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bumpkinspice0 · 5 months ago

Text

Office Hours

Logan Howlett/ Wolverine x Mutant!FemReader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: A few months into working back at the mansion and Logan still can't keep his hands off you. A/N: This is vaguely tied to my other Logan fic "No One Knows…" but not at all required reading. All you need to really know is reader is a returning X-Man that can control Earth/ rocks and is codenamed Dozer (Short for Bulldozer) Warnings: S M U T, medium plot??? but mostly just porn, established relationship, under desk blowjobs, office sex, light dom/ sub, a single spank possessive Logan (Someone needs to put me down)

AO3 if you prefer to read there

Logan Masterlist

_______

The morning light pours in through the windows of your bedroom. Logan holds you close against him in bed while you, less than enthusiastically, try to squirm out of his grasp.

A few months back into your old life at X-mansion and you can confidently say it was the best decision you’d ever made in a long, long time. All the kids returned to a brand new environmental science teacher and a newly reconstructed mansion that somehow looked almost exactly the same— give or take a few changes to the gardens.

You’d missed this, you missed being part of the X team, whether it was as an X-Man or just a teacher. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you were making a real tangible difference in people's lives.

Yes, you desperately wanted to return to your roots and start over— but he was also a nice perk to all the chaos.

Your relationship with Logan was just as new as your employment in Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. He reeled you in like a fish on a hook. Whatever the two of you had, it was nice. You think it had been a long time since he had something like this too. Someone to care for. Someone to please.

Neither of you could keep your hands off each other.

It was too early for ‘I love you’s’ or to declare something like moving in together, but he already spent most nights in your room as it was. If he didn’t spend the night he’d find you in the early morning just to hear you moan his name. That boy was determined never to let you sleep— not that you’re really complaining.

You’d never had a lover like Logan. Someone so… starved. He craved your touch, rambled on about your scent, and held you on the edge for what felt like hours. It was all new and some parts of it, admittedly, a little weird, but fuck was it exciting.

You’d started a new life for yourself, more or less. Started over, more accurately. And he was there to soften all the blows. You hope you did the same for him.

You can’t believe you thought he ever had ulterior motives about you when you came back. Once you found out you both had more similar pasts than you’d realized, you were sure the only thing he'd want was information from you. How glad you were to be wrong.

Victims of the same cruelty but you were both different. You still had your memories. Your identity. He didn't.

You vowed to help find out who he was, and that seemed to mean more to him than anything— but it was a slow process. Old information and long abandoned facilities. Still, you had each other through all of this and that helped the pain, just a little. Facing your demons together.

Right now, however, Logan was your only tangible demon. He still had you trapped in bed and late for class.

“Just a quickie,” he purrs, nibbling at your ear.

“I have a class to teach in 20 minutes. You should have gotten here earlier,” You muster up any strength you have against him, “And it’s never quick with you.”

“Or you just don’t want it to be quick,” His mouth finds your bare shoulder, already marked with week's worth of love bites from him. You can’t deny the trill of excitement it sends through you.

This fucking man.

You want to. Lord in heaven, you really, really want to. Sometimes this being a responsible mentor thing got in the way.

“Logan…” You push lightly against his chest. It’s not much of a protest, really. None of your weak-willed squirming was.

“Okay… okay,” His grip around your waist finally loosens and you reluctantly get out of bed. He gives your ass a playful spank as you do.

“You’re insatiable, you know that?” You scold him with a smile as you dig through your dresser for anything that was clean.

“Got a good reason to be,” He grins, resting his arms behind his head and stretching out over the bed. You can’t help the blush that creeps into your cheeks. Logan never missed an opportunity to compliment you.

You, a little reluctantly, pull on a pair of jeans and one of his white shirts. Slowly but surely all your laundry was getting intermingled to the point of no return. That and you know he always liked when you wore something of his. You don’t think any of your own tee-shirts were clean anyway.

Yeah, it’s probably time to do laundry.

You top it off with a loose black cardigan to seem somewhat teacherly. You gather your folders with today’s syllabus. You had three classes today. Logan usually had two— if you could you really call PE and survival basics a class. The kids usually just roped him and Kurt into playing flag football with them. It was adorable in its own Logany way.

“I’ll see you out there, Professor Logan,” you give him a peck on the forehead before shimming on your shoes.

“God, don’t ever call me that again.” He chuckles, covering his face with his forearm.

“Would you prefer daddy?”

His hand immediately drops, “Don’t tempt me, darlin’.”

You’re at the door now, giving yourself one last moment to admire the perfect man sprawled out in your bed.

“Don’t sleep in too late,” you open the door.

“See you out there, toots.”

______

There are only a few more warm days left in fall and you refuse to let them go to waste. You always liked holding classes outside anyway. This was Environmental Science after all. As an earthmover, it always felt natural. Feeling the actual ground under your feet made everything easier to teach in a way.

You’re teaching the different types of erosion this week. The class is gathered on the grass on the edge of the pond as you hover different rocks around them. Examples of river-smoothed stones, bed clay, and a few from the Grand Canyon you’d brought in from your personal collection.

You’d never thought of yourself as the best teacher but the kids seemed to at least enjoy the theatricality. You knew dirt. You knew the earth, and that seemed to be enough.

You hear the PE class run out onto the other side of the lawn, Logan dutifully following behind them. You don’t even need to look to feel his eyes on you. You're not sure if you're irritated by the distraction or think it’s a little cute he wants to be near you.

Well, if he’s going to distract you and your class, you might as well distract him. The kids had started a game of frisbee golf, something his full attention didn’t need to be on anyway. Logan always joked he was just a glorified babysitter. You take off your cardigan when you feel a small gust of wind. His head immediately snaps your direction when you do.

He’d told you before he liked the mix of your scents. The more animalistic part of him liked it anyway. He always seemed ashamed of it, despite your insistence you didn’t care. You could never truly understand, sure, but that didn’t change your feelings for him. Besides, you didn’t mind feeding the animal every once in a while.

You’d reached the end of your class period and quickly dismissed your students, reminding them of the homework as they scurried back into the mansion. You remain outside, cleaning up the small mess your lesson had made.

You still feel Logan’s eyes on you. You can’t help the excitement his gaze stirs in you. Logan did something to you no other man had ever done— he made you feel desirable in ways you’d never experienced.

It was an incredible turn-on, to say the least.

You feel your panties slowly start to wetten. You see a shift in his posture in the distance. You smile, bending over to pick up the loose papers you’d left on a nearby bench. You pause there far longer than you needed to— just a small tease but you know it’s something that’ll drive you crazy. He always said he liked you in these jeans the most.

You feel his eyes burning into your back the entire walk to the mansion. You can’t help but smile.

______

You're leaning against the front of your desk, looking over tomorrow's lesson, when you hear his signature booming steps hurrying down the hallway. It’d been an hour since your last class ended. He enters the office, closing the door behind him immediately.

“Professor Logan,” You greet him teasingly, leaning back against the desk.

He says nothing as he stalks towards you with heavy steps, crashing his mouth into yours. You pull him in as he inserts his body between your legs. His mouth is hungry against yours— desperate even. His lips trail down to your jaw.

“You think you’re cute, huh? Prancing around in my clothes, showing off your ass, gettin’—”

“I’m very cute,” you giggle as he nips at you.

He growls, pulling you up to lead you back to the desk chair. He liked it when you sat on his lap. It was both of your lunch breaks. You’d always spend them together, though usually not in your shared office.

Charles required everyone to have office hours, even Logan. He fought it every step of the way until he finally relented to just sharing yours. He was almost never here. He didn’t have a reason to be— well unless you were there. His desk sits across from yours just as bare as the day it was put in. Yours, on the other hand, was quickly cluttering as the school year went on.

“Still worked up from this morning,” Logan admits as he nips at your lip, “Need you, sweet thing.”

Absolutely insatiable.

“Poor boy,” You tease, your hands slowly trailing down to his obnoxious belt buckle. “I’ll take care of you.”

You always liked to tease him more than you’d care to admit. He’d get so worked up over the smallest things. You were always happy to indulge him… every fucking time.

You sink down to your knees, pulling his jeans with you. His cock bulges out against his boxers, already hard and waiting. You palm at him, giving him a rough squeeze through the fabric. He hums in approval. God, he always felt so good.

There’s almost a sigh of relief when you pull him free. You give him a few rough strokes before your tongue follows, trailing up from his base and swirling around his tip, pre cum already leaking free. His rough hands grip your hair as you lavish his cock with your tongue.

You pause at the tip, placing a single feather light kiss before taking him completely into your mouth. He chokes out a strangled moan, doing his best to stay quiet. Luckily, the walls of the mansion were thick.

The grip in your hair tightens as you find a rhythm.

“T-that's it,” his voice is shaky, dripping with pleasure, “Just like that. Good girl.”

He always praised you. Whether giving or receiving, he always made sure you felt seen.

A part of this excited you so much. It was scandalous, having him splayed out like this at your work desk, doing your best to suppress the moans that brew in your throat from the thrill of it all. You loved making him fall apart. This was just as much for him as it was for you. You were both having fun. Both acting like giddy, horny, little teenagers.

His grip in your hair shifts, and you feel him tense under you. He can’t be close already? Before you have time to ask what’s going on you’re being shoved underneath your own desk. You want to scream what the absolute fuck?! before you hear the office door being clicked open.

“Logan?” It's Scott’s voice.

“What?” Logan bites out, leaning over the front of the desk to conceale you completely. Thank god Charles always insisted on these massive solid oak desks.

“I’m just— You’re sitting at Dozer’s desk,” Scott stammers out.

“Had something I needed,” he quickly lied.

You’re cramped into a wooden box basically, one of the walls being made out of thick muscled legs with a heavy cock still hanging between them. You were playing a game with Logan, might as well make it more interesting.

“Have you seen her?” Scott asks, “I needed—”

“No.” Logan only grits out, “She’s probably down in the—”

He cuts himself off the moment your hand grasps his cock again. You can’t help but smile when you run your tongue back up the velvet length. He can’t move his arms because that would expose you. He can’t move his legs because there’s not enough room with you between them. He’s stuck here while you torture him in the sweetest way possible. You don’t miss the way his cock jumps when you take him back into your mouth.

“She’s where Logan?” Scott, blissfully unaware, prompts him.

“I don’t— I don’t fucking know,” You swear you can almost feel him shaking with the effort to keep his voice steady, “Why don’t you go fucking look for her then, huh?”

There isn’t as much room to move your head as you’d like, so you let your tongue and hands do most of the work.

“Well, can I just get on her computer?” You hear Scott take a step closer. Oh no, “I just need a—”

“Piss off, Summers!” He practically growls it out. “You need her then go fucking find her.”

You hear Scott scoff as he takes a step back. To be fair, this was completely in character for the two of them. It was doubtful Scott suspected anything. You reach up and give Logan’s balls a gentle fondle while you worship his tip with your tongue as silently as you can.

Finally, you hear Scott retreat to the hallway.

“I don’t know why she’s with you, Logan. I really don’t.” He spits before slamming the door behind him.

Logan doesn’t waste a second once the door is closed again, pushing the chair back and grabbing your face roughly. His cock falls from your mouth with a wanton gasp. You must look like a mess but can’t bring yourself to care.

He just holds you there for a moment, your mouth just inches away from his cock. His eyes have glossed over with lust. He loved this, you know he fucking loved this because you did too.

“You’re trouble,” he says, pulling you both to standing, “You’re so much fucking trouble.”

He turns you around and bends you over the desk immediately, a few pencil cups shaking with the force. He yanks down your jeans a little rougher than you’d like but you still kick them off the rest of the way. Your underwear still remained in place. He kicks your legs wider and trails a hand up your back, pressing his palm down between your shoulders. His other hand drips between your legs, a finger rubbing over your clothed pussy.

“Fucking soaked through already?” he purrs. “You get wet sucking my cock, baby?”

“Yes.” It practically comes out as a plea. Well, it’s only fair he’s toying with you now. Your legs are almost shaking in anticipation.

You squirm as he starts to rub the damp fabric directly over your clit. His hand on your back presses you down harder, pinning you in place. He’s doing what you did to him— in his own way. Trapped at his mercy.

He pushes your underwear to the side, two fingers running through your slick folds a few times before delving in. You bite your lip to suppress a moan, barely successful in silencing yourself. He curls his fingers, back and forth as he works his hand up and down. Anyone could walk in that door at any moment. Logan would stop if he heard anyone coming again—right?

“You know what you do to me?” His voice is ragged, almost pained, “Fuck, do you have any idea?”

His pace is speeding up and your restraint is slipping, but there’s nothing you can do to get out of this. And, fuck you don’t want him to stop either. You’re completely his right now.

You finally let out a wail when rips his hand out of your cunt and slaps it across your ass. His touch stays there, gripping the stinging skin, sharp pain quickly melting to the pleasure that was racking your whole body. He takes his other hand off your back. You don’t move, your stomach stirring in anticipation.

It feels better than it should when his hard, massive cock runs over your soaked pussy. He’d dialed up all of your nerves to eleven. You involuntarily ach back into him like a fucking bitch in heat.

“Oh Christ, why are you with me…” he lines himself up, “That’s what Summers said, right? He doesn’t know why you’re with me?”

“Logan—” You attempt to speak up before the air in your lungs vanishes when he thrusts inside of you in one jarring motion. He stays there a good moment, grinding his hips into your ass, gathering himself. God, he was so fucking deep. He draws out and slams back in again. You hear the desk creaking in protest this time, several items falling off.

He leans over you, hot tongue trailing up your spine before nuzzling his face in next to your ear.

“I know why,” He starts to roll his hips against yours. His imposing body and magic dick were taking over every sense you had. God, you wish you could scream. “It’s because you know no one else can fuck you like I can. Can take care of you like I can.”

He nips at your ear as he finds a pace, tiny low grunts escaping in rhythm with his hips. This was just as much about dominating you as it was about being as close to you as humanly possible. Mixing your scents and desires together until the line is blurred between the two. Yes, Logan fucked you unlike anyone else had, and your certain better than anyone else ever could, but he also loved you harder than you ever knew possible.

Loyal to a fault. It’s instincts, he always said. You always hated when he compared himself to an animal, but in a lot of ways it's just part of who he was. He seemed past trying to deny it and embrace it in his own way. Let the beast free, so to speak.

“Tell me,” He growls into your ear, “Tell me who makes you feel this good.”

You struggled to form the single-word answer, but it eventually came out, whined and shaky.

“Y-y-you,” you swear you’re drooling, “O-only you, b-baby. O-only—” You trail off, likely losing all brain function to the intoxicating filth of it all.

“That’s right. T-that’s right,” he chants a few times like he’s fucking praising himself for it, “Only me. You’re all mine. I’m all yours.”

You’re not sure if it’s a gasp of surprise or pain that escapes you when he lifts you both. He holds you against him, still fucking you while you’re both standing. You’re forced to stand on your tiptoes, your hands grasping onto the forearm around your chest for any sense of balance. You weighed nothing to him. He’s still fucking you senseless. He’s holding you both up and still fucking you senseless.

You swear you go blind when his other hand snakes down to your clit.

“Shoulda stayed in bed this morning,” His stubble rubs against your cheek, “Wouldn’t have to fuck you like this if we— shit— if we had time this morning.”

“L–Logan, I–I—” You start to warn him but can’t manage to get it all out. Nevertheless, you’re sure he knows. He always knows when you’re close. You feel it, the mounting pressure at your core. Sweet, precious relief.

“I know, baby. I know.”

It hits you like a train, hard and almost completely by surprise. The hand around your chest immediately comes up to clamp around your mouth. You scream against his palm while he keeps fucking you through your orgasm, practically using you like a goddamn sex toy at this point.

He mutters out a string of curses while he attempts to maintain his equilibrium— and eventually fails. He collapses back into the chair behind him, dragging you with him. He almost slips out. Almost. He holds you close against his chest, hips completely still against your ass as he pulses rope after rope into you.

“Good girl, good girl,” you hear him muttering into your neck like a prayer.

Your haggard moans into his hand eventually fade into one long heavy sigh, finally allowing yourself to relax against him. You feel his body unwind as well, his previously firm hand over your mouth coming to stroke your cheek. His lips lull around your neck, placing sloppy kiss after sloppy kiss wherever he could reach. He was always so gentle after sex. Those hands that were so rough just a moment ago gently glide over your skin. You always find comfort in their heft.

“Do you think anyone heard us?” you finally ask, leaning your head back against his.

“Fuck ‘em if they did,” he nuzzles himself right under your jaw. Close— he always had to be so close.

“Charles is gonna fire us if he ever finds out,” you bring your hands up to your face, rubbing into your eyes just a little too hard.

“You can’t fire an X-Man.”

“Teachers, Logan, we’re teachers.” Ah good, the mortification was settling in just in time to ruin the moment. Fabulous.

“Stop it,” you swear you can hear the smile in his voice.

“He’s gonna read our minds and see what absolute animals we are and he’s gonna fire us.” The irony that you're saying this out loud while Logan is still fully inside you in your shared office is not lost on you. You feel his chest bouncing against your back, chuckling lightly at your dismay of your surely oncoming termination. You can’t help but laugh along with him, just a little.

You eventually untangle your bodies and fish your pants off the floor. Maybe you had time for a shower before your next class. Christ, you need one. Logan wasn’t the only mutant with advanced senses in the school and the last thing you need is teenagers starting a rumor mill about two teachers fucking in their office. Still, when you look back at Logan you know you’d do it all over again regardless.

Whatever this was with him, whatever you’d started, you know you can’t stop it. The thought should terrify you, but for once you’re not afraid.

You reach out and grab his hand, “Wanna grab lunch?”

“Thought you’d never ask, darlin’.”

#logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett #wolverine #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine smut #Logan smut #x men #wolverine x f!reader

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starkeymeow · 1 month ago

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rafe with siblingpack!pogue!reader . . .

he would hear you say “my brother” a lot.

you’d toss it into conversations like it meant nothing, like “my brother borrowed my charger again” or “my brother said that movie was mid.”

but it was always a different brother. rafe started noticing that.

one night, while driving back from a late-night gas station run, he finally asked, “how many siblings do you actually have?”

you shrugged like it was no big deal. “six. well, technically seven, including me.” and he almost drove off the road.

he didn’t say anything right away. he just filed it away.

six siblings. six people who share your childhood, your last name, your house. six people who have stories he doesn’t know. six chances to screw this up.

later, he joked about it. said stuff like, “you hiding me from your family?”

and you told him straight-faced, “no. i’m hiding them from you.” and he laughed, but deep down he knew you’re not totally kidding.

it wasn’t that he didn’t want to meet them. it’s just, he didn’t want to lose before he even got the chance to prove himself.

the first time he dropped you off at your house, he saw the shadows through the window.

someone was pacing the hallway. someone else was on the porch barefoot, eating cereal out of a mixing bowl. the porch light flickered. music was playing. someone was shouting from upstairs.

you leaned against his truck door, thumb tracing a chip in the paint, and said, “you don’t have to come in.”

and he knew what you mean. not just tonight. but in general.

you don’t have to see all this. you don’t have to see the unfiltered version of me. but he wanted to. it’s just, he wanted to deserve it first.

you thought about bringing him home, yeah. more than once. usually late at night, when he’s driving with one hand on the wheel and the other on the back of your neck like it's instinct. when the roads are empty and he’s looking at you like he’s still trying to figure you out.

he’ll ask little things: what your house is like, why you never bring anyone around, and you always dodge it, joke your way through.

truth is, you didn’t think he’d want to see it.

even if he asked.

but then today happens. you were supposed to run to the gas station and grab milk. you were hungry. he was already with you. cole had texted some passive-aggressive version of ‘get here before someone eats the rest of the pasta’ and the sun was already going down.

so you said, screw it.

and now, here you are.

you don't even need to knock. the door's unlocked, like always. probably wide open all day. you walk in first, and rafe follows, just a step behind, slow, cautious in the way you never really see from him. like he’s entering a space he shouldn’t be allowed in.

the house smells like cheap candles, burnt toast, and whatever jude poured down the sink last night. the tv’s on so loud the floor vibrates. somewhere in the distance, a door slams and someone yells ‘get the hell out of my room’ in a voice you can’t place yet. might be cole, might be a feral animal.

rafe pauses just past the threshold.

“this a bad idea?” he murmurs, voice quiet but right in your ear.

you glance at him, try not to wince. “kind of.”

he huffs a small laugh, but doesn’t press.

you kick your shoes off automatically, sidestepping a pair of muddy cleats that definitely weren’t there this morning. a small blur zips past your legs, barefoot, wearing a black hoodie and something strapped to his head with duct tape. he’s muttering something about ‘operational recon’ as he disappears around the corner.

“rowan’s in mission mode again,” you mutter.

“jesus,” rafe says under his breath, eyebrows raised. “how many are here again?”

you just wave him in further. the living room is barely holding itself together. a pile of laundry sits half-folded on the armchair, and someone’s hoodie is draped over the ceiling fan cord like a noose. jude is sprawled on the floor like a corpse, watching the tv upside down, arms flung wide, one sock on. next to him, kit’s curled into the couch, hoodie zipped all the way up, knees tucked under her chin.

neither of them looks up.

you clear your throat as you step over an open bag of chips someone clearly gave up on.

“kit. jude. maybe try pretending we have manners.”

kit looks up first. her eyes land on rafe and immediately narrow like she’s scanning him for weak points. she’s got that look she always gets when you bring someone new around. mostly bored, mildly suspicious, like this is all taking time away from her personal agenda of doing nothing.

“you brought someone?” she says, raising a brow. “thought you were still in your antisocial era.”

“she is,” jude mutters, not taking his eyes off the screen. “she just wants someone to suffer with her.”

“true love,” kit says flatly. “so romantic.”

rafe glances between the two of them, then back at you. you catch the faint twitch of a smirk, but he doesn’t say anything yet.

“kit, jude,” you start, tilting your head toward him, “this is rafe.”

“cameron?” jude pipes up, finally looking over. “like . . . that cameron?”

“no,” you say. “a different one with the same face, voice, and trust fund.”

rafe gives him a polite nod. “hey.”

kit stares for another beat before her mouth lifts slightly. “ballsy move, bringing tannyhill into this dump.”

“it’s not that bad,” you argue, but even as you say it, a dog barks in the distance and something clatters in the kitchen.

jude shrugs. “i give him ten minutes before he bails.”

“you want a timer?” rafe asks, tone dry.

“ohhh,” jude grins. “he’s got jokes.”

before you can even roll your eyes, another crash comes from the kitchen, followed by the unmistakable voice of cole yelling “i said don’t fucking touch that!” and nadia snapping something right back, sharper, quieter, way more terrifying.

you walk toward the noise and gesture for rafe to follow. he does, weaving past the wreckage of backpacks and tangled shoes by the hall.

in the kitchen, cole’s leaned against the counter in a faded white tee, sipping a beer like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the ground. nadia’s across from him, arms crossed tight, face set like stone. there’s a pot boiling on the stove and something singed on the burner beside it.

cole eyes rafe as soon as you walk in. no hello. no smile. just a squint.

“we picking up strays now?”

“do not,” you warn, pointing a finger. “do not start.”

rafe just lifts a hand. “not a stray. came voluntarily.”

“worse,” cole mutters. “means you’re either stupid or into her.”

“definitely stupid,” nadia adds, dryly, without turning around.

you rub a hand over your face. “rafe, meet cole and nadia. the kitchen trolls.”

“i’m not a troll,” cole says. “i’m the cook.”

nadia turns to rafe with a sigh and a faint smile. “sorry in advance. he’s only here because he ran out of beer at his place.”

“false,” cole says, gesturing with the bottle. “i brought this.”

“that’s expired,” she fires back.

“so’s my patience.”

“anyway,” you cut in before they start again. “we’re just here for a second.”

“sure,” nadia says, though her eyes flick back to rafe. not judgmental. just reading him.

then rowan reappears, making a dramatic dive-roll across the linoleum, blanket cape flapping. he skids into the cabinets, hops up, and shouts, “agent deployed!” before vanishing again.

rafe blinks.

“what the hell?”

“that’s rowan,” you sigh. “he thinks he’s in a war movie.”

“he’s eight,” cole adds helpfully. “don’t feed him. don’t look him in the eye. he’s fine.”

you glance at rafe again, just to check. he doesn’t look freaked out. he looks . . . kind of amused, actually. like he’s genuinely curious about how this turned into your life.

you lean a little closer.

“still wanna be here?”

he shrugs, small smile playing at his lips.

“figured it’d be worse.”

“worse?” you echo.

“yeah,” he says. “like, knives flying. yelling. exorcisms. this is just . . . messy.”

you snort. “give it time.”

but when you look back at him, standing in the middle of the chaos, arms relaxed, not checking the door, you think maybe he can handle it after all. maybe he already is.

a/n: me when i rewatch shameless LOL but yea this wont be a series but maybe ill write headcanons or blurbs here n there with rafe & reader who just has a bunch of siblings in the cut. also yes ik i said 6 siblings and only introduced 5, the 6th is away from home rn !! we’ll get to her another time idk, lmk if u want a brief rundown on ur new fictional siblings maybe

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @adribarbie @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms

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freshxsturniolo · 11 months ago

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shes the one - chris sturniolo x fem!reader

chris was in awe. complete awe.

and he was completely and utterly in love with you.

he told you, every single day. he wasn’t afraid to tell you either. if you were alone together, if you were in the company of others, if you were not even there he would text you.

but right now, back at his childhood home in boston, he couldn’t believe his eyes. he couldnt believe he had found someone like you. the way you sat on the sofa with his dad, feet up and tucked under your legs, drinking a beer with him as his dad chatted away to you about everything and anything.

the way you would ask his mom if there was anything she needed help with when she was cooking or washing up. the way you jumped out of your seat when mary-lou announced she needed to run to the grocery store and you wanted to go for a ride with her.

you had met his family many times before, but there was something about this specific visit that felt so different.

he’s watching you now, finishing up drying your hands after you demanded mary-lou go sit with jimmy after cooking you all food and you said you’d wash the dishes.

“get the boys to help” mary lou had said once you had argued back and fourth about who would wash them, and you simply laughed, telling her to go and sit with jimmy AND the boys and to enjoy some time together.

but chris couldn’t handle it when his mom walked into the sitting area and she said, “that girl of yours, don’t be a fool and lose her.”

he had smiled and laughed, but he got up off his feet to come and see you and his heart swell at the sight of you washing up. you had given him a smile as you saw him enter, and a quick kiss as he walked by you before he started taking the dishes off the drying rack and washing them with a towel. you had shook your head with a laugh and continued on in silence, just grateful for his presence.

“i could have done this myself” you said now, drying off your hands. chris takes the towel from you and throws it into the laundry basket not too far away.

“i haven’t seen you all day” he says, and you roll your eyes as you lean yourself back against the counter, arms outstretched at the side of you.

“so dramatic, christopher owen.” you say with a smirk, and he can’t help but smile with you as he comes close to you, hands on your hips as he presses his hips against yours.

“if you’re not with my mom, you’re with my dad” he says, and you laugh as you bring your arms around his neck.

“i’m lucky enough to live with you back in la, im sorry that i want to spend time with your parents”

chris smiles. “never apologise. they love you”

now you smile. “good, i love them too”

he closes the small gap between you now as he lips reach yours in a soft but gentle touch. you can feel the shift in energy. you yourself knew that this trip felt slightly different. jimmy and mary-lou had always been so lovely to you, and they never had ever given you a reason to fear they didn't like you, but something about this trip felt different. your conversations with them felt easier than ever, you looked forward to sitting with jimmy on the sofa or running to the store with mary-lou. it had also felt different with his brothers too. you had lived with the triplets for the last 6 months, matt and nick where your best friends, but you felt the difference with them too. the way you and nick would just lay in his bed in a morning chatting, or you'd sit on his bedroom floor whilst you got ready for the day to listen to your shared playlist together but you knew chris wouldn't like it. or the way matt would pull you away from whatever you were doing to go get iced coffees. it was lovely, and comforting, and when you pulled away from chris right now you saw in his eyes too that something had shifted.

you're about to say something when jimmy enters the room.

"hey kids," he says. not an ounce of change or show of being bothered that his son was wrapped around the arms of his girlfriend in the middle of his kitchen.

"hey, dad" chris says, but he doesn't move away from you. your heart swells. chris was not afraid of public affection but you know full well the last trip here, he'd have pulled away from you now. would have probably given your waist a small squeeze and given you a small smirk but you'd have each pulled away. chris stayed put. his eyes hadn't left yours.

"i hope you helped with those dishes" jimmy says, walking over the fridge and pulling out a soda can. you peer over your boyfriends shoulder to look at him.

"he did" you smile, and jimmy laughs, but he's cut off by mary-lou.

"y/n, i feel so awful. is there anything left to wash?"

you look to your side as chris' mum comes walking over the both of you, looking into the empty sink and drying rack. she smiles as she places a hand on your arm, an arm thats still wrapped around her sons neck, and she gives it a small squeeze.

"thank you" she says, and you nod.

"of course!" you exclaim, and its you who's the first to unwrap yourself from chris. once mary-lou lets go of your arm, you slowly unwrap yourself from chris' neck, and when you look back at him, he lets out a small groan.

"chris" you laugh, running your hands down his arms just slightly and he eventually lets go. "im going to change into some comfies."

chris smiles at you. "okay."

you smile as you step to the side of him, squeezing slightly past mary-lou as she goes to grab a cup from the cupboard not too far from you, and you exit the kitchen and off to chris' childhood bedroom.

when you're gone, chris sighs and leans back against the counter you just removed yourself from, folding his arms across his chest before finally diverting his eyes to his parents. his mom is busy making herself a drink but when he diverts his eyes to his dad, he's leant against the island in the middle of the kitchen and he's staring at his son deeply. he gives him a smile, and chris smiles too before walking over. chris grabs himself and you a pepsi from the fridge, before joining his dad in the exact same position. chris knows once you're in your comfier clothes you'll come back into the kitchen for a drink, so he wants to wait for you. jimmy looks down at the two pepsi cans, and the thoughts that were just running through his mind as he was watching the two of you surfaced up to his lips. he can't help himself.

"you really love her, dont you?"

chris scoffs slightly, not a conversation he imaged to be having with his dad, but also never feeling so strongly about anything in his life. he looks up at his dad and a smile comes over him.

"yeah. so much."

jimmy shoves his shoulder with his son, a feeling in his chest. the first of his sons to find someone. the first son to bring a girl (or boy for nick ofc) home, properly. chris laughs as he takes a sip from his pepsi can.

"we can tell" jimmy says now, before he looks up to find his wife has joined them. mary-lou looks towards chris with a smile on her face.

"something feels different this visit. she feels like part of the family. properly." his mom says, and chris can feel himself wanting to open up. he swallows his own salvia that has built up in his mouth before looking between his mom and dad. but when his eyes reaches his dad, he knows he knows already. he gives him a nod and chris can't help but laugh.

"shes the one, dad. i know it."

chris doesn't need to look at his mom to know she's smiling from ear to ear, but his dad nodded in understand, a smile playing on his lips and hes leans into his sons shoulder, before ruffling up his hair.

"i know, kid. i know."

theres a nice silence then, gentle and comforting before the sound of your scream is heard. all 3 of them stand directly up before your laughter is heard.

"nick!" the 3 hear you scream, before laughter erupts from matt and nick. chris looks at his mom and dad with a confused expression as you and his 2 brothers can be heard laughing throughout the house, before you all enter the kitchen to join them. mary-lou and jimmy erupting into laughter as they see nick carrying you over his shoulder. you're clinging onto his waist for dear life as he walks you over to chris, putting you back down directly at his side.

you're changing into your favourite tracksuit bottoms and from the waft of chris' aftershave that enters his nose, he knows you're wearing one of his fresh love hoodies and not your own, and as you whip your head around and fix at your hair he sees your cheeks are flushed. you let out a deep breath of air before turning to mary-lou.

"you deserve a medal for putting up with these boys for 20 years." you laugh.

"we want ice cream" nick says now, coming behind you and putting his hands on your shoulders, giving them a shake. you dramatically roll your eyes before matt leans forward and swipes at the unopened pepsi can chris had got out for you.

"hey" chris says, taking it back. "thats for y/n."

matt looks at you directly in the eye before opening the can and taking a deep sip. you gasp, pretending to be offended before matt rolls his eyes and moves towards the fridge, getting you out a fresh can and placing it in front of you.

"thank you, bernard." you say, and matt groans.

"your girlfriend is insufferable." matt says, before grabbing his car keys from his pocket. "ice cream?" he says, before walking off and heading towards the front door.

nick finally lets go of your shoulders and walks off to follow matt, and jimmy and mary-lou laugh as they walk off back into the direction of the living area. when you finally turn around and face chris, he looks at you softly.

"you okay?" you say.

he smiles. "never better."

you stand on your tip toes to give him a kiss, which he accepts, before you grab his hand, your free hand grabbing the pepsi from a moment ago, and drag him out of the kitchen. he laughs at your eagerness, his mind going over the comfortableness you clearly felt around all his family. nick carrying you on your shoulder, matt jokingly stealing your drink, and he's about to tell you he loves you when you dead stop at the sitting area door. jimmy and mary-lou look up at you both, and a smile illuminates your face.

"do you two want some ice cream bringing back?" you say with a smile.

"no thanks, honey. thank you so much for asking" mary-lou smiles.

"are you sure?" you say.

"absolutely. go enjoy yourselves."

all whilst the small interaction, jimmy is watching his son stare down at you dotingly. when you carry on walking and drag chris with you, his son catches his eye just slightly, and jimmy gives him a nod of understanding.

when you reach outside, matt and nick are already in the car, but you dont get chance to get to them before chris stops dead, pulling your arm back. you spin around quickly, looking to see whats wrong.

"what's up?" you say, but chris pulls you in even closer and plants a kiss on your lips. you're shocked, but it doesnt take you long before you melt into him. when you pull away, you look up at him with a smile.

"what was that for?"

chris smiles. "i love you, thats all."

"i love you too, silly."

"no," chris shakes his head. "i really really love you."

you smile. "you are everything to me, chris. my everything."

"that feeling is mutual."

"will you two hurry up?" matt shouts from his car, and you giggle as you turn around and hurry over to the car.

chris watches you with a smile, wondering how he got so lucky.

#chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo

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almostfoxglove · 5 months ago

Text

ONE NIGHT EARLY

a secret santa surprise for @talaok ! ✨ as part of @pedrostories' #pedrostoriesgift24 event ✨

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Joel Miller x f!Reader WORD COUNT: 2.2k | CW: Established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff, brief reference to canon-typical violence / danger / the end of the world, but you're safe.

SUMMARY: You vow to find out where Joel hides his Christmas gifts while he's away on patrol.

read on ao3 | main masterlist | get notifs

It has to be here somewhere.

In the three years since you moved in with Joel—hell, even in the two years before that—you have never found your Christmas present before the day. The man’s determined, sworn to his secrecy. Takes great pride in catching you snooping around, digging, scurryin’, as he once muttered under his breath, shaking his head with that charm and smirk you can’t help but fall for. Every year, you swear you’ll find it, and Joel just crosses his arms with a shrug, cheek dimpled and eyes dark with affection, and tells you good luck, darlin’, confident you won’t.

This year, though. This year will be different because for the whole week leading up to Christmas, Joel is away with Tommy on patrol and you have the house to yourself. Seven days of freedom to pry and stick your nose where it probably doesn’t belong.

It takes you two days to tear the house apart. Every dish yanked from his cupboard, every shirt and worn pair of jeans thrown from the closet, every pocket turned out—you flip the mattress and unbundle his socks and rip the covers off all the couch cushions and find fuck all. One old, oxidized penny. Dust bunnies, dryer lint, wood shavings. Spent matches, a bullet case. A fossilized receipt robbed of its printed contents.

You spend two more going through everything again. The place is a dump; when Ellie swings by to borrow his guitar she lifts one eyebrow at you from the doorway, weary of the tornado you’ve left scattered across the first floor. Says, “Good to know four days is all it takes for you to lose your shit.”

“I’m not losing my shit,” you say, one hand waving dismissively as you climb the stairs.

Quick on your heels she mutters, “Whatever you say, grandma,” just loud enough for you to hear.

