. She backed off, hands in the air in surrender. He stomped back to his potion, the small cottage darkening with his foul mood. The raven flew into through the window and landed on his shoulder, rubbing her beak on his temple.

“I’m fine, Circe,” Steve mumbled, scratching the raven’s neck. “I think Merlin was right about her. She wasn’t here for a good reason. I think she just wanted to prove to everyone that Master Carver’s son isn’t her soulmate. I don’t think she’s actually interested in finding true love.”

The raven crowed and cawed.

“Of course you caught the mouse,” he huffed, gently shaking his head not to dislodge her from his shoulder. “What did you do with it?”

Circe cawed again and Steve laughed. “Of course you did. Merlin is probably pouting. He’ll play with its corpse once he’s done.”

The raven made a sound suspiciously like laughter and then flew away. Robin came up and put her hand on his shoulder and then pulled him into a hug.

“I heard what you told Circe,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “You’re right of course. Merlin, too. She was trying to hard to believe in your magic. She was just looking for an excuse not to marry dickface.”

“That’s Master Dickface to you,” Steve teased halfheartedly.

Robin snorted. “Yeah well. That’s probably the last we see of her. He’ll turn out to be her soulmate, she’ll be forced to marry him and she’ll live in the ivory tower the rest of her days.”

He let out a shuddering breath. “I’m heading over to visit Wayne to deliver his medicine. I’ll be back later.”

She grinned and jumped up and down. “Maybe the hottie gothy will be there and you’ll finally touch and it’ll be...” she clutched her hands together and batted her eyelashes, “true love!”

He pushed her off of him and wrapped up the blue packets of medicine. He paused for a moment and then took a jar of Mrs. Henderson’s homemade raspberry jam and added it to the basket.

Robin took a loaf of bread from the cooling rack and wrapped it up. “There you go, little yellow riding hood! Of to Wayne’s you go! Don’t let the big bad goth eat you!”

~

Tag List: TEN OPEN SLOT REMAINING

1- @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[onthegoodsideofthings]

🧡Katsuki Bakugou🧡

*The proposal.*

Katsuki Bakugou, who will sit and stare at you for hours, sighing as he truly takes in his love for you.

Katsuki Bakugou, who has been wanting to propose to you for years now.

Katsuki Bakugou, who is now best man at Izuku and Ochakos wedding. 

Katsuki Bakugou, who has now been forced to propose to you on the same day.

Katsuki Bakugou, who after his best man speech goes to get the ring and take a moment to calm his nerves. 

Katsuki Bakugou, who has now gotten a pep talk to assure him that this, this will end well.

~~

Katsuki takes a few deep breaths, this needs to be perfect. To be honest this was probably the only time he will have it in him to propose. It was Izuku and Ochakos’ idea. They said they wanted to help! They said they wanted to share this day with Katsuki and Y/N so why was he still so nervous? Maybe it was the timing? He needs to be ready by the time Ochako gives Y/N the flowers, he needs to know what to say, how to propose. If only there were better ‘How Too’s’ on this. He runs his calloused hands through his hair. He sighs and pulls himself together, he’s the #15 hero damn it! Sure it’s not high but his partner has motivated him more than anyone and anything. He knows exactly what to say. A smile graces his face as he exits the small room.

You stand in the group of girls, having idle small talk and chatting with old girlfriends from high school, you and Mina started to talk again and are planing to hang out together soon! Ochako giggles and yells for everyone to get ready because she was going to throw the flowers. Squeals and yells of excitement can be heard. 

.

.

.

“3!”

.

.

.

“2!”

.

.

.

“1!” She acts as if she is about to throw the flowers but she turns and walks straight to you handing the beautiful display to you. You take it a confused but thankful look on your face. She quickly runs away and the group starts to disperse. You look at them confused. You hear someone clearing their throat, you look behind you and see Katsuki.

“What…��� you breathe out softly, holding the flowers to your chest. 

“Y/N, I…I…” He’s at a loss for words, he looks at her, his face bright. He clears his throat and then gets on his knee. 

“Look I’m not good at words, you know this. But I…I want to call you my life long partner, I want you to be my spouse, Y/N I want to marry you you have been my best friend and biggest supporter, and the love of my life…I…Y/N L/N will you marry me?” 

You drop the flowers on the ground and your hands cover your mouth, tears swell in your eyes, hiding a sob as you nod, you run up to him and give him a big hug. 

“yes, yes! I- I’ll marry you!!” You smiles brightly as tears fall from your eyes. Katsuki laughs happily and picks you up twirling you around. He’s ecstatic and smiling happily. He puts you down and yells.

“It’s a YES!!” He pumps his fist in the air. He takes the ring out of the box and puts it on your finger, it fit perfectly.

[brightlight-dazzlingeyes]

you get what you give | franco colapinto

💾 synopsis: It’s 1997, and you’re in your last year of high school, working at Hot Topic, living in a one-sided feud with the boyish, too-charming Gap employee across the hall. Then the universe decides to ruin your life by making him your coworker. tags: kind-of-enemies-to-lovers, teen drama, 90s aesthetic, fluff (written in 2nd person but no mention of yn) | (around 3.7k words) | (nobody fact-check this, please, i was born in 2003, and i'm not american)

The first time you saw Franco, he was across the food court, leaning against the Gap counter like he was in a catalog. Some preppy kid with khakis that probably cost more than your entire paycheck, laughing at something a coworker said. Meanwhile, you were stuck behind the register at Hot Topic, trying to explain to a middle schooler that no, they couldn’t return their Metallica shirt just because their mom found it “too satanic.”

It wasn’t hate at first sight. Not exactly. It was more like… an allergy. Like every time you looked over at the Gap, there he was: Mr. Perfect Hair, smiling at customers like he actually liked them, folding sweaters like he loved his job. And every time he noticed you looking, he’d wave. Wave. Like you were best friends or something.

Alex, your coworker, thought it was hilarious. “Maybe he has a crush on you.”

“Or maybe he’s just annoying.”

“Both can be true.”

You ignored him, because whatever Franco’s deal was, you didn’t care. It’s not like Hot Topic and Gap were at war or anything, but they might as well have been. You sold fishnet tights and Slipknot hoodies. He sold pastel cardigans and golf hats. Oil and water. Cats and dogs. People who get the vibe and people who definitely don’t.

It became a thing, though. The waving. The smirking. The way he’d send clueless Gap customers to your store “because they seemed more… alternative.” You started sending preppy moms his way just to balance the universe.

But it all came to a head one Friday, right after you’d clocked in, when your manager pulled you into the back room.

“Got some news,” she said, all chipper like it wasn’t going to ruin your day.

“What?”

“We’re short-staffed, so I hired someone. He’s got retail experience, great attitude –”

And then, like the universe had it out for you, Franco walked in.

“Hey!” he said, all teeth and dimples, like this was some meet-cute and not a complete disaster.

You just stared.

It’s not every day your entire worldview gets flipped upside down, but here you are, staring at Franco in the Hot Topic break room like he’s some alien who crash-landed in the wrong parking lot. He’s got that same stupid perfect smile on his face, like this is totally normal. Like he belongs here. Spoiler: he absolutely does not.

“Hey,” he says, like it’s a regular Friday and not the start of your personal hell. “Guess we’re coworkers now.”

Coworkers.

Coworkers?!

You whip around to face your manager, who’s calmly flipping through a clipboard, completely oblivious to the emotional collapse happening two feet away.

“Is this a joke?” you ask, pointing at Franco. Like maybe someone’s about to jump out with a camera and yell: Gotcha!

“No joke,” your manager chirps. “Franco has retail experience, and he really impressed me in the interview.”

You look back at him. He’s still smiling. Why is he still smiling?

“You interviewed him?”

“Of course! We’re short-staffed, and Franco’s going to be a great addition to the team.”

You don’t even know where to start. The khakis. The tucked-in polo. The fact that he probably doesn’t know the difference between Nirvana and Nine Inch Nails. This guy is going to sell chokers?

“You’re kidding,” you mutter, but no one’s listening.

Franco finally speaks up, still with that ridiculous, infuriating charm.

“Don’t worry, I’ll fit right in. I mean, how hard can it be?”

Oh, he’ll fit right in, all right. About as well as a cat fits in a mosh pit.

It starts with the name tag.

Franco’s first obstacle as a Hot Topic employee isn’t even a customer – it’s the little plastic rectangle that refuses to clip onto his perfectly pressed shirt. After a solid minute of fumbling, he finally slaps it onto his chest, crooked, looking way too proud of himself for such a small win.

You, meanwhile, are trying to decide if it’s worth quitting your job just to avoid this nightmare.

“Maybe untuck your shirt,” you suggest, glaring at him. “You look like you’re about to sell Bibles.”

He looks down, confused. “But isn’t this the uniform?”

“No. The uniform is not looking like you have a trust fund.”

He untucks the shirt, but it doesn’t help much. He still stands out like a Gap model in a Halloween store.

And then the customers start rolling in.

The first one is easy: a kid looking for a Blink-182 tee. You grab it from the shelf, hand it over, and move on. Franco watches like he’s taking notes for a science experiment.

The second one? Not so easy.

It’s a girl with jet-black lipstick, multiple nose rings, and an attitude. She narrows her eyes at Franco, who’s manning the register for the first time.

“Do you have this in an extra small?” she asks, holding up a spiked belt.

Franco looks at the belt like it’s a snake. “Uh… let me check in the back?”

“There is no back,” you hiss from across the counter.

“Oh. Right. Um…” He flashes the customer his best smile. “We don’t have it in extra small, but maybe a small could work?”

The girl rolls her eyes so hard you’re worried they might get stuck. “Forget it,” she snaps, storming out.

Franco turns to you, bewildered. “Was it something I said?”

“It was everything you said.”

But it doesn’t stop there.

Later, he mispronounces Misfits as The Misfits. Then he spends five minutes explaining the return policy to a guy who clearly just wanted to buy a patch and leave. By the time someone asks him about gauges, he’s looking at you like he’s about to beg for help.

“Are you sure there’s no training manual?” he asks.

“This is the training,” you shoot back. “Sink or swim.”

But the thing is, he doesn’t sink. Not completely, anyway. Somehow, between the awkward stumbles and clueless questions, he manages to charm almost every customer. Even the goth kids seem to tolerate him, if only because he’s so obviously out of his depth.

And when your manager comes by to check on him, he’s suddenly the picture of professionalism, rattling off sales numbers like he’s been working there for years.

You glare at him as she leaves, impressed.

“What?” he says, grinning. “I’m a fast learner.”

You groan.

It’s halfway through Franco’s second shift when the universe decides to really test your patience. You’re at the register, ringing up a pair of fishnet gloves for a kid who can’t be older than twelve, when you hear the sound of trouble brewing near the band tees.

“Oh, my God,” someone laughs, loud and mean. “Do you even know who that is?”

You look up and see them: a group of older teens, all decked out in leather jackets and studded belts, surrounding Franco like a pack of hyenas. He’s holding up a Black Sabbath shirt, looking a little like a deer caught in headlights.

“Uh…” Franco starts, clearly scrambling. “Yeah, of course I do. It’s… uh… classic rock, right?”

The tallest guy in the group snorts. “Classic rock? Bro, this is Sabbath. Tell me you’re joking.”

You can see Franco’s face turn red from across the store. You should probably step in, but there’s a part of you that kind of wants to see him squirm. He’s always so confident, so perfect. It’s nice to see him stumble for once.

But then one of the girls pipes up, flipping her bright purple hair over her shoulder. “I don’t know why they even hired you. You don’t belong here.”

That hits a nerve. You shove the cash drawer closed and storm over before you can think twice.

“He belongs here more than you do,” you snap, stepping between Franco and the group. “Unless you’re planning on buying something, get out.”

The tall guy raises an eyebrow. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem is you harassing my coworker. Go be a jerk somewhere else.”

There’s a tense pause, but eventually, they back off, muttering insults as they leave the store.

When they’re gone, you turn to Franco. He’s staring at you like you just pulled him out of a burning building.

“Uh, thanks,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, well…” You shrug, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Can’t let them scare off the new guy.”

He grins, that same easy, infuriating grin. “So you don’t hate me?”

“Don’t push it.”

You turn to walk back to the register, but you can feel him watching you, and for the first time, it doesn’t feel annoying.

It’s after the dinner rush, which is mostly just bored teenagers roaming the mall with nothing better to do than browse graphic tees they can’t afford, when Franco starts humming. It’s faint at first, just a couple of notes, but it’s enough to get under your skin.

You lean over the counter, glaring at him while he pretends to be absorbed in folding a pile of shirts he definitely refolded twice already. “Are you seriously humming The Cure right now?”

He looks up, wide-eyed, like you caught him committing a crime. “Uh, maybe?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Why?” He shrugs, all innocent. “What’s wrong with The Cure?”

“Nothing.” You grab a stack of bandanas and toss them onto the shelf. “Just didn’t peg you as a fan.”

“Well, I’m full of surprises.” He grins, that boyish, can’t-you-just-love-me grin that’s probably charmed a hundred Gap moms into buying extra polos. It makes you want to throw a mannequin at him.

But then he says, “You know, my mom hated this kind of music. She used to blast Hanson in the car and call it ‘family bonding.’”

You freeze mid-fold, staring at him. “No. Not Hanson.”

“Yep.” He leans against the counter, totally unashamed. “Full-on MMMBop era. It was brutal.”

You snort before you can stop yourself. “That’s horrifying.”

“Tell me about it.” He shakes his head like he’s reliving some great tragedy. 

And now you’re laughing, actually laughing, and you hate how easy it feels. It’s not supposed to be easy with Franco. He’s supposed to be the enemy, the preppy intruder in your kingdom of chains and leather. 

The store quiets down again, the hum of fluorescent lights filling the silence between customers. You’re at the counter, sorting through returns, when Franco asks, “So, how long have you been working here?”

You don’t even look up. “Too long.”

“Like… since it opened?”

“Not that long.”

He chuckles. “You just seem like you’re good at it. Like, you know exactly where everything goes, how to deal with customers, all of it.”

You pause, caught off guard by the compliment. “Uh, thanks, I guess.”

“I’m serious.” He leans against the counter, closer than he needs to be. “It’s cool. You make it look easy.”

For a second, you don’t know what to say. You’re not used to this version of him – the one who’s not joking or smirking or trying to win people over.

“Well,” you mutter, focusing way too hard on a stray thread on your sleeve, “someone has to hold this place together.”

“Guess that makes you the boss, huh?”

You look up, and he’s smiling again, but it’s softer this time, less Gap-commercial and more… real.

“Yeah,” you say, meeting his eyes for a second longer than you mean to. “Guess it does.”

And just like that, you’re back to folding shirts, pretending your face isn’t warm, pretending you’re not replaying the way he said it in your head.

“Hey,” Franco says after a minute, breaking the silence. “Thanks for not letting me completely crash and burn today.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

But he just laughs

A few days later, you’re mid-shift, reorganizing the clearance rack and silently judging whoever thought mixing Korn and Nirvana shirts was a good idea, when you hear Franco call your name.

“Hey!” He’s jogging over, holding a black eyeliner pencil in one hand and a spiked cuff in the other. “Okay, hear me out.”

You look up, already regretting your decision to give him the time of day. “What.”

“I was thinking.” He plops the cuff down on the counter like it’s Exhibit A in a trial. “Maybe I need a vibe adjustment. You know, to fit in better.”

You stare at him, waiting for the punchline. When it doesn’t come, you burst out laughing. “You? Adjust your vibe? You are the Gap vibe.”

“Exactly,” he says, unbothered by your mockery. “Which is why I need to commit if I’m going to survive here.”

You shake your head, going back to your rack. “You’re insane.”

“I’m serious!” He grabs your arm, dragging you toward the accessories wall. “Help me out here. What do I need? Eyeliner? A chain wallet? Should I dye my hair black? What screams ‘Hot Topic employee’ to you?”

You yank your arm back, glaring. “First of all, no one dyes their hair black on a whim. Second of all, even if you doused yourself in black nail polish and combat boots, you’d still look like a golden retriever.”

He blinks at you, confused. “A… golden retriever?”

“You know what I mean.” You gesture at him like he’s Exhibit A now. “You’re too happy. Too friendly. Even if you dressed the part, you’d still give off this, like, boy-next-door energy.”

“Wow.” He folds his arms, smirking. “Didn’t realize you’d been analyzing my vibe so much.”

You groan, shoving past him to grab a random shirt off the rack. “Fine. You want help? Put this on.”

He takes the shirt, holding it up with a frown. It’s oversized, black, and has some vaguely satanic-looking band logo on it. “This is… a lot.”

“Exactly.” You throw a studded belt at him for good measure. “Now go try it on.”

To your surprise, he doesn’t argue. He just shrugs and disappears into the fitting room, leaving you to wonder if you’ve actually broken him.

When he finally comes out, you almost choke. The shirt hangs loose over his frame, the belt is slung low around his waist, and he’s added the spiked cuff for good measure. He looks ridiculous.

“Well?” he says, holding his arms out like he’s presenting a masterpiece. “What do you think?”

You tilt your head, trying to suppress a laugh. “You look like a lost theater kid trying to go goth for Halloween.”

He grins, completely unoffended. “So… nailed it?”

“Sure.” You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “Except for the part where no one here is going to believe you’ve ever listened to anything darker than Matchbox Twenty.”

“Ouch.” He puts a hand over his heart, pretending to be wounded. “You’re brutal.”

“And you’re hopeless.”

But as he stands there, grinning like he’s actually proud of himself, you realize something weird. He looks kind of cute.

“Alright, fine,” you say, tossing a pack of black nail polish at him. “You want the full experience? You’re painting your nails next.”

He catches it easily, still smiling. “Whatever you say, boss.”

It’s the end of the night, and the mall feels like a ghost town. The food court’s shut down, the arcade’s lights are dimmed, and you’re counting down the minutes until you can lock up and go home. Franco’s behind the counter, you’re halfheartedly restocking chokers when he says, “Hey, can I ask you something?”

You look over your shoulder. He looks serious, which is rare for him. Too rare. “What? You need me to explain the difference between Slipknot and Korn again?”

“Ha-ha.” He leans on the counter, “I’m being serious.”

You roll your eyes but put down the chokers. “Fine. Ask away.”

There’s a pause. He’s tapping his fingers on the counter, like he’s working up the nerve. Finally, he says, “Why do you hate me so much?”

You blink at him, trying to figure out if this is some kind of joke, but his face is all earnest curiosity.

“I don’t –” You stop, because of course you do, or at least you did. But now? You’re not so sure.

He’s still looking at you, waiting, and for once, you don’t have a snarky comeback. You just shrug. “I don’t hate you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he says, but there’s no edge to it. “When I first started here, you looked like you wanted to set me on fire.”

“Yeah, well, you kind of deserved it.”

He laughs, and the sound fills the empty store in a way that makes your chest feel weird. “Fair. But… why?”

You chew on your lip, debating whether or not to tell him the truth. But something about the way he’s looking at you – like he actually cares about your answer – makes you cave.

“Because you’re you.”

“Wow.” He raises an eyebrow. “Great explanation. Totally clears it up.”

You groan, leaning back against the wall. “Fine. Because you walked in here all… perfect. Perfect smile, perfect attitude, perfect everything. And this place? It’s not supposed to be perfect. It’s messy, and weird, and full of people who don’t fit in anywhere else. You showing up felt like…”

“Like I didn’t belong.”

“Yeah.” You exhale, relieved he said it so you didn’t have to. “Exactly.”

He’s quiet for a second, and you’re about to make a joke to fill the silence when he says, “You know, I’ve never felt like I belonged anywhere.”

That shuts you up.

“Not at Gap, not at school, not even at home half the time,” he continues, voice softer now. “But here? I don’t know. It’s different. And it’s not just because of the music or the clothes or whatever. It’s… you.”

Your heart skips, and you hate how easily he can do that to you. “Me?”

“Yeah.” He looks up, meeting your eyes, and suddenly it feels like there’s no space left in the room. “You make it feel like it’s okay to not be perfect. Like it’s okay to just… be.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Words are stuck somewhere in your throat, and all you can do is stare at him like he’s said something impossible.

“I probably sound like an idiot,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I mean it. And if I have to spend every shift here proving that I belong, I will. Because, honestly? This is the first place that I've ever felt comfortable in.”

Your chest feels tight, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close he’s standing. Too close. Not close enough.

“Franco…” You’re not even sure what you’re about to say, but he cuts you off.

“I know. I’ll shut up now.” He steps back, flashing that same boyish grin that used to drive you insane. “Just thought you should know.”

And before you can respond, the store phone rings, breaking the moment.

You grab it, mumbling something about it probably being the mall office, but your hands are shaking as you pick up.

When you hang up, Franco’s already by the door, keys in hand, waiting to lock up. “Ready to call it a night?”

You nod, swallowing hard.

“Cool. See you tomorrow, boss.” He winks, pushing open the door and stepping out into the empty mall.

You watch him go, your heart still racing.

It’s been a few weeks since The Conversation. You and Franco have been in this weird limbo ever since – like you’re both too scared to bring it up again but also too aware of each other to act normal. He still grins at you like he knows a secret, and you still pretend it doesn’t make your heart race.

But tonight, something feels different. The shift was slow, the music quieter than usual, and now the two of you are the last ones left, locking up the store.

Franco leans against the gate, twirling the keys around his finger like he’s in a teen movie. “So,” he says, breaking the silence, “what’s your excuse for staying late tonight? Organizing the chokers by shade again?”

You shove the gate into place and glare at him, though there’s no real anger behind it. “What’s your excuse? Waiting for me to do all the work as usual?”

“Obviously.” He flashes that stupid grin, but this time there’s a bit of anxiety behind it.

You should brush it off, make some sarcastic comment and walk away, but instead, you lean against the counter and cross your arms. “You’ve been acting weird.”

“Me?” He feigns innocence, pointing at himself. “I’m not the one who’s been dodging eye contact for three weeks.”

“Yeah, because you’ve been staring at me like a creep,” you shoot back, but your voice is softer than you mean it to be.

He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he tilts his head, studying you in that way that makes you feel like you’re under a spotlight. “So… are we gonna talk about it?”

“About what?” You know exactly what he means, but you’re not making this easy for him.

“About this.” He gestures vaguely between the two of you. “Whatever this is.”

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “What’s there to talk about? You’re annoying, I tolerate you, the end.”

“Uh-huh.” He steps closer, his grin turning softer, almost shy. “And that’s why you blush every time I call you boss?”

“I do not blush.”

“You so do.”

You groan, turning to fiddle with the register just to give your hands something to do. “Why are you like this?”

