#don't click the read more if you don't have time to spare

[kahran042]

HUGE new batch of JCGTL quotes!

Mark: Why isn’t Jonas excited? Chloe: I don’t know, but it’s weird. I’ve seen Jonas get excited over getting a curly fry mixed in with his regular fries. He talked about it for a month. (Source: Austin and Ally) (Mark Seaver, Chloe Seaver)

Mark: I’m going to bed. I don’t remember which room I’m in but I’m sure I’ll recognize the door. Chloe: He’s going to be wandering around up there all night. Justin: Yup, he belongs to the hotel now. (Source: Bob's Burgers) (Mark Seaver, Chloe Seaver, Justin Seaver)

Brad: Count me out. Nate: We can’t count you out. Jonas listens to you. Brad: He also listens to the Barenaked Ladies. Go get their dumb asses to help you. *Everyone gasps* Chloe: Back it up. Nate: Okay, Brad. You are clearly in a bad space today, but Jonas is our friend and the Barenaked Ladies are triple platinum. Are you? Brad: Why does everyone leap to defend that band so aggressively? And how much stuff do we have to go through before my friendship stops being questioned? Chloe: Maybe friendship is about going through a lot of stuff. And maybe BNL has two Billboard Awards to your zero. Brad: Oh, they’re “BNL” now? We need a shorthand for the Barenaked Ladies. That’s how fundamental they are. You know what Jonas probably needs more than anything? Some space. Maybe I do too. Chloe: Maybe we all need some space to pull the knife out of the back of the most celebrated Canadian alt-rock band of the mid-‘90s, you selfish, jaded ass. (Source: Community)

(Brad Thompson, Nate Kellerman, Chloe Seaver)

Samantha: So I have to be good for a whole month. Not a problem. Samantha: … Samantha: This is gonna kill me! (Source: Garfield) (Samantha Corbin) Chloe: Could you ever see us as more than just friends? Jonas: YES! I’m so glad you asked! I can totally see us as dragons! Hang on, let me find the picture I drew… (Source: Instagram) (Chloe Seaver, Jonas Corbin)

Jonas: Are you implying that I’m stupid?Brad: Wow, for someone who’s stupid, you figured that out quickly. (Source: Inuyasha) (Jonas Corbin, Brad Thompson)

Mark: Actually, I’m in charge, in case either of you have forgotten. Chloe: No, we remember. We just don’t care. (Source: Legends of Tomorrow) (Mark Seaver, Chloe Seaver)

Kiera: You know those moments when I tell you something isn’t a good idea? Chloe: And then I ignore you? Yeah. (Source: Merlin)

(Kiera Bernhardt, Chloe Seaver)

Chloe: If I were off my rocker, would I take a weekly selfie with my hedgehog? (Source: New Girl) (Chloe Seaver) Kiera: I want to be more decisive. Chloe: About what? Kiera: I don’t know, there’s so many options. (Source: Poorly Drawn Lines) (Kiera Bernhardt, Chloe Seaver)

Chloe: I hate you. Connor: I know. (Source: Star Wars)

(Chloe Seaver, Connor Urquhart)

Jonas (to Kiera): I'm not perfect, but I'll love you with everything I've got. (Source: Tumblr) (Jonas Corbin)

Adrian: Slartibartfast. Kiera: Huh? Adrian: That was a dude from Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, remember? Kiera: Yeah, what about it? Adrian: Yeah. (Source: Tumblr) (Adrian Bernhardt, Kiera Bernhardt)

Jonas: Hey, Nate, quick question here, how much is 132 multiplied by 42? Nate: Do I look like a calculator to you? Jonas: Yeah. Nate: … Nate: [sighing] 5,544. (Source: Tumblr) (Jonas Corbin, Nate Kellerman)

Jonas: How old is Frodo? Chloe: I think he's about two or three. Jonas: Thanks. Chloe: Why? Jonas: Do you think he's more magical or he uses full on fist combat? Chloe: Are you guys making my hedgehog in an RPG? Brad: Answer, please. (Source: Tumblr) (Jonas Corbin, Chloe Seaver, Brad Thompson)