When she’s gone, you take a deep breath. The living room is a slaughter, more disastrous than the aftermath of any raiders or weather event. Couch cushions stand mountainous and stripped naked, the carpet’s rolled up against one wall, all the charcoal and half-spent logs have been scraped from the fireplace onto the floor. You’ll admit that might not have been strictly necessary, but you’ve looked everywhere, checked everything, and uncovered zilch. No gifts. And at the very least, Joel has—with his handsome, freckled, silvered face proud and smiling—conceded that his hiding spot is in the house. Doesn’t stash nothing at Tommy’s or in Ellie’s garage. It’s here. Somewhere. Driving you up the goddamn wall.

It’s not like you even know what you’re looking for, but you’ll know when you see it—of this you are sure.

Room by room, you reassemble the house, shuffling all the knick-knacks you’ve each cautiously assembled in this bizarre second chance at a life into their proper positions. His carvings are your favorites, and you rehome them on their shelves with care. You slide the few photographs each of you has into line on the mantle, behind the string lights. It ain’t the same as the world that for nearly thirty years has been dead and gone, but now and then you get flickers of that long-absent comfort. The day the Christmas lights go up in Jackson. The snowmen built by your neighbor’s kids in the street. Jars of homemade strawberry jam.

Ellie and Joel playing guitar, his deep timbre humming along to her clumsy chords.

The tight squeeze of your chest when his boots croak the porch and you know he’s finally home.

The softness of his face first thing in the morning, scarred and weathered, kind. All the long tresses of his graying hair slumped out of place.

As you restore the house’s comfort and clutter over the shrinking days of his absence, you recheck and recheck and recheck and continue to come up empty. At night in the black veil of your shared bedroom, you sleep on his side of the bed with your face crushed in his pillow, breathing him in.

On the 24th, you wake prepared to wave the white flag when he returns in the evening. You’re going to pout about it, but you’ll give in. Surrender to the superiority of his stupid, squirrelling mind, and admit once and for all that he’s bested you. You have no fucking clue where he hides his gifts. He wins. But you sulk as the day bleeds by, and more than once catch yourself affixed with a frown as you trudge through the crunch of Jackson’s snow-packed streets. As you groom the horses due for the next patrol shift and eat your dinner in the mess hall across from folks you’re only half listening to as they regale you with tales of their day, too distracted by the scrape of spoons against bowls and the emptiness of your hands.

Greedy, that’s what you’re being. Wanting all of him for yourself. You just miss him. You hate when patrol stretches this long, leaving you alone with your cloying worry.

After the sun has set and bowls have emptied, Jackson goes blue. All the snow piled to frame the gravel roads glitters with fresh frost and ice. On your way back to the house, you watch your shadow slide and flicker as you pass beneath the warmth of streetlamps. Someone down the road has a window open, letting the notes of their piano ribbon through the air.

Even with all the lights and the chatter that tonight could bring fresh snow to the valley, you can’t help but feel a hollowness that you’ve only managed to shake when Joel’s around and the two of you are alone. It’s not all the time, but it happens—a magic you’d believed impossible before you stumbled across this Eden half-dead and were brought inside. Impossible until you met him, and everything latched into place.

You’ve loved before. Almost got married once, in the world that’s gone. But there’s no comparing how it felt to fall slowly, clumsily into Joel.

You’re not sure when he’s due to return tonight. Hopefully soon.

Shedding layers as you tread into the hollow house, you light a weakling’s fire in the hearth you know he’ll tease you for, then ascend to your bedroom to change, flicking the light on upstairs so he knows, whenever he gets back, that you’re home. Waiting for him, empty-handed but no less relieved. But as you cross the gold-lit bedroom, a floorboard near the foot of the bed wheezes strangely. This whole house croaks and groans just like everything in Jackson—that sure ain’t new—but this sound is different. You’re not sure you’ve heard it before. Not sure you’ve ever stepped in this exact place.

A grin slips sharp across your face at the smell of victory. You kick back the corner of the rug to bring your heel down hard against the board beneath it, and pop. Up comes the plank, perfect as a seesaw, revealing the black cavern beneath.

In the shadowed hideaway, a small box lies in the dark beneath the floor.

There it is.

But all the world beyond this room, this box, disappears the moment you set it in your palm.

You don’t hear the porch steps’ announcement, nor the turn of the latch. You don’t hear the squealing door or how the heavy footsteps soften as he removes his boots to leave outside. Not even your name, often intoxicating on his tongue, reaches you in the bedroom—nor when he repeats it on the stairs.

You’re too busy staring at what you’ve found after all you’re searching.

Then Joel’s in the doorway behind you, and you wake from what you’ve just now begun to believe must be some strange dream.

“Stubborn,” comes his voice, and at the sound you smack the box against your chest to hide it as you whirl around, still on your knees. Stupid you know. Useless. He can see the rug peeled back and the hole cut out of the floor, slender as a piano key. He knows you’ve won.

Broad in the door’s wooden frame, pink-cheeked and snug in his leather coat, Joel stands with the frosting of fresh snow clinging to his hair. He’s been growing it out, to your great pleasure, letting all his silver and curls go free. “I didn’t—” you start to say, but the words thin out and crumble. Your head’s not on quite straight, your heart not yet settled. Eyes still nickel round with shock.

You hadn’t considered how he might react if you succeeded. Maybe he’ll be mad. Take it back.

But as you stare up at him, all bambi, Joel shakes his head and one snow-dotted curl slips out from the shell of his ear. As he rights it, his scarred hand rising, you see the dirt under his nails in the warm light. The stain on the knee of his jeans. You see too his lips, plush and touched by winter’s aridity, as they twitch in one corner, curling into his cheek. Curling up. Smiling as his eyes hold yours, not mad. Not shy. He’s been inside long enough now that there’s a fifty-fifty chance that the color in his cheeks might even be a blush.

“Are you mad?” you ask, your voice soft enough to call a whisper.

He shakes his head again, steps over the threshold, and amber light from the lamp falls over him like Midas, turning him from man to gold. One step more and his mouth pulls wider, cuts that wink in his cheek you can’t help but stare at. “Course not,” he says gently. “Knew you were lookin’. Y’can have it one night early.”

It probably doesn’t mean what you think it means, but you’re surprised to discover you’re hoping as you swallow hard, blinking some of the shock from your eyes. He’s here; you ought to get up and hug him—welcome him home, your person here, safe and whole—but you’re too scared to move. Terrified that any flinch will make the box and its contents disappear.

“Is this for me?”

Wry, he rolls his eyes. “Think you know it is.”

“I feel bad,” you say. “I got you a shirt.”

He’s generous enough to chuckle, and the low, earthy sound of it strikes flames along the column of your neck. “Could use a new shirt,” he says, smirking a little. “This one needs a wash.”

“Shut up,” you chide, but the words come out weak. He’s not allowed to joke right now because if you laugh, you might start to cry.

“Darlin’,” he says too softly. That’s the tone that makes honey of your insides, cruel in the gentle way it asks you to let him in.

Though your vision starts to puddle, you wrestle the feeling back. “S’pretty.”

The slightest nod. Then he unzips his coat to lay over the armchair in the corner of the room and you watch him, pinned to the floor despite the ache in your knees. “Was hopin’ you’d think so,” he admits with his back to you, the blades and muscles in his shoulders and back sliding gracefully beneath his flannel like waves on a lake. Antithetical to the thunder of your heart, Joel moves with a patience you can’t quite believe. In no rush at all, like you’re not holding what you’re holding in your shaking hands. Like some little band of metal doesn’t mean what it did before the world bit the dust and fell away.

The question sits like an icicle on your tongue, slowly melting, pooling behind your teeth.

Joel lumbers back, the soreness of his body just barely visible in his bow-legged stride, to sit on the edge of the bed just behind you. The mattress squeaks. One hand cards through his hair. Slow is his next breath. Steady. But on the exhale, you swear you hear the tiniest shake, a tiny tremble.

Realization strikes down at you like lightning: electric and tingling, zipping skull to spine to fingertips, blinding and white. He’s nervous.

Which means the ring in your hand isn’t just a ring.

Lamblike, you force yourself to your feet and the mattress mouses as you sink against his side. Igneous is his body against yours—such a familiar warmth. Rigid and walled to all but a few. Open to you, in moments like these, when he lets you glimpse the whole of him in his eyes and you swear you might be capable of reading the thoughts straight from his mind. Joel nudges his arm harder to yours, and you see the question coming before it slips from his tongue. You see it brewing in the gilt of his eyes just as clearly as you hear your own answer ricochet in your head.

You don’t cut him off, jump to yes. Instead you lower your hands from their hold against your chest at last, letting the box sit in your lap, open to his regard. Evening lamplight makes ice of the clear stone set squarely on its ring, and the heat of his breath kisses your cheek as he leans in to mumble,

“Y’gonna make me get down on one knee?”

dividers by @saradika-graphics!

NOTE: I am officially moving away from tag lists as they've gotten lengthy (thank you for that <3) so please follow @foxglovenotifs and turn on notifications to get alerts for future updates!

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #tlou fanfiction #pedrostoriesgift24 #joel miller #pedro pascal #almostfoxglove #myfics #fic: onenightearly #pedro pascal fanfiction

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ghostcreaturetypething · 2 months ago

Text

Imagine you are a child. A youngest child. Your mum died when you were a baby. Your dad is…grief-stricken, obsessed, more of a drill sergeant than a father. But you aren’t alone. You have this brother. And he’s only four years older than you, but from the moment your mum dies he steps up as your parent, and he does his best but…he has the same parents you do. One dead, one whatever the hell John is. He has very little experience to go off as to what a good parent should be. But he feels like he needs to be one for you, so he tries, and he tries, and he’s your brother and he’s your mum and he’s your dad, and he’s sort of all you have, honestly. And he’s annoying, and over-protective, and however old you get he only ever sees you as his baby brother. Or his kid.

But you can’t complain about your parents to your brother because he is your parents, and your sibling, both. So in that you sort of are alone. But you don’t know any different, so you grow up thinking that that’s what a brother is, and then you grow up a little more and realise no, he was always trying to be more than that, and then suddenly you are both adults and you aren’t the baby hiding under your brother’s wing anymore, but you’re still stuck with him, this brother who insists on putting you first in everything he does, just like a mother would — but he’s not your mother, or your father, he is your brother, and he’s only four years older than you, an age gap that seems to get smaller and smaller the older you both get. And your brother — he’s flawed, and he has daddy issues, and he gets angry too easily and sometimes he hits things, which would all be very well if he was just your brother.

But he’s not just your brother, is he? He’s your parent, he had to parent you, he’s spent his life parenting you, which you never asked for, but he did it anyway because that’s just the kind of person he is, and for most of it he was a child himself and god he did his best and it wasn’t always enough but you are so grateful to him, anyway.

And now you’re both adults, two boys all grown up but he, he is…Not. Actually. It happened so incrementally, just like growing up, that you didn’t really notice until it was too late. But suddenly your strong, capable brother is a child. Which, to be completely honest…you don’t really know how to deal with. And, I mean, it does make sense to you, you suppose, because you’re clever, and you went to school, and you’ve always loved research, so you know how these things work now, a little. Your brother is a child now because, simply, he’s fucked up. From the trauma. The trauma of your childhood, right, but of course it wasn’t trauma when you were living it, it was just your life, and you didn’t know then that your brother was having to be someone so much older than his years because he’d been like that for as long as you could remember, but now he isn’t, and you are left with the child he should have been, who needs taking care of but still insists on taking care of you no matter what, and sometimes he kind of…can’t. Not like he used to. Because while you grew up, your brother grew down, and your brother who is your parent is suddenly somehow a child still — no, not still, he was never a child, but he is now, throwing tantrums and pouting and messing around, ever immature, frozen at the age you never got to see him be because you were a baby and then you weren’t a baby but by that time that person he was for such a short time was gone. Your brother stopped being a child at four years old. And now you’re finally old enough to try and parent him back…and he seems to need it. Your brother who never got to be a child is now very much a child, but he’s also still your parent, this child, and you are in your twenties and you have grown into a clever, sensitive, caring, capable young person and your brother…your brother has grown backwards. And you want to take care of him. But it’s hard, and he doesn’t let you, doesn’t want to let you, and he’s still the only parent you have so sometimes, deep down, you still want him to take care of you, and he does, and he does, and he does.

But the older you get, the less you need him, the younger he gets, the more he needs you — until you do need him of course, and then he is there, always there, reverting back to the person who saved and loved and cared for you as a child. And it’s sort of difficult to reconcile the two versions of him in your head. And you find yourself getting exasperated with his childish antics and then you find yourself smiling at him fondly as a glimpse of a much younger person shows through the shell of the soldier your brother was forced to become and then you find yourself getting angry with the overprotective controlling superior officer he tries to be and then you find yourself deeply grateful for the unshakeable big brother who saves your life over and over and over again.

And it’s disconcerting. And it’s difficult. But you owe him everything and you love him even more and so you just keep living with it. With him. And you don’t mention it. And he doesn’t, because he’s him and he never mentions anything. And you wonder if he even notices that things he used to face without fear, blank as a brick wall, make him flinch now. If he realises the steady, dependable big brother he had to be when he was too young to be depended on is now a mess of turbulent, childish emotion. If he thinks back to his littler self and envies him his competence. You hope not. You hope not. You know now the weight he carried. At least a little. And you think, infuriating as he his…he deserves to be a child at least once in his life dammit, just like everyone else. So eventually, you begin to catch yourself smiling at him more and more often, and you begin to grow desperately fond of the parts of him that are still young, the parts littler you never got to see. And sure, he annoys the hell out of you sometimes. But you are grown now, and you are understanding, and patient, and kind. And you love your brother. So you don’t mention it. And he doesn’t, because he’s him. But you make allowances for him, and you step in front of him now sometimes, and you let him be who he is, as long as he’s not hurting himself. Basically, you step up. Because you can, because you’re older now, and you’ve realised that, in some ways, you are actually more grown up even than your big brother. And so you try your best to look after him. Just like he used to do for you.

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vivimura · 5 months ago

Text

PAIRING ~ dropout!pjs x fem!reader

SUMMARY ~ an argument with dropout fwb jay over what your futures would be like after you graduate escalates.

GENRE ~ angst, suggestive.

WORD COUNT ~ 1.125k

ᯓ★ first fic! hope you guys like it lol.

"i wanna settle down by twenty five."

he chuckled, his eyebrows shooting up at your cute and almost innocent confession. “settle down… at twenty five…?” he repeated your words back to you, his eyes slightly widening in fake surprise. “baby girl, you’re twenty one. you barely just started college and you’re already thinking of marriage.” you wore a motivated smile on your lips and shrugged. though, his hostility stung. "you don't think about that stuff? you're like- twenty five soon." he let out a scoff, his smirk returning. “marriage and kids aren’t really in the cards for me,” he simply replied back, his hands now making their way down your thighs. “i’ve got better things to think about.”

you scoffed and rolled your eyes. "yeah? like what kind of weed to buy next? whom to hook up with?"

he chuckled at your comment before he shook his head. “there’s gotta be more to life than just working a boring job and popping out babies.” he mumbled, his breath fanning over your skin as he now leaned his face against your neck. “i want to live life to the fullest, travel, experience things. you can’t do that if you’re at home changing diapers all day.”

you remained silent, simply looking into his eyes as you tried imagining what the future would entail for the two of you, and if the two of you were even in touch. "we really are different people." he chuckled at that as he looked up at your face again. he didn’t reply, he already knew that himself. “trust me, i know,” he said simply, the smirk never leaving his face. he kept his eyes on your face for a moment, studying your features carefully before his smirk widened into a smug “and it’s cute how you think that marriage and kids are like a magical fix for whatever problems you come up with.”

you frowned, his words poking you in ways you weren't a fan of. "it's cute how you think traveling the world will fulfill the inner loneliness you've had after having grown up in a shitty household." your reply was low, and you knew it. but you were too riled up to care. he raised his eyebrows at that, his gaze hardening as he looked at you with a cold, almost annoyed look. “watch your mouth, baby,” he said sternly, his smirk now gone and replaced with a steely look. his hands grabbed your thighs tighter, nails digging into the skin. “i don’t appreciate you psychoanalyzing my life like you know anything about it.” "and i just love you being judgmental of my ambitions." you sarcastically grumbled, flashing an almost mocking sweet smile.

“i’m just being realistic,” he deadpanned back while he leaned his body farther forward, effectively making you lay down against the headboard of the bed. he was now on top of you, his body between your spread legs and his face hovering just a few inches above yours. he looked down at you with an almost icy cold look. “there’s more to life than just marrying some college prick and popping out babies.”

"are you, though?" you tilted your head, not backing down under his piercing gaze. "are you sure you're not just jealous that you'll never be that guy in my life?" he let out a scoff at that, though his expression darkened as a small, almost unnoticeable frown formed on his lips. “you really think you’re so special?” he asked, his eyes narrowing into a glare, his hands still gripping your thighs. “you think you’re so unique that you’ll get some perfect happy ending like those white chick movies?”

you bit the inside of your cheeks, glaring right back at him defensively. "I'm an ambitious woman with genuine plans for life. the hell are you? a pathetic dropout who deals drugs for a living? I mean, what if you get caught, huh?"

he let out a scoff at that, not even a hint of humor in his expression as he continued staring down at you. “pathetic dropout who deals drugs?” he repeated your words back to you, his grip on your thighs getting even tighter, his nails digging deeper into the skin. “i make more money than those little preppy boys your daddy wants you to marry.”