“Because you like it.”

Your head snaps up, ready to argue, but suddenly you’re tired of pretending.

“Okay, fine,” you say, throwing up your hands. “Maybe I don’t hate you. Maybe I even… like you a little. Happy now?”

He blinks, like he wasn’t expecting you to actually admit it. “Wait, really?”

“Oh my god.” You bury your face in your hands. “Don’t make me say it again.”

He laughs, soft and disbelieving, and when you peek through your fingers, he’s standing right in front of you.

“For the record,” he says, voice quieter now, “I like you too. More than a little.”

Your heart does this stupid flip, and before you can chicken out, you grab the lanyard around his neck and pull him into a kiss. It’s quick, clumsy, and absolutely perfect.

“Wow,” he says, breathless. 

“Shut up.”

But you’re smiling, and so is he.

“Okay,” he says after a beat, grinning like an idiot. “But just so you know, I’m totally telling everyone you kissed me first.”

You groan, shoving him playfully. “Don’t push your luck.”

He laughs, grabbing your hand before you can pull away completely. “Too late."

[umathurwin]

my boy’s a winner, he loves the game

Summary: Kiara has a big favor to ask of Rafe. Who is he to not oblige?

tags, warnings, and more on ao3!

The clinking of metal weights and Rafe’s music filled the crisp air. Every few seconds, another grunt would reverb around the gym and Kiara poked her head out further so she’d be in his line of sight.

“Kie?” he asked, dropping his 45s on the squishy floor mat, where they bounced and rolled away. “Y’scared me. Need something?”

She closed the door behind her, checking once more that no one was listening. Sarah had started another argument with John B, so it could be a while before Kiara had to return to her friend’s bedroom.

Kie swallowed thickly. “Yes, actually. It’s kind of weird, and a big thing to ask, so I need you to ignore how crazy it is for me to come to you about this.”

“You’re looking to try snow,” he nodded solemnly, reaching down for his water bottle and twisting the cap open.

“What?! No!”

He froze. He leaned in and dropped his voice. “You want to try k?”

“I don’t want any drugs, Rafe.”

His posture corrected and he brought the bottle to his mouth. “Oh. Then what?”

As he drank, several cold droplets slipped out of his mouth and down his chin, dripping onto his chest and dry fit shirt. Even in the chill at which the Camerons held their home gym, he was sweating. His smell washed over her. His eyes followed hers as she ogled him, nearly forgetting why she was there.

“Wanna hook up?” she blurted, unsure of how else to word it. Can we have sex felt too formal. Will you fuck me probably would’ve sufficed, but she lacked the bite. Especially with this lupine in front of her, reducing her to a doe-eyed stutterer.

He pulled the lip away from his mouth and used the bottom hem of his shirt to wipe off the mess from his face. This time, her eyes remained fixed north of his shoulders.

“Hmm. Didn’t see that one coming.”

“Well?” she snapped, growing more edgy (and humiliated) by the second. She probably should’ve expected that he wouldn’t make this easy on her.

“Can I think about it? Oh my God…” he hollowly chastised. “If you’re gonna be this impatient when I’m inside you…”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Rafe!”

“I’m just messing with you. What’s got you so desperate? Haven’t been laid in a while?” Her eyes widened, and he connected the dots instantly. “Oh, no way. Never? How is that even possible? You’re…” Rafe waved a hand at her, but trailed off when he gained the wisdom to not comment on her appearance or how it related to her virginity.

“I just… didn’t want it to be bad. Figured I’d go to someone with at least some knowledge on the topic.”

“Really? And none of your little boys were valid candidates?”

She huffed through her nose. “That’s hilarious. Let’s go down the list together: we have the self-obsessed conspiracy theorist, the loose cannon who speaks more than he thinks, and the nerd who’s a bigger goddamn virgin than I am.”

Rafe hesitated. “Okay, I know the last one is Pope—”

“Point is,” Kiara interrupted, cutting eyes at him. “You probably can’t fathom vulnerability, and I’m really just looking for a yes or a no so I can decide if I’m gonna kill myself tonight—”

“Wow, the drama. Twist my arm a little more, why don’t you?” he said flatly. “Yes, I’ll do it.”

Her face lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a real Saint Nick. Give me your phone,” Rafe demanded, palm open and extended to her.

She recoiled. “You’re not… gonna film it, are you?”

He processed this and a grin spread across his face. “Sweetheart, I’m not gonna fuck you right now. I’m giving you my number so you don’t have to sneak around my little sister to see me.”

The confidence she’d built up with him crumbled instantly and the fever of mortification bloomed in her chest and face again. Kiara fumbled for her back pocket and handed him the device. “I— of course not! That’d be—”

“Hot,” he cut her off, offering a bit of peace for her. “I know.” His eyes flicked to the door and back down to her, then he texted himself an angel emoji. “But it just wouldn’t be right.”

With her phone returned one contact heavier, she tried not to trip on any benches on her way out.

***

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Kiara spat, quickly climbing into the passenger seat of Rafe’s Land Rover anyways. He peeled out of the driveway, surely attracting the attention of any partygoers that had wandered outside. She slunk down into the seat. “When Sarah said she’d get me a ride home, I didn’t think it’d be you.”

Rafe shrugged, rolling through a stop sign and changing the song. “I owed her one. And no, she doesn’t suspect anything, so maybe relax a little?”

Not too difficult. One of Barry’s drivers had made it to the party, and she’d definitely brought a cloud of earthy aroma into his vehicle.

“Speaking of relaxing… you’re not drunk, right?”

“No, why do you— where are we going?” she asked as they flew past the turn to her street.

“We’re gonna use this time to get in some practice,” he said simply, and the smirk on his face did all but abate her worries.

“Wait, wait, I can’t— I mean, I’m not ready—”

“Little Miss Anxious, huh? Second time you’ve done that,” he said, shaking his head amusedly. “That’s not what this is. Do I need to promise to give you a heads up?”

“Uh, yeah, it’d be nice!”

“Nah.” He pulled the vehicle over to a nature preserve, one of the many dim and poorly-patrolled parks the island had to offer.

Rafe threw the car in park and grabbed his nic from the cup holder. He offered it to her, she declined. As he took a draw, his free hand absentmindedly patted his crotch, adjusting himself to be taken out.

She never would admit this, not to him or a locked diary or God, but she’s looked before. It’s not her fault he gets out of the pool like a slut, with his swim shorts hung low on his hips and clinging to his bulge. She’s had an idea of what he’s working with. But to watch him rub his semi through his jeans? Kiara’s head spun.

He dropped the nic again and unbuttoned his pants without warning. Her eyes widened as he tugged them down, just enough to free his cock from his boxers. She took in what she could make out in the dimness— a heavy shaft, the reddening tip, a little glisten where the pre was leaking out.

Instincts took over— ones she was entirely unaware she had— and she leaned forward to touch him, but he grabbed her wrist first and stopped her. Kie looked up, fearing she’d done something wrong.

Rafe’s eyes softened, resting a hand on her cheek and nodding gently. “Hey, listen. Just relax. You’ll be fine.”

She nodded. It was the last glimpse of mercy she’d get for the night.

Once his warning was over, his big hand slipped from her face around to the back of her skull. He guided (pushed) her down until the head tapped against her lips. The salty taste hit her tongue but she had no time to process or cringe before the rest of his cock slid into her mouth.

It wasn’t long before Kie realized this wasn’t just a blowjob, but more of a face fucking. The agency wasn’t in her hands— or rather, mouth— when he was actively lifting his hips from the seat to stuff more of himself between her lips. She couldn’t even get her bearings enough to suck.

Kiara mustered enough momentum to overpower the headpushing and pulled her mouth off his cock. “You’re, God, being a little rough, don’t you think?” she asked weakly around a cough.

“You bet,” he affirmed, fixing his fist back into her hair and guiding her down again. “Need to prepare you for what you might come across in the future. Wouldn’t—fuck—be doing you any favors by being gentle, would I?”

Sure, whatever twisted logic he wanted to use to get a rough blowjob from a virgin. Rafe’s hips thrusted up again to meet where his hands locked her head in place, and she had to accept his cock down her throat. The zipper of his pants scraped the bridge of her nose and her back ached from the awkward position he’d twisted her into, but she figured complaining would only get her so far. Plus, her mouth was full.

He canted his hips forward so the tip of his cock brushed against her cheek, and his hand reached down her face to feel it from the outside. Rafe massaged the skin there, feeling the ridges of his head through it. The angle was hard for her to maintain, so he went back to pushing down her throat.

She couldn’t swallow with him in her mouth, so drool began to seep out and sullied his pants. Her hands pushed against his thighs and he let up, tugging her off his crotch and watching the string of spit that connected them.

“I’m, fuck, I’m sorry I’m making such a mess,” she apologized through wet coughs. Rafe laughed and said nothing, but he grabbed his cock and smeared her own spit onto her face. Kiara squealed and tried to back away but he wasn’t done with her.

Eventually, he had enough trust to let her do her own work. Her jaw burned from the stretch, but the hand on her head was only resting there as she forwent keeping it all clean.

He came, hard, if the noises he made were any indicator. The sensation of his twitching cock against her tongue was fascinating, but he must not have wanted to give her the chance to spit. With her nose pressed against his pelvis, his cock for perfectly down her throat and spilled his seed there.

Kiara coughed and sputtered when he finally released her and she could breathe again. “Fucking hell, Rafe, what’s the plan for real sex? You gonna bring out a chainsaw?”

“That was real sex.” She rolled her eyes. “You’ll just have to wait and find out then, huh?”

Kiara narrowed her eyes, looking to the small backseat. “What do you mean, wait? You’re not gonna reciprocate or anything? How is that f—?”

“Look, I know you’re new to this and all, so consider this a lesson: I’m gonna need a fuckin’ minute to get the feeling back in my extremities. And since we don’t have all night—”

He tugged her arm towards him and she awkwardly fumbled over to sit on his lap. The door pressed against her back and the steering wheel dug into her leg uncomfortably, but he continued anyways.

Kiara liked loose, linen shorts; Rafe liked them even better. He needn’t even pull them down— they were flowy and accessible enough that he could pull them and her underwear to the side and have her fully exposed for him.

Her face burned. No one had ever seen her like this before, but Rafe was more action-oriented. He cupped a hand over her bare sex, swollen and ready for him after her mouth had been fully used. His dexterous fingers played with her slit and collected the slick there, getting to know her clit and folds in the dark.

He wouldn’t have been able to see, but her eyes opened when he first pressed a finger inside. She was fully aware of how it worked, and Kie had boredly tried to fuck herself in the past, but it was never enough.

Rafe didn’t have that problem. His hands were bigger, fingers stronger, and knew how to stretch her walls around him. She mewled, and he kissed her cheek.

His fingers tucked in further and, with a palm grinding against her clit, pressed against a spot inside her that made her gasp. “Oh my God! What was that?”

He laughed a little in her ear and pulled his fingers out to slap her cunt. She whined. “Our new favorite body part of yours.”

Kiara’s eyebrows furrowed. “Our?”

Rafe took the free hand around her arm and reached over to grab at her breast. “Used to be these.”

Her body sparked and warmed at the idea of Rafe looking at her like a lecher. Deciding parts of her body were for his for ogling, grabbing, fucking. He’s always been an option for her, she just hadn’t known to ask.

The sounds her cunt made around his fingers were vile. He’d lean down to kiss her neck (but only kiss— can’t leave a mark) and she curled into his chest. She’d have more shame about the situation if she had any thoughts at all that weren’t her barreling orgasm.

When she did cum, she had to hold onto his forearm for stability. He purred into her ear about how good she was doing for him, holding her chin in place so he always had a good look at her scrunched eyes and parted lips.

He pulled his hand out from her shorts when she caught her breath, and made her watch the way strings of her cum lingered for too long. Rafe pushed those digits between her lips without warning, and swirled them around her tongue until he was adequately clean. Her legs still tingled when she slumped back into the passenger seat.

“No notes, baby, you did perfectly. Let’s get you home, hmm?”

***

Kiara’s phone automatically set to Do Not Disturb at 11 pm sharp every evening.

She wasn’t even that caught up in perfecting her sleep schedule. There were just too many nights in a row that one of her friends would drunkenly call and wake her up. Never for a good reason, like needing a ride—no, they’ll rip her from sleep to ask if a Wonka chocolate bar is red, or purple like they swore they remembered.

And they wonder why she preferred darties.

So, any messages she may receive in the witching hour would go unnoticed until the next morning. Unless, of course, the person reaching out to her is a bit more persistent.

The window creaked, and she just rolled over in bed. Her home was nearly a century old and the sandy ground below the foundation made for all kinds of bumps in the night.

What it didn’t often do, was lift the pane entirely. Kie sat up, eyes quickly adjusting to the tall body squeezing through into her bedroom.

“Jesus— Rafe?!” she asked, grabbing her chest where her heart fluttered.

“A little help?” he hissed, unable to fit the rest of the way. She sprang to his side, lifting the window a little more and guiding him inside. “Thanks.”

“You don’t have to whisper. My parents are in Myrtle Beach for a wedding.”

“Well, fuck me. Would’ve been nice to know before I scaled the damn trellis. Why didn’t you respond?” he asked, pointing to the sleeping phone on her nightstand.

Kiara crossed her arms. “Didn’t get the message. Do I… need to get a first aid kit?” she asked, looking over his figure and trying not to back away like a frightened deer.

He looked down at himself. “I’m fine?”

“I meant for me! You forget the chainsaw?”

His eyebrows tightened until he remembered the night they‘d already shared, and smirked. “Oh! No, it’s not like that.”

She didn’t get to ask what he meant before he kicked off his boots and flopped onto her bed like he owned it. He wagged his fingers, beckoning her to join him, and she obeyed with a scowl. It’s her room, after all.

He pulled her down to his side, turning to face her and sliding a hand between her cheek and pillow. Rafe kissed her softly, thumbing at her skin and trailing the other hand down to her waist where it rested comfortably. Their thighs entangled and one of her fists nervously balled into his shirt.

The pair made out, much longer than she would expect he had patience for. It was delicate, verging on pure, and it sent a fire to her core in anticipation. His leg pushing between her thighs certainly didn’t hurt.

There was no hurry to undress. A shirt here, his pants there. It was like they waited until one of them lost their breath to pause and remove another article. By the time they were down to their underwear, her apprehensions reappeared.

”Slow,” she blurted, and his big blue eyes locked to hers. “We’re gonna go slow, right?” she clarified, feeling the ridges of his abs, now bare and warm under her fingers.

He smiled, kissed the tip of her nose. “M’in no rush.”

Their cores were close, she could feel the heat of his cock pressed against her hip. He pushed against her once and groaned into her mouth, then pulled away entirely and slotted himself above her.

Rafe sat back on his heels, looking at her near-naked body below her. It was hardly more skin than he was used to seeing when she swam at his house, but he hungered over her nonetheless. His fingers slipped under the hem of her panties and his eyes found hers.

“May I?”

She giggled. Perhaps because she didn’t expect that from Rafe, or maybe it was nerves. But she eked out a yes, please regardless.

With permission granted, he slid her underwear down her legs and tossed them aside, settling between her thighs and giving each a kiss.

He started gently— he spread her folds with his thumbs and licked a hard stripe up the center. Her eyes lifted to the ceiling and slammed shut, and he was gracious enough to not give her hell for this. Rafe allowed her in her own world because, well, he was in one of his own.

Had she spared a glance between her thighs, she’d see him lost in himself, nose buried into her cunt and tongue exploring every part of her. It was all slow, curious, an attempt to commit her pussy to his memory. Maybe he feared this was his only chance.

His patience built a powerful orgasm for her— the kind she could never do herself. Touching herself before was just getting a job done, but Rafe wanted it to wash over her with shaking legs and starry vision.

And Rafe always got what he wanted.

When he came up to kiss her, she tasted herself on him, but it was less intense than she expected. Maybe he was drooling too much.

She’d forgotten he still had his boxers on— too lost in cumming on his tongue. The fabric was sticking to him where precum leaked out of his tip, and he paused for only enough time to pull the elastic down under his balls. Deja vu.

Now free, his member hung menacingly between them. He took himself in hand and teased her, gliding the tip against her pulsing clit and threatening to part her folds. He lay the shaft against her and thrusted, simulating the real thing.

On one insignificant stroke, the head slipped down and notched itself against her hole. Rafe was careful, so careful pressing inside. She was wet enough that he could’ve bullied his cock into her cunt easily, but he stopped instead.

Rafe lowered himself until their noses brushed together. One hand reached up to stroke her cheek, to whisk away the tear that had pooled in the corner of her eye. He shushed, his lips brushing against her chin, her ear, her lips, anywhere he could access her skin.

“Sweetheart, please, you’ve gotta relax for me,” he whispered, voice low and warm. “You’re doing so fuckin’ good so far. Just keep letting me in.”

It was a side of the man she’d never seen before. Rafe used to twist the arms of boys who mocked her and Sarah until they screamed for mercy. He wasn’t allowed to play any contact sports in high school with his violent record. More than once, Kiara had to step around shattered glass in their home from when he’d broken tumblers in fits of rage. The blowjob from last week alone—

Tonight, his free hand found hers and threaded their fingers together. He kissed along her neck and sucked at the flesh gently. Endless praises spilled from him as his cock fully nestled inside her pulsing heat. She could feel their bodies entangling further with each breath they shared in the close space.

“Fuck it’s— so deep,” she breathed, back arching to press her bare chest against his. The angle shift forced her clit to grind against his pelvis and a whine escaped her.

“I know, baby,” he reassured and played with her tits as she readjusted. “Takin’ me so well. Can’t believe I get to be the first one to feel you like this, mm?”

She nodded, even though he wasn’t really asking her anything. Rafe’s hand, still entwined with hers, pulled down to make her feel her lower stomach.

“Feel me there?” he continued. “M’so glad you chose me. Let me split this pretty pussy open on my cock. Gonna let me fill it too? Wanna really make sure I do the job correctly?”

“Fuck, please, yes!”

He withdrew his cock entirely, letting it kiss her slick cunt and smear the wetness between them. Rafe sunk back in without warning and her back arched up.

Kiara’s fingers scratched down his back and he mentioned nothing of it. Her eyes closed again. “Rafe, I… I think I’m gonna—”

“Another?” he cut off, unable to conceal his pride. “Such a good baby. Eager to fall apart on my cock. Wanna feel it, please, sweet girl.”

She came again, pussy twitching around him. He followed shortly after and stuffed her full of cum as they milked each other dry. If the sensation of him finishing down her throat was intriguing, this was… addictive.

Rafe was an exceptional gentleman in terms of cleaning up; Kiara lay weak and tender as he gathered a wet cloth to undo the last hour. Well… as much as could be undone.

“Thank you,” she said finally, voice low above the radiator, spoken across his chest she rested on.

“Don’t even mention it,” he laughed softly and pulled her in closer. They already approached slumber. “Though, if you really wanted to thank me, I have a few ideas in mind…”

[mari-ocs]

So, a new OC may be joining the party soon! Her name is (probably) going to be Amelia, and she’s a love interest for William Agar ❤️

[ceilidho]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 1 | masterlist

-

“I’m not looking for a babysitter that can only come by every now and then,” he says sternly and pauses for emphasis, brows furrowing to convey the seriousness of the situation. “I’ve got a busy schedule and his mom isn’t in the picture. I need a real commitment.”

You sit across from him wringing your hands under the kitchen table, wondering again what it is you’re doing here. Babysitting has never been your schtick; you’re somewhere in between too old to do it as a casual gig for extra cash and too young and inexperienced to be considered for a full-time position. 

Yet, it seems like that’s what he’s looking for, based on the information he’s told you and your general impression from having been in his house for less than twenty minutes. The house is a mess—toys strewn across the baby’s bedroom and the living room, dishes crusted with day old food sitting in the sink, the bookshelf in his study covered in a fine layer of dust that tells you that this man spends so little time in his own house that it’s become something of a requiem to single fatherhood. 

“So, a nanny?” you ask.

He hems and haws over that for a bit. “Bit too fancy for my tastes, but that’s more like it. It won’t just be watching the baby—I need someone who can help out around the house as well. ‘Used to run a tight ship before him, but cleaning’s not been my highest priority these days. Sure you’ve picked up on that.” He says the last part wryly, lips curling up into a crooked grin under his mustache. 

“Well…” You trail off while glancing at the mess in the living room out of the corner of your eye, toys and blocks scattered over the playmat. Your own smile is sheepish. 

“I work odd hours, so I’ll be gone a lot; you’ll probably have a few late nights here, but I pay well. Think that’s something you can handle?”

A polite refusal sits on the tip of your tongue until you swallow it back, suddenly conscious again of the dwindling funds in your bank account. It’s not that you don’t think you could handle the job. You’ve babysat before (only preteens, you correct yourself internally, but surely there are some transferable skills there). And, eclipsing all of your arguments in favour of walking out the door right now, is the very salient and pressing need for an actual income. 

“You’re military, you said?” you croak out instead.

He nods, hums. “Bit of a glorified desk job these days. They don’t put the old timers out in the field. Still, keeps me busy.”

You frown at that. “You’re not that old.”

That gets him to cock an eyebrow. “Love, I’m over twice your age, easy. I’m plenty old for a first time father on top of that; should’ve already been an old hand at this, but I’ve been married to the job for too long.”

You don’t ask if the baby was an accident or how it came to be that he chose to raise the baby on his own rather than try to work something out with the mother or give him up altogether. It seems uncouth. Rude. It’s none of your business and, more to the point, hardly relevant to the job. It’s just your own insatiable need to pry and know every little detail raising its head to sniff the air. 

“Well, I think—” You chew on your words and then backtrack. “—I can handle the job. I live nearby, so I can be here whenever you need me. If you need references, I can—”

“No need,” he cuts you off, waving a hand in front of him. “I’m a good judge of character. If you wanna help put the baby to bed, we can talk salary and I’ll go over my schedule this week with you.”

The chair scrapes against the tile floor when he stands up, pushing it out from under him. Standing, he towers over you, a big, fit man despite his protests to the contrary. Hardly out of his prime. You’d put him at forty-five at the latest, and still a work horse of a man at that; broad like a draft horse, like he flips tires and runs marathons for fun. When you push out your chair and stand as well, you’re still forced to look up at him. 

“Sure can, Mister…—?” You realize with a slight start that you only remember his first name, though it hardly feels appropriate to call him by that given the fact that he’s about to become your boss. Already is your boss. 

“Price. But John works just fine,” he corrects, his smile warm, almost paternalistic. 