Kiera: What’d you make for Nate? Alicia, staring at the food she just burned: Regret. (Source: Tumblr) (Kiera Bernhardt, Alicia Ramsey)

Jonas: Is there a word that’s a mix between “sad” and “mad”? Nate: Disgruntled, miserable, desolated. Brad: Smad. (Source: Tumblr) (Jonas Corbin, Nate Kellerman, Brad Thompson)

Robert: Can you come out? Morgan: Okay, gimme a minute. Dad, I’m gay. Robert: I know that, honey. I meant come out to the car. Morgan: Car, I’m gay. (Source: Tumblr) (Robert Urquhart, Morgan Urquhart)

Kiera: *carries Lilith out of her room for being naughty* Lilith: *purrs* Kiera: You are being punished. Please do not purr. I love you. (Source: Tumblr) (Kiera Bernhardt, Lilith)

Connor: Is there any recreational use for asprin? Mark: You could juggle with the pills. (Source: Tumblr) (Connor Urquhart, Mark Seaver)

Jonas: You could at least ask to have some of my Halloween candy! Mark: You’d say no anyways. Jonas: BECAUSE YOU KEEP STEALING IT! (Source: Tumblr) (Jonas Corbin, Mark Seaver)

Jonas: You’re pretty strong. You should be my bodyguard. Mark: I would love to be your bodyguard. Jonas: I wouldn’t pay you. Mark: I would hate to be your bodyguard. (Source: Tumblr) (Jonas Corbin, Mark Seaver)

Shana: What time is it? Drake: I don’t know; pass me that saxophone and we’ll find out. Drake: *plays sax loudly and extremely out of tune* Neighbor: WHO THE FUCK IS PLAYING THE SAXOPHONE AT TWO IN THE MORNING? Drake: It’s 2 am. (Source: Tumblr) (Shana Levine, Drake Levine)

Jonas: Hey, Alicia, what are you writing? Alicia: A fanfic. Jonas: About what? Alicia: You and Chloe. Jonas, blushing: W-what? Why? Alicia: Chloe asked me to. I’m being paid. Chloe: I TOLD YOU TO KEEP THAT ANONYMOUS, IDIOT! (Source: Tumblr) (Jonas Corbin, Alicia Ramsey, Chloe Seaver)

John: Not all construction work is equally enjoyable. For example, enlarging a drilled hole is boring, but fastening pieces of metal together is riveting. (Source: Tumblr) (John Seaver)

Colin: Can I buy you a drink? Morgan: I have a girlfriend. Colin: *counts out his money* She can only get something small then. (Source: Twitter) (Colin Gardner, Morgan Urquhart)

Nate: Did it hurt? When I told you to Google something and I was right? (Source: Twitter) (Nate Kellerman)

Jonas: How petty can you get? Nate: I once edited a Wikipedia article to win an argument I was wrong about. (Source: Twitter) (Jonas Corbin, Nate Kellerman) Brad: What’s the plan? We just hide in here forever? Jonas: Not forever. Just until Mark is calm. Chloe: So forever. (Source: Victorious) (Brad Thompson, Jonas Corbin, Chloe Seaver)

Mark: You’re sick. You’re a sick person. Connor: You’re just now figuring that out? (Source: Victorious)

(Mark Seaver, Connor Urquhart)

Mark, banging on the door: Connor! Open up! Connor: Well, it all started when I was a kid… Morgan: No, he meant- Jonas: Let him finish. (Source: YouTube) (Mark Seaver, Connor Urquhart, Morgan Urquhart, Jonas Corbin)

Connor: Mark and I have the kind of easy chemistry where we finish each other's- Mark: Sentences. Connor: Don't interrupt me. (Source: Incorrect Quotes Generator) (Connor Urquhart, Mark Seaver)

Jonas: Rules are made to be broken. Nate: They were made to be followed. Nothing is made to be broken. Brad: Uh, piñatas. Alicia: Glow sticks. Chloe: Karate boards. Kiera: Spaghetti when you have a small pot. Jonas: Rules. Nate: … (Source: Incorrect Quotes Generator) (Jonas Corbin, Nate Kellerman, Brad Thompson, Alicia Ramsey, Chloe Seaver, Kiera Bernhardt)