"yeah, and you'll probably overdose or go to jail before those preppy boys do!" you hissed at the stinging feeling of his nails. he let out a scoff again, that icy cold look never leaving his face as he looked back out at you. “and what if i do?” he asked with a shrug. he didn’t care whether he ended up in jail or with a needle sticking out of his vein. “you’ll go to college, find some rich boy, marry him and pop out a mini you. and you’ll sit in your white picket fence house with two point five kids and your husband who can’t get you off.”

your eyes flared in anger. but fuck, why were his replies irritating you as much as they were turning you on? "oh, and what the hell do you know about getting me off!?" he stared down at your lips, a familiar cocky grin beginning to form on his own. "you forgot that I've been the one getting you off since, what-, three months now?" he mocked. "don't deny it. you've almost squirted on my face a few-" your eyes bulge out at his filthy words, and you bring your hand up to cover his mouth to cut him off. your ears burn in pure embarrassment. "jay, I swear to god-" he let out a loud laugh that was muffled by your hand, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he looked down at you. he smirked under your hand, his hands still grasping you by the thighs. he slowly pulled your hand away from his mouth, but his hold on your wrist didn’t loosen. “so you do remember,” he said in a cocky, teasing tone, a smirk on his lips. "you're seriously fucking pissing me off." your hands formed fists on the soft material of jay's duvet. god, you wanted nothing more than to wipe that stupid smirk off his mouth. he continued to chuckle at your pissed off demeanor, his smirk only growing wider and his grip on your wrist only getting tighter. he leaned down closer to your face, his face now only inches away, and he made sure to lock his eyes with yours and hold your gaze, not breaking eye contact. “it’s true though, isn't it? nobody can make you feel as good as I do." you let out a frustrated sigh, feeling a certain wet, sticky feeling appear between your legs. "it's not. seriously. quit it, park." "nah." he chuckled sinisterly. he caught ahold of both your wrists, pinning them with his single right hand with ease. his naturally sharp jaw was clenched in a way that only made it sharper in an intimidating way. suddenly, he brought his free hand to cup your heat covered just by a flimsy pair of shorts. "park-" your eyes widened and you squirmed in his bed, trying to wriggle your hands out of his grip. "sh-sh-shh.." "I'll show you what's better than a two point five."

#enhypen #enhypen jay #jay x reader #jongseong x reader #jeongseong #jay angst #enhypen angst #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagine #enhypen fanfic #jay smut #jongseong smut #enhypen smut #jay enhypen #enhypen hard hours #jay hard hours

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mister0ctopus · 3 months ago

Text

We Are All Sinners 02

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader

Summary: You left Jungkook and this town behind, but every visit pulls you back into his arms, chasing a high you can never leave behind.

NOTE: the first chapter was a oneshot, but it was kinda sad, so I decided to turn it into a series. It’s best to read the first chapter before this one for better context. Please see the SERIES MASTERLIST below. Thank you! <3

Warnings: Explicit language, Mature Contents, themes of strained relationship with parents, mentions of divorce, mentions of alcohol dependency, mental health struggles, angst, but this ch is full of fluff and young love and very wholesome hehe

Ratings: 18+ ONLY!!! MDNI!

Word Count: 4.3K

a/n: this chapter is all about jungkook and yn’s story when they were younger, kinda exploring how things started between them. hope you like it :)

SERIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

Jungkook loves the way you roll your eyes when he says something stupid.

He’s not actually stupid.

He’s actually on the honor roll (if that's how you measure intelligence, whatever that means).

BUT! If acting like an idiot gets a reaction out of you, then so be it.

He nudges Jimin to say something even dumber just so he can top it with an even more ridiculous response. And from the corner of his eye, he catches it—a huff . The most expression you’ve shown since you transferred in his school two months ago.

He’s been doing this since you came here. Being silly, acting stupid, acting smart, being quiet, being loud, everything…

Just to get anything from you.

You’re the new student from the big city and it shows. The way you dress, the way you speak, the way you act, it’s different from the rest of the kids in this small, quiet town.

Jungkook hopes you’ll grow to like it here. The mountains, the beaches, how the town feels cozy and warm even when it always rains.

But you don’t smile. You don’t talk to anyone.

He figures you’re just shy, just overwhelmed by everything new around you. It makes sense. You’re sixteen, and moving to a completely different place can’t be easy.

You seem lonely, and all he wants is for you to feel at home.

In his home.

This town.

Small towns have small-town habits, and people talk. He knows more about you than he probably should.

That you moved here with your mom after your parents' messy divorce.

That your mom grew up in this town but left young, built a life somewhere bigger.

That she married rich, and then came the divorce.

That she ran back here with you after the divorce. She works in an office now, at a local firm, or something like that…

Jungkook used to hate how fast gossip traveled here. But now? Now, he’s kind of grateful, because it means he knows about you. And one day, when you’re ready, he hopes you’ll tell him your story in your own words.

It was raining the day you finally spoke to him. Well, answered him.

You were standing under the shed after school, waiting. For something. Maybe for the rain to stop. He was passing by, carrying the ridiculously oversized red umbrella his mom insisted he bring. He stopped beside you, tilting his head.

“You waiting for someone?”

You hesitated for a second before answering. “No.”

Oh.

Your voice. It sounded so much nicer when directed at him.

He played it cool, pretending his heart wasn’t thumping like crazy. “You can share my umbrella if you want.”

You hesitated again, and Jungkook sent a silent prayer to the universe.

And maybe the gods were feeling generous that day because you nodded. “Okay.”

Okay.

He stepped closer, holding the umbrella over both of you, and you started walking.

“So where do you live?” He tried to sound casual but his heart! He feels like it's about to jump out of his chest.

“The street after the big hardware store.”

He already knew this information. Of course it’s a small town. Still, he gasped, “Really? That’s great!”

You blinked up at him, confused.

Crap. He overdid it. It sounded so fake.

“Well, I mean… I live on the next street after yours, so that means… uh, we get to share my umbrella until we both get home. So we don't get wet.” He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck.

You just hummed and nodded.

“So, what do you think of here?” he asked, curious of what you really feel in this town.

“I don’t know… I’m still getting situated,” you say with a small sigh, and Jungkook feels the weight of it.

He doesn’t know much about you yet, aside from the stories or rumors that he heard.

All he really knows is that you’re new here, that you don’t know anyone, and that there’s sadness when you speak that he doesn't like. Not one bit.

So he makes a quiet promise to himself, right then and there: he’s going to make sure you like it here. That you don’t feel so alone.

“So, you came here with your mom?” he asks, keeping his voice light.

You paused, barely looking at him. “Yeah.”

Your answer is hesitant, a little distant. He gets it. Maybe you’re not ready to talk about your life? And that’s okay.

He shifts the topic immediately. “You can join us during lunch breaks, you know? Jimin and I, and our friends, we’re super nice. If you, uh, if you like… you can sit with us. If you like.”

His voice stumbles, just a little, and he wants to kick himself. Why is he nervous? Why is he like this? God, what if you think he’s an idiot? What if—

You smile.

You smile at him.

God.

And suddenly, the rain feels like summer, and Jungkook forgets every single thought he was just having because…

God. You are so beautiful.

It’s small, just a tiny lift of your lips, but—

You look up at him and he can see your eyes catching the faint silver light of the gloomy sky, and the way the light catches on your lashes—

Prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.

A little sad, a little guarded, but soft.

“Okay,” you say simply, turning your gaze back to the sidewalk as you keep walking.

Jungkook blinks. That’s a yes. You’re going to sit with him.

His heart physically hurts.

He presses his lips together, fighting back the smile threatening to take over his entire face.

A few minutes later, you stop in front of a white house with a blue gate. “Well, this is me.”

Now he hates that his school is so close to his house. He doesn’t want this walk to end.

He tugs at the strap of his backpack, rocking on his heels before saying, “I’ll walk you to the door, so you don’t get wet.”

You shake your head, and what happens next, he wasn’t prepared.

You laugh, no—more like, a giggle, soft and breathy and so melodic, like you’re genuinely amused. “No, it’s okay, silly! It’s just a short walk.”

Oh.

He stands there like an idiot, staring, watching as you jog lightly up to your front door, hoodie sleeves flopping over your hands, your hair bouncing with each step.

Then, you turn back. And then you lift your hand in a small, timid wave before disappearing inside.

You wave.

Him. You wave at him.

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe. He doesn’t even blink.

He exhales, like he just remembered to breathe, head tilting back as he stares at the sky, still standing there in front of your house like some fool.

Fuck.

Jungkook swore he was the luckiest guy on earth tonight.

You said yes. You actually said yes when he asked if you wanted to come watch his band perform at the school’s music festival.

It still felt surreal.

His band, originally a garage band started by his older brother, Jin, and his friends, Yoongi and Namjoon, had been gaining attention since performing at the town’s sports festival. Now that Jungkook and Jimin had joined, they were getting gigs at bigger festivals… and tonight, they were playing for the school.

And you were coming to see them.

He was waiting by the main gate, feeling a little nervous. You were ten minutes late. Their performance was up next.

Then—

“Jungkook!”

His heart nearly leaped out of his chest.

He turned, and there you were—in denim shorts, high-top red Chucks, an oversized maroon hoodie. Hair slightly tousled, a little out of breath, like you’d rushed to get here.

So beautiful.

“Hey! You made it!” He couldn’t hide his excitement.

You nodded, still catching your breath.

“We’re on next,” he grinned. “Shall we?” He reached for your hand without thinking. And—oh.

You took it.

Another first.

Jungkook could barely contain his smile as he led you backstage.

“Do you mind if I introduce you to the guys first?” He sounded a little sheepish now.

You raised a brow.

“Well…” He scratched the back of his neck. “They didn’t believe you’d come. I just… I wanted to prove them wrong.” He laughed lightly, nose scrunching.

Your lips twitched. “Oh, so you wanted me here just to settle a bet?”

Jungkook panicked. “No! No, not at all! I mean…of course I wanted you here! I just also… kinda…want to show you around? To my friends, I mean.. If that’s ok…”

You hummed, tilting your head playfully.

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “That came out wrong—”

Your giggle interrupted him, and God, he almost melted.

“I’m kidding, Jungkook,” you rolled your eyes. And then you grinned. “Sure, I’d like to meet them.”

He lit up like a firework.

He navigated the messy backstage hallway, weaving through cables and equipment, and led you to a door with a sign that read Tiger Lilly—their band’s name.

“They gave us our own room,” he grins proudly before pushing the door open.

Inside, the guys were buzzing with last-minute prep.

"Jungkook! Finally, we’ve been looking for you!" A tall guy with a buzz cut turned toward him.

Jungkook barely heard him. He turned to you, practically bouncing on his feet. "YN's here!"

The tall guy’s eyes flickered to you, and he broke into a dimpled smile.

Jungkook nudged you forward. "This is Namjoon-hyung. He’s on drums."

"Hi," you said softly. "Nice to meet you." You reached out a hand, and Namjoon shook it warmly.

Jungkook beamed, then turned toward Jimin. You had started hanging out with him since joining Jungkook’s friends during lunch breaks.

"And you already know Jimin, our main guitarist."

Jimin, busy fixing his newly dyed blonde hair, turned when he heard his name. When he saw you, his eyes widened for a second before he grinned.

"YN? Hey! You actually came!"

Jungkook grinned smugly. "Told you."

Before Jimin could say anything else, Jungkook was already dragging you toward two other guys.

"Hyung!" he called out, and two men looked up.

One of them—pale, platinum blond—nodded in greeting.

"This is Yoongi-hyung, our bassist. Best of the best. Hyung, this is YN!"

Yoongi looked intimidating at first, but when smiled— a gummy smile, his entire face softened. "Jungkook talks about you a lot."

You blinked, a little surprised. "Oh. Uh… thanks?" You glanced at Jungkook.

Jungkook didn’t even have time to panic over that before another voice chimed in.

"Finally, our golden vocalist returns."

Jin, who you knew was Jungkook's older brother since he talked about him nonstop, looked like a model with his purple hair as he tinkered with a keyboard. He glanced at Jungkook expectantly.

Jungkook rolled his eyes. "I was waiting for YN. She’s still getting used to the school."

Jin smirked. "Ah, so you’re YN. Jungkook talks about you nonstop. You should see him in rehear—"

"Hyung, stop! Ugh." Jungkook groaned, touching his ears, which were now turning red.

Jin just laughed and reached for your hand. "Hey, I’m Jin."

You shook his hand and gave him a soft "Hi, nice to meet you."

And you smiled again. You found Jin’s laugh funny. But you smiled again.

You’d been smiling a lot these past few days.

Jungkook swore his heart had never been this full.

"This was Tiger Lilly! Thank you for coming!"

Jungkook’s voice filled the venue—slightly breathless—and the crowd erupted.

It was unbelievable. The cheers, the signs with their band’s name, the how people chanted for them. For him.

You knew they were good, but seeing them live, how they commanded the stage, made you realize just how talented they were. How talented he was.

Jungkook was a natural.

And the pride swelling in your chest caught you completely off guard.

As soon as they ended their performance, Jungkook practically flung his guitar aside, jumping down from the stage. Still glistening with sweat, he ran toward you, as he aggressively dabbed at his damp skin.

He was glowing. Smiling so wide. His hair is a mess from all the movement, sticking to his forehead.

He looked…

Happy.

And it made your stomach flip because he was running to you.

“Hey! We were good, right?” His words came out in an excited rush, chest still rising and falling from the performance.

You nodded, unable to hide your own excitement. “Yeah! You did great! I’m so proud of you!”

The words slipped out before you could overthink them.

Jungkook froze, then… his entire face lit up.

“Really?” His voice was almost disbelieving. His teeth dug into his bottom lip, failing successfully to suppress his grin.

Your heart skipped.

“Of course,” you said, eyes soft. “You were amazing up there.”

Jimin’s voice cut through the moment.

“Kook! YN! Afterparty! Let’s go!”

You turned to see him waving from backstage.

Jungkook perked up immediately. “Oh! Yeah... So we have an afterparty a few blocks from here.” He turned back to you, excited. “It’s just us and some of the other bands that played. It’s by the beach house. Come with me, please?”

Then, he leaned in a little, “There’s gonna be s’mores.”

That sheepish little grin, his toothy grin… He knew exactly how to persuade you.

You laughed, warmth spreading through your chest. “Okay! Yeah!”

But just as quickly as you agreed, reality hit.

Your curfew.

Your mom usually went to bed early, but she checked your room sometimes. If she woke up and you weren’t there—

Jungkook’s face fell immediately.

“What’s wrong?”

You barely had time to be surprised. How did he pick up on that so fast?

“Oh. I just have a curfew,” you admitted, chewing your lip. “Eleven. I mean, my mom’s probably asleep, but she checks my room sometimes."

Jungkook didn’t even hesitate.

“Oh, no worries! I’ll drive you home before eleven. I won’t drink. I mean—” He suddenly scratched his neck, sheepish. “I don’t drink anyway. I’m still a minor—heh.”

His little awkward chuckle. The way he ducked his head.

Why was he so adorable?

Jungkook reached for your hand. Like it was natural. Like he didn’t even have to think twice.

Your fingers curled slightly, your palm warm against his.

And just like that, he led you down the hallway, grinning, buzzing with energy.

Cutest boy you’d ever met.

Jungkook tries to focus on his breathing. Really trying. But it’s impossible when you’re sitting this close.

The beach party roars behind him. The laughter, the music… He has no idea where his hyungs went. Who knows? Who cares?

Because right now, none of it matters.

Not when you're beside him, close enough that he can smell your shampoo—something floral, soft, sweet. Close enough that your leg keeps brushing against his, and holy shit, your skin is so smooth.

You’re both sitting in the back of an old, abandoned pickup truck, slightly away from the chaos. It’s the best spot on the beach whenever people hang out. It’s dim here, only the silver glow of the moon tracing the curves of your face. You look… ethereal. Yeah. That’s the word.

You’ve been talking. About school, about town life. But he hasn’t asked about your mom. He wants to—God, he wants to know everything about you. But he remembers how your shoulders tensed the last time someone mentioned her. He doesn’t want to ruin this, whatever this is. He just wants to keep listening to your voice.

“I like your friends. The ones at school, especially Jimin. And your bandmates. They’re all nice.”

Jungkook swallows.

You like them? That’s good. Great, actually. He wants you to feel welcome here.

He turns his head to look at you, and wow… the way the moonlight makes your eyes gleam, how the ocean breeze plays with your hair…

So beautiful.

“I like that you feel that way here,” he said, quieter this time. “I know it’s a lot… moving and all.”

He hesitates, suddenly nervous.

“I just… I want you to like it here.”

You don’t talk much about your life before coming to this town. You don’t talk about your mom.

Not about the way she started drinking again, how she clings to it after the divorce. Not about how you watch her shift… how, on the good days, she is warmth and laughter and the mother you remember. But when the skies inside your home turn gloomy, when the sadness seeps into the walls, she becomes someone else. Bitter and mean and vile.

And you hate it. Not her, but the way the light inside her dims. She’s hurting. She’s trying to cope. And you feel helpless, and useless, not knowing what to do.

So you don’t talk about it. Because if you say it out loud, people might misunderstand. They might see her only for her worst moments, not the woman who is simply hurting ang trying her best.

You turn to Jungkook.

Only to find him already looking, trying to figure you out by looking at you.

“I hope someday you can just talk to me about what you’re really thinking. When you're ready, I’m here, for whatever you need. I hope someday you'll feel at home here, too."

You smile at him and warmth settles in your chest against the cold sea breeze.

Sweetest boy you’ve ever met.

So good. So pure. And everything harsh and hard around you, every jagged edge, is being softened in his presence. Eroded.

He tells you he hopes you feel at home here. You don’t tell him that you already do. Not in the town, but here, beside him.

“You have the prettiest eyes,” he murmurs, almost absentmindedly.

Under the moonlight, you let yourself truly take him in. The arrogant slope of his nose, the curve of his lips and the mole just below, the faint scar on his cheek, his dark lashes, his round eyes… you take it all in.

And then, slowly, hesitantly, he leans in.

The scent of him hits first—musk and vanilla, and Jungkook.

Then—his lips.

The first touch is barely there, a whisper, a question. His lips graze yours, unsure. You mimic the way he moves, hesitant, careful.

And then everything else fades.

The distant sound of the waves, the laughter from the party, the weight of what you carry—none of it exists.

There is only him.

He exhales softly against your lips, like relief, like finally. Like he has been running toward this moment for so long and has just now arrived.

He breaks the kiss, his hands cupping your face, thumbs gently brushing your cheeks as he studies you.

You smile at him, as if to say, I liked that very much.

He must understand, because he smiles too.

His fingers graze your jawline, his fingertips slightly rough from playing the guitar.

And then, he kisses you again, firmer this time. His lips gently molding into yours, letting your lips part just enough before he tilts his head to savor you more.

To be kissed like this.

Your first kiss.

Only for your phone to vibrate in your back pocket, breaking the trance.

You and Jungkook freeze, breathless, blinking at each other like you’ve just resurfaced from deep water. Then, almost at the same time, you both let out soft, breathless laughs as you scramble for your phone.

Your alarm, 30 minutes until curfew.

Jungkook catches a glimpse of your screen before pushing himself up and effortlessly hopping out of the back of the pickup.

His movements are easy, fluid, and then he turns to you, hand outstretched.