You ignore the flash of heat up your spine and the way your belly constricts when he reaches across the table to shake your hand. His big, calloused palm dwarfs yours, fingers easily overlapping. You might as well be shaking a mitt. 

“Well, thanks for the job, John,” you say with a smile of your own, ignoring the way yours strains at the end, anxiety already gnawing a hole through the lining of your stomach that your stomach acid will now most certainly leak through. “I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t, sweetheart.”

His words seem like a bellwether for something that you can’t yet articulate or even anticipate. Regardless, they make you swallow reflexively when you start salivating out of nowhere. You should probably quit on the spot actually, just out of principle alone, but again you remember the gut-churning sensation of checking your bank balance in the middle of the grocery store the other day before putting half of the contents of your cart back onto the shelf beside you. 

You follow him into the playroom instead, where a fuzzy headed infant gasps up at his daddy, blinking big lovestruck eyes up at him. Your own heart feels like a melted caramel in your chest when John picks his son up, eyes crinkling with affection. The baby is so tiny in his arms.

Any thought of being a good person evaporates from your mind. As if you ever had a chance. 

You don’t know how he found you. Through a friend of a friend of a friend’s dad’s coworker, maybe. Word of mouth. Watercooler conversation and a heaping cup of gossip.

“Did you hear the Captain’s looking for a babysitter?”

“For what? To bang?”

“No, dipshit. He knocked some broad up and she left him with the baby.”

“No kidding. The Captain?”

“Didn’t I just fuckin’ say that?”

“Price, you mean? Captain Price?”

“Are you fuckin’ deaf? Yeah—Price.”

“Christ. Godspeed to him. A baby. Goddamn.”

“Give it a rest, it happens all the time. That’s why you always wrap it up. Anyway, you know of anyone that’d be up for it?”

And then somehow, your name gets mentioned. Much to your relief. Job opportunities don’t knock on your door all that often, and when John finally gets around to telling you your hourly rate, you almost burst into hysterical giggles in front of him. It’s more than you expected. More than you deserve, if you’re being honest. You’re retroactively grateful that he didn’t ask you to name your rate because you wouldn’t have dared propose something anywhere close to what he offers.

It’s a straightforward gig. John doesn’t work the typical nine-to-five, so you show up at the times he made you write down on that first day in his living room after your interview and you leave whenever he comes home. The first week is fairly true to the schedule he laid out for you. He’s only late by around half an hour one evening, but that was another condition that he made you well aware of prior to giving you the job. 

You know better than to put up a fuss. You’re already learning on the job as it is; with your anxiety at a ten at all times, you appreciate the extra half hour to keep googling baby-specific information. What to do during tummy time. The benefits of baby massage. How to change a diaper. You’re learning all sorts of things these days.

To your credit, he could’ve done worse. The day after John hires you, you sign up for an intensive babysitting course over the weekend and read the online manual front to back. Your CPR certificate is still valid, but you book a refresher course as well just to be on the safe side. It’s a bit unbearable to watch the funds drain out of your account before you’ve even had a chance to earn your first paycheck, but it’s worth it for the burgeoning confidence that you bring on your first day.

Babies are fun to be around, you realize, much to your own delight. Babysitting—or rather, nannying, but John still introduces you to the neighbours as his babysitter, plus nannying requires a host of additional accreditations that you simply just do not have—might not have been a job that you ever expected yourself to like, but you find yourself kind of morose at the end of each day when you have to say goodbye to baby, and even going so far as to turn in early when you get home so you’ll be ready bright and early the next morning.

Babies also smell better than anything you’ve ever smelt in your life. You could huff the top of this little guy’s head morning, noon, and night. Milky and clean; it barely takes a few days to become addicted to the smell of his little head. When he’s cradled in your arms, you can’t help but press your nose to the top of his head and take a deep inhale, eyes fluttering shut. It’s some good shit. 

You keep a journal filled with notes to relay to John when he comes home at the end of the night and keep your phone close to you during babytime to film any important moments that John might’ve otherwise missed. 

“He started babbling today,” you tell John the second he walks through the door, the video already pulled up on your phone. You haven’t felt this excited in ages. “Look.” 

He’s still in his fatigues and everything, but he humours you and takes the baby when you pass him over, cooing and tickling his belly until the baby squeals and babbles again for him. 

“See?” you gush, mooning over him. You don’t have the presence of mind to be self-conscious in the moment. 

“Yeah,” John remarks, lifting his son up to blow a raspberry into his belly and grinning at his ensuing peals of laughter. “Ain’t that something.”

If the smile in his voice has anything to do with you, you don’t pick up on it.

On top of everything, John turns out to be a really good boss. Despite his gruff, intimidating exterior, he’s remarkably kind and patient with you. He doesn’t nag you for missing a spot when cleaning the bathroom. He doesn’t scold you the day your car breaks down and you’re forced to take the nearest bus to his place, tacking on an extra twenty minutes to your commute, even though that means that he’s invariably late for work. When you accidentally use scouring powder on the inside of his Le Creuset Dutch oven and scratch off the enamel, he gently talks you out of a sobbing fit, seemingly unbothered by the state of his scratched up crockery.

He shrugs when you bring it up. “It’s got a lifetime warranty anyway. I’ll bring it into the shop over the weekend. No use getting upset about it.”

Unflappable. That’s the word for it. It’s like as long as he���s able to come home to the baby and you in one piece, nothing else matters, and that sense of calm permeates the whole house; for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you have to walk on eggshells around someone. 

Your only qualm—and it’s hardly even a qualm, to be honest, more of just an observation—is that John is more of a physical person than you are. 

When he wants to move you, he does—two big hands clamped around your waist and only a fraction of his strength to move you away from the stove so he can take over cooking while you check on the baby, your mouth hanging open, aghast. Fuming at his nerve. The gall of him to manhandle you. 

You don’t hold it against him though. You haven’t spent much time around groups of men, but you’ve seen military movies before and it seems like the status quo for men to grab and push each other around. If anything, he’s gentle with you. 

It’s just that—and again, John’s the first adult man you’ve spent any one-on-one time with, what with it just being the two of you and the baby in his house, so your frame of reference is microscopic—you’re not completely sure whether it’s appropriate for your boss to be so touchy. 

You don’t mean to insinuate that he’s being inappropriate. It’s just that—and again you have to catch yourself before you go making assertions about people because John is honestly such a nice man and he’s done nothing but treat you fairly and made you feel safe and welcome, but…—sometimes he insists on you staying over for dinner after he comes home from work and doesn’t take no for an answer.

You’re never in any rush to leave. There’s not exactly anything waiting for you in your dingy little apartment. So when he asks you to stay, you have no good reason to refuse. It’s nice to get a free meal as well. With the way John gives you unfettered access to the fridge and pantry, you hardly need to buy groceries at all these days. You feel a little guilty about that, but you know what it’s like to go hungry.

Maybe that’s why you stay for supper the first time he asks a couple weeks into you working for him. You’re subconsciously mortified that you’ll eat his food when he’s not gone but not when he offers it to you.

At least dinner feels like something you’ve been given rather than just taking, taking, taking. 

Not to mention you’ve developed something of a rapport. There’s always something to talk about with John: the baby, his work, a show you watched on TV after putting the baby down for a nap, the new big Tesco four blocks from your place, his late teens before joining the military (“back when you weren’t even a thought in your mum’s head,” he jokes, cutting into his steak and something in your brain pops and fritzes out like the static between radio stations). 

The first few suppers are sporadic and never long enough to make you feel like you’ve overstayed your welcome. In all honesty, they’re the few bright spots in an otherwise dull life. Outside of your job and the infrequent dinners, you’re estranged from your family and you’ve only got a few close friends in town that you see maybe once or twice a month. Nothing to write home about. Some Friday nights, the yoga studio near your flat has a five pound community class that you pop in for, but those are infrequent too. 

Then there’s the odd night where he shoos you into the living room to put on a movie while he cleans up after dinner. You stare absentmindedly at his forearms when he rolls up his sleeves and then jump when you find him staring at you expectantly over his shoulder.

“Go put something on,” John tells you, a warning look in his eye. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Sorry,” you whisper before slipping off into the living room.

You can’t relax on the couch while you wait. You flinch when he finally joins you, sitting down on the other side of the couch suddenly. You hadn’t even heard him coming; he’s light on his feet for such a big man. 

The buddy cop comedy you picked barely distracts you from the fact that your boss is sitting on the other side of the couch. You spend the whole two hour run time so nervous that you’re afraid you’ll buzz right out of your skin. 

For absolutely no reason, of course, because all John does is make light conversation with you throughout the movie. Conversation that you respond to in curt, choked whispers. When he walks you to the door after the movie, all you can focus on is how utterly embarrassed you are for being so weird.

Your dreams that night come frantic and heady. Humid under the blanket. The phantom feeling of a body heavier than yours weighing down one side of the couch and you sliding towards it gradually, unable to even cling onto the arm of the couch to keep from falling into his lap. 

Then hands on your belly, cupping and holding. Thick fingers with hairy knuckles. A warm, tobacco smell wafting under your nose, sweet like tonka bean and smoke. Nothing you can do to keep them from travelling down your stomach and thighs and spreading your legs wide, big hands curving around your inner thighs until—

You wake up panting, fingers pressed against your clit in your sleep. It takes nothing to bring yourself over the edge, dark blue eyes swimming on the precipice of your conscious mind. 

“Sleep well?” John asks you the next morning when you show up on his doorstep, handing you the baby before you’ve even said so much as a word. You hold the baby to your chest like a makeshift shield. Anything to put some distance between you and the man who has now taken to starring in your dreams. 

“Not bad,” you squeak. 

You flinch when he guides you in with a hand on your back and shuts the door behind you. Your cunt pulses when his fingers press firm against the small of your back, hand bigger than you remembered from your dream.

As if you were ever going to end up anywhere but here.

[tojipie]

asshole toji who says he’s too big for condoms <3

“i swear it’s still in here,” you huff, leaning halfway off the bed to rummage through your nightstand for the box of rubbers you bought on a whim last month. 

warm, thick hands rub up and down your naked torso, sliding up to play with your breasts from where you sit straddling his lap. you can barely see in front of you with how strong the need in your core burns.

a quick search through another drawer blesses you with your prize, the blue box just out of view underneath a ball of old reciepts.

“here, quick,” you sigh, handing him the item before clambering off the bed to shuck the rest of your clothes off. it had been a long time since you'd hooked up with someone, embarrassing as that was. sex had been the one and only thing on your mind from the moment you’d met this man at the bar. 

the near-stranger shakes his head fondly, turning the box of rubbers over a couple times like some sort of alien artifact.

“i only wear XLs, sugar,” he laughs, tossing back the pathetic box of rubbers. the exasperation in his voice feels like a punch to the chest. like he simply can’t believe you’d ever assume he would fit into anything less than the largest size. 

you disregard the thought, attention snapping back to toji slyly palming himself against your bedframe. scar stretched wide around smiling lips.

“you gonna come over here?”

you’re humiliated at how fast you scurry back into his lap.

˚ ✧ ─────

you almost don’t believe him until he unravels the latex onto his length, seeing it fall about 3 inches short of the base. 

okay.. wow. so he was too big.

toji lazily toys with himself atop your sheets. long, hard, and flushed red from base to tip. 

he’s nearly bursting out of the thin material, stretching it so tight and so thin that the milky latex almost looks like it’s melting into his skin.

the older man shucks the rubber off with a chuckle that says “i told you so.” he pulls you closer to him by the small of your back, fist reaching down to pump his newly freed length.

“i’ll pull out, you think i won’t?” he promises, voice barely a whisper. you don’t have to take in the smirk gracing the corner of his mouth to know he’s lying.

[monstersflashlight]

Commission for @lavender-constellation

A/N: Hi! Thank you so much for commissioning, means a whole lot <3 This is a part 2 of this post, and we have this other post as a continuation. This piece is a longer version of the second one with two sex-scenes. Hope y’all like it!

Request: I’d love a part two to the monster kissing booth story, upgrading to a sex booth (but like not officially if that makes sense? Like it’s still a kissing booth but in the middle of the market, fem!reader just can’t take it anymore and it becomes a sex booth) with maybe a little bit of emphasis on a tentacle monster and orc coming to the booth 👀 Just no vampires pls!

Naughty booth

Orc x fem!reader + Tentacle monster x fem!reader || tentacle sex, size difference, oral sex, cum play (lowkey), free use, double penetration, squirting

You are coming down from an orgasm when someone screams: “Dude, come on! There’s more of us waiting!” You giggle, the werewolf (who woks two booths down, at the art booth) between your legs sighs as he grabs some tissues to help clean you the best he can so the next monster can have his turn with your soft human flesh.

“Don’t be impatient, you’ll want your sweet time when you get there,” someone else retorts. The line is so long you can’t really see how many monsters are still waiting.

You are way too fucked out already. Your pussy feels stretched even though there’s only been like three monsters so far. You are in heaven, everything feels great. A succubus gave you some of her special magic, and made sure you were extra sensitive and you could fit every size of monster. You will have to find her later and thank her. Maybe even ask her on a date… But that’s something for later.

“Leave it, come on! I don’t care about your jizz, I’ll use it as lube,” a rough voice says behind you.

The werewolf leans down and pecks your lips, promising to come later with some food. You smile softly at him, and see him go as you wait on the table he set you onto. He fucked you so good you still can’t feel your legs. But the next patron doesn’t care about it.

A big orc with a grumpy face appears over you, his erection already out and making your mouth water. “Can you take an orc, little human?” He’s so big… You pray to the goddess that he’d fit inside of you, but the succubus said every size of monster would fit, and you believe her. You really should thank her later.

“Ye- yes. I can,” you tell him. You can’t move much, too tired to participate much, but eager to get fucked all over again.

You can still feel some of the werewolf cum dripping out of your pussy, but when the orc’s fingers tease your entrance, you groan all over again. He pushes some of the cum back inside, scissoring his fingers to make sure you are prepped enough for him. He sits down on a chair and grabs your body, manhandling you until you are on his lap, your body little in comparison to his big physique.

“Prove it,” he tells you holding your body with one hand and his dick with the other. You try to fit him inside, but you can’t get the correct angle. “Come here,” he says. He moves you until your pussy is right over his dick, and you start to descend. He doesn’t wait, though. He puts his big hands against your hips and lowers you completely, making you arch your back and cry out as you hear cheering behind you.

The fact that everyone is looking and enjoying themselves with the spectacle only adds a new layer of heat to your growing arousal. You can’t believe you are still horny after all the orgasms you had, but the movement of the orc inside of you is driving you to the sky once again. He fucks you like a fleshlight, moving your body up and down like a toy and making you groan and moan in a symphony of depravity.

“Come on, little human, your pussy is perfection, let me feel you flutter around my big dick.” His words should be cringy, but at that moment, you can just groan as he keeps using your body and you get closer and closer to the edge. With precision that shouldn’t be legal, he moves your hips until his dick is rubbing against your perfect spot, making you come apart instantly. “That’s it, good goddess, I love your pussy.”

He keeps going, fucking you restlessly as your body gives up and your skin gets tingly. He pinches your nipple as he comes, the combination of the amount of cum he’s shooting inside of you and the pain-pleasure sending you into another orgasm that has your eyesight blacking out for a few seconds.

You come back to a tongue between your legs and your thighs pressing the sides of the orc’s head. He’s kneeling between your legs, at some point he manhandled you into a sitting position in the chair. He hums happily against your clit. You think you can’t take anymore, but the thing the succubus gave you is potent, so a new wave of heat fills your insides as you sigh happily as the orc cleans you out with his tongue. He makes you come around his fingers and tongue one more time before the next in line starts complaining.

“Dude you made her come three times already, let some other people enjoy!” You chuckle, but it’s lost in a loud groan as the orc sucks on your clit, his tusks framing your pussy in the most amazing way.

“They can’t stop complaining, little human, I guess is time for me to go. I hope this is not a one time thing… I had fun with your pretty pussy.” He kisses said pussy one more time before saluting you with his hand and walking away, fastening his pants as he goes.

Anticipation fills your insides when the next patron appears. You see his tentacles before you see him. Fuck, you never had tentacle sex.

“Look at that, the sex-princess is all fucked out…” The tentacles around him are moving like crazy and you have to hold your breath as one slowly approaches your body. The first contact is cold and a bit slimy, but in a good way. It feels like cooling-lube over your body, and it’s so good you groan. “Yes, like that… You love a good tentacle, don’t you, sex-princess?” You want to answer him, but he waits no longer to latch two suckers to your nipples, making you scream as the next in line laughs.

“Don’t tease her too much, I want her to still be there when my turn comes around,” she says. You can’t see which kind of monster she is, but you silently agree with her. There’s still a lot of monsters that want to try your soft human flesh.

“Okay… Okay.” The tentacle monster’s voice is reluctant, but he moves his tentacles around your body, positioning you spread over the table again.

You lay there, looking at the ceiling as you feel more tentacles join the fun. The two on your nipples start sucking harder, enticing more groans out of your mouth. Another tentacle finds your pussy and goes in without preamble. You cry out again and the crowd cheers. You think he’s going to fuck you like everyone else did, but instead, he latches another sucker inside of you, right over your G-spot. You scream at the feeling. Too good, too much.

You feel tears rolling down your cheeks as he adds another sucker to your clit, making you see stars. The combination of sensations is so good you feel something inside of you building. Something unknown, like you are going to break if he keeps going like that. When you think you can’t take anymore, he adds another tentacle to your pussy, stretching you impossibly wide as he starts fucking you with the second one.

The combination of suckers and fucking is too much and you feel something explode inside of you, a gush of liquid leaving your body and making him gasp in surprise.

“Did she just squirt?” Some monster asks, amazement filling their voice.

“Yes, she did.” The tentacle monster looks so smug you feel a bit embarrassed, but too fucked to complain. He keeps going, making you come two more times around his tentacles. “Good job, sex-princess, you did great.” He tells you before disappearing.

The next monster is already waiting, strap on and a big smile on her face.

It’s going to be a long day… and you are going to enjoy every single second of it.

[solxamber]

And I Pick...

In which you choose the club that caught your eye

Part 1

After much contemplation you've finally decided to pick the:

Basketball Club

The basketball court was quiet for all of two seconds after you announced your decision.

Then Ace exploded.

"HA! I knew you’d pick us! I called it!" He was practically doing laps around the court, pointing at nothing in particular. "Ace Trappola: the ultimate recruiter, the club MVP, and now the guy who brought you on board! This is the best day of my life!"

"Eh, it’s about time," Floyd drawled, stretching lazily. "Took ya long enough to figure out where the fun is." His sharp-toothed grin widened. "Now we can play my version of full-contact basketball. Hehehe."

"Absolutely not," Jamil cut in, but Floyd wasn’t listening.

"Don’t worry," Floyd said, throwing an arm around your shoulders like you’d been lifelong teammates. "If you survive the first practice, you’ll survive all the practices. Probably."

Ace jogged back over, breathless but triumphant. "I told you we’re the best club! No boring rules, no endless laps like in Deuce's lame track team, and best of all—" He struck a dramatic pose, arms wide. "You get to hang out with me every day!"

"Please don’t make them quit on the first week," Jamil muttered, giving you a look that seemed to say, Are you sure about this?

"Quit? Nahhh!" Ace grinned. "They’re gonna thrive here. I’ll even teach them my signature moves—like my no-look, backwards, mid-air layup."

"You can’t even do that," Jamil said flatly.

"Not yet," Ace shot back. "But it’s the thought that counts."

Floyd leaned in closer, his grin somehow growing wider. "You better keep up, shrimpy. Otherwise, I might have to… spice things up a little."

"Spice things up?" you echoed, immediately suspicious.

"He means doing things like replacing the basketballs with watermelons," Jamil deadpanned.

Ace snorted. "Or throwing the ball at the hoop so hard it breaks the backboard. Oh wait, that actually happened. Twice."

"It was fun," Floyd said, completely unrepentant.

Jamil sighed like a man who’d aged a decade in the last five minutes. But then, to your surprise, he turned to you and offered a small, genuine smile. "Still… I’m glad you’re here. Welcome to the team."

The words were simple, but coming from Jamil, they felt like a warm endorsement.

Ace clapped his hands together, clearly ready to move things along. "Alright, enough talking! Let’s get you on the court and see what you’ve got!"

"Or we could start slow," Jamil suggested, but Ace was already dragging you toward the center of the court, Floyd trailing behind with a basketball under one arm.

"Don’t worry," Floyd said, tossing the ball up and catching it effortlessly. "If ya mess up, we’ll just laugh at ya a little. No big deal~."

"No one’s laughing at anyone," Jamil said firmly, already pinching the bridge of his nose.

Ace threw an arm around your shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. "Ignore him. We’re gonna have a blast! First practice starts now!"

You weren’t sure what you’d gotten yourself into, but judging by their enthusiasm (and Floyd’s maniacal laughter), you were in for one chaotic ride.

Track and Field Club

The moment you declared your allegiance to the track and field club, Deuce’s face lit up like someone had just told him he passed his midterms.

“You’re… really joining?” he asked, like he needed double confirmation. When you nodded, his grin widened, the kind that made him look both relieved and excited. “That’s awesome! Uh—welcome to the team! Seriously, it’s great to have you.” His usual earnestness shone through, and he scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, I’m still kind of learning the ropes, but we can figure things out together. It’s gonna be great!”

Jack, standing beside him, gave a firm nod of approval. “Good call. Track and field’s a solid choice. You’ll fit right in.” His tail wagged just enough to betray how happy he was, even if his tone stayed calm.

"Yeah!" Deuce agreed. “And, uh, don’t worry about keeping up or anything. It’s all about improving at your own pace. Right, Jack?”

“Sure,” Jack replied, glancing at you. Then he added, almost casually, “We’ll work on your stamina. You’re gonna need it.”

It took you a second to catch the faint glint in his eye, and then you remembered—oh no, the fridge comment. Jack had been disturbed ever since.

Deuce, oblivious to the subtext, chimed in, “Yeah, Jack’s great at that stuff! He’s got this crazy endurance. Like, he can run forever. I’m still working on it, but, uh, you’re in good hands!”

Jack’s tail swished again. “Just be ready to push yourself. But don’t worry—we’ve got your back.”

“Exactly!” Deuce said, his fists clenching like he was ready to run a marathon right there. “This is gonna be awesome. I mean, not that it wasn’t already great, but now it’s even better. Right, Jack?”

Jack gave a small, satisfied smile. “Right.”

As they led you toward the field, you couldn’t help but wonder what you’d just signed up for. One thing was certain, though—Jack’s still thinking about that fridge, and he will make sure it’s not an issue anymore.