Chloe: Ok, maybe playing ‘whose family is most dysfunctional’ wasn’t the best idea we’ve had. Jonas has been crying in the bathroom for an hour. We can’t get him out… (Source: Incorrect Quotes Generator) (Chloe Seaver)

Kiera: I've already sent good vibes your way… they’re coming. There’s nothing you can do to stop them. Connor: This is the most threatening way I’ve ever been cheered up. (Source: Incorrect Quotes Generator) (Kiera Bernhardt, Connor Urquhart)

Jonas: I love you guys, you're the best thing that's happened to me. Brad: We're the best thing that's ever happened to you? Jonas: Yes! Chloe: I'm starting to feel a little sorry for you. (Source: Incorrect Quotes Generator) (Jonas Corbin, Brad Thompson, Chloe Seaver)

Chloe: If Justin and I were drowning, who would you save? Mark: You two can’t swim? Justin: It’s a hypothetical question, Mark! Who would you save? Mark: My time and effort. (Source: Incorrect Quotes Generator) (Chloe Seaver, Mark Seaver, Justin Seaver)

Nate: How did none of you hear what I just said? Brad: I’ve been zoned out for the past two and a half hours. Jonas: I got distracted about halfway through. Chloe: Ignoring you was a conscious decision. (Source: Incorrect Quotes Generator) (Nate Kellerman, Brad Thompson, Jonas Corbin, Chloe Seaver)

Connor: Who the fuck added me to a fucking group chat? Mark: >:O language Jadyn: Yeah watch your fucking language Lauren: OKAY WHO TAUGHT JADYN THE FUCK WORD? Nick: 'The fuck word'. Jared: Are you stupid? You guys use the f word all the time Jadyn: Oh my god they censored it Nick: Say fuck, Jared. Jadyn: Do it, Jared. Say fuck. (Source: Incorrect Quotes Generator) (Connor Urquhart, Mark Seaver, Jadyn Beaumont, Lauren Reinholt, Nick Murphy, Jared Murphy)

Kiera: I trust Jonas. Chloe: You think he knows what he's doing? Kiera: I wouldn't go that far. (Source: Incorrect Quotes Generator) (Kiera Bernhardt, Chloe Seaver)

Jonas: Hey, Nate? Can I get some dating advice? Nate: Just because I’m with Alicia doesn’t mean I know how I did it. (Source: Incorrect Quotes Generator) (Jonas Corbin, Nate Kellerman)

Kiera: I told Jonas his ears flush when they lie. Alicia: Why? Kiera: Look. Hey, Jonas! Do you love me? Jonas, covering his ears: No. Alicia: … (Source: Incorrect Quotes Generator) (Kiera Bernhardt, Alicia Ramsey, Jonas Corbin)

Jonas: Who thinks I can fit 15 marshmallows in my mouth? Nate: You’re a hazard to society Chloe: And a coward. DO TWENTY. (Source: Incorrect Quotes Generator) (Jonas Corbin, Nate Kellerman, Chloe Seaver)

Jonas: Everyone, synchronize your watches. Brad: I don’t know how to do that. Chloe: I don’t wear a watch. Nate: Time is a construct. (Source: Incorrect Quotes Generator) (Jonas Corbin, Brad Thompson, Chloe Seaver, Nate Kellerman)

Mark: I think we're missing something. Nick: Teamwork? Jared: Cohesion? Kyle: A general sense of what we’re doing? (Source: Incorrect Quotes Generator) (Mark Seaver, Nick Murphy, Jared Murphy, Kyle Levy)

Kiera: Why are Mark and Connor sitting with their backs to each other? Morgan: They had a fight. Kiera: Then why are they holding hands? Morgan: They get sad when they fight. (Source: Incorrect Quotes Generator) (Kiera Bernhardt, Morgan Urquhart)

Jonas: I think Brad was right. Chloe: I'm surprised he hasn't marched in here to say 'I told you so.' Alicia: He wouldn't do that. Brad: You're right, Alicia. For once in your life, you're 100% right. I would never say that. *turns around, the shirt he's wearing says 'Brad Told You So' on the back* (Source: Incorrect Quotes Generator) (Jonas Corbin, Chloe Seaver, Alicia Ramsey, Brad Thompson)