You shift forward, about to take it, but instead, his hands find your waist.

Before you can even process what’s happening, he lifts you off the truck bed like you weigh nothing. His grip is firm but gentle, and your body is pressed against his, and you feel his solid body against yours. Warm enough to seep through your thick hoodie.

When your feet touch the ground, heat creeps up your neck. But before you can dwell on it, his fingers find yours, and you follow him as he leads you to the front of the beach house, where a car is parked.

He catches your questioning look and grins.

“I borrowed Jin’s car,” he smiles, opening the passenger door. He tilts his head toward the seat. “Let's get you home.”

He closes the door behind you once you're in, then jogs to the driver’s side, sliding in effortlessly and buckling his seatbelt.

The moment you start driving into the night, drops of rain hit the windshield.

The drive is quick, and as you pass the big hardware store, you turn to him.

“Hey,” you said, “can you drop me off at the corner?”

Jungkook glances at you, confused. “Why? You’d have to walk past, like, five houses to get home.”

“Yeah, well…” You hesitate, unsure how to say it, “I just don’t want mom seeing me get out of a car. She’s probably asleep, but she’s a light sleeper sometimes, and… I just don’t want to deal with any talks about me going out, you know?.”

Jungkook says nothing as he slows down and stops the car at the corner.

“It’s raining.”

“It’s ok,” you say, reaching for the door handle. “I’ll dry off when I get home.”

But before you can step out, he unbuckles his seatbelt and hops out into the rain.

“What are you—”

And then he’s at the trunk, grabbing something.

His huge, red umbrella.

He pops it open, opens your door, and holds out a hand.

"Come on," he casually says. Without a word, you take his hand, and let him help you out of the car. Rain patters softly against the umbrella as you walk side by side down the wet pavement.

Then, his arm wraps around your waist, his body warm against the cool breeze.

Neither of you says anything. You just walk together, listening to the patter of rain and the rhythm of your unhurried steps.

How you feel safe and content just by being close to him—you don’t know. It is new, but it is not confusing.

When you reach your gate, he exhales and turns to you with a small, lopsided smile. But he doesn’t let go of your waist.

“Thanks for driving me home,” you whisper. “Drive safe. Good night.”

“Good night,” he murmurs back.

You push at the gate gently, careful not to make noise, only to realize it won’t budge. Your stomach drops.

You glance at Jungkook, panic flickering across your face.

“Mom never locks the gate,” you whisper. “I didn’t bring my key to this thing."

He steps forward, inspecting the lock, then glances up at the height of the gate. Without a word, he shifts the umbrella into your hands.

Then—he climbs.

Effortlessly.

You watch him jump in with your mouth slightly open.

And then, within seconds, he’s unlocking it from the inside, pushing it open for you.

The two of you walk silently toward the front door. Once you reach it, you stand there and face him.

You look up at him, eyes searching, heart in your throat.

And then, without thinking—

You tiptoe.

And you kiss him.

At first, it was a soft press of your lips to his, to say thank you.

'Thank you' for making you feel less alone.

He freezes, breath hitching, caught off guard. But the second you part your lips over his—god—

he exhales a shaky breath and kisses you back, as if to say you're welcome.

You are welcome in his mouth. In everything that he has, you are welcome. Come in. Feel at home—it's yours to invade, to take, to make yours.

His hands fly to your waist, gripping, pulling you closer, closer, until there’s no space between you. His mouth parts, catching your lower lip between his, sucking gently, teasing.

A quiet, shaky noise escapes you.

And that sound, it does something to him.

With barely controlled urgency, his hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your messy hair as he tilts your head to deepen the kiss. His other arm tightens around your waist, pulling you closer, closer… until you feel him gently grind into you. Only once. Gently. But you feel it, pressed against his warm, solid body. You feel it.

When his tongue brushes against your lips, silently for permission, you let him in.

Your hands clutch at his hoodie to pull him closer, and he whimpers into your mouth—a soft, wrecked sound. You pull back to catch your breath, and he presses his forehead against yours for a second... but then, as if he can’t wait any longer, as if a second is an eternity, he finds your lips again, capturing them in another deep, long kiss.

He smiles into the kiss, and finally pulls away, lips red, swollen, slick.

His voice is hushed and breathy. “Good night, YN.”

You barely find the breath to respond. “Good night, Jungkook.”

You step back, slipping inside. The door closes between you, but your body still feels like it’s pressed against his.

You quietly climb the stairs, smiling, head spinning, lips swollen, stomach flipping. The house is dark and silent, the only light guiding you is the moonlight from the window at the end of the hallway.

You slip into your room quickly, and just as you reach your window, you see him—standing by your gate, looking back, scanning your house.

When he sees you watching from your window, a wide, boyish grin spreads across his face. He gives you a small wave before jogging back to his car and disappearing into the night.

And you stand there, staring after him, knowing one thing for certain…

Jungkook has your heart.

Your first love.

masterlist / thoughts?questions?

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posting-for-the-void · 6 months ago

Text

So a lot of twins claim to have a sort of twintuition thing where they understand each other easily and often without words, and sometimes have high-level empathetic reactions to things that are happening to the other twin, even if they don’t know what’s happening to the other twin because they are in different locations at the time. There’s obviously not a lot of scientific evidence to back it up, but, eh. It’s a cool concept.

But what if, for the Skywalker twins, the force just ramped that up to 100.

Fic-ish thing below the cut.

Five-year-old Luke is learning the Tatooine slave language. After all, Aunt Beru used to be Beru Whitesun, before she married Uncle Owen, and his mom was Grandma Shmi, who used to be a Skywalker before she married Uncle Owen’s dad. Beru helps the recently-escaped hide in the secret compartment in the wall of their house more often than Owen does, but he claims it’s for plausible deniability, whatever that means. Leia, on Alderaan, begins mixing the harsh, clicking language with Basic subconsciously, but only when talking to herself in private. After all, she is a princess, and they must choose their words carefully in front of others.

Leia at age ten argues with her cousin about whether droids deserve respect, and across the galaxy, Luke is absolutely overcome with the need to thank every single droid he’s ever met for helping him with anything (he did this anyways before but for some reason he has to do it again Right Now).

Luke gets to drive a speeder by himself for the first time at 13 and Leia is practically begging for someone to take her out in a hovercar and go as fast as possible. And if that can’t happen she’s going to get the space equivalent of a Formula One racing sim, goddamnit.

Seventeen-year-old Junior Senator Leia’s heart skips a beat every time someone mentions Tatooine. She isn’t sure why. Obi-Wan lives there, yes, but something in her just knows that isn’t the real reason. Luke, meanwhile, yearns to see the galaxy, and often finds himself outside at night, staring at the sky. His eyes, for as long as he can remember, have always felt drawn towards a specific star. He asked Uncle Owen about it once when he was younger, and he gruffly explained that it was the Alderaan system. He feels like there’s something there, waiting for him. He’s not sure why.

And then they meet in person, and it’s “You’re a little short for a Stormtroope—Luke?”

“Leia?”

“Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so. Can I hug you?”

“Of course, you idiot. You’re my twin brother. You don’t even have to ask.”

“Thanks, Leia. You know, I had the weirdest dreams when I was ten about you and Old Ben.”

“Oh, yeah, that was actually real. I got kidnapped.”

“Cool.”

“Is it true you got nicknamed ‘Wormie’ by your friends?”

“…Yeah.”

And Han is so confused, but it’s fine, and within two hours their conversations are more like, “Hey, Leia, could you pass me the—“

“Yeah, do want the green one or the—“

“No, the blue one, probably. I need it to—“

“Oh, yeah, of course, that makes sense.”

And then Yoda tries to do the whole “Attached, you are,” routine, and Luke is like, “Well, duh. I’m only here so I can teach Leia everything I learn as soon as I get back. I’m just a pilot, which is a lot more replaceable than a princess, so we thought it would be best if I come learn from you instead of her.”

And meanwhile Leia is a lot stronger in the force now, and she meets Vader again and just goes, “Darth Dad, what the actual fuck,” under her breath in the Tatooine slave language, and the hint of Anakin that’s left absolutely freezes. Because Palpatine—Sideous—whatever, he said his kid was dead. He said that Padme died and the kid did too. He lied. And, when he meets Luke later, and he says the same Sithspitting thing, Anakin gets so thrown he accidentally cuts the kid’s hand off. Luke falls, and the shock of it in the force is so strong, and Anakin’s eyes flash blue in grief and love and hope, all at once, and all of the sudden he can think clearly for the first time in years. And his kids’—his kids!—bond in the force is so strong, how did he not notice it before?

And, anyways, I just feel like Skywalker Twintuition would be on a completely other and incomprehensible level.

#star wars #luke skywalker #leia organa #princess leia #luke and leia #skywalker twins #anakin skywalker #darth vader #skywalker twintuition #ficlet #star wars: a new hope #a new hope #star wars: the empire strikes back #the empire strikes back #star wars: obi-wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi #star wars au #star wars ficlet

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blue-slxt · 2 years ago

Note

Imagine petite!human reader literally being used as a living fleshlight😩

Like she’s so small she can just be lifted off the ground and pounded🥴

Honestly don’t even care who it’s written for feels like a Jake, lo’ak, or quaritch kinda senecio

Sincerely, a no where near petite girlie

Thank you so much for your patience. I've been working on like a million different things at the same time so I am so behind on requests. But I looove this idea. Something about just being manhandled however your partner wants you to be is so fucking aaaaaaaarrrrrrrrgggggghhhhhhhh😩! Anyways, I hope you enjoy this.

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

Smut under the cut.

“Make sure you don’t break my bed with your big ass.” You playfully scold Lo’ak while pulling on your spaghetti strap shirt. He flops his entire body weight onto your bed making it creak. It was times like this when you really took note of just how big of a size difference there was between you. Of course, the Na’vi were much bigger than average humans already, but you were even on the small side for humans. Watching how his body can’t fit properly on your bed while you could be swallowed whole by your sheets and blankets never ceased to amaze you. He waves you off with a ‘yeah, yeah’ while he makes himself comfortable putting his hands under his head. You roll your eyes at him and start to search through all the DVDs you have for something for you two to watch.

“What are you in the mood for this time? Something funny? Romantic? Dramatic?” you fire off the different genres as you toss aside disc after disc.

“Hmm…” he dramatically hums thinking about his answer.

You don’t bother to look at him while he mulls it over and you continue searching. You faintly comprehend the sound of him shuffling and moving around behind you, but you pay it no mind until a pair of big hands find their way on your small frame. Lo’ak’s lips brush lightly over the back of your neck and it almost tickles when he speaks.

“I think I’m in the mood for something sexy” he presses kisses onto your neck and shoulder.

“You are so corny” you say with a laugh, but you still lean into his touch anyway.

“Just put on whatever. I’d rather watch you anyway.” His low voice in your ear makes your nerves come alive with this intense fluttering all over your body. His impatience is rubbing off on you so you hurriedly throw whatever you can reach into the player without really bothering to look at what it is. Once the movie starts playing, you turn around to face Lo’ak and he immediately swipes you up off the floor and your legs lock around his waist while he presses his lips to yours. Holding onto him like this gives you the perfect feel of his cock straining against his tewng and poking you right between your legs. Clearly, he can feel it too from how his hands hold your hips and grind you down against him. Every move brushes against your covered clit and gives you small tingles of satisfaction, but it’s not enough. He’s got you so riled up now that you decide to have a little more fun and push his limits. On any given day, Lo’ak could, and would, fuck you until your body felt like jelly. But on occasion, he would lose himself and by the end, even your brain would feel numb and fuzzy filled with nothing but him possessing you completely. That’s exactly what you need right now.

Without warning, you unfold your legs from around him and let go completely dropping to your feet on the ground. His puzzled expression is nothing short of adorable.

“Shit, I just remembered that I have a report to finish” you say walking over to your computer desk and sitting down.

“Babe, you have got to be kidding me right now.” You were never one to deny Lo’ak what he asked for. Ever. Not even when you would join the clan for communal dinner and he would pull you off into the dark out of view of everyone else.

“It’s only going to take a few minutes, Lo.” You say sitting down and pulling your hair forward and exposing your neck. Lo’ak groans behind you. You know how much he loves when you present your neck for him to mark. He’s starting to catch on to your little game. If he wants it, he’s going to have to take it.

“If it’s only going to take a couple minutes, then do it after” he says pulling your chair away from your desk and over to the bed. He spins you around to face him and heat settles between your thighs at the way he’s eyeing you right now. “I need you, mamas.”

“You’re doing a whole lot of talking and yet, I’m still fully clothed” you say with a sly smirk.

He chuckles lowly to himself, “oh, you are asking for it.” In one swift motion, Lo’ak pulls you onto his lap by your waist. Your hands brace against his chest to keep yourself from flying forward. His face settles in the crook of your neck and he nips lightly at your skin making you jump.

“Now, am I going to have to rip these cute little shorts off of you or are you gonna behave and take them off yourself?”

“Don’t…I like these ones.” You whine.

“Then get rid of them. Right now.”

You shift yourself around so that you can maneuver out of your shorts while he pulls his tewng to the side to expose his thick, hard cock that was already leaking precum from the tip.

“Already so hard, love. Is that for m—”

“Don’t try to get cute with me” Lo’ak cuts you off by grabbing you by your waist and slamming you down onto his dick in one quick snap.

It feels like an electric shock is shot up your spine and goes straight to your head being immediately filled to the brim. He gives you no time to adjust before he’s fully lifting your body by your waist up and down on his cock.

“Ah! Fu-ck! Lo-ak!” Your words and breaths are broken from how he’s making you bounce on top of him.

“Shit, your pussy is so fuckin perfect” he says through gritted teeth.

His big hands on your smaller frame completely take control of your movements and you have no choice but to let him have his way with you. His dick continues to bully its way into your tight cunt and kiss your cervix making your toes curl.

“Oh fuck, you’re gonna make me cum inside of you, mama. You want that, hm? Want me to fill you up?” his voice is lighthearted, but you can tell from the look in his eyes and his laser focus on you how close he really is and how badly he wants to give you everything.

“Yes, yes, yes, please Lo’ak!” your vision is already starting to spot as you near your own high while he keeps using you as his own personal fuck toy.

“Hng, shit!” he bucks his hips up to match the way he’s moving your body for you a few more times before the heat of his cum starts to fill you from the inside out. It sends you over the edge into your own orgasm and your pussy clamps down on him even tighter if that was even possible. Lo’ak sucks in a sharp breath feeling how tight you are around him and his forehead falls forward onto your chest waiting for you to stop milking him for all he’s worth.

His hands finally let go of your waist and they fall to sit on top of your thighs while you both try to catch your breath.

Suddenly the TV booms from across the room, “I am Bruce Almighty! My will be done!” making both of you snap your head in its direction.

“What the fuck movie did you put on?” Lo’ak laughs breathlessly.

“I have no fucking clue and I kind of don’t really care” you laugh equally out of breath. “But it looks like we still have some time before it’s over…” you lightly suggest.

He already knows what’s on your mind and a devilish smirk crosses his face.

#blue babbles #thanks anon!#thanks for the ask!#avatar #avatar the way of water #awow #avatar fic #loak sully #lo'ak #loak #lo’ak #avatar loak #loak x reader #loak fanfiction #atwow loak #loak smut #avatar smut

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spooky-holtz · 1 year ago

Text

Sicilian Scheming

Melissa Schemmenti x reader

Genre: pure fluff

Word Count: 3.4k

Prompt: "I seen you were looking for ideas for fics and was wondering if you’d write one where Mellisa’s Nona comes to visit her at Abbot during summer planning where she meets teacher Reader and essentially forces them to go on a date together even though they don’t get along well but they end up really hitting it off then a time skip to their wedding where Nona’s bragging about getting them together?"

I've diverted from the prompt a little but the core of it still stands. Strap in.

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

Make no mistake, you absolutely love teaching the third grade but by the time summer comes around, you’re glad to see them go. Summer vacation gives you a chance to relax and enjoy your time away from the stuffy brick building that is Abbott Elementary, spending weeks at a time curled up on the window ledge of your apartment basking in the sun with a good novel and often a crisp glass of wine.

You rarely get chance to see your co-workers save for the coffee dates you have with Janine, often meeting the smaller woman around the corner from her home to sit and chat in the large glass windows as the rest of the world passes by. You spend hours at a time chatting about anything and everything your rather uneventful lives have thrown at you, fingers curled around a sweating glass of flavored iced tea. These breaks are always among the highlights of your year, giving you a chance to wind down and refresh ready for the next group of kids that you will take under your wing.

By the time the summer break winds down though, you’re eager to get back to school and see your dysfunctional work family. There’s nothing you love more than the first day after weeks apart, hearing all about Barbra’s annual cruise with Gerald, or Jacob’s latest mission to get himself “down with the kids” - it usually involves some god awful Tik Tok trend that he should NOT be doing, but you don’t have the heart to stop his rather spirited approach to engaging with his students.

You love these conversations but there is somebody else that you find yourself searching for the second you step foot through the green doors of Abbott; Mellisa Schemmenti. The older woman has become an infatuation for you, her rigid exterior always melting when you interact. She knows exactly how you take your coffee, always leaves a seat open for you during meetings, and takes every opportunity to compliment your appearance - whether it's a new pair of earrings, or a slightly different shade of hair dye, Melissa will always notice.

She makes you feel special in the smallest ways, always leaving you with the hope that she might actually like you back. It feels juvenile and you can’t help but imagine yourself as one of the kids you teach every day, sending heart eyes across the room at each other at any given chance, just waiting for her cheeks to flush and that small, suppressed smile to appear on her glossed lips.

Your crush is no secret, but you would never tell anyone - well, except Janine who had managed to guess exactly why you get so nervous around the older woman after a few glasses of wine at the last faculty holiday party. You didn’t have to say anything; your longing looks toward the redhead on the other side of the teachers’ lounge as you nursed a plastic cup full of cheap alcohol was enough to prompt your friend to ask. You could never lie to Janine’s puppy dog eyes, especially not with a buzz courtesy of the liquor store across the street.

You can’t help but let your thoughts drift toward thick Philly accents as you sit in the gym on the first day of school, squashed between Jacob and Janine and caught directly in the middle of their conversation about whatever new Netflix documentary series dropped last week. You’re really trying to listen, but your thoughts are consumed by bright red curls and glittery lip gloss, not true crime documentaries.