Board Game Club

The moment you declared your allegiance to the board game club, Azul adjusted his glasses, looking smugly pleased with himself, like he'd just negotiated the deal of the century.

"An excellent decision," he said, his voice as smooth as the perfectly polished board games stacked behind him. "With your addition to our club, I foresee a new golden age of strategic victories."

Idia, sitting half-hidden behind a pile of unopened game boxes, choked on his energy drink. "W-Wait, you’re serious? They actually chose us?" His hair flared a brilliant shade of pink for a moment before he pulled his hoodie tighter around himself. "Th-this isn’t some prank, right? Like, I’m not gonna look up and see them bolting out the door laughing, right?"

"Nope," you replied with a grin. "I’m all in."

Ortho, ever the enthusiastic hype man, zipped into the room with his jet thrusters. "Welcome to the club! Now we have a full party for dungeon raids. This is amazing!"

Azul cleared his throat, waving a hand. "Ahem, while cooperative RPGs are certainly an option, I believe we should start with a game of strategy and wit to introduce them properly. Perhaps a round of Chess of Betrayal?"

Idia groaned, sinking further into his hoodie. "Ugh, that game takes, like, three hours. If you’re gonna scare them away, at least wait until they’re too deep in to quit. Why don’t we start with something easy, like Goblin King Gauntlet?"

Ortho clapped his hands. "Ooh, I love that one! It has a random trap mechanic! Let’s play that!"

Azul raised an eyebrow, his smile shark-like. "Trap mechanics are hardly a proper welcome. It would be far better to demonstrate the finer nuances of strategy, wouldn’t you agree?"

Idia muttered something about Azul turning everything into a power play, but you interrupted before they could spiral into a full-blown debate. "Honestly, I’m fine with anything. Just deal me in."

Azul’s smirk widened. "Very well, then. I shall prepare the game board. And don’t worry, I’ll make certain you’re fully equipped for our upcoming campaigns. You’ll find we offer more than just fun—we offer victory."

Idia peeked out from his hoodie, a small, hopeful smile creeping onto his face. "You’re not bad at this whole club thing. Maybe this won’t be so terrible."

As they started setting up the game, you felt an unexpected warmth. Sure, it was just a board game club, but there was something endearing about their chaotic enthusiasm.

Though one thing was clear—Azul would probably try to sell you game tokens at some point, and Idia would absolutely try to teach you how to min-max your dice rolls.

But hey, you were ready for it.

Film Studies Club

When you announced your decision to join the film studies club, Vil paused mid-sip of his herbal tea, one elegantly arched eyebrow rising. For a moment, he looked like he was considering whether he had heard you correctly. Then, with a practiced air of nonchalance, he set the teacup down.

"Hm. Acceptable," he said coolly, though his tone betrayed a slight uptick of satisfaction. "It’s rare to find someone with enough taste to appreciate the art of cinema. I suppose your presence will be… useful."

But the slight curl of his lips gave him away.

He stood, brushing imaginary dust from his coat, and gave you an appraising look. "We have much to discuss. If you’re serious about this, you’ll need to commit entirely—no half-measures, no excuses. The camera is unforgiving, and I have no intention of allowing this club to falter under subpar contributions."

You opened your mouth to respond, but he was already pacing, gesturing dramatically like the star of an avant-garde production. "Lighting, blocking, composition—they are all integral to creating art, not merely entertainment. I trust you won’t embarrass yourself, or me, for that matter."

Despite his words, you caught the faintest hint of pride in his gaze as he turned to face you fully. "And, if for some reason, acting isn’t your strength, there are other roles. Cinematography, set design, editing… Perhaps backstage work would suit you, should you fail the audition."

He didn’t say it to be harsh; this was Vil’s version of encouragement. And as he continued outlining the club’s vision—"a modern renaissance in storytelling"—you realized he was genuinely excited to have you there, even if he’d rather gargle poison than openly admit it.

Finally, he stopped and gave you a small, approving nod. "Welcome to the film studies club. Don’t make me regret this."

Translation: I’m glad you’re here.

Science Club

The moment you announced your decision to join the science club, Rook’s eyes lit up like you’d just declared him the ruler of the universe.

"Ah, mon ami! What a magnifique choice!" he exclaimed, sweeping you into a theatrical bow so deep you thought he might topple over. "You possess the soul of an explorer, a true seeker of knowledge! Together, we shall unlock the mysteries of nature and celebrate its beauty in all its forms!"

"Uh… don’t scare them off, Rook," Trey interjected, though he was smiling. He adjusted his apron, clearly relieved that you hadn’t bolted under Rook’s enthusiastic greeting. "We’re glad to have you. Really. It’s nice to have someone else around who won’t accidentally set the lab on fire."

You raised an eyebrow. "That’s a low bar."

Trey shrugged. "You’d be surprised how many fail to meet it."

Before you could respond, Rook was already spinning grand plans. "Imagine the adventures we will have! Scaling mountains, crafting elixirs, nurturing delicate blossoms—ah, the poetry of science!" He clasped his hands to his chest, radiating so much joy that you were worried he’d break into song.

Trey, ever the grounded one, sighed fondly. "What he means is: we do a little bit of everything. Growing plants, chemistry experiments, cooking—you’ll fit right in. Assuming Rook doesn’t scare you off first."

Rook turned to Trey with an exaggerated gasp, as if the very suggestion of him being overwhelming was the greatest insult he’d ever received. "Chevalier des Roses, how could you wound me so?" He turned back to you with a theatrical flourish. "Fear not! I shall be your guide, your companion, your—"

"Assistant," Trey cut in, giving you a knowing look. "We'll assist you. Don’t let him take over your projects."

You grinned, feeling oddly at home already. Between Rook’s boundless enthusiasm and Trey’s steadying presence, you realized the science club might just be the perfect balance of chaos and calm.

Pop Music Club

When you announced your decision to join the Pop Music Club, Lilia was the first to react. He shot up from his chair with a dramatic flourish, his cape—where did the cape come from?—billowing as if on cue.

"Ah, an excellent choice! Welcome to the most electrifying club in the entire school!" Lilia declared, his voice reverberating like an arena announcer. He played an imaginary riff on an air guitar, complete with sound effects that you were almost certain were magically amplified.

Kalim clapped his hands, beaming as brightly as the sun. "This is going to be so much fun! We can sing duets, make up dances, throw a party for every new song we write—oh! We should have a welcome party for you right now!" He was already halfway to grabbing balloons out of thin air before Cater stopped him.

"Easy there, Kalim," Cater said with a laugh, pulling out his phone to snap a picture. "We haven’t even started jamming yet! Gotta document this first—‘New Member Alert 🚨🎶! Welcome to the coolest club at NRC!’” He posed next to you, flipping through filters. "Ooh, should we do a pastel vibe or go all-out neon?"

"Why not both?" Lilia suggested, somehow holding a tambourine he hadn’t been holding two seconds ago. He shook it with gusto, the jingles creating an impromptu beat.

Kalim joined in instantly, dancing around the room with energy that could probably power a small city. "This is going to be amazing! Do you play any instruments? Can you sing? Or maybe you’ll write the songs? Wait, can you do all three?!"

Before you could answer, Lilia leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. "Don’t worry, even if you’re terrible, I can teach you. After all, I’ve had centuries of experience."

"Centuries of experience at what exactly?" you asked, though you weren’t entirely sure you wanted the answer.

"Everything," Lilia replied cryptically, shaking the tambourine once more for emphasis.

Cater gave you a wink. "Don’t let him intimidate you. He’s mostly harmless. Mostly."

As the chaos swirled around you, you realized joining the Pop Music Club was probably going to be as much about managing everyone’s energy as it was about making music.

But looking at their genuine excitement, you couldn’t help but feel you’d made the right choice. It was going to be loud, unpredictable, and—most importantly—a lot of fun.

Equestrian Club

When you chose the Equestrian Club, Riddle’s reaction was immediate and deeply Riddle. He straightened his posture, cleared his throat, and gave you a small but dignified nod, though his ears turned the faintest shade of pink.

“A wise decision,” he said primly, but his voice wavered just enough to give away his excitement. “The Equestrian Club values discipline and care, and I trust you will uphold those values. Welcome.” He paused, then added with uncharacteristic softness, “I’m glad you chose us.”

Sebek, on the other hand, reacted with his usual intensity, which was to say, very loudly.

“AS EXPECTED OF SOMEONE WITH DISCERNING TASTE!” Sebek bellowed, saluting for no discernible reason. “THE EQUESTRIAN CLUB IS A PLACE OF HONOR AND DILIGENCE. YOU HAVE MADE THE RIGHT CHOICE, AND I, SEBEK ZIGVOLT, SHALL PERSONALLY ENSURE YOU MEET OUR HIGH STANDARDS!”

“You’re going to scare the horses,” Silver muttered, patting a dozing mare who didn’t even flinch at Sebek’s volume. Clearly, she’d built up an immunity.

Silver turned to you with a sleepy but genuine smile. “Welcome. It’ll be nice having another person around who actually seems calm. I’ll show you the best places to ride, and we’ll make sure you’re comfortable with the horses.”

“And with the rules,” Riddle interjected, already retrieving a stack of laminated pages. “Equestrian care is not something to take lightly. You’ll need to memorize these guidelines to ensure both your safety and that of the horses.”

Sebek leaned over your shoulder to inspect the stack and immediately saluted again. “AN EXCELLENT INITIATIVE, HOUSEWARDEN ROSEHEARTS! I, TOO, WILL MEMORIZE THESE IN CASE THEY EVER REQUIRE REINFORCEMENT!”

“I think they’re fine,” Silver said. “We don’t need to make this harder than it needs to be.”

Riddle frowned. “Standards exist for a reason, Silver. Though I appreciate your enthusiasm, perhaps we can—Sebek, stop shouting—perhaps we can go over the basics first before overwhelming them.”

As Riddle and Sebek debated, Silver handed you a carrot to feed one of the horses. “Don’t worry,” he said, as the horse happily munched away. “It’s not as intense as it seems. Usually.”

You glanced at the stack of rules in Riddle’s hand and the fervent look in Sebek’s eyes. It was definitely going to be an adjustment. But seeing how genuinely happy they all were to have you—yes, even Sebek—you felt like this would be worth it.

Magift Club

When you announced your decision to join the Magift Club as their manager, the reaction was instantaneous and… surprisingly chaotic.

Ruggie let out a whoop, immediately dropping to the floor in a mock bow. "Ayo, everyone, bow to the boss! Finally, someone who can keep this circus in line!"

Leona, lounging on the sidelines, cracked open an eye and smirked. “’Bout time. Herbivores usually flake out, but I knew you were better than the rest.” He stretched lazily, like he’d personally orchestrated your decision. “Just keep the snacks coming, and we’ll get along fine.”

Epel looked between them and grinned, his enthusiasm much more grounded. “It’s great to have ya! With you around, maybe Leona will actually show up to warmups... or not just sleep through it.” He shot a pointed glance at their captain, who was, of course, ignoring him entirely.

“Eh,” Leona drawled, flicking his tail dismissively.

“You could work on that attitude,” you muttered, earning a low chuckle from him.

“See, I told you they’d fit right in!” Ruggie said, gesturing at you dramatically. “They’re already roasting him. This is gonna be great!”

Epel, suddenly inspired, added, “And they’ll keep Ruggie from stealing the fresh apple juice we get after games. That’s worth it alone.”

As the reality of your new role settled in, you felt a bit like a lion tamer walking into a den of mischievous cubs and one very lazy big cat. But their enthusiasm—expressed in their own peculiar ways—was endearing.

Ruggie threw an arm around your shoulder. “Alright, boss, first order of business: snacks! Let’s discuss our game day budget and whether I can convince you to sneak me a sandwich before practice.”

Leona snorted but didn’t argue, which you took as a sign of approval. Epel pumped his fist. “We’re gonna crush it this year!”

Maybe managing this bunch wouldn’t be so bad after all. If nothing else, it’d definitely be entertaining.

Mountain Lovers Club

When you joined Jade for a hike to "test the waters" of the Mountain Lovers Club, you had your doubts. You were prepared for a lot of things—maybe getting lost in the wilderness, maybe Jade pulling out his eerie cryptid knowledge, or maybe just a weirdly formal lecture about moss. What you weren’t prepared for was… actually enjoying yourself.

Jade led the way with an unhurried confidence, pointing out various wild plants, their uses, and fun facts about the environment. He wasn’t his usual enigmatic self, either. He seemed lighter, almost enthusiastic, as he described a tiny wildflower you would’ve missed entirely.

“This particular species only blooms during the autumn months,” he said, crouching to show you. “Quite fascinating how it adapts to the cooler temperatures, don’t you think?”

You nodded, trying not to stare too hard at how his face lit up when he spoke. Jade was… cute? When he wasn’t talking about mushrooms in a way that made you question your mortality, he was actually kind of charming.

By the time you reached a rocky outcrop with a gorgeous view of the campus, you realized you’d been smiling for most of the hike. Jade noticed too.

“It seems I’ve made a decent impression,” he said, turning toward you with a soft grin. “I’m pleased to see you enjoying yourself.”

“It’s… relaxing,” you admitted, surprising even yourself. “I didn’t think it’d be this fun.”

Jade tilted his head. “Does that mean you’d consider joining the Mountain Lovers Club?”

You hesitated for a moment, but as you looked at the breathtaking view and the rare, genuine smile on his face, the answer came easily. “Yeah. I’ll join.”

For a split second, Jade’s eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly schooled his expression into his usual composed smile. “Wonderful. I must say, I wasn’t expecting this outcome, but I’m glad. It’s not every day someone sees the beauty in what I love.”

There was an odd warmth in his voice that made your heart skip a beat. As he turned to lead the way back, he added, “Now that we’re a team, I look forward to our next adventure.”

Jade Leech was genuinely happy. And, you realized, so were you.

Gargoyle Research Society

When you told Malleus you were joining the Gargoyle Research Society, his reaction was almost imperceptible at first. A slight widening of his eyes, a pause as though he was waiting to see if you were serious, and then—pure, unfiltered delight.

"You have an interest in gargoyles?" he asked, his voice both surprised and reverent, as if you'd just confessed to enjoying a rare and ancient art form.

You nodded. "Yeah. I think they're fascinating. The designs, the history… They’re like stone guardians with stories etched into them."

For a moment, Malleus simply looked at you, his emerald eyes shimmering like the light of distant stars. Then, as if unable to contain his joy, he smiled—a soft, genuine expression that sent a wave of warmth through the chilly Ramshackle evening.

"This pleases me greatly," he said, his tone unusually light. “Not many share my appreciation for gargoyles. Often, I speak of them, and others… how do I put it? Pretend to listen.”

“Well, I’m definitely not pretending,” you said, grinning. “I’m in for real.”

Malleus clasped his hands together in what could only be described as regal excitement. "Then I must share something with you. Sometimes, I create gargoyles myself."

“You what?” you asked, laughing in delight.

“Yes,” he replied earnestly, his eyes alight. “Carving stone requires patience, but there is a certain satisfaction in breathing life into something lifeless. Well, not literal life, of course, but a soul of sorts.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, the image of Malleus with a chisel and hammer popping into your head. “I never would have guessed. That’s… really cool.”

“I can show you some of my creations, if you’d like,” he offered, almost shyly.

“I’d love that,” you said, genuinely glad to have joined him. “I think I’m going to enjoy this club.”

The glow in his expression was impossible to miss. It wasn’t just that you had joined his club—it was that, for once, someone truly shared his passion. “And I am glad to have you,” he said softly.

In that moment, under the watchful eyes of the stone guardians scattered around campus, it felt like you had chosen exactly the right place.

Masterlist

tags: @techno-danger

a/n: it completely slipped my mind that ortho is a part of film studies sorry :(

[kitten4sannie]

two player game

pairing: gamer boy! yunho x gf! reader

genre: smut with zero plot

summary: you find something worthwhile to occupy your attention while your boyfriend is wrapped up in his current save file.

w.c: 1.7k

warnings: nasty dom! yuyu (bro gets a bit whiny), tiny bit bratty mostly good girl! reader, pet names + name calling, praise + degradation, SIZE KINK 🗣️🗣️🗣️, monster cock yunho agenda, implied throat/hole training, manhandling, edging, cockwarming w throat, messy oral + deep-throating, finger sucking, a (rough) quick fuck bc yunho cums in 0.5 seconds, breeding + bulge kink, creampie <3

a/n: as a certified yunwhore i simply couldn’t pass up the opportunity to write about gamer boy yuyu ~~ honestly i have no excuse for this tbh i just need him so baddddd and this is what i have to do to keep the voices at bay 😔✊🏼 anygays, enjoy lovelies! and if you liked, please consider sharing your thots with me :3 <3

“You said you would stop playing after you finished that level, Yun, come on,” you whined to your boyfriend, who was currently balls deep in the newest video game he just bought. It should’ve been you he was balls deep in, yet here you were, third wheeling to an inanimate object. 

Yunho ducked and weaved around your waving hands that were currently trying to block his view from the flatscreen tv he was locked in on, sitting up from the slouched position he had on the sofa you both were lounging on. 

“Ugh,” you huffed, throwing yourself back into the couch, your arms crossing over your chest. “Whatever.” 

He turned his head for a moment to look at you apologetically, reminiscent of a golden retriever that just got scolded. “I’m sorry, baby, I swear, I’ll get off soon. I’m just…at a really good part right now.” 

“You said that twenty minutes agoooo.” You leaned against Yunho, your cheek squishing into his large shoulder, pawing at his nearest thigh. “Why can’t you play with me, instead of your stupid game?” 

“Oh, I see.” Yunho raised an eyebrow at you, glancing at you through his peripheral vision. “Someone’s in heat, huh?” 

You let out a whimper, kneading at his upper thigh. “I want you, Yun…Please, pay attention to me~” 

Yunho simply spread his thighs apart, your gaze shifting from his mischievous eyes to his poorly concealed cock still trapped inside his black sweatpants. He grunted, reaching down to adjust it, moving his thick length over so that it laid comfortably across the thigh closest to you. “You can have me, princess. I’m right here.” 

Just as you were about to pounce on him, Yunho grasped the bottom of your face in between his slender fingers. “Ahh, ahh, ahh.” Chuckling at the sight of your squished cheeks and confused face, he leaned in, whispering, “Go ahead and cockwarm me, baby, with that pretty little mouth of yours. You can do that for me while I finish this part, mm?” 

The sick bastard was toying with you. Well, two could play at that game. Licking your lips, you got down onto your knees in front of Yunho, fitting yourself in between his open thighs. Without saying a word, you began to run your fingers along his soft length over the material of his pants, tracing the outline of it, feeling it harden underneath your fingertips, making sure to rub your thumb over his pronounced tip, knowing it was sensitive. 

As if on cue, a small whimper escaped Yunho’s straining throat, his eyebrows screwing together as if to concentrate harder, refusing to look down at you. 

Filled with determination to interrupt his gaming, you tugged the waistline of his sweatpants down, your thighs squeezing together from the way his dripping cock smacked heavily up into his lower abdomen. You wrapped your hand around it, humming at how warm it felt within your grasp, lowering yourself down to slowly drag your tongue from the base up to the tip, licking around the tip until it shined. Lightly sucking it into your mouth, you palmed his balls one at a time, squeezing them suddenly, earning another whimper from your boyfriend. 

“You’re playing dirty, princess,” Yunho grunted, pressing his back into the couch, glancing down at you just in time to watch a good majority of his pulsing cock disappear down your throat. “Fuck, what a good slut…” He stroked the top of your head like he would with a cat, nodding approvingly. “I trained your throat well, haven’t I? Now, stay just like that while I play, okay?” 

Your cheeks grew warm from hearing your boyfriend’s polarizing praise, unable to keep yourself from letting his thick length push even deeper down into your throat, breathing shallowly through your nose, your lips already stinging at the corners. “Mmmrfff….” You stayed still for as long as you could with his oversized cock pressing against your tongue and throat, beads of saliva dripping past your mouth and down along his slick skin, using your hand to lube up what you couldn’t fit inside your mouth in the meantime. 

Yunho shuddered from underneath your touch, his half-closed eyes shifting downwards to burn the image of his tiny girlfriend, who was currently being swallowed by one of his many hoodies, trying her absolute best to fit his big cock inside her mouth. Your stark size differences always made him throb, made him want to take advantage of them in every way he could. “Look at you, taking all of me like that, baby…Take some more, okay?” he exhaled, sliding his slender fingers into your hair and bucking his hips up, fucking himself into your tight, warm throat. 

“Mmnn…!” you moaned back, squeezing your hands into his large thighs, feeling his muscles tighten up underneath your fingertips. You were so wet already, you had no choice but to squeeze your bare thighs together as a poor attempt to keep from soaking the carpet underneath you. Being enveloped in your boyfriend’s warm cologne and clothes while he ruthlessly shoved his cock down your throat was simply too much for a sensitive girl like you to handle without creaming yourself. 

“So tight, princess, just like your wet little cunt, huh?” he groaned out, opting to wrap his fingers around the back of your neck and continue shoving himself into your throat, rolling his hips up in a quick, sloppy fashion, with clear desperation, and a need to give his pretty cum dump a load to gulp down. He audibly hummed at the choked moans and gasps you were letting out, pulling out just to roughly slap his cock down onto your lolled out tongue, grunting and groaning as he shot thick spurts of cum down your throat. He tried to control his panting, wanting to hear your answer to his next question. “You sounded so hot, choking and moaning on my cock like that. You soaked your panties just from getting throat-fucked, didnt you, baby?” 

“Uh-huhhh,” you purred, your voice a bit gravelly from the abuse your throat took, swallowing down most of his load, only sticking your tongue back out when he reached down to push two fingers over it and into the back of your throat. 

Yunho watched with awe as you didn’t seem to gag, humming at the feeling of you sucking the rest of his pre-cum and other mixed fluids from his slender digits. “That’s my good girl…so well trained now…fuck.” 

You moaned onto his fingers that continued to lazily slide over your tongue and occasionally down into your throat, slowly pulling away to purr, “My cunt’s trained too, Yuyu. Don’t you wanna fill up my other hole, see how well I can handle your cock now?”  