Brad: Why are your tongues purple? Jonas: We had slushies. I had a blue one. Kiera: I had a red one. Brad: Oh. Brad: … Brad: OH. Chloe: … Chloe: You drank each other's slushies? (Source: Incorrect Quotes Generator) (Brad Thompson, Jonas Corbin, Kiera Bernhardt, Chloe Seaver)

Valerie: While I’m gone, Mark, you’re in charge. Mark: Yes!!! Valerie, whispering: Justin, you’re secretly in charge. Justin: Obviously. (Source: Incorrect Quotes Generator) (Valerie Seaver, Mark Seaver, Justin Seaver)

Jonas: I really like this whole ‘good guy, bad guy’ thing you guys have going on. Adrian: It’s not an act, it’s just that I’m mean and Karin isn’t. (Source: Incorrect Quotes Generator) (Jonas Corbin, Adrian Bernhardt)

Mark: Chloe, keep an eye on Jonas today. He's going to say something to the wrong person and get punched. Chloe: Sure, I’d love to see Jonas get punched. Mark: Try again. Chloe, sighing: I will stop Jonas from getting punched. (Source: Incorrect Quotes Generator) (Mark Seaver, Chloe Seaver)

Chloe: Dumbest scar stories, go! Nate: I burned my tongue once drinking tea. Alicia: I dropped a hair dryer on my leg once and burned it. Brad: I have a piece of graphite in my leg from accidentally stabbing myself with a pencil in the first grade. Kiera: I was taking a cup of noodles out of the microwave and spilled it on my hand and I got a really bad burn. Jonas: … Jonas: I have emotional scars. (Source: Incorrect Quotes Generator) (Chloe Seaver, Nate Kellerman, Alicia Ramsey, Brad Thompson, Kiera Bernhardt, Jonas Corbin)

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader

I've been plagued by this idea for a while, so let me know what you think! This is just the character introduction. Your new landlord is a Yakuza boss, and his scary looking underling has been tasked to deal with your tenant needs! Although he didn't expect you to be this cute. And you didn't expect him to be this unhinged.

Content: female reader, violence, mentions of stalking

[Part 2] | [Yakuza Masterlist]

This was the last straw.

You're angrily stuffing your suitcase with necessities before the moving company arrives. Each glimpse around the cramped apartment fills you with outrage, as you're still heavily shaken from the events of last night. 

You first begun to suspect you might have a stalker when you found your outer lock with a fresh dent in it. You then picked a small scrap from the ground nearby and assumed it was leftover damage, but upon further inspection you discovered, disgusted, that it was part of your peephole. Someone must've fiddled with your door a fair amount. You tried to approach your immediate neighbors for help, but they either refused to answer your persistent knocks or downright scurried away when faced with your questions. They didn't want to deal with a foreigner. 

You tried to put it behind you. The police advised you to be cautions, as there was nothing else they could do without concrete evidence. And thankfully, you had several peaceful weeks following the incident. Last night you were suddenly awakened by faint scratches coming from your balcony. You groggily got up and wondered if your recently added bird feeder was attracting nocturnal visitors. You got up without turning on the light, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious animal. As you pulled the drape, however, you were met with the large frame of a man plucking your laundry in a hurry. 

A panicked scream erupted from the depths of your chest and you slapped the light switch, erratically searching for your phone. By the time you dialed emergency, the intruder had vanished. You were sobbing against the wall under the fake reassurances of the operator, eyeing the sliding door that had no lock. Had he wished, the masked man could've easily invited himself in. You were at the mercy of a lunatic and no one seemed to be impressed by your situation. 

No more. Ideally you'd go back to your home country and forget about your plans to build yourself a life in Japan. What were you even thinking? A lonely girl, low on funds, signing a contract to be relocated across the ocean for work. You barely scraped the first months of a mandatory year. 