You find yourself scanning the room as the pair babble on and you notice that the seating arrangement is half empty as you wait for the rest of the faculty to arrive and for Ava to take the stage for yet another development week speech that will go down in infamy at Abbott. She’s already poked her head from behind the curtain on the stage twice, clearly impatient to make her grand entrance to a group of less than willing participants.

You begin to hear the telltale sound of heeled boots clicking against the linoleum floor and you feel yourself freezing into place just as Melissa waltzes into the hall, Barbara in tow. You don’t know if you’re impressed or terrified at her ability to constantly wear those shoes and the thought makes you realize that you’ve never actually seen Melissa at her normal height.

Just as you suck in a deep breath, her eyes scan the room and instantly land where you sit, sandwiched between two of your rather enthusiastic co-workers. As her green eyes meet yours you see them shrink at the smile she sends your way, her pearly white teeth cutting through the shiny pink lip gloss she’s always wearing. You send a similar smile back, overjoyed at the fact she merely noticed you. God help your heart rate when she decides to talk to you for the first time in two months.

Your attention is pulled away by Barbara, who waves enthusiastically from behind Melissa, making her way toward the empty seats directly in front of you. Your eyes dart back to Melissa as she follows the billowing of the older woman’s cardigan, heels still impossibly loud against the floor.

The dark button down she’s sporting is tight against her torso, the sleeves rolled up to reveal her deceptively toned forearms. You have to remind yourself to look away for a split second, the thought of getting caught ogling her by one of your co-workers forcing you to tear your eyes away. You look toward Janine who has trailed off her conversation with Jacob, the pair watching you and Melissa like a tennis match. You feel your shoulders slump at Jacob’s knowing look, the excitement practically making him vibrate.

“You’re kidding, you know too?” You sigh.

“Uh yeah, you don’t exactly hide the heart eyes,” he scoffs. He must see the deer-in-headlights expression on your face because he continues, “I wouldn’t worry, she was definitely just throwing them right back at you.”

You have no time to reply as the subject of the conversation reaches the row of seats in front of you, sitting in the hard plastic chair and turning her torso to see you, hand resting on the back of her seat. Her smile is wide again as she looks to you. The panic brews in your throat and your palms instantly become sweaty at the prospect of Melissa feeling the intensity of your feelings.

“Hey hun, it’s been a while,” she says, her eyes still crinkled from the smile she wears. Her focus is entirely on you, ignoring the duo that sits on either of your sides.

“Yeah, it has,” you manage to stammer out, “How’ve you been? You look good.”

You inwardly cringe at your words but you’re not lying. She’s obviously had her hair dyed ready for the new school year and it’s even brighter than usual, making her even easier for you to pick out of a crowd. She looks so full of life and at ease, the break clearly having done her well. Her smile grows impossibly wider at your compliment, putting you instantly at ease.

“It was great,” she replies. “Spent a lotta time at the beach with my family, so I’m not as pasty as you may have remembered.”

She throws a wink your way with the last statement, causing a pink blush to cover your cheeks within seconds. What you wouldn’t give to actually see Melissa at the beach, totally relaxed on a sun lounger with a drink in hand. The image turns your cheeks an even deeper shade of red and Mel clearly catches on, her smirk letting you know that she knows exactly where your thoughts have gone.

Before you even have chance to reply, Ava makes her grand entrance from behind the curtain to a chorus of groans that echos throughout the room.

You can feel Janine’s elbow nudging into your side, your friend having had a front row seat to your entire interaction with the redhead. The action earns her a swift kick to the ankle under her seat, accompanied by a hissed “don’t you dare”.

The meeting is over almost as quickly as it begins, Ava rushing back to her office to catch the latest episode of Real Housewives - she didn’t explicitly say it but you all know that’s the only reason she would be running back down the hall. You won’t complain though because it means you can get started with your work to prepare your classroom for the year ahead. You stand from your seat alongside Jacob and Janine and have all intentions of getting back to work when Melissa turns around again. Her emerald eyes stop you in your tracks, mid-stretch, your arms flexed above your head.

“I never got the chance to tell you earlier, but I really like your dress,” she says, completely catching you off guard. Your hands fall, hanging limply by your side and brushing against the floral fabric of your clothing. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t wear it specifically to catch her eye this morning. The soft smile she wears on her face makes your heart melt, the look on her face only reserved for you. “It's real pretty.”

You both stand there for a few seconds, blushing like lovesick teenagers and staring into each other's eyes when a throat clearing brings you back to reality. Janine claps her hands together, flustered by the interaction.

“Okay, I’m gonna get back to my classroom and, uh, get started on cleaning. Have a good day guys!” She calls as she walks away with Jacob in tow, enthusiastic as ever as he throws a thumbs up your way. You know that within five minutes of leaving the school gym she’ll be in your classroom waiting for the rundown on what the hell just happened between you and Melissa, as if she didn’t see it all happen from inches away. At this rate, you wouldn’t be surprised if Jacob shows up with a bag of popcorn to join in with the gossip session.

“Oh shit, yeah, I need to clean before Nonna shows up,” Melissa mumbles, “I don’t wanna even think about the earful I’ll get if my classroom is a mess.” She doesn’t even stop to think before she turns on her heel and practically runs out of the gym and down the hall toward her classroom. You don’t have time to process her words before her best friend speaks.

“Well, I guess that just leaves us,” Barbara says from her place next to where the redhead stood. She wears a gentle smile on her face that will always help you feel at ease. She reaches her arm out to you, linking your arm within hers as she turns to walk. “Come on honey, I’ll walk you to your room and tell you all about the cruise I had with my Gerald.”

After a rather lengthy conversation about ‘Sea Barbara’ and her less-than-christian antics, you’re back at your door for the first time in months and can’t help but feel like you’re home. Nobody particularly likes their job but that couldn’t be further from the truth for you. Already, you’ve planned out the next year and can’t wait to welcome your little Eagles back into the classroom.

It’s a full hour later by the time you actually hear another person’s voice - Janine chose to keep her distance but will no doubt grill you about Melissa at some point today. It’s just a matter of when.

You hear the signature clicking of her heels before you can see her, her footsteps considerably slower than usual. You can hear her talking as she walks, though you can’t make you exactly what she’s saying. The footsteps grow louder and slower before you hear a knock against your doorframe, the door propped open by a thick stack of textbooks that you’ve wedged in front of it in a desperate attempt to get some airflow in the stuffy room.

The sound makes you whip your head from where you stand on your stepladder, stapler and crepe paper in hand as you put together a display for the kids. You know exactly who will be standing there, already smiling as you turn and meet her eyes.

“Hey Hun,” she says, “I’ve got someone here who wanted to really meet you.”

For the first time you notice the presence beside her. You don’t need to take any guesses that this is Melissa’s infamous Nonna, the older woman clearly having stamped her grandchildren with her genes - she looks exactly how you imagine Melissa would in her old age, her hair silver and leaning gently on a cane.

“Melissa Ann Caterina Schemmenti!” she exclaims, making you jump and stand up straighter, terrified at the prospect of already being on her bad side. You climb down from the ladder as she stares at you, smoothing your hands down the front of your dress in an effort to get rid of any creases that may have formed during the morning. “You said she was pretty, but not this pretty!”

You feel your shoulders relax as you laugh at the older woman, taken aback, Melissa by the side of her groaning loudly with a “Nonna, really?” You move toward the pair holding your hand out to shake the wrinkled one of the grey-haired lady before you. Her fingers are adorned by the same kind of jewelry that Melissa wears, her Sicilian heritage extremely clear from the large signet rings that she wears across her hands.

“And there’s no mistaking that you must be Nonna,” you grin, introducing yourself. “I’ve heard a lot about you. You’re like a living legend around here.” She closes her hand around yours, the other still gripping her cane.

“Pretty and complimentary?” She remarks, turning to look at her granddaughter whose face has managed to turn the same colour as her hair. “Well, you kept a lot quiet about this one.”

You can’t help but look at Melissa at this statement, catching her eye and smiling even wider, Nonna’s remarks already making your grin impossibly wide. Her brow relaxes itself slightly, the hard lines around her eyes softening when she sees the pure joy on your face at finally getting to meet the woman you’ve heard so much about over the last few years.

“I’m not sure if I want to hear exactly what you know about me,” you joke to her, catching Melissa’s eye yet again. The poor woman looks unbelievably flustered but it's a welcome change in your dynamic. She usually gets to revel in the fact that you turn into a puddle in her presence, but now you can only hope to add to the quickly darkening hue of her cheeks.

“Trust me, you do. This one doesn’t shut up about you,” she says, smiling slightly and cocking her head toward Melissa who is actively wishing that a sinkhole would open up beneath her feet. She lets go of your hand and moves further into the classroom, leaning ever so slightly on her stick but still moving with all the confidence of your favourite Schemmenti woman - at least you know where Melissa gets it from now.

Your eyes dart to Melissa, the older woman already looking back at you with a silent apology in her eyes her teeth worrying her bottom lip. You reach out and rub the top of her arm over her shirt in a small act of comfort, letting her know that this entire situation is doing nothing but working in her favour.

“Ya know, it’s nice seeing something other than my Melissa’s classroom or the reception desk at this school for once,” Nonna says, almost speaking to herself. She looks around the room almost in awe, taking in the displays in various degrees of completion around the room.

You follow her further in, Melissa hot on your tail behind you. She’s so close that you feel her almost walk straight into your back as you stop closer to the older woman, her once intimidating heels stuttering slightly on the wooden floor.

“So, tell me,” Nonna begins, turning in place to face you, “What brought a girl like you to Philly? I know you’re not a local.” Her eyes twinkle as she asks, and you have a sneaking suspicion that she already knows the answer to her question from the tales her granddaughter has seemingly told her about you.

“I just wanted a change,” you answer honestly. “I only thought I’d be here a couple years, but it’s been five and I can’t see myself leaving any time soon.”

At your statement you hear Melissa sigh by your side. As your head turns to meet her gaze you see just how much it softened at your words. She knows just how much you love your job and the dedication you’re willing to put into making sure these kids make it. Year after year she’s been the one to help you draft lesson plans and mark countless piles of work over a mug of coffee in the teachers’ lounge, helping you when you feel slightly out of your depth in more ways than she could imagine.

It’s only when she’s this close to your face that you can see the glittering of her lip gloss as she smiles slightly, her lips pulled together in a look that conveys so much softness.

“Do you like Italian food?” Nonna asks, breaking the tense silence that has fallen between you. You feel the redhead beside you jump, both of you completely forgetting that her grandmother is just meters away from your little moment. You can’t answer quick enough, crying out for her approval and hoping that you can focus back from the incredible green eyes that are currently burning into the side of your head.

“Oh yeah, I absolutely love an Italian,” you stutter out, “Can’t get enough.”

You inwardly cringe at your words as you hear Melissa snicker by your side, Nonna’s eyes twinkling with amusement again. You hear a quiet “Bedda Matri” from Melissa through the giggles that shake her body.

“I bet ya do,” Nonna says, her grin revealing her impossibly pearly white teeth. You can feel yourself getting warmer and you’re not sure if it’s from the stuffiness of your classroom and its broken windows or from the pure embarrassment radiating through your system. “You know, I taught Melissa everything she knows about Italian food. Maybe if you’re nice she’ll cook for you sometime.”

Nonna’s eyebrows are raised as you turn to meet Melissa’s eyes, the older woman shrugging in your direction. It's nice to know you aren’t the only person completely lost in this conversation.

“Oh, I know!” Nonna exclaims, making the pair of you jump yet again, “Melissa, how about you cook this nice girl the family baked ziti tonight? Say, 7 o’clock?”

“Uh sure, if you don’t have anything on?” Melissa says, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion once again.

“No no, I’m totally free,” you stammer, your cheeks matching the deep red of your co-worker's hair. “I’ve got your address too.”

“Wonderful!” Nonna almost shouts, her shrill voice echoing off the semi-bare walls of your classroom. “You’re going to love it, trust me.” She says, throwing a wink your way.

You don’t particularly want to admit that the smaller woman is, but you do love it. So much so that two years later you’re twirling around a dance floor in a lacy white dress, Melissa in a matching getup and shiny new diamond rings on your left hands. As Billy Joel croons the chorus of ‘Just the Way You Are’ from the speakers set up around the room, you hear a familiar voice chirp up from a table just out of reach of the dance floor.

“You know, they would never have gotten together if I hadn’t practically knocked their heads together,” Nonna says, her voice carrying over the song as she explains her matchmaking services to Melissa’s Uncle Tony. You feel Melissa grin where her cheek rests against yours, your expression matching hers as you hear the older woman carry on. “I’m telling you now Anthony, this wedding wouldn’t even be happening if it wasn’t for me.”

You feel Melissa begin to giggle where she stands, her hands resting against the lace at the small of your back, thumbs rubbing gently against the surface as you sway together. You hear Nonna carry on, adamant that the life you’ve built wouldn’t be possible if not for her, and as much as you don’t want to give her satisfaction, you both know she’s right.

#wlw #self insert #reader fanfic #reader fic #lisa ann walter #abbott elementary #writing #fluff #abbott elementary fanfic #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti fic #melissa schemmenti fanfic #lisa ann walter x reader #lisa ann walter fic #melissa schemmenti x y/n

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suzukiblu · 20 days ago

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WIP excerpt for denver behind the cut; “project sidekick”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“I mean we could technically do both, nothing’s stopping us from doing ‘both’, we’re strong, competent sidekicks who don’t need no moderation,” Kid Flash mutters under his breath, briefly scowling at the ceiling as he folds his arms. “Heck, we could loop in the three-man cover band while we’re at it, really hit all the bases. What do you think for the home run, what sounds–?”

“They didn’t know,” Superboy cuts him off stiffly, because–they didn’t. Obviously. It’s not their faults. Kid Flash is supposed to be blaming–“I’m the one who got you all caught.”

“Like sure fine whatever, sorry we can’t all take getting surprise-cloned as well as Superman, we’re not all Superman-levels of good guy up in here,” Kid Flash snipes irritably, briefly blurring at the edges before starting to pace back and forth between the couches as Robin snorts out a slightly too tight laugh and Kaldur lets out a quiet little sigh, and Superboy–

Doesn’t flinch. Just . . . doesn’t.

He guesses nobody told them about that, then. Which . . . well. It’s not actually important to anyone else, so there’s not really a reason anyone would’ve bothered.

But if they all think Superman’s that level of good, then once they hear that even he didn’t take–just, if they think that, then what does that mean about what they’re going to think about their clones? And what they’re going to think about . . .

Superboy feels like an asshole for caring if they’re going to think less of him, for that. After everything he personally fucked up in their lives, they should already think less of him anyway. There’s no difference if they think less of him because of Superman’s opinion on top of that.

Plenty of people already do anyway, so what’s it even matter?

Just–the three of them were the first people he’d ever met outside of his own head. The first people who’d promised him . . . better than the inside of his own head; than what he’d been made for. Promised him that to the point that promise had carried over to three completely different people who’d kept it without even knowing they hadn’t been the ones to make it.

So . . . no, it definitely would matter if they thought less of him because of Superman’s opinion instead of his own mistakes. But it’d only actually matter to him, again. So that’s not . . . important, no.

At least he’ll understand why he deserves it, this time.

“If you don’t like them, just . . . don’t be–assholes about it,” he says stiffly, because that is important. That’s–definitely important. “If they try to–talk to you, or . . . whatever.”

He doesn’t say anything about Superman. Or himself. Because–not important, again. Not to anyone but him.

The other three all pause, all at the same time. That was–definitely obvious, Superboy knows. It was obvious, and he didn’t mean to be obvious, but it makes him feel . . .

It’s not important, how it makes him feel.

#young justice #young justice animated #conner kent #kaldur'ahm #wally west #dick grayson #superboy #aqualad #kid flash #dc robin #wip: project sidekick #denver

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littlelovelunette · 2 months ago

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The Family: Eve's Anger Issues

The tension in the living room was thick. Eve’s clenched fists were shaking at her sides, her chest rising and falling in rapid breaths. Rai, typically reserved, stood near the corner, her posture stiff as if bracing for impact.

The rest of the kids were scattered around the room, nervous, their eyes darting to each other but not daring to move closer. The air was charged, like a storm on the verge of breaking.

Eve's voice cut through the silence, low and seething, “You don’t get it, do you, Rai? You think I can’t tell when you’re just trying to get under my skin?”

Rai, looking like she wants to shrink into herself, opened her mouth but didnt say anything. Her wide, expressive eyes darted to the others, silently pleading for someone to intervene.

“I didn’t mean to—” Rai started, but Eve’s glare silenced her instantly.

“I don’t care what you meant!” Eve snapped her voice rising, hands trembling with barely contained rage. “Just stay the hell out of my way.”

The others shifted nervously, avoiding eye contact, clearly terrified of what might happen next.

They knew Eve’s anger issues well, but this felt different—more intense than before. Everyone's on edge, unsure how to handle the situation.

That’s when Luna stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. “Eve, stop,” she said, her usual composure steadying the atmosphere. “Take a breath. This isn’t helping anyone.”

Eve whirled on her, her fists now balled tightly, eyes flashing with the familiar fire. “What? You think I care about your little ‘calm down’ speech?” She spat out the words, pacing aggressively. “No one gets it. I’m tired of it.”

Luna didnt back down. Her posture was strong, like she’s used to being the peacekeeper in moments like this.

“I know you’re frustrated, Eve. But this isn’t the way to solve anything.” Luna took a slow, measured step closer. “You can’t take it out on Rai. It’s not her fault.”

Eve’s breath hitched for a second, her gaze flickering between Luna and Rai. But the anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface. “She... she’s just so damn... quiet,” Eve spat out, hands opening and closing like she’s about to punch something. “I can’t deal with her being so—so distant all the time!”

Most of them already knew Rai was as antisocial as they came but oh well…

Luna’s expression softened. “She’s not quiet, Eve. She’s... different. She’s not trying to upset you, but you’ve got to stop reacting like this.” She paused, her tone gentle but insistent. “Please, just talk to her. It’s not too late.”

As the argument continued, Evangeline snuck out of the living room, phone in hand. Ash saw her leave and wanted to call out but decided against it.

Evie sank down to the floor away from the living room, calling me. “Mama…” she whispered. “It's world war three here.”

“Hold up, Sev, it's Evie.” I said before responding, “What's going on there, sweetie?”