Not caring that he had been missing out on the important lore that was playing out in the current cutscene the entire time, Yunho tossed his controller out of the way and lifted you up from the floor, taking a second to push your soaked panties out of the way before he sat you down onto his cock. He let out a small growl, watching your cunt swallow the thick tip of his cock and slowly take the rest of him inch by inch. “God, you’re still so fucking tight, princess…” Yunho pressed his lips onto your ear, rubbing his hands up and down your waist, the borrowed hoodie you wore bunching up near your tummy. “Mm, but you can’t help having such a tiny pussy, can you? So small and cute…perfect for my big cock to fuck full…” 

“Perfect for you, Yun, just for you–nnngh…!” you gasped sharply, just as your boyfriend began ramming himself up into you, his hands tightening the grip they had around your soft waist, using you like you were his own perfectly crafted cocksleeve. “So big, so biggg, fuck–”

“And you’ll fit it all inside your perfect cunt, just like you always do, won’t you, baby? Yeah, just like that,” he groaned out, lowering one hand down to your tummy to rub circles over it, feeling his own cock as it slammed into your cunt each and every time. It never failed to make him feel so dizzy, knowing you were this small, yet you could always take his cock like a champ. “That’s my girl, look at you go, baby, letting me breed you like this…so good for me…” 

“So good, so good for you, Yuyu…” You gripped his shoulders tightly, your nails digging into them through his hoodie, unable to keep yourself from moving your hips down whenever he fucked up into you, growing more and more desperate now that you were on the edge of ecstasy. “Gonna cum…oh my god, breed me, please…!” 

“Gonna fuck you so full of my load, princess…” Yunho tossed his head back into the couch, his deep groans gradually turning into a staccato of whiny, higher-pitched moans, still able to forcefully drive you down onto his cock, but his thrusts growing increasingly sloppy and desperate. All Yunho had to do was lift his head back up to look at your pretty fucked out face and how effortlessly tiny you looked wearing his hoodie to reach his limit, immediately pumping his hot load into you as soon as it began spurting out of his aching cock. “You feel that, baby? All the cum I’m fucking into you…?” 

“Mmhmm…!” It felt so good, you started to cry. “I love it, Yuyu…” 

Just as his cockhead roughly kissed your cervix for the last time, Yunho felt your cunt lock around him like a vice, something warm and wet coating his cock and lap. “Fuck, you just came all over my cock, didn’t you?” He chuckled, rubbing your back in small circles. “Always making such a mess, aren’t you, babygirl?” 

“It’s all your fault, Yun,” you whined softly into Yunho’s shoulder, hugging onto him for dear life, your vision fading in and out. If you had came any harder, you would’ve passed out, though it was always like this whenever you were around your irresistible boyfriend. 

“Mm, why don’t you remind me of who it was that interrupted my gaming session?” He sent a playful smile your way, booping your nose when you pouted. “Oh baby, next time, just ask me if we can switch to a two player game~” 

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ under your roof ]❜

ft. logan howlett x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ your baby daughter really likes uncle wade’s roommate, and logan would be lying if he said he didn’t form a quick attachment to the two of you as well┊2.9k words; prt one (here), prt two, prt three coming soon!!

setting: deadpool & wolverine (2024) worst! logan contains: probably occ logan, he’s on his best behavior, mostly fluff with a little side of angst, single mother reader with an unspecified age, this chapter is mainly between logan & your daughter, reader has a bad relationship with the father & he’s an asshole, one joking threat of stabbing

➤ author's note: this was so much fun to write! single mom reader and her daughter are so lovely and i have two more part featuring these two and logan coming up! i hope you guys enjoy

kids don’t like logan. it’s not a profound discovery nor is it a surprise to anyone who learns this fact. he’s intimidating enough to make some full-grown men piss themselves with so much as a glare, much less little babies who start sobbing uncontrollably when they see a giant scary man walking around believing that he would eat them or something even though he’s literally just standing there. whether the little ones have an instinct that signals him out as a mutant or he simply looks like a bad man from one of their fairy tales, he isn’t sure, but it’s not the best feeling either way when he’s trying to settle back into normal life with the constant weight of knowing that he’ll never fit in.

it doesn’t help that, in general, he isn’t good with kids either. he’s generally patient with their immaturity since they don’t know any better, but he finds the crying and whining extremely headache-inducing to his sensitive senses without a clue how to calm them down.

moving in with wade and acquainting himself with his friends was a start, but the missing part of his life to make him finally feel loved and at home was the family of two who lived downstairs. the first time he met you was also the first time he met your daughter when wade told him to dress a little nicer because the two of them were invited to your place for dinner. he explained that the two of you were practically siblings and that it would probably be something he should get used to, reminding him to “turn that frown upside down” because he was about to meet someone who “puts gordon ramsey to shame.”

the last bit sounded great to him, especially because no one in their household knew how to make anything more complicated than noodles without setting it on fire and the cost of outside food was really starting to tally up. still, he just wore some cargo pants and threw on a leather jacket, running his fingers through his hair once which was already a lot more effort than he’s ever put into meeting anyone else before.

wade didn’t even bother knocking, just being himself and picking the lock as he so typically does, kicking the door open and yelling a loud ass “daddy’s home!” which echoed throughout the apartment as well as the hallway they were standing in. the mouth-watering smell of grilled salmon filled the air, making wade hum in excitement, “do you need help with anything? taste testing, perhaps?”

“no, do me a favor and stay away from the kitchen!” your voice rang out loud and clear, sounding much like a mother scolding a teenager for the thousandth time. “i’ll stab you, do me a favor and just hang out in the living room.”

“okie-dokie!” he responded in an annoying sing-song voice, “come on, peanut, take off your shoes.” the said man could already tell how at home his roommate seemed in this place, just as comfortable as he was back home, walking with steps he’s taken many times before and prompting logan to do the same (except he was mainly keeping to himself and being much more mild-mannered in this unfamiliar area).

the place was as spacious as the small area could be and tastefully decorated, but all sharp corners of furniture were taped over to dull the edges and the carpet had multiple kinds of colorful toys littered about. in the center of it all, was a little toddler about two or three years old, playing with a kitchen set and trying to copy what her mom was doing by running back and forth between the living room and the kitchen. she didn’t even notice the two men at first, not until wade called out her name and she dropped the plastic utensils to clap her hands together before waddling over to him.

“hey, baby! how are you doing? did you miss me?” he cooed in the high-pitched voice reserved only for mary puppins, reaching down to pick up the girl by her underarms and kissing her cheek, spinning around with her in his arms as she giggled uncontrollably. “do you wanna meet the big scary wolverine while i go bother your mommy? who am i kidding, of course you do!” he then dropped her onto the couch, making sure that she didn’t bounce up too high on the cushion and hurt herself. “okay, you keep her company while i go see what’s for dessert— bye!”

before logan could say anything, he was already gone, disappearing around the corner into the sound of sizzling foods and the scent of herbs. pursing his lips together and shuffling his feet around for a second, he grunted and braced himself for the child to start sobbing uncontrollably because she was left alone with him. the first time he meets you, whom he’s heard so many good things about, is going to be when you have to kick him out with his tail in between his legs for disturbing the peace of your home.

but the cries never came, and his eyes met her big curious ones as she just stared up at him in silence. it was honestly a tad bit unnerving like she was sizing him up and carefully thinking about her next move. 

and then she started giggling like earlier, kind of a more gurgling noise of playfulness more than anything, standing at his feet and waving around her short outstretched arms to signal that she wanted uppies from him.

“oh no—“ he’s not sure why he even let out a word or protest to begin with when he knew she wouldn’t listen, but it was pure instinct since, once again, he had no idea how to handle children. although she would probably also start crying if he didn’t listen to her, so he reluctantly bent down to pick her up, holding her close to the side of his chest and nervously awaiting her next move.

she was motionless for a minute with a little hand on her chubby cheek and the other trying to clutch onto the thick leather of his jacket, eyes darting around like she was seeing the world from a new perspective for the first time even though he was a hundred percent certain wade held her like his when they are the same height.

“kitty!”

“what?”

she pointed at the top of his head, his hair tuffs specifically, and reached out to pull on one of them curiously.

“no— not a kitty!” he’s never going to escape that fucking nickname, he wouldn’t be surprised if his roommate taught her to say that before she met him in person, able to perfectly envision wade crouching in front of her with a stupid picture of him on his phone and training her to say “kitty” every time she saw his photo by rewarding her with candy or something since there is no way she associated someone who looks like him to a kitten so quickly unironically.

“no kitty?”

“no— logan, lo-gan.”

she tried to pronounce his name a few times before giving up after getting stuck in the second syllable, blowing a raspberry and going back to what she was doing earlier— finding the most fun in tugging on his cowlicks like she was trying to figure out if he naturally woke up like that with the inability to brush them down or styled them with gel every day.

he sat down on the couch, the cushion sinking under his heavyweight, and sat your daughter down on his lap instead, except she didn’t want to sit down. standing on his lap and pressing her little feet into his thighs, she began to climb onto his shoulder like he was a jungle gym, using his arms as stepping stones to reach her destination while he bent over at the waist to allow her to crawl onto his back without falling behind him.

“you’re like a little lemur,” he muttered, still in slight shock that this kid seemed to like him and wasn’t freaking out like he was the big bad wolf. he wouldn’t admit it, but it was a really nice feeling that gave him a sense of normalcy like he was just some guy rather than the killing machine mutant most knew him as. she wouldn’t stop giggling and holding onto him, which made him feel his ice-cold heart melting like snow by spring’s first touch. 

all the while, he could hear you and wade chatting away in the background: something about him needing to step away from the stove, how you needed to trust him because him starting “that fire” was a one-time thing, what was for dessert, and then taking a sharp turn when the conversation suddenly shifted to the topic of the father.

he felt somewhat guilty about listening in, but he knew that deadpool was going to tell him eventually, so there wasn’t really any harm in a bit of eavesdropping (besides, it would have been difficult to ignore considering that your baby was being very well-behaved and his hearing wouldn’t have been able to pick up on anything else.)

“so… any news about her dad?” the solemn tone of a man who was hardly ever serious a day of his life was more terrifying than anything he’d ever witnessed in his long life.

“... he suddenly wants to be a family man, i guess…”

“what the hell does that even mean?”

the sound of a knife chopping vegetables against a wooden surface slowly came to a stop followed by a sigh. “like he wants to have a family… just not with the one he already started… he’s busy planning his wedding with the girl he cheated on me with and told me not to contact him again for any reason.”

“oh my god, what an asshole! fuck that guy!”

“i can’t believe that was the guy i thought i was going to spend the rest of my life with, could you imagine? i don’t even know what i could have done wrong for him to be like this— i asked him so many times and he just said that he’s ‘fallen out of love,’ has ‘moved on,’ and that i would ‘be cruel’ to ask him to stay even if it was for the sake of our child…”

“well if it’s any comfort, he would have been on the next episode of forensic files the second i got a moment alone with him— i mean, the last time we saw him, he literally pushed his own daughter away when she tried to hug him! what kind of sociopath wouldn’t adore such a cutie patootie, especially his own flesh and blood?! ”

“it’s fine,” you hissed, gritting your teeth at the memory. “it’s not like he’s done anything to deserve getting to be called a father to an angel anyway, i’ll take care of her myself— wait… didn’t i also invite your new roommate? did he not come?”

“no, he’s in the living room, he’s been here this entire time,” he informed, taking a bite out of an apple like an asshole from a film.

“and you didn’t tell me?!!!” you quickly ran into the said area, finding logan and your daughter together on the couch. “hi! oh, i’m so sorry i didn’t come to greet you properly— and left my daughter for you to look after too— god, i’m just a terrible host!” you tilted your head, “what’s your name?”

he then realized he was staring which was rather impolite, mouth slightly agape too like a fish out of water which left a few seconds of awkward silence in between. “i-i’m logan,” he managed to sputter, “nice to meet you..”

wade raised a nonexistent eyebrow at his strange mannerisms before a wide, shit-eating grin split his face. 

“aww, baby, why are you bothering this poor old man— come to mommy, it’s dinnertime,” you clapped your hands and held them out fully expecting her to reach out and grab onto you as she usually does, but instead she looked up at you with big pleading eyes and held onto him even more tightly like a koala clinging to a branch. “oh, did you get attached already? you really are my daughter… logan, could you do me a favor and put her in her high chair while i plate everything?”

“yes, of course.”

you turned back into the kitchen, leaving the two men to follow with one holding your baby in his arms. all it took was one look to understand what he was thinking, logan didn’t need to be a telepath to know. 

“if you don’t shut the fuck up—”

“i didn’t even say anything!”

“good, keep it that way.”

love at first sight, wade has seen it plenty of times and understands it well, something so unpredictable and powerful, that it could bring the wolverine down on his knees. it’s even more potent when he trips over himself seeing you in your natural environment instead of all dressed up for a first date, slightly sweaty from the heat radiating off the stove, unkempt hair sticking to the sides of your face, no makeup or defenses up— just you as yourself to the core.

“alright, bub, let's get you seated…” it took a few tries to get her in because she refused to align her little legs into the holes of the plastic piece, but she eventually got into it just fine and he pulled up his own chair to watch you place a one of the most decadent plates of pasta with chunks of salmon he’s ever seen in front of him with a word of gratitude. 

“sorry it isn’t anything special, i completely forgot that i arranged this in the first place….”

“oh, no, it’s perfect—”

“you’re damn right ‘it’s perfect!’” wade interjected, “lemme tell you, wolvie, this simple plate of pasta is better than sex, i know damn well you’ve never tasted anything like it in all your two-hundred years!”

“well, now that you say it like that, he’s going to have high expectations and it will taste like ass compared to the actual best pasta dish he’s ever had.”

“he likes ass, don’t worry—”

the said man cleared his throat to steer the conversation back around, feeling the foreign sensation of embarrassment burning his face hit him at full force. “it’s delicious, thank you, truly the best i’ve ever tasted.”

“aw, you don’t have to say that.”

“no, he’s right, i think you really outdid yourself this time!”

the dinner was carried by cheerful conversations and fun stories, and despite just meeting you today, logan almost felt like he knew you for years and this was something a commonplace tradition between loved ones which was something he’s been yearning for for as long as he can remember. as he watches you laugh and feed your adorable baby, he can’t help but wonder about the idiotic man who was willing to throw away something so wonderful— something which would complete his life and fill the void in his heart.

“well, you two can hang around while i clean her up and put her to bed. there’s some wine and beer in—” you watched as deadpool had already opened your fridge and was digging around like a raccoon in trash before fishing out two bottles of beers and closing the door with his hips. “alrighty then, i’ll join you two in a bit.”

he watched as you disappeared into the hallway before diving headfirst into the couch next to the wolverine and handing him his beer, kicking his feet and smiling as if he was a middle-schooler at an all girls’ sleepover. “okay, so she has a solid job as an accountant, has her own place and car, is funny and pretty, but most importantly for you, single. she doesn’t like flowers as gifts, but if you gift her groceries or cleaning supplies—”

“she wouldn’t want an asshole like me,” he grunted, taking a sip from the bottle. “not when she just got free from another one.”

“peanut, i met the other guy, you’re infinitely better than him! as much as i would like to keep you to myself, i have already planned out my speech at your wedding as your best man, so just keep in mind that i’m your wingman, okay? don’t lie to me either, i know you have a little crush, and i think she does too—”

“no, she doesn’t.”

“quit cutting me off, you motherfucker!”

it was easier to try and suppress the sprouting seed of infatuation before it bloomed out of control. he didn’t want to hurt you or himself by chasing something that shouldn’t be in the first place. you deserve better, you and your daughter. you both should have someone who was younger and had the energy to be a good father and husband, not some old mutant who was freeloading off of his roommate and terrified of losing more people he cared about. if you knew about the blood on his hands and the claws embedded in them, you would probably be worried that you allowed him to hold your baby and shun him permanently. 

and yet he was already attached, sitting here imagining domestic life where he could see her grow up through the phases of life and help her navigate its complexities while also waking up next to you in his arms and seeing your beautiful smile everyday. 

maybe he won’t let that glimmer of hope die out and just hold onto it for a little while longer, allowing it to leave a little lingering smile on his weary face.

[indecisivemuch]

Apples

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: You tossed an apple to Luke without knowing the meaning of it in Greek Mythology (fluff, friends to lovers, happy ending)

Note: Just wanted to write something lighthearted and funny. Since I saw somewhere that apparently throwing an apple at someone means something in Greek Mythology, thought I should use it as a prompt.

Word count: 3.1k

You have been at Camp Half-Blood for a year. Within that time, you’ve been claimed by your Godly parent, learned so many things about Greek mythology, and, best of all, made friends who understood exactly what you were going through and all whom you loved dearly. 

One of them was Luke Castellan. You two were relatively close friends, though you swore he treated you differently than he would with others at camp. But you didn’t want to be foolish and assumed it was something. That didn’t mean you don’t treat him differently than you would with other campers though. You have always had a soft spot for Luke in your heart. You weren’t exactly sure when it happened, but you found yourself thinking about him too often.

“Anyway, Percy. Don’t worry too much, honestly. We all have been through what you’re currently going through. You’ll fit right in, yeah?” the younger boy offered you a lope-sided smile as you patted his back and stood up. 

“Alright, boys, I have to go now, but I’ll see you later,” you said before grabbing your plate, which would have been empty if it wasn’t for the apple you hadn’t eaten. The rest of the table - which included Chris, Luke, and Percy - said their goodbyes before chattering again as you walked away. However, you halted as you changed your mind about wasting the apple.

You turned back to look at the group before calling out, “Hey, Castellan.” However, you were slightly caught off guard to see Luke already having his eyes on you.

Luke swore that you have always had him mesmerized. If he even heard a whisper of your voice, his head would immediately try to locate you. To make matters worse, Chris even started calling Luke a “lost puppy” when he realized how your departure would always leave Luke like one. 

“Catch,” you tossed your apple at Luke. 

Multiple heads turned in your direction as the red apple hurled through the air before landing neatly in Luke’s hands. The Hermes cabin counselor had his eyes glued onto the fruit that was in his palms. You almost halted in your steps from his and other camper’s reactions. Some started whispering to their friends, pointing at you. You even heard one gasp. But you ignored them, finding it strange that people cared so much about such a small interaction.

“You can have it. I don’t think I’ll have time to eat it,” with that, you vanished from the scene, leaving at least half of the camp agape, including Luke and your friends. 

Then, the strangest of things happened for the next few days. It started with Luke already stationed outside when you exited your cabin the morning after. He cheekily presented you with one singular flower in his hand, and you took it with playful words, “Ooh, what did I do to deserve this special treatment today?”

“Nothing, just thought I should show how much I appreciate you,” Luke put his arm over your shoulder as the two of you made your way to the dining pavilion. You could feel your cheeks flushing at his action. He has never done this before. With his arms around you, the sides of your bodies brushed as the two of you walked. You noticed almost immediately how every other person would have their eyes on the two of you. But you ignored the attention and focused on Luke instead.

The sweet actions didn’t stop at flowers or more physical touches. For the next three days, Luke was stuck to your hip. So it was quite strange that you have not spotted the Hermes cabin counselor in the last two hours. Hence why you were spending some time with Clarisse, another close friend of yours. However, you felt an arm swinging around your shoulders, and you instantly recognized who it was from the familiar touch.

“Hey, Clarisse, can I borrow Y/N real quick?” Luke asked, quickly muttering a “thank you” when your friend nodded. “So, I have something to give you…” your face must have shown how surprised you were because he chuckled at your reaction. However, when the boy pulled his gift out from his cargo pocket, your mouth fell slightly agape at the reveal. 

Luke must have misinterpreted your reaction because he started nervously rambling, his voice a few octaves higher, “It’s not much, but honestly, this is all I can do with my arts and crafts skills. I’m just not really good with that y-”

“It’s perfect, Luke. Thank you so much!” you gave him a brief hug, but it was enough to stun him for a second. Luke felt this urgent sense of craving from how your bodies fit for a second. It’s as if he was made to hold you. He almost pulled you back into another hug but had to force himself to regain composure. Nevertheless, that didn’t last long because his eyes softened again at the sight of you trying on the bracelet he made. The beads in your favorite color, crafted with care, wrapped around your wrist perfectly, and you wonder how he knew just the right size to make it.

The truth was Luke had to ask Clarisse to steal one of your bracelets just so he could make a bracelet of the correct size. But you didn't need to know that, though - according to him.

The next night, there was a social gathering near the campfire. Luke reapproached the location with a hoodie in hand. Earlier, Luke excused himself to fetch the clothing item that was now in his hand that was meant for you. However, his brows scrunched as he spotted another figure next to you, sitting in the spot that he previously occupied. You were laughing at something they said. The way your laugh echoed in his head usually sounded like a lullaby or the enchanting voice of a siren. But right now, the idea that someone else elicited the same laugh made him want to hurl behind the bush he was standing next to.

Little did he know you were zoning out from whatever the other boy was speaking about, thus the fake laugh to not blow your cover. You were distracted just thinking about Luke and everything he has done so far - offering his portion of dessert to you because he knew it was your favorite; him winning Capture the Flag and ignoring everybody else to go hug you first, then having his eyes on you and only you afterwards; sneaking out of camp to go buy the items you mentioned once that you wish you had at camp and so on. 

Your mind quickly reminded you that the boy sitting next to you was still talking to you. However, when you snapped out of your thoughts again, you realized now he was looking at you expectantly and you scrambled your mind for a reply.

Thank Gods Luke plopped down on your other side, saving you from having to admit to the other boy that you were not listening to him. “Hey, you’re back,” you commented. Luke’s arm automatically threw itself around your shoulder and tugged you to him slightly. Your body leaned on the Hermes cabin counselor ever so naturally at this before you turned to him. Luke quickly set his clothing on your lap, and you stared at it questioningly.

“You’re cold, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” your cheeks flushed again at how he knew without you telling him. You shivered maybe once or twice earlier due to the night air lowering the temperature, but it was so brief you were sure nobody had noticed. As you put on the hoodie, Luke averted his gaze from you to the guy on your other side. 

The Hermes cabin counselor arched one of his eyebrows in a challenging manner. Almost immediately, his ‘opponent’ slightly raised both of his hands. Luke internally snickered at the quick motion of surrender. 

“My bad, man,” you heard the other boy say as you managed to put your head through the clothing item and pull it down. Luke was physically preening at the other boy’s words and departure. Meanwhile, you were distracted by how you were engulfed by the smell of Luke from his hoodie. Your height difference also meant you were swimming in it, but it felt so comfortable.

“What was that?” you asked once the other boy was gone. 

“Nothing…” even the most oblivious person could see that Luke was lying. But, once again, you did not question his actions and carried on with the gathering. You could also feel other campers staring at the two of you, but you ignored that as well. 

That night - like every other night since four days ago - he walked you back to your cabin. You were honestly completely smitten by the attention he has given you, not that you would admit that to him. You were still not sure what caused the change, but you were still elated about it. Maybe he did return your feelings? Either way, everything felt perfect lately, and you went to sleep that night feeling like the stars aligned for you.