You close your suitcase with a satisfying click and on your way out you wipe the table of all the newspaper clippings. You've been scanning the potential offers on the market. The ones within your budget, of course, which means you don't have to worry about being picky. Until you find a new place, your belongings can wait in storage. Dusty furniture is a better prospect than waking up with a pervert looming over you. 

By the time the clock hits evening hours, you're sipping on your iced coffee with a defeated sigh. Most of the cheap apartments seem to be given to locals. Not outsiders like you. At least they spared you of the false hopes and curtly told you to not expect any call back, so you can swiftly move on to the next circled address. You pull out the crumbled sheet of paper from your pocket. Reading over your list of crossed out lines like this deflates you greatly. At the very bottom lies your final hope: the ad you'd stumbled upon this morning was too good to be true and the realtor was available for viewing at any time, so you're almost certain it's some sort of scam. Yet you can't afford to skip it, can you? You stand up, pat your jeans and take a deep breath in. 

As you check your phone to confirm the location, you begin to doubt your decision. It's hard to believe no other potential renters have showed up. The apartment is in a convenient area, very close to public transport, at a great price, on what looks like a busy street. Isn't it the dream? So why? You glance around, examining the surroundings. The shops are bustling with people. You try to come up with possible explanations, when a deep voice startles you.

"You must be (Y/N), right? You sure are easy to spot."

You turn around to greet the person. Although the second you spot him, you take an unconscious step back. You'd expected a middle aged man dressed in formal attire with a shy bow and clumsy movements. The one standing before you resembles none of that. He's imposingly tall, with a muscular built and slicked back hair. You can discern the tattoos peeking out from under the rolled up sleeves. His face has multiple deep scars and you can only assume that the pale, discolored eye that's transfixed in one direction is a fake made of glass. One might call him handsome, if you're into the kind of appearance you see in documentaries about the mafia. 

"Y-you're the landlord?" You stutter, immediately covering your mouth and regretting your lack of tact. 

"Nuh uh, Boss sent me to deal with it." He flashes you a genuine grin, completely unperturbed by your offhanded implication. "I'm Daitou."

He continues towards the entrance and you follow behind, too awkward to back down now. He describes the living quarters with surprising enthusiasm. If you were to close your eyes and disregard his heavy Kansai accent, you could very well be convinced it's a professional real estate agent hard at work. 

"Excuse me for asking, but..." Once he finishes his marketing presentation, you cannot help the increasing anxiety. "What's the catch?"

"Huh?"

"For something like this to be so cheap...and no one else being interested...may I be frank and ask what's wrong with it? Please understand, I just left my previous apartment because of a stalker. I don't want to be packing again anytime soon."

"Well, isn't it obvious?" He searches your gaze for a moment, before gasping as if remembering something. "Wait, you're a foreigner, so I guess you don't know. Ah, that explains it." 

He lets out a hearty laugh, satisfied with his conclusion. 

"You didn't notice anything strange outside?"

You ponder his question before slowly shaking your head in denial. 

"Really? A bunch of heavily tattooed guys with family pins on their suits...This is a yakuza quarter. Our Family owns most businesses here. But lately we've had a lot of police on our backs, ya know? Bound to happen when the street is swarming with us. So Boss had this great idea - he's smart like that, ya know, I've never been the bright one - anyways, he suggested we rent some of our housing to regular civilians. Less suspicious that way." 

He crosses his arms and nods to himself proudly. 

"I myself think it's a great deal. You won't find anything cheaper for the kind of stuff you're getting. All you have to do is, you know, mind your business. If some weasel questions you, no Sir, you haven't seen or heard anything suspicious. That's all."

You can only stare wide eyed, somewhat taken aback by his honesty.

"Uh...Are you sure you were supposed to tell me all of this? I feel we're skipping some steps before admitting to organized crime."

Now it's his turn to consider your inquiry. 

"Probably not, but I'm not good with words. You look like a smart girl, so I thought I won't sugarcoat it. I'm sure you already know that if you leave and rat us out I'll be throwing your chopped up remains in the nearby river. Or would you want to be shipped home instead? I'm a nice guy like that, hehe."

You return a crooked smile and purse your lips in the process. You'd rather not learn the percentage of truth in his humor anytime soon. 