“It's Eve.”

As Evangeline explained what was happening there, I could see Sevika going deep in thought beside me. “We're coming.” I said hanging up.

Evangeline sighed and returned to the living room.

Mimi gave a half-hearted laugh, but it came out more nervous than anything. “Okay, okay… this is a bit much even for me,” she muttered, before looking at Libby for some kind of reassurance.

Libby, who had been avoiding the whole mess, finally let out a sigh. “Whatever. As long as she doesn’t wreck anything, I’m good.”

Ash, still standing in the corner, looked like she was trying to decide whether she should step in or not. She scratched the back of her neck, clearly uncomfortable.

And then, the door swung open—

I instantly walked over to Eve, not bothering to take my beige heels off. I pulled her in a hug, her head against my chest. With a huff, she wrapped her arms around me, too but then calmed down surprisingly quickly.

“Geez, you kids.” Sevika muttered, looking at Ash, “You good?”

“Yeah, just thought Eve would eat Rai alive for a teensy weensy second there.”

Luna saw Rai shedding a few silent tears and swiftly wiping them off with her sleeve— the others saw too. Everyone started hugging Rai, Mimi being the first to squish her cheek against Rai’s.

“I didn't mean to lash out.” Eve said seeing Rai cry, she hid her face in my chest and I sighed. “It's okay.” I whispered.

After a while longer of Eve staying tucked under my arm, I gave her a pat on the shoulder. “C'mon, go join your sisters.” I nodded towards the group hug surrounding Rai.

Eve’s eyes were now glossy when she ran into the group hug, shoving Mimi away and hugging Rai— now both of them sobbing.

I exhaled deeply before smiling slightly at the scene. Sevika walked up beside me, placing a hand on my waist.

“You did well, babe.”

“I didn't do anything.” I leaned my head against her shoulder.

“I'm just so proud of them.”

“I am, too.”

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magicalbats · 7 months ago

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Kinktober Day 23: Boothill x Reader

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 4976

Warnings: Afab!reader, age difference, gunplay, a tiny bit of coercion on readers part, gun in mouth, dry humping

A/N: Okay, so I'm officially a day behind but! This one was a bit of a challenge for me, both because I've never really written any gunplay scenarios before but also because it was a bit of a brain twister trying to lock down his old west mannerisms with the silly potty word substitutes 🤭 Hopefully I didn't do too bad on either front!

⭐

The Galaxy Rangers were somewhat infamous for enjoying reckless games. The sort that more often than not ended in disastrous results, particularly when more than one of them had been taken out of commission by an unlucky Russian Roulette bullet. But like moths to the flame, those of you who lived by the creed of the Hunt were inexorably drawn to high adrenaline situations and the kind of fast paced excitement that made most others shy away for fear of life and limb.

You were no different in this regard, and neither was Boothill.

He’d mentored you for a very short while, back when you first took up Lan’s bow and set out into the vast cosmos to bring about some form of justice in a largely unjust universe. Treated you much like a daughter, in fact.

And that just made the current situation of having his revolver shoved in your face all the more thrilling.

“Fudging hell, girl! I almost blew your darned brains out! You can’t go around sneaking up on people like that. It’s not smart and it’s not safe!”

“Sorry.” You murmur, tipping your head just enough to peer around the barrel of his gun so you can pin him with a wholly innocent smile. “I just wanted to surprise you. It’s been a long time since we last saw each other.”

“Well, ya’ certainly surprised me.” Sighing out a terse, mildly bothered huff, Boothill fluidly relaxes out of his practiced shooting stance and gives his pistol a quick twirl before holstering it at his hip. The nervous people standing around the two of you who had backed up into a loose circle at the first sight of his pistol visibly relax but still quickly go about their business to avoid getting caught up in whatever trouble was brewing here on this particular street of Penacony’s Golden Hour.

He doesn’t even seem to notice though, perfectly calm and casual now as he looks you up and down with a considering glance. “Glad to see you’re still kicking, I suppose. You didn’t exactly fill me with an overwhelming sense of confidence when I first met ya’, you know?”

You can’t help but laugh at that, eagerly rocking up on your toes to lessen the height difference by a small margin. “Is that why you took me under your wing? To improve my chances of survival.”

He scoffs at that, metal hand coming up to brace along his equally metal hip. “I ain’t that fudging kindhearted so don’t get it twisted now. I just happened to see a little cowgirl who couldn’t find her way out of a paper bag if it was soaked through, and I couldn’t abide by that. Didn’t want you to go giving the Galaxy Rangers a bad name or nothing.”

A certain, naively hopeful part of you sinks at that. You knew how he’d treated you before, of course, but that was a few years in the past now … “Is that really all you see me as? A little girl?”

“And what pray tell am I supposed to see you as if not that?”

“I’m not a kid, for starters.”

“Tch. I can see that. That cute lil’ dress you got on isn’t gonna’ make me forget about the first time I ran into ya’ though. You weren’t no better than a fool headed little brat trying to shoot yer daddy’s gun out in that field.”

You warm slightly at that, completely ignoring everything else he’d said in favor of focusing on the important bit. “You really think my dress is cute?”

“Bah! Enough of this. I ain’t got time for it.”

Turning on his heel, Boothill decisively starts to make his way further down the road on a straight course for the looming facade of the hotel up ahead. And you just push into motion to trot right along after him, having to work your legs double time to keep pace with his long strides.

It takes him a prolonged beat to realize you’re following him and when he does, he snaps his head in your direction with a low growl of warning. “What do you think you’re doing, girl? I said I ain’t got time for it!”

“I just wanted to catch up, that’s all.”

“Catch up!” He echoes you loudly enough to make some of the passersby glance over with varying degrees of confused and indignant looks. “What is there even to catch up on, huh? I’ve just been putting bullet holes in bad guys for the last some odd years and I reckon you’ve been doing the same since you’re still standing here. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

The two of you reach the sloping stairs at that point and start to make your way up together. It does not escape your notice that he seems to be far too focused on chiding you to give his purposeful strides any further thought and he was likely just retracing the same path he’d taken before. It was probably best to keep him talking then.

“Aren’t you even the least bit curious about me? After all, you did take the time to teach me how to handle a gun. I’d think you’d be more interested to know how that’s panned out in the long run. I promise I’m a much better shot now.”

Boothill lifts a dark brow at the playful lilt in your voice, allowing a sharp toothed grin to tug at his mouth now. “Is that so? You must think you’re something real slick if you’re trying to brag. Think you’re big enough to beat me in a quick draw, little missy?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of taking you on in this lifetime.” You murmur, smiling to yourself when he beats you to one of the front entrance doors by a single step so he can yank it open to grant you entry. Evidently his gruff manner of a chivalrous gunslinger was so deeply ingrained in his subconscious that he doesn’t even give it a second thought now and you certainly weren’t going to question it.

Slipping into the hotel lobby, he comes in after you with a big, boisterous laugh, his boot spurs rattling with each step. “Well, at least you understand the pecking order. You’re still a few decades too early to go up against me and hope to win, but don’t let that discourage ya’. You must be good enough to have survived this long.”

“It’s really only thanks to you, Mr. Boothill. I had no idea what I was doing until you came along!”

“Aww, shucks. Stop it, darling. You’ll have this old dog blushing here in a minute if you keep that up.”

You wonder if cyborgs that are more machine than man could actually blush as you totter along next to him. Through the lobby, up an elevator, into one of many hotel lounge bars and then up another set of stairs until you find yourself wandering down a long corridor together. He still hasn’t quite figured out your angle while you keep layering compliments and feeding just enough of a line to keep him talking about something or another to distract him. It clearly works too, and Boothill doesn’t even hesitate to unlock his room's door nor does he seem to stop long enough to realize you’re slipping inside with him, right on his heels and just as unobtrusive as any shadow.

His gruff laughter dying off to a slow, drawling chuckle, the Galaxy Ranger turns towards the little coffee table just inside the spacious room and moves to unholster his pistol so he could set it down. But he freezes halfway through the motion as if suddenly realizing he hadn’t made the trip up here alone. For a harrowing stretch of moments he doesn’t move so much as a finger before all at once rounding on you with an aggressive bark

“You! What do you think you’re - -“

“I didn’t do anything wrong, Mr. Boothill.” You tell him sweetly, batting your lashes for extra effect. “You let me in here, remember?”

“Like hell I did! I never gave you an invitation to come sashaying in here, you little - -“

Quickly ducking under his reaching hand, you dance back to keep at least an arms length between you and him, giggling the whole time. “Hey, don’t be mean to me! I’m your precious junior, aren’t I?”

“Muddle-fudger!”

The next handful of seconds feel like they go by in a torturous, slow motion blur.

You’d underestimated the full scope of his reach and now that he knows you’re playing games with him, he doesn’t hold back.

His hand strikes out at you like a snapping serpent, full force and quicker than you can conceivably react. You were good, all things considered, but not quite as good as him.

Your neck is suddenly caught between the cool, pinching metal of his bionic fingers, his palm slamming into your throat hard enough to make you gag.

Winded and startled, Boothill drags you stumbling towards the table where he shoves you back against it, half picking you up by the neck to get you on top of the shuddering surface.

Then he’s slamming you down to lay flat out, the force of the impact dislodging a disgruntled sound from your aching chest.

And he finally leans over you, pinning you there with his hand locked against your throat so he can shove the barrel of his gun right in your face again.

It’s over in the time it takes you to blink, leaving you dazed and panting as you stare up along the dark iron muzzle to look into his face. You’re not the least bit surprised to find he isn’t even breathing any harder after all of that and you let out a threadbare, groaning laugh, unable to help yourself even when you were staring death right in the eyes.

“What is so funny, huh?” He dangerously snarls, nudging his pistol at you for emphasis. “Fork me, I don’t remember you being crazy but it looks like you knocked a few screws loose somewhere along the way. Are you looking for me to remedy that for you?”

His thumb curls up at that to pointedly flick the safety off with a click that sounds deafening from this close up.

You have to bite down on your bottom lip to stopper the moan that tries to rattle its way up your constricting throat, carefully shifting against him to feel the solid weight of his narrow hips between your legs. Although pissing him off hadn’t exactly been your goal when you’d first approached him, this was still very much turning out as you’d hoped it would.

“I’m afraid it’s not my head that needs fixing, Mr. Boothill.”

A genuinely perplexed look crosses his face at that. “Son of a nice — what the hell are you even saying, you little brat? You don’t make a lick of sense, you know that?”

Drawing a slow breath to steady yourself, you cautiously bring your hand up to grasp at the metal wrist pinning your neck down. That he allows it instead of pumping you full of lead right then and there seems as good a sign as any to keep going, so you do.

“Do you want the truth?”

“If you value your life, you’d better start talking quick.”

“It’s you, Mr. Boothill. You’re what’s wrong with me. And it’s not my head that’s the problem. It’s down here.” Stiffly, you roll your hips upward to deliberately grind your cunt against the front of him. It’s hard to say if he can feel anything at all with so much of his body being metal, but he sees the shuddering motion and trails his attention down to the spot where he’s standing between your legs.

His mouth drops open to reveal that razor sharp row of teeth again, gun hand wavering slightly in your face. “Huh?”

“Do you remember when you were teaching me how to track and take down bad guys? I thought you were so cool, Mr. Boothill … I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you all this time either. I was hoping I’d run into you again someday even if the chances were slim to none, so when I saw you on the street it felt a little bit like fate.”

“Wha — fate? Girl, have you lost your gosh darned mind? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly in possession of a flesh and blood body. What the fudge do you expect me to do with you?” Irritably clicking tongue, he angles his pistol skyward in a smooth, well practiced motion and eases back just enough to pin you with a hard look. “Maybe if you’d caught me before I had to sell my soul to the reaper then we could have talked, but I’ve got too much to do to be messing around with you like that. I ain’t got nothing for you I’m afraid.”

You see the grim resignation in his expression for what it is, understanding that he was going to pull away from you before he actually moves to do it. He only makes it so far as letting up on your neck though before you manage to rouse yourself enough to bring your legs up and wrap them around his deceptively dainty waist to lock him there.

Stiffening slightly, Boothill glances down at the lurid spread of your thighs, soft and form fitted to the sharp contours of his hips. Your dress had ridden up in all the excitement and now seemed dangerously close to flashing your lacy underwear at him but not quite yet. All it would take is a simple nudge of your hand though, and you hold the breath in your lungs as you watch him mentally process through that fact.

“You little hussy - -“

“Please, Mr. Boothill.” You beg, tightening your legs around him. “I know this probably isn't what you would have had in mind otherwise but … there is something you could give me. An extension of you that would make me just as happy as anything else would.”

He seems to go still for the stretch of a single heartbeat, and then another when he slowly brings his shuttered gaze up to look you in the face again. You’re not entirely sure what’s going through his head in that moment, but he seems less angry with you now and a bit more interested in what you had to say.

Finally, he almost thoughtfully tips his head to one side. “What do you mean?”

You send the pistol in his hand a pointed glance, making him suck in a stilted breath. Evidently he’d never thought about it or truly considered this as an option before, or maybe he simply hadn’t thought anyone would ever be fool enough to want that. But for better or worse, as a Galaxy Range or perhaps as a follower of Lan’s hunt, you weren’t scared of a little risk to go with the pleasure.

“You’re fudgin’ serious.” He murmurs, sounding equal parts impressed and appropriately cowed.

A brief laugh huffs out of him as he shakes his head, and you slowly reach one of your hands down to just pinch at the front of your dress so you can tug it up. “I’ve been thinking about this since the day we parted ways, Mr. Boothill. I always knew your body wasn’t whole anymore so I guess I just kind of naturally started thinking about potential substitutes.”

“And now here you are.”

You smile at that. “Yes, here I am. Offering myself to you, if you’ll have me.”

You feel the first cool waft of air against your silk and lace panties then, shuddering ever so softly as you inch the fabric higher still to give him a good look at you. Running into him like this had been the very definition of an unexpected encounter so you weren’t wearing anything overly sexy or revealing, but they were still cute. They also showed off the pudgy seam of your cunt where the material was lightly moulded to you, thanks to the damp slick starting to gather along the crease as much as from the nudge of his pelvis when he’d pinned you down.

He just stares at you for an uncertain beat though, looking at your pussy with a clear note of wanting reflected in his one visible eye but quickly concealed with a quiet scoff. Turning his head to focus on something else, he raises his gun to thumb the safety back on before somewhat warily bringing it down to waist level where he hesitates.

“I could really hurt you doing something like this, darling.”

“You won’t. I trust you.”

Your breath is coming a little quicker now, sped up by the onset of anticipation and quick mounting excitement. He was tempted, that much was obvious. Either because the lack of a working, fleshy cock made encounters like this unnecessary and redundant for him, an exceedingly rare indulgence he didn’t often have a chance to participate in anymore, or perhaps it was simply because he was just as much of a thrill seeker as you were. Maybe even some deadly combination of the two.

But you could tell in his confident, hot headed swagger as much as his face, the only part of his original body that was still left, that he was not actually the old dog he sometimes fashioned himself to be. He’d likely been approaching his mid twenties when he underwent the full transition to a bionic body and was in truth only a few years older than you. That he’d chosen this path over keeping his cock, something most men centered their whole identity around, spoke volumes of his true nature.

That is what had stuck with you all this time and what kept you awake on many a lonely night. There was something so uniquely charming about him in a rugged, old west kind of way that you couldn’t help but want him as you do.

So you slowly inch your legs further apart, letting them settle into a wide spread that leaves your pantied cunt vulnerable and plainly offered up to him. Boothill’s gaze wanders down to regard you at the shift, his yearning for the warmth of your body settling across his face in a pained grimace. There was very likely some part of him that missed his old skin and you were all too happy to give him the chance to feel even a small fraction of what it was like to be human again.

“Right here.” You prod, fingers slipping back down to just feel over the apex of your mound.

Listlessly rousing himself, Boothill lifts his gun to nudge it into the space between your thighs where he lightly runs the cool metal barrel over your underwear. It’s a featherlight and fleeting sensation, but so monumentally heavy in its implication that your chest hitches with a little gasp.

He seems to settle into the idea quickly enough at the threadbare whimper you let out and he presses the hard contour into you a bit more firmly to trace over the outline of your labia. You draw in a faintly shuddering breath in an attempt to steady yourself somewhat as your hips twitch up into the sensation, encouraging him on.

“If I would have known this was the kind of hairbrained stunt you were going to pull later on,” He drawls in a gruff voice. “I never would have gone out of my way to help you out back then. You’re nothing but fudging trouble, girl.”

“I only learned from the best.”

That earns you a quiet, scoffing laugh, but Boothill keeps the motion of his gun steady and light even when you roll your cunt against it in search of more of that gratifying pressure. It doesn’t take long for you to start feeling unbearably antsy like this when you've thought of and fantasized about this exact moment too many times to count, so you reach down a little further to catch the side of your panties with a finger.

Slowly pulling it to the side for him, you carefully watch Boothill’s face to see the mild flash of surprise that crosses his expression. It’s gone in an instant though, replaced by a hungry, masculine edge as he peers down at the invitingly soft seam of your body, the vaguely damp curls that frame the tight, warm clutch where he would have happily buried himself in a past life. That’s not feasible now though, and he makes do with simply inching his pistol closer to just barely touch cold iron to your labia.

Your reaction is physical as much as it is mental, sharply pulling in a breath at the firm nudge against the most tender part of you. His gun is hard and unrelenting, something that registers in your mind as innately dangerous despite the exceedingly gentle way he touches you with it. Caressing over creases and folds with a fleshy drag to part the lips and expose more of your cunt to his voracious sights.

“Well I’ll be darned. You’re already getting wetter than a cucumber in a women’s prison, you little trollop.”

A rattling sound of confusion slips out of you at that but you’re a little too focused on what he’s doing to you to focus on his strange turns of phrase right now.

Shuddering faintly, you push up on your elbow so you can glance down and get a better view of the tarnished gold barrel prodding at you. The simple visual alone is so much better than you could have envisioned it would be, especially when he was standing over you like this in reality and not in your dreams. A quiet, needy mewl slips out of you then as you redirect the fingers between your legs inward to pull your labia open for him.

Boothill issues a low whistle into the static charged air, directing the pistol upward to tease over your clit which weakly clings to the iron muzzle. The resulting meaty jostle makes you seethe and eagerly jut your hips up in search of more, feeling very nearly delirious now with the potent rush of arousal. You already felt like you were going to cum but you didn’t want it to be over just yet.