“I guess congratulations are in order?” Percy spoke up as you lined up for food the following day. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, taking the plate of food. Today’s meal consisted of mac n’ cheese, steak, and an apple. 

“You’re engaged?” you almost dropped your plate at that and gave the son of Poseidon a questioning look. “You proposed to Luke like a week ago?”

“What? When?”

“When you threw him the apple? That is considered a marriage proposal.”

“Since when?”

“Uh, in Ancient Greek culture, it’s considered a marriage proposal if a man throws an apple at a lady. But, I mean, it’s the 21st century, so I guess it can work both ways.” Percy finally took a plate of food for himself. “And if the recipient catches it, it’s considered an acceptance.”

“You saw this and knew this whole time without telling me?!?” 

“I thought you knew! And you two seem so smitten already, so I thought you did it on purpose.”

“Percy, no! Is this a well-known thing? Do you think other people who saw it too thought I proposed to Luke as well?” Seeing Percy’s look and how he was fumbling with his words, you quickly requested, “Actually, no, don’t answer that.” 

The two of you walked over to Luke and Chris with plates in hand. You picked up the apple on your plate and placed it on the table. 

“Luke, we need to talk,” You deliberately placed the fruit there, hoping the boy would get a hint about the topic you wanted to discuss. Luke’s eyes flicked from the fruit to you. Though the hint of amusement in his eyes and a sheepish grin made you realize he knew all along. Luke stood up and followed you out of sight and hearing distance from other campers whose eyes were trailing after the two of you.

“You knew what it meant, and you didn’t tell me?” You broke the silence as soon as you two were far away enough. 

“Listen, I appreciate your proposal. But, it’s a little bit fast, don’t you think?” Luke teased, and you instantly hit his arm at that, causing the boy to flinch slightly, but the smile on his face told you he was anything but mad at your action.

“But you caught it. So, technically, you said yes,” you rebutted, sighing as you rubbed your face, “My Gods, does everybody at camp think we’re engaged? Wait, is this a substitute for an engagement ring? Did you give this to me because of that?” you pointed to the bracelet Luke gave you, your mind now understanding Clarisse’s teasing and her implications. You could see the way Luke was stifling a laugh. He settled with saying something else when he saw the pure panic on your face.

“Sweetheart, calm down.” the nickname successfully silenced you. You hated how it made you feel, but you would not mind hearing that daily. “No, it’s not an engagement ring.”

“Oh, so were you doing all of these romantic gestures and gifts on purpose to make fun of me and the situation?” you asked, though it was more with a lighthearted tone than one of temper. However, something shifted because the expression on Luke’s face changed from one of humor to earnestness.

“No, I didn’t do all this to make fun of the situation or you…” Luke’s voice fell off as tried to find the right words to say next. In that split second, Luke took a deep breath, and you could see how nervous he suddenly became, though he still kept a light tone. “I did it because I took it as a chance to maybe…win you over, and it also gives me an advantage because it fended off many other guys.” 

Undoubtedly, you were frozen in place, unable to register the words he was saying and the implications they bear. Neither did the boy in front of you act like the Luke you usually know - somebody who was usually confident, outgoing, always having his way with words. No, the person in front of you could not even hold eye contact, the pink hue on his cheeks now spreading to the tip of his ears as he shifted left and right. Luke broke the silence first, giving away the nerves that were gnawing him away from your lack of response.

“How about this? I’ll say ‘no’ to your mind-blowing marriage proposal for now,” you lightheartedly hit him again, rolling your eyes playfully. Seeing a positive reaction from you, Luke let out a small breath of relief, but the nerves quickly overtook again as he mustered up all the courage to utter his counter proposal: “But maybe we could start with something slower like going on a date? — Or I’ll even settle with you allowing me to try and ‘woo’ you.” Luke added the last bit as insurance, in case you didn’t want to take up on the date. Part of his mind wanted to scowl at himself for seeming so desperate - but Gods, he has always been a desperate man when it comes to you. 

“You’re such a dork.”

“Yet you still proposed to me.”

“You’ll never let me live that down, will you?” Luke only shook his head in response. Once again, you haven’t responded to his offer. Luke could see that you were in deep thought, the cogs turning in your head as you digested what he just said.

“You mean it? That you wanna go on a date? That you wanna “woo” me and sweep me off my feet?” you questioned. Despite the humor in your voice, there was also a hint of vulnerability and cautiousness. “Does this mean what you’ve been doing for the past few days…they are all genuine?”

“Is it that hard to believe that I like you? I don’t think you even fully understand the feelings I have for you. I’ve had my eyes on you for a year now, which is the entire time I know you, and I’m afraid I can’t see that changing any time soon.” Luke had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from saying more because he was sure he would never stop talking about you if he could. Maybe those unspoken words ought to be things Luke would disclose in the future. If you give him the chance, he will ensure you hear everything he adored about you.

“Well, that’s good then, ‘cause I happen to like you too,” your words made Luke’s eyes snap to yours, almost in disbelief. 

Luke felt as if his heart was blocking his airway by the way it was thumping so hard in his chest to the point he could feel the vibration in his neck. He held his breath over your confession and the way you were looking at him. Oh, Luke was convinced he was utterly doomed because how could he be so affected by one single look. He was suddenly unsure whether he would be able to handle your affections or ever live without it if it was taken from him. He’d spend the rest of eternity like a deprived man.

“Aw, look who is nervous now,” you teased, deciding to somewhat torture him and get him back for teasing you earlier. “I did not think I had this kind of effect on you, Castellan,” you approached him slowly, keeping eye contact with his now dilated pupils. 

“I mean…all I did was say a couple of words and you’re all tongue tied. What would happen to you if I do this?” you swiftly grabbed Luke’s camp beads and pulled him down, eliminating a significant amount of space between your faces, though not completely. To steady himself during your action, Luke’s hands steadied on your hips and stumbled slightly, though you did not mind the touch.

You never knew it was possible for his face to flush even more, but it did. Luke gulped and your eyes casted down on the way his Adam’s apple moved when he did so. The way he reacted to you only intoxicated you with power even more. You glanced upwards a bit, eyes observing his lips for a split second before looking back up at his eyes. You smirked when you caught his eyes flickering back to yours from your lips as well. 

Just as you were about to close the distance, Luke pulled back just a bit, finally able to speak, though his words were heavy warnings, “If this happens—” Luke stopped, unsure he should let you know. Luke shook his head lightly as his eyes traced over your features before continuing, “If we kiss, there is no going back for me. I don’t think I could just…forget about it. So, please, just be sure before you do it.” Your eyes softened at his words.

“I promise, Luke. I am sure,” you muttered, though Luke knew you meant the words by heart from the way you were looking at him. 

You finally pulled the boy down again using his camp necklace. 

As your lips touched Luke’s, he let out a content sigh. His hands clung onto your hips, pulling you flush against his own body while you caressed both sides of his face in your hands. Luke felt like the world was swallowing him whole. The boy now knew what your lips tasted like, and it felt like an addiction. He could feel his heart waving white flags at that moment, completely surrendering to you. He was right before. There was no going back from this. 

But oh, if Luke knew an apple was all it took, he would have tossed one to you himself.

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

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[dreamwritesimagines]

Sunshine [2]- Summer Breeze

AN: My loves, thank you so so much for your wonderful support and lovely comments and HCs on the first chapter! ❤️ You're amazing! ❤️

I hope you like this as well, and please don't forget to tell me what you think, thank you! 🥰

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Summary: Summer breeze can be enchanting.

Word Count: 3464

Series Masterlist

There were some days that you just knew it wouldn’t be a good day, and today was exactly one of these days.

It wasn’t because it was Monday morning and you had slept through your alarm. It wasn’t because while taking the fastest shower of your life you realized you had run out of body wash.

It was because while driving Theo to school your car had broken down, and though you didn’t know much about mutant schools, you were pretty sure that they cared about punctuality just like any other school.

“Isn’t this fun, bean?” you asked as you walked with Theo’s hand in yours through the gates, pretending you weren’t stressed out at all so that he would have a good day. “It’s like we’re explorers.”

“It is!” he said, looking around the vast of greenery surrounding you. “Professor X says the mansion was built ages and ages ago.”

“Ages and ages ago?” you asked with a gasp, his backpack slung over your shoulder. “Really?”

“Yes! And Ralph says if we tried to explore the grounds, it would take us a week!”

“Who’s Ralph?”

“He’s my friend,” he said. “He can breathe underwater!”

“Wow,” you said. “That’s impressive.”

“Isn’t it?” he asked, excitement laced in his voice. “He said he saw so many pretty fish in the lake—mommy, can we get a pet fish? Wait no, can we get two?”

“Um…” you trailed off while you approached the mansion with him, students running around in the yard. “Why two?”

“Because we can’t get just one, he’d get bored without a friend!” Theo insisted as the roar of a motorcycle reached you. “Can we get a really big aquarium? Ralph says fish need huge aquariums.”

“We can’t get a huge aquarium, bean,” you said, crouching down to fix his hair and he pulled his brows together.

“But why not?”

“Because.”

“But why not?”

“Because we have no place to put a big aquarium in,” you said patiently and he pouted.

“I’d keep it in my room!”

“Bean.”

“They’d keep you company when I’m here and you come home from work! You said we couldn’t get a dog, but fish don’t need a yard or anything, just an aquarium!”

“Bean, that’s not…”

“I already have names for them both!” he insisted, making you pull your brows together. “The orange one will be Cheeto, and the white one will be Popcorn.”

“Very creative my love, but—”

“Please!” he said. “Please please please? I’ll take care of them when I’m home, I promise!”

“Theo,” you said. “It’s time for your class. Apologize to your teacher for being late, and tell them the car broke down, okay? They can call me if they—”

“Good morning Mr. Wolverine sir!” Theo smiled at someone behind you and you turned your head to look over your shoulder, your heartbeat speeding up as soon as you did.

Oh.

Alright, so as it turned out, you weren’t daydreaming last week and he was in fact as hot as you remembered.

The leather jacket he was wearing fit him perfectly, making you gawk at his broad figure for a moment before you remembered to look up at his handsome face, but that seemed to make your heartbeat even faster so you shot him a small smile and averted your gaze from him to Theo quickly.

“Logan is fine, bub,” he told Theo and Theo nodded so eagerly that his glasses slipped down his nose, making you reach out to fix them.

“Okay Mr. Logan sir,” he said. “Mommy, if we get an aquarium—”

“We’ll talk about it later bean,” you said as you slipped his backpack off your shoulder and helped him put his arms through the straps. You straightened your back at the same time he reached back to open the zipper of the backpack, the simple motion making him stumble backwards but Logan had already grabbed him by the backpack with one hand and lifted him up in the air to put him back on his feet, Theo letting out a cheerful “whee!”.

“Thanks,” you murmured and ruffled Theo’s hair. “Straight to the class, come on.”

Theo gave you a bright smile, then hugged your legs before turning around to run through the hallway.

“Theo don’t—” you started but heaved a sigh. “Great.”

You could hear Logan huff out a chuckle and you swallowed thickly, then turned to look at him better, the fluttering in your stomach getting even worse upon seeing his gaze on you.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” he said and you took a deep breath, shifting your weight.

“It was—it was nice to see you,” you stammered, taking a step past him but stopped when you heard him say your name. The fact that he had remembered your name wasn’t supposed to make your chest tingle, you were sure of it, but you didn’t even try to stop the tentative smile pulling at your lips.

“Yes?” you asked, blinking up at him and he stared at you, then frowned like he was trying to pull himself together.

“Your car broke down?”

“Um, yeah,” you said, pointing at the yard. “Like a mile down the road.”

“You walked here?”

“Uh huh,” you said, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. “I don’t mind, really. I’ll just go back to the car and call my friend, she knows a guy so I’m like ninety percent sure I can get out of it without having to declare bankruptcy—”

“I can fix it,” he said, motioning at the motorcycle. “Let’s go.”

Your eyes widened and you gawked at him for a moment, then scoffed a nervous laugh and waved a hand in the air.

“Oh no no, there’s no need to…” you trailed off. “Please, I’d hate to be a bother.”

“You’re not,” he said, already walking to the bike and you lingered there for a moment before rushing to catch up with his long strides.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” you asked him. “Seriously, if you’re busy or anything, I don’t think—”

“I’m not busy.”

“And your motorcycle looks like a one-person type of motorcycle, I can just walk if you—”

“Are you always this polite, princess?”

Well, that was a sure way to shut you up. Your breath caught in your throat, your head spinning for a moment because of how fast adrenaline rush hit you, warmth blooming in your chest.

“…Yeah,” you said after a pause. “Bites me in the ass most of the time.”

The corners of his mouth twitched and he grabbed the only helmet on the back of the motorcycle, then held it out, making you snap out of your thoughts.

“You?” you asked and he shook his head.

“I don’t need it.”

You took the helmet from him to put it on before he got on the bike and started the engine, and almost automatically your hand shot up to your lips but it hit the helmet, making you grimace. You dug your fingernails into your palms before unclenching your hands again, then got on the bike as well, slowly wrapping your arms around his torso. He took a deep breath as if he had just smelled something sweet, then cleared his throat.

“You’re gonna have to hold on tighter than that.”

“Oh I don’t want to accidentally hurt you,” you said, and the simple sentence managed to coax a chuckle out of him. He turned his head sideways to look at you out of the corner of his eye, your cheeks burning before he turned his head again and the engine roared before it sped off down the road, the movement making you gasp and hold onto him tighter to make sure you wouldn’t fall down.

Fine, maybe today was a good one after all.

Back in high school -and the first year of college-, you had never understood why people were into motorcycle. If anything, they looked rather uncomfortable, not to mention incredibly dangerous, and if it rained it would rain on them, and it would be cold and wet and just unpleasant but now—

Now, hanging onto Logan as the wind whipped around you, trees wheezing past, you were starting to get the appeal.

Logan stopped the motorcycle when you pointed at your car parked at the side of the road, and you pulled back from him even if you didn’t want to, then got off the bike, taking your helmet off and fixing your hair in a haste.

“I didn’t die,” you announced, making him shoot you an amused glance. “That’s nice.”

“That was the expectation?” he asked as you both made your way to your car and you nodded.

“Kind of?” you said, unlocking the car before Logan lifted the hood up to look inside, then tilted his head.

“Hold on,” he muttered and he started unbuttoning his flannel, making your eyes widen. Your heart climbed up to your throat, a sudden warmth swirling your insides and when he slipped his flannel to reveal his very tight white shirt underneath, you gulped, unable to drag your gaze away from him. He didn’t even need to hear your heartbeat, your flustered state was clear as day and your brain recognized him saying something you didn’t even hear with a couple of seconds delay, making your head snap up.

“Huh?”

A cocky smirk curled his lips and you shifted your weight.

“I was um—I was thinking about something,” you stammered and his smirk widened.

“Uh huh,” he said. “I’m gonna go under the car for a moment.”

Never in your entire life had you wanted to be a car more.

“I don’t know if I have that lifter thing—” you started, trying to pull your thoughts together but before you could even finish your sentence, he had already reached down underneath the bumper and lifted the car a bit to get under, making your jaw drop.

Oh alright, so this was just…

You were just fantasizing about him and this whole thing in general, that was the only explanation you could possibly come up with. Any minute now, your alarm would start blaring and you would wake up and go to work with no sign of a very specific, incredibly hot and strong guy.

Jesus, he looked like that and he could lift a car?

“Um—Logan are you okay down there?” you asked, approaching the car to bend down a little. “Do you need help?”

“Nope,” he said, his voice not even strained as if he wasn’t holding up the car with one hand. “Just checking something.”

“The car isn’t gonna fall on you, right?”

“No, I’m holding it.”

“Yeah because that’s the normal answer to that question,” you said, nodding your head. “Sure. Uh, another question, how do you know you can in fact hold up a car? As in, have you tried this before? Because if you die, not only will I be very sad but also I will go to jail and I don’t think I’d survive there, I watched a lot of shows like that and I like flavored coffee a bit too much, and I also don’t know who’d be taking care of Theo—”

“Relax princess,” he cut off your rambling with a chuckle. “It’s fine.”

You hoped your hormones wouldn’t get the best of you and by the time he got out from under the car, you wouldn’t be checking Pinterest for wedding venues but before you could even grab your phone, you heard a car coming to a stop behind you, making you look over your shoulder. The man inside looked you up and down, making you shift your weight, discomfort hitting you out of nowhere as you clenched and unclenched your fists.

You recognized that look just fine.

“Hey there,” he said with a small grin. “Car problems?”

You plastered a well-practiced polite smile on your face. “Yeah but it’s fine, thank you.”

“Get in, I can drive you to the nearest station.”

“Um no sir, thank you,” you said. “I’m actually handling it.”

“Oh come on now,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’m not a bad guy. Just being helpful.”

You opened your mouth to answer, but before you could say anything else, the car groaned as Logan lifted it a little and got out from under it. You didn’t even need to turn your head to know he was glaring at the man, the look of complete fear crossing the man’s face was enough of a clue and you bit back your smile, raising your brows at him while Logan stood at full height behind you, towering over you.

“She said she’s handling it,” he said, his deep growl making your heart do a happy flip and you nodded.

“Thank you though!” you said with the most customer service level of cheerful voice you could muster without bursting into laughter and the man’s eyes went from you to him, and he gulped down.

“Ye—yeah okay,” he said and drove off, making you let out a giggle and turn to look up at Logan.

“I think you scared him off.”

Logan glared at the direction the man drove off as if he was genuinely contemplating whether to go after him or not, then gritted his teeth and glanced down at you.

“You okay?”

“Sure,” you said. “I have a knife in the glove compartment, just in case. Theo isn’t allowed to open it.”

He shook his head slightly, then went to the motorcycle to grab a couple of tools, wiping the motor oil on his hands onto his shirt. You had to physically force yourself to look up at the sky just so that you could stop the sound threatening to spill from your lips, then rubbed at your eyes as he started working on the car. You lingered in your spot for a moment, then opened the car door to climb up to sit on the roof of the car, making him glance at you over the hood.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m keeping you company,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “It’s easier to talk like this.”

He didn’t comment on it, instead returned back to what he was doing and you pressed your lips together, keeping your gaze on him.

“So how’s the crying going?” he asked and you scrunched up your nose.

“It’s going well actually, thank you for asking,” you told him. “I already cried this morning so…”

“Why?”

“There was this cat video,” you said. “It was so adorable. I keep telling Theo he can’t have a pet, I need to remind myself that as well.”

“He wants a fish now?”

“He wants to have a lot of animals,” you told him. “He wants a dog and a cat and now fish. Apparently, his new friend told him there are many pretty ones in the lake, and I’m glad he’s making friends but I’m gonna be so screwed when he finds one who can talk to like, horses or something.”

He scoffed a laugh. “He made friends pretty easily.”

“Oh he could make friends in an empty room.”

“He got that from you or his father?”

“Me,” you said, barely aware of the proud tone in your voice. “He gets everything from me, or at least that’s what I’ve been told.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm hm,” you said, nodding your head. “But I mean, it makes sense when you think about it, considering…”

Logan’s gaze on you was almost too hot. “He’s not around?”

You bit at your thumb, shaking your head. “No.”

Thankfully.

“Um, how about you?” you asked, trying to change the topic. “What do you do when you’re not fixing cars and scaring off creeps? Do you teach at school?”

“Sometimes,” he said. “I work for Charles.”

“As a teacher?”

“Not necessarily.”

You pulled your knees up to your chest and rested your chin on top of them, your arms wrapping around legs.

“An open book, aren’t you?” you asked, making him chuckle.

“Mm, pretty much.”

“Now why would a mysterious man give such short answers?”

He shot you a mischievous smile. “Probably the same reason why a pretty girl would ask so many questions.”

Your heart skipped a happy beat as you felt your cheeks burn, and you had to resist the urge to bury your face to your knees with a squeal so you bit down on your lip, smiling at him. He held your gaze for a moment, making fire spread through your veins before he nodded at you.

“You mind if I try to start it?”

“Oh go ahead,” you said, and he got into your car, then you heard him slide the driver’s seat back to adjust it to his height. “But I had the mechanic check the car like a month ago, so I don’t really think…”

You stopped talking immediately when you heard the roar of the engine as it came to life and a gasp left your lips.

“Are you serious?” you exclaimed while Logan got out of the car and you slid off the roof to jump to the ground.

“Yeah, the next time it happens, just—” he was cut off when you flung yourself to him to hug him tight.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” you said with a huge smile. “Seriously Logan, you saved my life!”

 A small chuckle escaped from his lips and his arm sneaked around your waist, and if you didn’t know if better, you could’ve sworn he tilted his head down to get closer to your hair and took a deep breath.

“Not a problem,” he said, his deep voice vibrating in his chest and all of a sudden all your senses were filled with him; his warm body against yours, the pleasant scent of leather, smoke and pine in your lungs, his voice in your ears. You swallowed thickly, your heartbeat getting faster as you forced yourself to pull back, then craned your head up to look at him.

“Sorry!” you said. “Sorry I’m…me and my friend took this test and apparently my love language is physical touch and I’m not very sure about it really because I kind of feel like it’s a scam but also is it though, because I used to have a cat when I was little and um, I refused to put her down, I always carried her everywhere so that I could hug her all the time and weirdly enough she liked it, which you wouldn’t expect from a cat most of the time but—um—” you paused. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem,” he said, his intense gaze pinning you to your spot and you nibbled on your lip, then willed yourself to take a step back, your hand shooting up to your mouth again.

“How—how do I repay you?”

He shot you a reprimanding look. “You don’t.”

“No but seriously,” you insisted. “There has to be something.”

That had sounded more grateful and less like a porn dialogue in your head.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Change your mechanic though, seems like the engine hasn’t been checked in a while.”

“Okay,” you said, forcing yourself to lower your hand. “Thank you. Again.”

“My pleasure,” he said with a small smile and you lingered in your spot for a moment, then got in the car, almost falling on your ass since he had slid the seat back to adjust it to his height. You cleared your throat, trying to keep it cool as you slid it forward, and as soon as the brochures on the dashboard caught your eye, you reached out to grab one and looked up at Logan out the open window.

“I found a way to thank you,” you said with a proud smile, your heart was beating in your throat. “I work at this diner, you should drop by. It’ll be on the house, and the pie is amazing.”

A small smirk curled his lips as he eyed the brochure you were holding up.

“You sure about that?” he asked. “If you feed me, I might come back.”

The warmth bloomed underneath your skin as your smile widened.