"You mentioned a stalker? I can guarantee you he won't follow here, miss. And if he's that dumb to wander on our turf, well, me and my guys always hang around the block. Leave him to me and I'll bring you his teeth in a box." 

"I-...Why teeth of all the things?"

"Just easier to pull out, ya know." He winks and reaches for his back pocket, revealing an old pair of pliers with childish delight. "See, I'm a bit of a handyman, so I always have some tools on me."

Strangely enough, you're not as terrified as you would expect from someone in your shoes. Certainly your knees are weaker when compared to your pre-encounter state, but there's something about his demeanor that doesn't feel malicious or threatening. Like conversing with an old friend at a pub. 

"Will I truly not get in trouble? You guys do your thing and I'm 100% not involved?"

"You have my word." And with that, as if closing the sale of his lifetime, he confidently slaps a stack of papers on the nearby counter and hands you a pen. "You already have my number, if anyone pisses you off just hit me up and I'll be at your service. Boss left everything to me."

No perverts and less of your monthly allowance going towards rent. Maybe it's your despair talking, but you've been persuaded nonetheless. You scribble your name in the designated field and shove the documents towards your new acquaintance. 

"Pleasure doing business with you, miss (Y/N)." He cheerfully dangles the keys before dropping them in your hand and heads for the door.

"Oh, is shipping included in the rent?"

He stops and turns to you, mildly confused.

"You said if I mess up you'll ship my remains home. Do I pay for the postage myself, or is that part of the monthly tax?" You ask with a cheeky grin. 

His eyes narrow in delight and you can tell he's greatly amused by your words. 

"Nah, consider it a gift from me. Gotta treat a lady nice, 'specially if it's a pretty one like you."

And with that, you're alone again. You look around the room, trying to visualize your new home. It's already getting dark outside. Now that you've had the situation explained to you, you can definitely see what Daitou meant. There's the occasional police officer patrolling the street, and plenty of men dressed in similar fashion walking in small groups. 

"And?"

Outside the building, a young man is leaning against the wall with a cigarette in his mouth. He seems to have been waiting for Daitou. 

"It's done. Some cute foreigner is moving in." He lifts an arm in a flexing motion, patting his bicep in a congratulatory manner. "Boss will be surprised, eh?"

"You're fucking with me."

"What? You wanna go back upstairs and check?" He responds, appalled. "Might've taken longer than expected, but I told ya I can manage!"

"Are you sure you didn't threaten her or something? I still don't know what Boss was thinking when he asked a nutcase like you to deal with the civvies." 

"Hey hey hey, I may not be all fancy speaking like you or Kazuya, but I'm not dumb. Matter of fact, she already signed the papers."

"I never said you're dumb. Just batshit crazy." The young man sighs and flicks his cigarette butt away, stomping on it.

"Let's go and tell the others."

[thebearer]

making the bed |carmen berzatto x reader| part one

prompt: carmen's stressed. food critics, a newborn baby, balancing work life and married life and now dad life; he's bound to break, everyone knows it. but no one ever thought he'd lash out on you.

or, part one of the devastation fic. based off this ask from the other day. two more parts to come.

contains: mega angst. mega angst, with no resolution in this part. hurt, no comfort (in this chapter, will be later in part 3). mean!carmen, very mean. mom!reader x dad!carmen with newborn teddy. fighting, language, carmen says mean stuff he doesn't mean. past mentions of trauma, family trauma, mikey mentioned. very angsty and a little heavy, please read at your own discretion. word count- 3.5k+.

"Are you ok?"

Carmen now understood why that phrase used to send Donna into such a blind rage, lips pursing and jaw clenching more and more every time he heard it. First at work, then with you, it felt never ending.

It was beginning to feel like critic season with how many were coming in, snooty and demanding to be impressed. It couldn't have come at a worst time, right in the middle of busy season with the start of the holidays. Days at The Bear were filled with frantic panic, running around, making sure everything was perfect, accounted for, and Carmen always had the sinking feeling it wasn't- that he'd forgotten something, messed something up. 

It wasn't rare for him to work himself up like this, a normal that you always warned him about, but he'd always had a solitude. As long as he'd known you, he'd had a place to go, to unwind, to let himself rest and reset with you. And he still did, it was just shared now with a newborn.