“Please.” You rattle, starting to fidget on top of the table. “I want you, Mr. Boothill.”

“Well, you can want it all you want but that don’t mean I’m gonna’ give it to ya’.”

He starts to pull back then, pistol sliding away from your cunt, and you noise a frantic sound of confusion at him.

That’s about all you manage before he’s suddenly leaning over you with a decisive motion, his open hand bracing on the table next to you while his narrow waist slots into the squeeze of your inner thighs again. You full on tremble at the sudden proximity of him as much as the not so subtle push of his front against your pussy. He’s just as hard and unrelenting, and cool to the touch as his gun is, but that doesn’t deter you half as much as it excites you.

You feel wild and frenzied now, half crazed with the fast pumping sear of adrenaline working through your system as you tip your head back to look up at him. There’s a grumpy frown tugging at his mouth, grudging acceptance written across his face, and you shudder fiercely when he brings the pistol up to draw it across your lips to let you taste yourself on the barrel.

“Open up that pretty little mouth of yours, darling.”

Unhesitatingly, you do exactly that, tongue flicking out to trace a suggestive line over the muzzle. Your mouth is immediately overwhelmed with the taste of oil, bitter residue and such a blinding, overwhelming sense of danger that your eyes immediately start to roll back in your head. You felt like you were moments away from cumming completely untouched, so worked up and excited that your pussy involuntarily clenches tight around nothing.

It makes your head spin alarmingly fast and you don’t even think to fight it when he angles the gun to slip it past your open lips and just wedge the end of the barrel between your teeth. Groaning a delirious sound around the intrusion, you flex your mouth to find a comfortable position but it’s no use. It’s too wide and sharply edged for your jaw, and copious sheets of drool quickly begin to pool in the back of your throat while you choke on the cold, bitter taste.

Rumbling a low sound that is suspiciously reminiscent of a pleasured groan, Boothill tentatively rolls his metal hips into you, grinding himself against your cunt to make you spasm on top of the table. With your mouth mercilessly wedged open like this all you can do is plaintively mewl and groan increasingly strained noises while he finds a rhythm to settle into. And it just makes your pussy impotently throb, the pressure of his bionic waist pushing against you so exquisite it just serves to wind you up even tighter until you’re all but vibrating underneath him.

“Holy Wubbaboo.” He breathes out, awed and a little taken aback as he starts to work his hips faster. Harder. Driving the front of his body against you vigorously enough now that your tits begin to shift under your clothes. “Wasn’t thinking you’d actually like this so darned much. You really are out of your mind.”

Even though he says that he doesn’t stop fucking into you much the way he would have with a cock, the almost hypnotic pace coupled with the constant application of pressure on your cunt quickly making you slip into a dreamy haze. You were soaked and only getting wetter, and likely leaving sticky slick all over the front of his skin tight pants. But that doesn’t seem to deter him in the slightest, his breathy grunts of effort mingling with the tremor of your muffled groans.

And as the seconds bleed into minutes, the powerful flex of his hips driving into you soon starts up a tiny, sticky wet click where your drooling cunt was clinging to him. It’s just as if he was really fucking you and sound makes you positively writhe in place, so turned on and desperate to be touched that you bring your hands up to blindly fumble with the top of your dress. Your tits spill out with a fleshy bounce and Boothill mutters a particularly colorful curse under his breath when you latch onto them, needily tugging at your own nipples.

Your jaw hurts from having it wedged open for so long but you barely even notice it now, or the bubbling threads of spit that start to run down your cheeks as he shifts the gun to sedately nudge it towards the back of your throat. Even when you uncontrollably shake and judder there on the table, back bowing into a dramatic arch at the first, pulsing onset of your orgasm, he just follows you with his hand to keep your lips stretched uncomfortably wide around the barrel.

That’s how you finally cum, wailing an incomprehensibly shrill sound that’s almost entirely smothered by the pistol, fingers frantically pulling at your teats. Your pussy almost hurts from all the hard, unrelenting pressure of his metal frame but release still registers as a great relief somewhere in the back of your cotton stuffed head which bonelessly lolls back in a stupor while you pitifully twitch through the spasms.

It’s over much too fast, just as you’d known it would be when you realized how quickly you were climbing that peak, and a deeply frazzled sound slips out of you when he at last moves to ease the gun out of your mouth. Left raggedly panting and trying to swallow down the lingering bitter taste of iron, you simply lie there while he straightens up to stand over you. The fact he does not immediately move from his spot between your legs catches your attention only in so much as a dreamy, far away thought, but you don’t quite have the power to act on it or even speak about it.

And then his hand comes up to unexpectedly slip under your chin, forcing your face back around to make you look at him. For a long moment the two of you just stare at one another, you trying to steady your breathing while he just seems to thoughtfully study you with a little wrinkle of deliberation forming between his knitted brows.

Finally, Boothill clicks his tongue and readjusts his grip to hold along your jaw so he can keep you still when he leans down to hover just short of your nose. “I’m surprised you haven’t gotten yourself fudging killed yet if this is how you get your rocks off.”

“Only when it comes to you.” You murmur back, smiling a pleased, self satisfied grin up at him. There was no denying you felt incredibly good on a physical level, yes, but even more than that … the fact he’d neither sent you away or shot you dead for the insult makes your chest feel helium light. Oh, but you could have stayed here with him for a lifetime just like this.

“Well, darling. I’ll admit, you’ve managed to pique my interest. I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to keep you alive, especially with the way you like to carry on, but it might still be fun for a while. Whaddya’ say? Want to tag along with me again for a while?”

As if you had to even think about your answer.

⭐

Crossposted: here

#honkai star rail #boothill #boothill x reader #self insert bullshit

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grievedeeply · 2 years ago

Text

dating glenn rhee headcanons

fem!reader (no pronouns used) | tws: it's the walking dead so.. gore, death and injuries are all talked about.

notes: this is formatted a bit differently than my other dating headcanons, but i wanted to branch out a bit if that makes sense. i feel like i can go into more detail without it getting messy or making you have a headache. it’s a lot to read without any breaks in between. let me know if you like this way! this is incredibly self indulgent.. so. thank you @energeticsirens for encouraging me in my delusions <3

FIRST MEETING & HE REALIZES HE LIKES YOU

when glenn first meets you, he tries not to stare. he lets his eyes linger on you for a few moments but he doesn’t want you to notice that he’s looking at you

you’ll become an integral part of the atlanta group. you’re skilled with your weapon of choice, you’re kind and you’re honest, you’re genuine, and that’s what draws glenn to you to easily. you’re just.. good.

he falls first. he can’t help it. you’re frequently assigned to runs with him which annoy him a bit at the beginning. he’s just used to going into the city on his own and he felt like another person would just drag him down until you came along

you’re capable and you’re a good listener. you don’t question his decisions.. you trust him, and god, it feels good to be trusted. you easily put your life in his hands right from the very beginning

he realizes he likes you at the most mundane moment. you’re just sitting around, talking to someone at camp about whatever it might be.. but you smile and you laugh, and he feels his face heat up

and then you smile at him, waving at him from where you sat. he’s gone, really

his heart belongs to you long before you ever realize he likes you, but it’s sooo obvious to everyone else in the group

it’s all in the way he looks at you. his eyes get so soft and he has a little grin on his lips every time he sees you

YOU REALIZE YOU LIKE HIM

it’ll take you a little longer for you to realize that you like glenn. you’ll think he’s attractive from the moment you meet him, but it takes you awhile to even admit your feelings to yourself

you realize you like him in the middle of atlanta. you’re scavenging for supplies— the essentials like food that hasn’t gone bad or clothing that’ll protect against the elements— and glenn is looking around for anything for the kids

"they’ll get bored with the stuff back at camp,” he says, scouring every isle through the store, “it’s hard enough for us out there. can’t you imagine what it’s like for them? they’re just kids.” he tells you, finally meeting your eyes.

“the least i can do is find a new toy for them.” he mutters under his breath. he turns a corner and exits your line of sight.. but all you can see is him and his beautiful smile in your mind

when you return to camp that night, glenn’s carrying an extra bag. he found it somewhere in one of the stores you passed through and filled it with anything and everything he thought the kids would like

you watch as they gather around him, eyes sparkling in curiosity. he pulls the toys out of the bag and they all hug him, knocking him to the ground in the process

he laughs, and you go weak in the knees. you knew then that what you felt for him was more than platonic.. but you didn’t care

glenn’s heart is what draws you to him. for a man living through an apocalypse, he’s determined to keep his kindness. it’s admirable, and you can’t help but to fall for him

HOW YOU GET TOGETHER

glenn is a bit of an overthinker. he wants everything to be perfect for when he asks you out. or.. as perfect as it can be in a world like yours

realistically, none of the things he wants to do with you are possible. he can’t take you to an aquarium. he can’t bring you to a restaurant. he can’t do all of the cheesy, cliche stuff he saw in the movies before the world fell because it just isn’t possible anymore

his confession comes in the heat of the moment, after a near death experience on your end at the prison. walkers are flooding through a breach in the fence and it’s a picture that’ll be forever etched into his mind. you’re holding a walker back from your neck with your bare hands and he’s powerless to stop it. he watches from the corner of his eye as you finally dig your knife out of the holder on your belt and into it’s skull. it falls to the floor and you pull back with a huff

he resists the urge to run to you and instead breathes out a sigh of relief that you’re still alive and standing with him. you go back to killing walkers as if nothing had happened, but his thoughts linger on how you almost died right in front of him

once the waves stop and the fence is back up, glenn goes to find you. you’re in a more secluded area of the prison, sitting with your back against the cold brick of the wall

“you mind?” glenn asks, gesturing to the empty spot on the floor between you. you shake your head and he sits next to you. you sit in silence for a little while, just enjoying each others company

“no bites?” his voice cuts through the silence. “no bites.” you repeat back to him, a breath escaping through your lips

“i thought.. you almost died, y/n.” he mutters, finally turning his head in your direction. he had been staring at the wall before but now his eyes are pouring into yours, and you don’t know what to do or say anymore. “i’m alright,” you reassure him, pulling up the sleeves on your shirt to show your skin to him. no bites, as you promised.

“i know. but seeing that made me realize that i don’t want you in danger. ever. i care about you too much to let something like that happen again.” he tells you, voice filled with determination. “i’m sorry,” he says immediately after, “but i can’t.. i can’t.”

you furrow your eyebrows. “can’t what?” you ask, and his words cut you off from being able to continue your train of thought

“i like you.”

the room is silent again, and you can practically hear the beating of your own heart in your ears. glenn doesn’t break your gaze as he waits for you to say something.. anything

“fuck, glenn.” you whisper out to him, shaking your head, pulling your lip between your teeth. “i like you too.” you tell him after a pause

you can see his face light up, and he immediately wraps you in the biggest hug he can muster. his grip is tight, and his face is buried in your neck

“you have to promise me that if you need help you’ll call for me, okay?”

“okay,” you reply.

you can feel him smile against your skin.

FIRST KISS

he wants your first kiss together to be special. but god, he wants to kiss you so bad. he doesn’t know how much longer he can resist doing it

he just.. adores you. he looks at you and the weight of the world falls off his shoulders. he has so much he needs to protect but he sees you and it feels normal again

the two of you spend a lot of time on guard together. it’s a quiet way to get to see each other and glenn thinks it’s really special. sometimes you’ll get distracted and start talking. talking about life before the world fell, and you’ll talk about the future

it’s in one of these moments that he kisses you. you’re talking about something, and you aren’t even looking at him. you’re looking up at the sky or at the trees, he can’t tell, but you just look so.. beautiful. your eyes are sparkling in the sunlight and your smile is so bright

he can’t hold back anymore. he lifts his hand to your cheek, and you turn to look at him. his gaze flickers back and forth between your eyes and your lips.

“can i kiss you?” he asks. you nod, blinking a few times. his voice was so soft. you never wanted to stop hearing him talk

with your words, he closes his eyes and presses his lips to yours. his lips are just as gentle as his voice is, and his touch eases you into him and makes you weak at the knees. his other hand moved to cup your other cheek, and yours fell limp at your sides. he held onto your face and kept you close..

you were made for him, he thinks. your lips fit against his so perfectly, he can’t help but to believe it. two pieces of a puzzle made whole

he pulls away, chuckling breathlessly. his eyes meet yours, and the two of you just laugh, melting away into each others arms. his forehead presses to yours, and he doesn’t ever want this moment to end

FIRST I LOVE YOU

he says it first, and it slips out without him even realizing he said it

the two of you finally have some downtime, away from the responsibilities of helping to keep your group safe. you’re sitting together, your fingers entwined as you talk about whatever might be on your mind

glenn’s paying attention, he swears he is, but he gets so lost in you that he forgets to respond sometimes. his gaze is soft and he is completely and utterly infatuated by you

you wave your hand in front of his face and pull him out of his thoughts, a soft grin on your lips. still, your eyes show concern

“you alright?” you ask after a pause, and he nods, eyes skimming across your features. he wants to memorize you. he wants to keep every single detail of you in his memory

“you sure?” you ask again, brows raised as though you don’t believe him. he nods again, moving a little closer to you. “just thinking about how much i love you.” he says through a smile, and your features soften

it takes him a moment to realize what he said, but he can’t back on it now, and he doesn’t want to. he’ll just look away from you for a few moments until your hand comes to rest on his cheek, turning his attention and his head back to you

“i love you too.” you whisper, pressing your forehead to his

he swears his heart melts in this moment. he had never felt so loved and safe in someones arms before. he lets out a relieved sigh, his arms wrapping around your waist

“good,” he chuckles, “i love you so much.” he says again. he doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of saying those words

you nuzzle into him, “i love you too, glenn.”

he shuts his eyes. everything is perfect.

INTIMACY

glenn adores being intimate. moments where he gets to hold you in his arms are very few and far between, so he cherishes each and every one of them

when he’s around, he’ll most likely have a hand on you. it might be wrapped around your shoulder or your waist, but it’s there. you help to ground him into reality, but he really just likes feeling you next to him

he loves to cuddle. there’s something so special about laying down next to you and scooping you up into his arms

he’ll usually be the big spoon.. but on his bad days, he just wants to be held. he loves feeling your lips on his neck and hearing your reassuring words, even if they’re muffled by his skin

he loves falling asleep next to you. sometimes, you won’t even be touching, but by the morning your legs are tangled together and your head is buried in his chest

he’s really big on kissing, too. he just adores the feeling of your lips against his and he never wants to stop once he starts. your lips are so soft and so sweet, he’ll melt into your arms as soon as you start kissing him

kissing him out of the blue will always get him flustered. you’ll come up to him and kiss him for a few seconds and walk away, going back to whatever you were doing before. he’ll just watch as you leave, slack jawed and blushing

it isn’t just physical intimacy that you two share, though. you’re both very open about your emotions. you’re transparent about your feelings and deepest fears, helping each other to get through anything and everything

he’ll talk about losing you. ever since he met you, it’s his biggest worry. the world is cruel and unforgiving, and one misstep could result in you getting hurt or killed. he can’t handle thinking about it, but you reassure him

you may not have all the time in the world, but dwelling on it now when everything is okay won’t do anything but make yourself miserable

you’ll take his hand in your own and rest your head on his shoulder, whispering soft ‘i love yous’ over the breeze

LOVE LANGUAGES

glenn doesn’t restrict himself to just one love language.. so he’ll indulge in every single one of them to cater to the moment or how he’s feeling

first, acts of service. he’ll find himself doing anything and everything he can to make your life easier. if he has time, he’ll help you with whatever task you might be working on. he’ll make you breakfast every day so you don’t have to cook. he’ll do your laundry when you’re feeling down. little things that— in his eyes— make all the difference

gift giving. he loves to give you gifts. he’ll find all sorts of different things while he’s out on a run, and sometimes they just happen to remind him of you. it could be a toy of your favorite animal, a book you mentioned liking, a poster of something you enjoy.. anything. he will shower you in these gifts when he can. he just feels like you deserve it

quality time is big for glenn. he loves being around you. he’ll just sit in silence with you if that’s what you want to do. as long as he gets to be in your company for awhile, that’s all that matters to him. there’s something so special about sitting next to you and relishing in each others just.. being there. it helps him remember that you’re real, and you’re his

words of affirmation is a frequent one for him. he says he loves you over and over again. he sees you often, but he won’t let you walk away without hearing him say it to you. he compliments you, your skills, your beauty and your kindness, all the time. he’ll also just tell you how much he appreciates you and how much he values you being around, even if you aren’t actively talking

psychical touch! glenn loves holding you, as mentioned before. the feeling of you next to him is so grounding. the world may be horrible now, but he has you, and that’s what having you in his arms makes him remember. he loves holding your hand, kissing you, any sort of thing that lets him hold you tight

MISCELLANEOUS

he’s just.. the sweetest person in the world. he would lay down and die for you if he had to, and he truly believes he got lucky with you

he loves with everything in him. he loves with his heart, his soul, his mind, everything. he will absorb you and enjoy you as much as you will let him. he will never tire of you

he is so great at comforting you. if you’re feeling upset or stressed out, glenn’s by your side. his arm wraps around your shoulders and he’ll let you talk about it. if you don’t feel like it, he’ll tell you how much he loves you and all of the things he adores about you

he has the most soothing presence. just him being next to you is enough to calm you down, make you happy, anything. his voice is soooo.. so soft too

he’ll whisper sweet things in your ear throughout the day and as he gets more confident in himself in terms of your relationship, he’ll do a bit of teasing in front of the others. he’ll kiss you in front of the group, he’ll wrap his arms around you and hug you from behind.. all of it flusters you, and he lives for it

he loves to look at you. he gets lost in your eyes so easily and he’ll find himself staring at you a lot

he’s the bravest person you’ve ever known. he’ll stand in front of you and protect you no matter what the situation might be

he’s just.. so sweet. the best boyfriend you could ever ask for. loving, caring, gentle and so incredibly beautiful inside and out

he has the purest heart and intentions and it shows in everything he does

it shows in how he loves :)

#twd #twd x reader #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead #the walking dead x you #the walking dead x y/n #twd x you #twd x y/n #glenn rhee #glenn rhee x reader #glenn rhee x y/n #glenn rhee x you #twd imagines #twd headcanons

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