“Looking forward to it,” you said, raising the brochure just a little and he chuckled, then took the brochure from you.

“Drive safe,” he said, patting the roof of the car and you nodded your head.

“See you around, Logan,” you said before you drove off, checking him out from the rear mirror until you slowed down at the road junction, then turned the car and let out a breath, trying to keep your attention on the road.

“Oh fuck,” you muttered to yourself. “Fuck, he’s too hot.”

[3] - Downpour

[enkvyu]

12:45am — gojo satoru ;

“cute earrings, where’d you get them?” shoko asks.

“hm?” still clinging to sleep, you absentmindedly reach up to caress the metal dangling from your ear. the sharp indents of its gem pricks you back into a memory. “oh, these. i got them from a friend last week.”

“friend? or do you mean boyfriend?”

shoko’s words are throwaway, her wandering eyes and yawn a clear indication yet your face warms despite yourself. shaking your head furiously, you exclaim, “a friend! just a friend."

shoko hums, shifting her cigarette to the other end of her mouth. her gaze flickers somewhere behind you and you almost look too, when her words pull you back. “come to think of it, i don’t think you’ve ever told me what your type was.”

“my type?” your mind blanks. “i’ve probably never told you because i’ve never thought about it myself. i mean, being a jujutsu sorcerer and all, romance is kind of off the table.”

shoko keeps looking at you, pressing you without words. you grimace and sigh.

"i mean, i guess, maybe someone good looking? someone who’s not boring? and now that we're talking about it, someone who is fit and athletic too. they'd have to be smart, but not book-smart, like, street-smart." the more you think of it, the more words seem to spill from your mouth. "and someone who has a good sense of humour, someone who will make me laugh.”

“someone good looking, interesting, sporty, smart and funny? that’s too greedy.”

you giggle. “you’re right, there’s no way there’s anyone that perfect. i guess i’ll have to be single forever.”

“you'll always have me.” shoko says, grinning.

you push her shoulder but don’t deny it.

yaga walks into the classroom, cutting your conversation short. you spin around in your seat to face the front, eyes accidentally meeting gojo’s. he turns around too, and you reason that he was probably looking out the window behind you. you see getou snicker and whisper something in his ear, but gojo seemed to be having none of it, blatantly ignoring him.

seeing his face makes you think. didn’t gojo kind of match your type? someone attractive, interesting, athletic and maybe not academic smart, but he definitely carried an air of confidence when it came to fighting. and it wasn't a secret that he lightened the air wherever he went, intentionally or not.

with a start, you look back at shoko. “and someone calm. someone with manners.”

“well-mannered and calm. what insane preferences.” shoko chuckles. “are there any more?"

yaga slams his hand on the table a few times, reluctantly drawing your attention back to the front.

your previous conversation dies and twiddles away into the background, overtaken by droning lectures and predictable missions. by the end of the day, you can't even remember what you had told shoko early that morning.

when you enter the classroom the next day, you’re surprised to find gojo already there, seated at his table. his sunglasses hangs lower on his nose than usual and most curiously of all, a book is held in his hands. you’re not sure if he’s actually reading or not considering that pages were being turned far too quickly for someone reading “ordinary objects” by amie thomasson.

his eyes flicker to yours as you head in. “good morning.”

“morning. what’s with you?”

gojo clears his throat. “what ever do you mean?”

your frown transitions to a grimace. “why are you talking like that? did you break something of mine? was it my potted plant, gojo i told you to take good care of it!”

“i am taking care of it! it’s not dead yet!” he exclaims before pausing uncharacteristically. he sits back in his chair and turns back to his book. “i mean, it’s fine.”

“you sure?”

“i am.”

you narrow your eyes before looking away, dropping into your seat. “it better be. shoko got me that one.”

“speaking of shoko, is she not coming today?”

“i think she stayed overnight at the morgue.”

“is that so? perhaps i should write notes for her. i wouldn’t want her to miss out on class.”

you turn to him horrified. “so you did kill my plant!”

“i said it’s not dead!” gojo bursts. another pause. he clears his throat, adjusting his glasses. “i simply worry for her.”

you stare at him and watch as he fidgets under your gaze. “are you feeling sick? did you eat something wrong?”

“i’m not sick. what part of me looks sick?"

“well you’re usually not this…” you watch him as you wrack your brain, trying to find a word to describe this situation. “c…”

gojo leans forward. “yes?”

“crazy.”

he falls back in his chair, groaning, book forgotten and placed harshly down on the table.

you tilt your head. “where's getou, you guys didn’t come to class together? don’t tell me you fought.”

gojo peers up and frowns. “no, can i not show up to class early just because i feel like it?”

“it would be extremely out of character, yeah.” you rest your chin on your hand as you watch gojo mutter to himself, his jaw jutted out and his nose scrunched.

he was clearly unhappy, it didn’t take a scholar to know. it might take a genius to figure out why though.

you had time to kill, might as well take up the challenge. maybe he hadn’t had his morning dose of sugar yet, or maybe his favourite anime had delayed it’s upcoming episode. maybe he didn't save properly on the new game he was playing, or maybe he simply didn't sleep well last night. or maybe he had lied to you and he had fought with getou, leading to this strange attitude.

the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. the way he was acting now was like a mockery to getou's usual behaviour.

“are you trying to be like getou?” you try.

gojo whirs around to face you. “what?”

“well, you’re trying to be composed.” he keeps staring at you and you clear your throat. “like more well-mannered. more calm.”

gojo remains silent but you watch as his jaw drops. you think that he might say something but then his mouth closes, only to open again.

gojo speechless, what a sight. but as good of a sight as it was, you were beginning to feel concerned.

“are you sure you’re alright? what did you eat yesterday?”

he doesn’t register your question. “you think getou is well-mannered?”

“yeah?”

“and calm?”

you nod. “more than you, at least.”

“do you think he’s interesting too? sporty? smart? funny?” he pauses. “good-looking?”

the questions throw you off guard and you sit up. “what? where is this coming from?”

“oh my god, you do.”

“no? i mean, i think getou’s great and everything—”

“you think getou’s great?”

“don’t you?”

“you think getou’s hot.” he concludes. “and you think getou’s great.”

"what are you even saying?"

"i don't know. why don't you tell me?"

baffled, you flail for words. “are you jealous of him? that's strange, i didn’t think either of you would ever feel jealous of each other.”

gojo grits his teeth and looks away. with a pout, he says, “me neither.”

the door to the classroom is thrown open and getou steps through, rubbing the back of his neck. he yawns on his way to his chair and it wakes him up, looking between you and gojo as you both watch him enter.

“what did you guys do?” he asks with a sigh.

“nothing!”

“nothing.” gojo says and glares at him.

getou blinks.

“okay.” he says slowly, sliding out his chair and sitting. “what did i do then? why are you both looking at me like that?”

“gojo’s being weird.” you snitch. “are you guys fighting?”

“how should i know? i thought we were doing okay. gojo, if i did something, use your words and tell me.”

"i'll use my words to tell you to suck my dick instead."

"so i did do something. you're so predictable, gojo."

you snicker as gojo huffs and glances away, looking away out the window behind your head. his train of sight cuts right past you but you can’t help but feel slightly flustered as he looks on, almost like he was looking at you, so determined to ignore getou’s pestering.

subconsciously, you drown getou out too, your traitorous mind observing the blue in gojo’s eyes. you had always thought it was just one colour, but looking at it now, it seemed more like a kaleidoscope of blues, the many shades sparkling and dimming as he watched birds flutter outside the window, and you watched their shadows through his eyes.

something shifts, in the air or in the skies you don't know, and gojo meets your eye. startled, you hold the gaze and he holds it too, just long enough for your lungs to run out of air.

you look away hastily and inhale.

gojo glances to the front, oddly fidgety.

getou looks between the two of you. “what the fuck was that?”

“nothing.” gojo says.

getou clearly doesn't buy it but though he tries to get an answer out of you, you don't give him one either. cupping your cheeks, your thoughts mirror his question. what was that? it was embarrassing, that's what it was and your realisation is only heightened as a silence fills all four corners of the classroom.

gojo clears his throat. “for me, i like someone who i'm already comfortable with. someone i already know.”

at his words, you look over at him and find him already staring. he frowns as you don't give him any other reaction.

yaga saves you from addressing his statement, walking into the room as the bell for class rang. "oh? you're all early, even you gojo. where's shoko?"

“she’s staying at the morgue because of the recent mission.”

“i see.” yaga nods. “then let’s start.”

your mind fails to work as you turn over gojo’s words, thinking them through. what did they mean? what was he talking about? did this weird confession have something to do with why he was acting so strange?

slowly, you draw connections between your conversation with gojo and the talk you had with shoko yesterday morning. an epiphany shoots through you and you cover your mouth to hide a gasp.

did that mean…?

someone he knew? acting strange? getting mad when you said you liked getou?

you watch gojo’s side profile, hoping he’d turn around. if what you thought was right, he’d turn.

seconds tick past. yaga’s voice drawls on and yet gojo doesn't even spare you a glance.

no, maybe you were wrong after all.

just as you were about to face yaga again, gojo’s head shifts and his eye flicks over to yours. they widen when he finds you, and you’re sure you’re in a similar shocked state.

oh my god, you think, eyes darting between him and the other boy in the room.

gojo has a crush on getou.

filler imagine based off of that One scene from the manga: "megane tokidoki yankee kun"

[kurooh]

INTERRUPTED ! — JUJUTSU KAISEN

⊹₊˚. he hates it when someone (or something) interrupts his time with you.

⟡ feat. gojo satoru, kento nanami, fushiguro toji, kamo choso.

⟡ warnings: 18+ content (mdni), modern au, roommates! satosugu in gojo’s, stupidity, phone calls, being walked in on, oral [m&f]. not proofread

⟡ xoxo juno: first time writing for jjk.. i’m nervous about the characterizations; i’ll write more characters for hcs if i get reqs. rbs are loved !!

— GOJO SATORU.

“t-toru, that’s perfect, faster please,” you plea, tangling your fingers in his snowy hair and pressing his head closer to your dripping pussy. gojo lets you, whining a little as he scissors his fingers in and out of you and licks at your clit.

you inhale sharply, back bowing right off the bed; a large hand spreads your thighs impossibly wider and press them into the duvet beneath you.

“oh, i’m gonna cum,” you whine, hips jerking towards his fingers desperately. bright blue eyes latch onto yours, and he’s about to watch you fall apart when—

“yo, satoru!” your boyfriend’s roommate, geto, calls breezily from behind the door. before either of you can respond, the door opens and he strides in, looking at his phone. “what do you want for dinner tonight? i’m going to head out to go shopping and—” he looks up, and a pillow nails him right in the face.

“get out, suguru!” gojo yells, covering you with part of the duvet.

geto laughs awkwardly, a blush blooming across his face, and he apologizes quickly before stepping out and closing the door.

“also!” gojo calls, facing the door as he sits down beside you, “tonkotsu for dinner tonight!”

— NANAMI KENTO.

“fuuuck,” kento groans lowly, pressing your head further into his pelvis, his cock sliding down your throat. blond strands fan out around his head as it drops back onto the couch cushions behind him, his eyes fluttering shut.

your soft hands stroke the parts of his cock you can’t fit in your mouth, wet sounds mingling with your choking and filling the room. “angel,” he sighs, fingers soothingly rubbing against your scalp, “this is perfect, i love it when you—”

a familiar ringtone cuts his sentence off, and his face twists in aggravation as he lifts his hips, fishing his phone out of his back pocket with his free hand.

“i’m sorry. it’s ijichi.” kento answers the phone, his cock starting to soften in your mouth.

your eyes meet his as you mischievously slide off the length of his cock, your lips gently suctioned around his tip. kento sits up, his eyes widening, and he’s about to mouth something to you when you slam all the way down, placing your hands on his thighs for support.

he gasps sharply, nearly letting out a moan; he reassures ijichi, who sounds worried.

“oh, yes i’m alright. something nearly fell off my shelf is all..” his voice drifts off and his eyes become lidded, his cock hard enough to cut diamonds.

a heat rushes through your body, and you clench your thighs, removing a hand from his own. you fingers slip into your panties, rubbing at your clit as you look up at him, mouth full. on the phone, ijichi rambles on frantically about something that’s probably not even important, and kento bites his lip, slamming you down hard.

the sudden movement and force of his tip plowing into the back of your throat has you choking, pussy clenching as tears build in your eyes. he looks at you, hearts practically in his eyes, and moves the phone as far as he can from him.

“please, angel— make me cum, just like you always do.”

— FUSHIGURO TOJI.

“you like bein’ fucked like this, huh?” toji grunts, his breath coming out in hard pants, warmth fanning over your face. moaning, and desperately attempting to feel him deeper, you spread your legs impossibly wider.

“yes, toji!” you whimper, hands running down his muscled back; your nails bite crescent moons into the sweaty skin before they rake down his back as your eyes roll back into your head. “a-ah, i want you to fill me up, please—”

“don’t worry doll,” toji murmurs, beads of sweat rolling down his temple as he fucks into you much harder and unforgiving than earlier. “i-i’m gonna fuckin’ stuff you until you can’t breathe. gonna take it all like a good girl, yeah?”

you nod eagerly, eyes shining with tears while your pussy clamps down on his thick cock. he can barely breathe when you’re like this, so pretty and pliant and willing beneath him, taking his cock greedily. your tits bounce, smacking against each other due to the force of his thrusts; he palms at your ass with a large hand of his, squeezing the plush skin before slapping it.

toji can’t wait to fuck all his cum back into you.

“baby, i’m gonna fuckin’ cum—SHIT!”

his face contorts in pain, the cum rushing back down into his balls, and before you can even register what’s happening he’s pulling back and choking out curses.

“what happened, toji?” you’re at his side immediately, rubbing at his back soothingly before he pushes you away, clearly embarrassed and unhappy.

“fuckin’ hamstring cramp, god damn it.”

he rubs at the back of his thigh angrily, his cock deflating between his legs as he grunts out something scathing below his breath.

“i’m fine,” he hisses, punching the back of his leg before finally laying on his back. “fuck, i don’t know where that shit came from.”

“well, you’re getting to that age..” you tease lightly, a smile splitting your lips when he glares at you, hard, and roughly yanks you between his legs, raising them both carefully, for fear of another debilitating cramp. his half hard cock rests against his pelvis, and you stare at it briefly before he pushes you towards it.

“let’s hope you don’t have any more old man cramps, toji.�� you stick your tongue out at him before leaning your head towards his tip.

“you better shut that mouth before i fill it for you, princess.”

— KAMO CHOSO.

“o-oh, fuck,” choso heaves from beneath you, his jaw slack with drool trailing down as he watches you ride his cock. the ripple of the muscle beneath the plush skin of your thighs and the soft bounce of your tits always leaves him stuttering and unable to look away from you.

“you like it, baby? want me to go a little faster?” your voice is sweet and soft as your small hands press into the muscle of his pecs for balance.

“mm mm, this is perfect..” he sighs, his back arching uncontrollably as you slowly slide upwards, leaving his tip inside you. then you sit all the way back down, shivering. “are you getting tired?”

“a little,” you smile, giggling softly as he places his hands on your hips. your voice promptly breaks into a whimper when he starts to thrust upwards, erratic and strong as his cock stretches you out and fills you up.

close to going dumb on his cock, you gasp, fingers reaching up to pinch and tweak your nipples for extra pleasure.

“c-choso, right there,” you choke out helplessly, pressure building inside you, all over and racing through each limb.

he finds himself gasping after a particularly rough drag of his cock against your ridged walls, leaving him thickening and throbbing inside you. the room fills with the heavy sound of skin smacking against skin, choso’s deep groans, and your whiny moans.

“so good, s-so good,” he mumbles, back bowing off the bed. strands of his dark brown hair are damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead and temples, the rest bouncing against his head and the pillow as he fucks you.

your mouth opens in a plea, eyes half lidded; but you snap your mouth shut and your eyes widen in some kind of panic that has him sitting up, the mood practically ruined. choso’s about to ask what went wrong when he hears a loud pounding at the door and a whiny voice calling for him.

“chosoooo!” the voice is unmistakably yūji’s, and his knocks only grow louder and rougher. “you comin’ out here or what? you’ve been gone for a while and everyone’s looking for you!”

oh, right. the party that he and yūji were hosting at their shared apartment, which is full of their closest friends and the sound of happy voices downstairs.

“i’ll be downstairs in a bit,” choso fights against the urge to snap at him, “five minutes, okay?”

“alright,” yūji finally calls back, sounding disappointed as he stops knocking and leaves you and his brother in bed together.

your eyes widen as he slowly lifts himself out of bed, clearly disappointed but gritting his teeth through it nonetheless. he pulls at the hair bands on his wrists, tying his hair into its usual spiky buns on either side of his head.

“cho!” you gasp, thighs clenching, “we’re not gonna finish up?”

“can’t,” he huffs, rubbing a hand over his face as he makes himself accept it. “we need to go downstairs, we’ve been gone for far too long.”

“i-i was gonna cum,” you whine, peeling yourself away from the bed against your will. tears form in your eyes in absolute frustration. “please don’t do this..”

he sighs before he leans in to kiss you hard. he looks at you, his face flushed and clearly just as unhappy as you are, though his feelings are hidden. “later, when everyone’s gone, i promise i’ll make you cum again and again.. you’ll be begging for me to stop, crying and shaking.”

your face heats quickly, and you look towards him happily, eagerly anticipating later.

with a sexy little laugh, he asks, “does that sound good, baby?”

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Spencer Reid

genre: fluff, light angst

word count: 6339

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: Dr. Spencer Reid is simply adorable. And you actually think he might be perfect. Until, that is, he isn't.

a muted shade of green masterlist // next chapter

His apartment is a muted shade of green and you always wonder why is it that he painted it so dark. The book covered walls never fail to impress you, making you smile into the ether that was this place with its shelves and shelves of worldly stories. His taste, you think, is more towards the classics and refined tales that carry significance and importance in the world of literature. Dostoyevski, Austen, Orwell, Doyle. Though here and there, in some corners of the living room or thrown haphazardly in the kitchen counter, you see peeks of contemporary names, the ones you’re sure you sold him a long, long time ago. Murakami, Zadie Smith, George. 

You met Spencer when you first moved into D.C., about a year or so ago, and sometimes, you really think that it was just yesterday when you first saw him with his purple scarf walking inside your store.

“Excuse me.” 

You have too many books in your arms to even see who is talking to you, but you apologise nonetheless; it’s the least you can do for your first customer. “I’ll be with you in a moment, apologies for the mess, we literally just opened.” In your defence, you had been so busy unpacking all the new orders and organising things into shelves that you absolutely forgot to put the plaque with your opening hours by the door. You can hear his shoes clicking and clacking around the place, and a wave of anxiety washes through you. If he leaves with a book– luckily two– you will have made your first sell and that just might remind you that of the reason why you decided to do this in the first place.

Carefully putting the pile of Maggie Nelson’s on the counter, you finally turn to face him, tired smile from ear to ear when you see him holding two books already. “You found something you like?” You gently ask, voice calm and fingers fidgeting while you wait for an answer. “Many things, actually. I’m quite glad to see a wide variety of books here, it’s been hard finding something new to read lately.” 

His voice is pointed and it echoes in the empty store. The clock on the walls says it’s 7:58AM and you suck in a breath; it’s definitely too early for someone to be looking for books, but maybe he wants entertainment for his commute, maybe he needs a distraction for the way, or maybe he is odd like that. 

It must be cold outside. The man is wearing a purple scarf  inside what looks like a wool coat, and somehow, he fits in there, in your store. He looks like the kind of person who would be buying books as early as 8 in the morning and you’re not sure if that is adorable or unhinged. 

“Just these, thank you,” The loud thump of the pile of books he deposits by the cashier makes you gasp. “You have a great selection here, I was lucky you open early!” The twinkle in his eyes is what keeps you from telling him that that, in fact, was a big mistake. In the middle of rushing to get the keys from the landlord in time, get the deliveries, get everything sorted and organised, you had completely forgotten to put out the hours for the shop. 

“I am glad you found us here! Do you live nearby?” At this point, you’re just trying to make conversation as you bagged his items, smiling at the titles and happy to see your favourite book in the midst. “I live just across the street, actually,” He said, giving you his card. “You’ll see me a lot, I’m afraid.”

“And what should I call my most loyal customer, then?” One look down at his card and you would know, but you wanted him to tell you himself. 

“Spencer Reid.”

There is not really a sound reason as to why you walk so freely into his apartment. The first time he asked you to do this, he was going on a case and needed someone to water his plants. As it turn out, your store is quite literally across the street from his building and you don’t really mind the mindless task, so you tell him to not worry, you’ll take care of it. It had been a few months since you two met, five or so, and despite taking you some time to truly understand, you got used to the fact that Spencer created a routine for both of you, knocking on your shop’s door every Monday at precisely 8 in the morning. With time, you stopped questioning him even when you had many, many questions– was he even reading all these books? If yes, how?! Every visit, he left with three books or more, and unless he pulled all nighters every night, those were simply sitting on his desk. 

Instead, you start putting a few titles aside whenever you spot them. You start it with ‘A Gentleman From Peru’ by André Aciman, short and sweet. Next week it was ‘A Little Paris Bookshop’ by Nina George. Then ‘Cultish’ by Amanda Montell. And just like this, you two form your own little book club, his visits extending beyond their usual thirty minutes into the better part of the hour to talk about the plot, the characters, the arcs. You know there is quite a lot you don’t know about Spencer, of course there is, but you learn more and more with every little debate you two have. You learn about his morals through the character he likes, and his dreams through the plots he enjoy. You learn about his photographic memory that allows him to quote his favourite sections to you, and you learn that he is a very logical man through his hatred for the inaccuracy of investigative books. You learn and you learn and you learn and you find out that you like learning about Spencer. More than you like learning about anyone else, that is, and now, every time he walks in, you can’t help but get excited, smiling as you only imagine what you would learn that day. 

Sometimes, you did notice the absence of your favourite customer. He would disappear for weeks on end and then act like nothing happened, and you get it; he doesn’t owe you anything, you’re just the lady that sells him books, but you feel like there is something that is starting to bloom when, every time he comes back, he brings you a book. “I thought you’d like it,” Is all he says before leaving with his bag of new reads. For a moment, it’s like an exchange, but Spencer never demands anything of you; never asks for anything more than new books and recommendations. 

It’s quite rewarding finding the books you sold him scattered through the apartment. There are a couple in the kitchen, open split on the counter and you smile fondly at the clumsy way he marks his books. There is no folded page, no book marker, no random picture; just his book, cover facing up, open and splitting the spine in half enough to crease. You shake your head, smiling like he’s done this just to rile you up.