Dorothea Michelle. Teddy, for short. The light of his life, yours too. Nearly two months old with a set of lungs that sounded much louder, much more developed than that. Nights were long, sleepless, spent trying to lull Teddy back to sleep, awake even if he wasn't up with her. Carmen couldn't allow himself the selfishness to relax, to rewind, to "take it easy" like everyone told him to. At work, he was the boss; at home, he was a dad.

"Fuck, fuck," Carmen's sleepy stare was broken by a lick of bubbling heat, the lamb's roux popping with the high heat, splashing all over Carmen's chef whites.

"Jeff, c'mon," Tina clicked, shaking her head, moving the pan to lower heat. "What're you doin'?"

Carmen grit his teeth, snatching a rag off the stainless steel counter tops, scrubbing the burgundy stain, huffing when it only spread the stain.

"What happened?" Sydney turned, looking from the burnt sauce to Carmen's stained chef shirt. "Oh,"

"Do we have a spare coat?" Carmen huffed, throwing the rag down with a firm smack against the counter.

"I don't think so, Carm." Sydney shook her head. "You took the last ones home with you two days ago. The wine-"

"-I know, Chef, I know." Carmen snapped, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck, I-I can't fuckin' serve the critics lookin' like this. With shit all over me- fuck."

"Hey, easy, easy," Richie turned the corner, his hands held up. "What's goin' on?"

"Jeff got sauce over him. He doesn't have any clean clothes." Tina muttered, irritated that she had to fix his mess, more irritated that he wasn't taking care of himself. You have a baby, Jeff, you need to rest and take some time, she'd told him. Carmen only waved her off.

"Okay, okay, hey, that's no problem." Richie's voice raised, lifting over Carmen's. "You go home and change, get your spare, check on my beautiful goddaughter, and then come back with your A game. Yes?"

Carmen didn't even humor him with a snarky remark, yanking his coat off and stomping towards the office to grab his things. Richie and Tina looked at each other, shaking their head gently.

"Kids runnin' thin, T." Richie muttered with a sigh. "He's gonna break. It's gonna be bad."

"Yeah, he is. Gonna wear himself out before then." Tina shook her head. "Jeff needs a vacation." They both jumped at the slamming of the backdoor, Carmen's angry exit shaking the foundation.

"Needs to be fuckin' medicated. Fuckin' lunatic." Richie scoffed, rolling his eyes at Carmen's dramatics.

The drive home was filled with silence, Carmen's iron grip on the wheel, tearing through the traffic towards the house- his house, his home. 

Home, but it didn't provide the same comfort that it usually did. Carmen's shoulders still stayed tense, buzzing with rage, not dissipating when he thought of you, or of Teddy, knowing you'd both be there, excited to see him. 

You jumped at the sound of the car door slamming, peeking out the window to see Carmen's parked next to yours, furiously stomping up the front steps. You frowned, grabbing the baby monitor, walking towards the front door.

Carmen nearly hit you with how fiercely he flung the door open. "Woah," You reached for the door, stopping it before he could flick it shut. "Carm, don't slam it. Teddy's asleep. I just got her down." You frowned at him, shutting it slowly.

Carmen looked at you but didn't speak, looking through you with a rage that had your spine tingling before he finally broke his gaze, stomping towards the laundry room. "Carm? What’re you doing home? Don’t you have dinner soon?" You hesitated slightly, lingering in the doorway with an uncertainty you hadn’t felt with Carmen before. 

Carmen didn’t answer, his jaw still ground tight while he rummaged through the clean clothes, carelessly unfolding and shifting the folded clothes.

"Carmen," You said more firmly, caching his gaze. He didn't speak still, just stared at you- through you. "Are you ok?" You lifted a brow, features softening in worry.

Carmen paused, eyes closing, shoulders tensing in agitation. Are you ok? His ears rang, a familiar rage that he hadn't felt in years bubbling up deep in his chest. Frustrated and blinding and rampant, heat rushing through his veins, pulling himself further and further from reality into someplace different- someplace darker in his mind. 