“Oh my god, don’t!”

You don’t mean to shout but it’s too late. His eyes widen in shock and he immediately freezes, mouth stuck in a little ‘o’ shape that makes you blush. “What did I do?” 

The wince in your expression is as visible as the light of day when you speak. Your hands hover in the air, unsure of what to do now, but still trying to do something. “The book, Spencer,” The words come out like a whine, and if you start stomping your feet you might as well look like a child. “The spine. The book. The– oh my god, the noise!”

The way he laughs at you is contagious, and you start laughing with him, face hidden behind your hands in embarrassment. Owning a bookshop doesn’t come for free. Your particularities when it comes to your literary treasures are enough to scare any sane person away. “You know, there are worse sounds than a book’s spine breaking,” He mused, closing the book before walking to your counter. His nimble fingers drum a soft rhythm as he waits for you to go around and charge him for the book. It’s a symphony, almost; so loud in your quiet store that, for a second, your heart is tuning in, thumping as his fingers do, beating to the song he creates. 

“You don’t have to buy it,” It’s a little ridiculous how airy your voice sounds then. Aren’t you a little too old to have a crush? “It’s okay if–“ But he doesn’t even let you finish, rattling off some facts about the writer. Most of the time, actually, he is rattling off some fact about something, and some you know, some you don’t, but you never interrupt him. You like hearing him talk. 

You miss hearing him talk. Whenever Spencer leaves, you miss him. You miss the knock on your shop’s door at 8AM. You miss the shy little chuckles. You miss the purple– the constant, always there purple. A wave of sadness hits you then, looking around the apartment with a longing expression. 

The first time he calls you over, it’s not really an invitation. A week before it happens, he doesn’t show up for your Tuesday unboxing and you have to carry all the new orders inside by yourself. It takes double the time and despite the effort it takes you, it’s the absence of his coy chuckles and snarky commentary that leaves you breathless. When you open the boxes, checking inventory to make sure there had been no issues with your order, you find the book Spencer asked you to get him. It’s one of those special books, so old and unique that you could only get your hands on it because you had contacts in the space. “Huh,” You frown at that– it isn’t like Spencer to forget something. Hell, it isn’t like Spencer to forget anything. Before you can cower away from doing it, you send him a text. You have his number saved in the system, and this feels wrong, it really does. Using his personal information that he gave to you as a client felt wrong. But for a second, it makes you stop biting your nails in anxiety. 

Your book is here. 

It’s Y/N, by the way. 

He doesn’t answer right away and you wallow in your regret for as long as you can. Your shoulders hunch forward as you line up the new arrivals in the shelves. Your frown sits on your forehead all day while you help other passing customers. Your hands brush against the book, all ready and wrapped up and sitting on top of the counter. You hate waiting; you hate waiting for someone or for something to happen as if you’re praying for a miracle. Literature has taught you many lessons in life. It has shown you countless of love stories that could’ve been resolved with a simple conversation. It has told you about people that waited and waited and waited until time passed them away. It has taught you that waiting is simply delaying the inevitable. 

But what literature has not taught you is that, sometimes, waiting truly is all you can do. 

That day, you don’t get a message back. 

You get a call instead. 

“Y/N?” The familiar voice on the other side speaks before you can and your shoulders tense up. Something is wrong. He sounds hoarser than usual, airier, too. 

“Spencer,” You say back, clearing your throat of any remnants or indicators of how nervous you are. “Spencer, are you okay? You sound rough.”

Even his laugh sounds weak and a zap of worry rushes through you. “I’m fine,” He mumbles, and you know he’s saying it out of politeness. “I just got sick. I think I have a cold, it’s nothing much, really.”

The relief that washed over you in crashing waves is almost embarrassing. Even though he is not there to witness it, your face still flushes in a dramatic red. “Oh. I see. Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you–“

“It’s not a bother,” The way his voice interrupts you, so strong and concise, makes you chuckle. “You’re not a bother. I uh, I’m glad to hear my book arrived.”

For a moment, you both stay quiet. You, on your end of the line, are nodding like he can see you. Except he can’t. Except he is waiting, probably, for you to say something. Do something. “I can bring it to you. If you want.”

This time, there is no pause. “Yes. I mean, yes, please. I– I don’t have anything new to read and–” Spencer pauses to cough and you start moving immediately. There is no one in the store and you quickly change the sign to ‘closed’, grabbing his book and your bag before locking the door behind you. There is a pharmacy at the end of the block and you keep your cellphone balanced between your shoulder and ear while your hands make sure you have your wallet with you. “Sorry.”

“No problem at all,” You cross the street in such a hurry that you don’t notice the traffic, getting a symphony of horns calling you out as you run to the other side of the street. “Shit…”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You tease, laughing a little and entering the pharmacy with purpose. “So just a cold, right?”

“Y/N, where are you?”

“Out,” There is no need to be vague, but you don’t want to give him a chance to protest. “I should be at yours in fifteen minutes with the book.”

“Just the book?” He asks in such a suspicious tone that you can’t hold back a laugher. 

“What else?” Thank god for automatic cashiers speeding up this entire process. You are in an out in less than five minutes and before he can even answer, you are almost at his door. Admittedly, you are speed walking, almost running, in a futile attempt to get there sooner. “Which apartment do I buzz?”

“Apartment 23.” And that is the end of the call. 

By the time you make it to his floor, panting just as you hike the last step upwards, he is already waiting for you, and you can’t say you’re terribly bothered to have a man like Spencer Reid waiting for you by the door. “Spencer,” You still admonish, a small smile playing on your lips. “You shouldn’t be out and about like this.” 

“Then who would let you in?” The mischief in his expression, much like that of a child making an innocent joke, makes you giggle, nodding in agreement. “Do you want to come inside? I promise everything is clean, I’m not a slob or anything.”

“Yeah, let me come in so I can give you your stuff.” 

“I knew it wasn’t just the book,” The coughing fit that followed has you rushing your hands, pulling things out of your bag in a desperate attempt to get him the medicine you bought. This had always been your curse, the flustering anxiety of wanting to help but being unable to take your time. Shaky hands push the book towards him, with the medication and some old receipts stuck to it. 

“Oh shit, sorry!” You squeak, grabbing the receipts and shoving it back in your bag. One of these days, you’d have to close the store early to clean this thing. “But uh, yeah, I got you some cold medicine and your book. I’m sure you know this with your big brain and all, but you need to take this before bed, cause it makes you drowsy, and this other one in the morning since it has caffeine! And you should be good in no time… hopefully!”

In life, a pause is not always a bad thing. It’s a time to think. A time to appreciate, to enjoy. It’s a time to be. A pause, however, from the man whose brain worked a thousand miles an hour, doesn’t feel like something to be thankful for. “Is… Do you not like that brand? I didn’t want to get the generic thing, I don’t know why, I–“

“Thank you.”

At first, you barely hear it. For someone whose voice is so rough and hoarse, you’re surprised he can still sound so smooth and airy. Your reaction is obvious; he can see the blush in your cheeks and the way you bite back a smile. “Y/N, thank you, I really appreciate it,” He says it again and now you think he just wants to get a rise of you. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” You shrug, faking humbleness while you keen at his praise. “I wanted to.”

“I know.” 

There is a dance that happens after that, one that you find yourself enjoying quite a bit. Spencer is more present than ever, and you’re getting used to having him around. It’s like you two broke the glass wall the kept you at a safe distance, and now is when you two discover each other a bit better. Like how you find out that, when Spencer’s hand lays on the cashier counter, just an inch or less away from yours, you feel the heath that it emanates. Like how your fingers curl and your palms itch at the sight of his shaggy curls falling on top of his beautiful eyes. Like how his laughter is deep when it’s true and dry when it’s forced. Like how he can read 20,000 words per minute, but he chooses to read 183 instead just so he can read you passages out loud.

You are not sure what he has learned about you, or if he even cares to learn something about you, but the thought still makes you smile. “What’s gotten you so smiley so early in the morning?” 

Ah, yes; another thing you’ve learned about Spencer Reid– he is as quiet as mouse when he wants, and as loud as an elephant when he doesn’t. “My god!” You jump, hand immediately going to your heart to try and keep it from beating our of your chest from the shock. “Spence! You scared me!”

“I’m so sorry,” He laughs, raising his hands in the air, shaking the two cups of coffee he is holding. “I come in peace.”

“And with bribery, I like your style.” 

His style doesn’t change, still haven’t. For ages, you think he buys you coffee at the nearby cafe. You don’t really know the name of the place, some cliche Cafe something something, but the one time you’ve been in there the coffee was terrible and the music too loud. It’s hard picturing your shy, smiley book-lover in there, trying to order something without raising his voice. It’s only when you see the go-to paper cups on his counter, on the fourth or fifth time you come around, that you realise Spencer has never gone to that cafe to begin with. 

The cups are still there. You make a point in spotting them every time you come over– next to the microwave, close to the paper towels. The reminder that this man has, in fact, been making you coffee most mornings validates the fluttery feeling you have whenever you think of it. It makes it somewhat logical. “I must be spending too much time with him,” You mumble to yourself, pushing your sleeves up and getting to work. You are there for a reason, and if those wilting plants die on you, you fear that you might just never be invited back. “Why does he even have plants?” 

You don’t know much about Spencer’s job. He hasn’t told you anything about it except that he travels a lot for it, but you can imagine it is something of importance– a man like Spencer was someone of importance, after all. In your mind, you can imagine him walking into an office down by the Financial District, working with big corporations as an advisor. Yes, you can absolutely see him as some sort of advisor or consultant, but something about him working in finances doesn’t sit right with you– he is yet to talk to you about crypto investments and how to better implement a payment system into the store. Shaking your head, you switch it up. Financial services, aren’t quite right, but maybe an editor, working in a publishing house. With the way he devours books and how well-rounded his personal library was, you could see him as a Publishing Director instead, reading manuscript after manuscript. 

The thought of him reading brings a smile to your face. In his living room, there is an armchair that sits next to the large window on the west wall of his apartment– he says he likes how the sunset hits and makes the pages look warm and golden, turning words into a burning fire of knowledge– and you can practically see him there, blanket over his legs, books and books pilled next to it. It’s your own little secret, how every time you come over, you grab a book, any book, and you sit there for thirty minutes, forty, fifty, an hour; until the sun has completely set and you have to get up to turn the lights on. 

Today, when you sit down, when you bring your knees up, when you drape the blanket over you, something feels incredibly right and incredibly wrong. On the pile of books next to you, right at the top, lays a copy of Gulliver’s Travels. If you remember correctly, which you usually do, last time you sat down at that spot you managed to read up to chapter five before the sun was gone. When you grab the book and you see the bookmark you gave Spencer the second time he visited the store, and you frown– usually, he’d pick up from where you left off. “How long has it been since you last came home, Spencer?” You muttered out loud, grabbing the book regardless. Because even when it breaks your heart to know something has been keeping him away from his precious nook, it fuels your heart to know he leaves your book where you can easily pick it up. To know he doesn’t mind you sitting on his armchair, to know he doesn’t mind you reading his books, to know he doesn’t mind you settling, somehow, in his house. 

A knock on his door, however, breaks you away from your precious moment of rest and relaxation. For a moment, you can’t move, frozen in place light a kid that has been caught doing something wrong. It’s only when they knock again that you move, shuffling to the door to look through the peephole. “Who is it?” You ask, voice weak and shaky. 

“I have a delivery for Spencer Reid.”

How silly you feel in that moment, hand over your heart as you take a deep breath in relief. Unlocking the door, you smile to the USPS guy. “Sorry, he isn’t home right now. I can take it for him.” All you have to do is sign it and close the door, but once you put the package on the counter and your eyes catch sight of a note scribbled on top of the box, all those butterflies inside of you slow down. And find perch. And for a second, make you miss them just like you miss him. 

The first time you think Spencer might have a girlfriend is when he comes into the store with a certain look in his face. He is practically glowing and his eyes don’t leave his phone for a second. “What has you smiling like that?” You two are close enough to ask these kind of things now, making jokes about each other as if you have been friends for ages. “Or uh, who?” Even though you started the conversation, you want to end it now. There is a sour aftertaste in your mouth when you suggest another person to be cause of his happiness, and you know, right there and then, that that is just your jealousy speaking. At this point, you’ve been harbouring a crush on Spencer for the almost two months and there’s only so much a girl can take before exploding. 

“Oh, it’s just a friend.” Somehow, this answer doesn’t settle you as much as you hoped it would. 

The second time is when he brings a woman around. She is blonde, and loud, and colourful, and you eye her carefully. They are matching costumes, and for a second, without even saying, you already feel left out. It’s stupid, being this green over someone so pink. If Spencer was purple, and if you are green, than that woman was pink– she is happy and light and exciting. Next to her, you… well, you are as muted as his green walls. “Y/N!” He calls for you with such a big smile and you just don’t have it in you to pretend to be busy anymore. 

“Hey Spencer,” It comes out quiet and a bit distant, but he doesn’t seem to notice, not with the way he is going back and forth on the ball of his heels. “And hello, ma’am. Welcome, I’m Y/N Y/L/N, the owner. Please let me know if you need any help.”

That day, you two barely talk, but that’s okay, because Penelope, as she introduced herself to you after you help her find a specific book on coding, speaks for both of you. She says that it’s lovely to finally meet you, and mentions how much she has heard about you, and you think this is a very cruel thing to do to your poor, squeezing heart. But you push through. You pretend you’re tired, you apologise for the distance, and you lie about a cough. It’s better if they stay away, you say, but Spencer doesn’t buy it. Instead, he buys Penelope her book and leaves with promises of coming back the next day with your usual coffee. 

After that, you don’t see Spencer for two weeks.

It’s a bittersweet feeling when you get the text that he is back. After almost a week and a half without seeing him, you miss Spencer. He created a space for himself in your life and in your store, and when he is gone, it’s just not the same. But just like how he did, you created a space for yourself in his apartment. Suddenly, the muted green walls aren’t claustrophobic or smothering, but comforting. They are safe. Familiar. They are Spencer. And just like you said, you miss Spencer.

“Y/N!” 

You should be happier to hear his voice, but it’s not the same. The fluttering in your stomach is still there, like a slow buzz trying to come alive, but it’s not the same. Not when the note on the box, flashing like neon signs behind your close lids, has been tormenting you and your poor heart ever since you made the mistake of opening the door. “Y/N? Are you here? The door says open…” At one point or another, you have to come out of hiding and face him. Delaying the moment, though, is the best defence plan you’re able to come up with– if you look into Spencer’s eyes, if you see that pretty smile he has every time he comes back from a work trip… you’re fucked. 

“Y/N, I need you to tell me if you’re here!” It’s not the same. 

His voice. It’s not the same.

Usually mellow and undulating, Spencer sounds stiff, like he’s holding something back. Something new. Something… heavy. There is an edge to him right now, so sharp and cutting that it has you stepping out from behind the Science shelf in pure curiosity. And just like people say, curiosity killed the cat. In this case, however, it almost kills you. 

When you turn the corner to find him by the door, the first thing you see is a man. He is tall and handsome and oddly serious. The way his brows are pulled together make you falter, steps slowing down and mouth opening to ask if he needs help.

That’s when you see it. 

More like you catch a quick glimpse of it, the shinning spark of metal to your side, and you do a double take. You have to do a double take. It’s like your brain doesn’t believe what you’re seeing, and you move your head so fast you feel your neck tensing up in that way that makes your eyes water. “WHAT THE FU– OH MY GOD!” There is no way to throw yourself against a wall graciously, arms over your head and fear written all over face. You land in an awkward angle and your shoulder takes the brunt of the shock, making you gasp in pain while your legs give our under you. 

Of all the ways you’ve imagined Spencer, him holding a gun up to your head was never one of them. “Y/N!”

“Oh my god!” You think you might pass out– you’re breathing too fast and your chest is squeezing, squeezing, squeezing to the point of physical pain. There is a ringing in your ears, muffling the entire conversation between Spencer and the other man and even though you try, you can’t look up; you’re frozen in a state of distress. For the first time since you met him, you’re scared of Spencer Reid. “I– I– Oh my god, I c-can’t– I can’t b-breathe, I can’t–“

“Y/N, look at me! Look at me, you’re okay, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” The moment his hand touches your shoulder, you’re shrinking away. 

“Who are you?!” You manage to gasp enough air into your lungs to scream at him. One shake hand moves to the back of your neck, pressing down on the sore nape as you finally move to look at him, crying and all. “Spencer, who are you? Who is he? What is happening? Why do you have a gun in my bookshop, why–“

“Ma’am, I need you to take deep breaths,” The other man quickly holsters his gun and you actually think you might be going insane when flashes you a badge. “I’m SSA Derek Morgan, I work with Spencer. We are with the FBI.”

Federal Bureau of Investigation. Spencer is a fed. And he never told you. 

“The FBI…?” You whisper, eyes going wide and breath hiccuped in your throat. “S-Spencer, you work for the FBI?” Nothing about this makes sense to you. The gun, forgotten in his left hand and now pointing down and away from you, is all you can look at. The gun that looked heavy and cold. The gun that those hands hold– the same hands you’ve wished and, admittedly, dreamed of holding yours instead. The gun, the gun, the gun.

The gun. You’ve never seen a gun before, not this close. In museums, of course, and in movies and shows, but never in real life. You don’t have interest in it either, having voted, without fail, for anti-gun laws and representatives. Anything and everything about this, about seeing him with that deadly weapon, feels wrong, and you really think you might be sick soon.

“Kid, put it away, you’re freaking her out.” 

Then is when you catch sight of the Spencer you know. It’s the clumsy actions, looking almost freaked out himself– his hands fumble with the holster and it takes him a couple of tries to fit the gun properly. That’s when you know for sure– you are going to be sick. “Trash,” You mumble, trying to get up but falling again and again. “Trash, pass me the–“ But there is no time and you throw up right there and then, between the cashier and the nonfiction section. 

“What just happened?” 

“Morgan, get her some water– there, over the counter,” The rapid successions of words make you feel a bit better, a cadence of tone and rhythm that has your hands finally stabilising. “Y/N, you’re in shock. Adrenaline kicked in and left, and you pressured crashed, which is what made you nauseous. You need water, and to come sit by the counter.”

It’s funny, how in any other circumstance, you’d be ashamed and embarrassed to have gotten ill in front of him. As far as you know, Spencer is a germaphobe and this surely counts as germs. But as he grabs your hands, gentler than you’ve ever seen him grab any book in your store, and brings you to your chair behind the counter, you wonder if he forgot or simply doesn’t care. Both options don’t make sense. “Spence, what is going on?” Your voice comes out winey and rough, and there is no way to hold back the pained wince when you feel the sting spreading through your throat. Sip by sip, you try your best to drink the water and soothe yourself, but nothing seems to help. 

Nothing until you hear him next to you, small and quiet and, dare you say, meek. “I’m sorry.”

As much as you’d like to tell him he has nothing to be sorry for, he does. “I see…”

“It was just… it was new, having someone not know I’m FBI,” His thumbs play with each other and you’ve known him long enough to recognise that Spencer is nervous. “And we started getting closer and I just didn’t find an opportunity to tell you.”

“There were plenty,” You clarify, feeling a bit of a bitch for the bite in your voice making him gulp. “But it’s okay. I’m not… I’m not anything of yours, I guess, so it’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Don’t say that. You’re my friend.” That hurt.

“Do you point a gun at all your friends or am I just special, Spence?” It is supposed to be a joke, but the memory makes your bottom lip start wobbling again and you feel stupid. You feel so, so incredibly stupid right now that you can’t even begin to explain why. “Sorry, I’m just– I’m not okay.”

“I know, and we’re sorry,” There is such raw honesty in his words and he manages to make you smile a little. Your hand is still shaking, but you stretch it out towards him regardless. It’s a conscious decision to hold onto his wrist, covered by his jacket, than to reach out for his palm, and from the way he looks at you, you know he recognises the effort. “But you need to come with us.”

“Why?” You cry out, a single tear coming out of the corner of your eye. At this point, the shock is going away and you’re more overwhelmed than anything else. You’re scared and confused and overwhelmed and it’s his pulse, beating again and again, that brings you back to Earth. “Why do I need to go with you? What is going on?”

“Y/N, when you were housesitting for me, you received a package, right?”

In the midst of everything, the memory of that day, that box, that note, all fade. Frowning, you shrugged. “The delivery man knocked and said he had a package for you… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, I–“

“No, no, no, you didn’t, you didn’t. Please.”

“Ma’am, when you signed for the package, did you use your name?” The man, Morgan, ask, and all you do is nod. Of course you signed with your name. “Kid, we need to take her to the office now.”

“I am not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on!”

Finally, some energy in you. Some strength. Your voice echoes in the empty shop, and the chair tips back when you stand up on stiff legs. Looking at Spencer is hard, when you feel the burning of your rage inside, but you still do; you still meet those pretty brown eyes, you still stare him down until you practically force the answers off of him. “The package… did you see who it was from?” 

“Spencer, are you insinuating you’ve pointed a gun at me because I read a message your girlfriend wrote on the package she sent you?! Because I didn’t mean to– I didn’t! It just… It was there, right at the top and I–“

“She is not my girlfriend,” He immediately cut you off, hands waving in front of him in a visual demonstration of desperate denial. “Not at all! I don’t have a girlfriend! I was–“

“We can deal with this later,” Morgan is quick to interrupt, sighing as he looked at you. “Y/N, we re really sorry to disrupt you like this, but this is for your own protection. Please lock the store and let’s go.”

It takes time for you to gather everything you need. You are not a disorganised person by any means, but suddenly, you can’t remember where you put what. Your bag is thrown under the cashier, and your keys are, for some reason, in the Fiction shelf. Your glasses are in your head the entire time, and Morgan has to point that out to you. The more you look, the more flustered you get, yet somehow, you make it to the car. Morgan is driving and Spencer is on the passenger seat, and the way they keep talking to each other using words that make no sense to you make you want to scream. “Spencer.”

The heaviness of his name, said with such emotion,, lingered in the air. His eyes meet yours through the rearview mirror, and he nods. “Yeah?"

“Spencer,” You whisper again, eyes wide in shock as reality starts to dawn. “Spencer, if she’s not your girlfriend, then who the fuck is Cat Adams?”

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AAAAAhhhhh I'm trying something new >.< I've been a massive criminal minds fan for a long, long time and Dr. Spencer Reid has my heart <3

Please let me know what you think, this is my first Spencer fic and I'd love if it got to turn into a series!