"What's wrong?" You pressed, he could barely hear it, ears ringing at your question. "Did something happen? Did the critic come-"

"-Where's my chef whites?" Carmen barked, cutting you off, his chest tightening more and more with every heavy heave of his chest. You flinched at his tone.

"Uh, I-I haven't seen the whites. I washed your white tee-"

“-You what? Y-You what?” Carmen spat, eye widening with a wild, raged glint in his eye. Your stomach flipped and fell with fear, stepping back instinctively. 

“I-I washed your tee, Carm, that’s all that you left in the laundry basket-” 

"-Are you fucking kidding me?" Carmen boomed, his head spinning, body buzzing with rage. Your breath hitched, frozen in fear at the anger in his tone, the roar of his voice bouncing off the walls, echoing through your ears in a painful drum. 

Carmen moved, snatching the dirty clothes basket, dumping it into the ground with a shake until the dirty chef coat fell on top. He gripped the basket, flinging it across the room with a hard throw. The final push to his bad mood that sent him right over the edge, crashing into a pit of blinding fury, aggravation, breaking him from the inside out.

"Fuck!" Carmen roared, his voice shaking the walls, your breath leaving your lungs in a trembling exhale of fear. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! This is- This is- Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” 

You tensed in shock, gripping the baby monitor in fear, maybe surprise, as it started to buzz to life with Teddy's startled whimpers. Her small cries pulled you out of your frozen state, something deeper than fear replacing the ache in your stomach. 

"Carmen-" You gaped, voice wobbling with uncertainty, taking slow shuffled steps towards the stairs. “Carmen, calm-calm down. Ok? Calm down.” 

“Calm down? You want me to fuckin’ calm down?” Carmen sneered, an angry red flush blossoming in splotchy deep hues up his neck, towards his cheeks. “You don’t do shit, nothin’ that I fuckin’ ask for! Just sit around all fuckin’ day an-and I’m supposed to calm down?” 

“Carmen,” Your voice wobbled, throat tight with tears, hurt and fear strangling your words. “I-You didn’t ask me to wash them. I-I didn’t know. They weren’t in the hamper-” 

“-I shouldn’t have to ask you to wash them!” Carmen roared, eyes so wide you thought they might pop right out of his head, neck vein protruding on exemplifying his rage. “You know what I’m going through! You know how much fuckin’ stress I’m under! I go to that-that shit hole, an-and work my fuckin’ ass off so you don’t have to! Then I come home, and I-I can’t even get a second of peace!” 

“Stop,” You hiss, finally regaining your composure, his words fully sinking into you  now, feeling the full effect of them. “I-I just had a baby. I’m still on maternity leave taking care of a baby- our baby, and I’m tired too. But I’m not yelling at you-” 

“-Oh, right. Right.” Carmen laughs sarcastically, humorless as he runs his hand down his face. It felt mocking, left you feeling small and too vulnerable for your liking. “Because in between your napping an-and feeding, you couldn’t stick a fucking jacket in the wash, right? You’re so busy.”  

“What is wrong with you?” You snap, hoping he can’t hear the tears in your voice, the way your voice shakes with emotion. 

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me?” Carmen scoffs, throwing his hands out. “I get no fuckin' sleep, go work my fuckin' ass off, a-and then I come home so I can go back and work my ass off some more, and-and you can’t do one simple fuckin’ thing? You can’t help me out? And then you wanna know what’s wrong with me? When you sit on your ass all fuckin’ day-” 

Teddy’s piercing wail pulls you out of your shocked trance, nose and throat burning with hurt filled tears you refuse to shed. Instead, you turn, climbing the stairs on shaky legs, the sound of Teddy’s cries growing louder and louder. Anchovy watches you from the top of the stairs, sensing the tension, your upset, sliding against your leg as if to comfort you. 

Carmen scoffs, hands buzzing and trembling with rage, the ringing in his ears growing louder and louder with each of your footsteps on the stairs and down the hall. He can barely hear Teddy’s sobs, hands threading through his hair, pulling at his scalp. He sees you walk towards the bedroom, quickly, hugging Teddy to your chest. 

“Oh, don’t go fuckin’ do it now!” Carmen roared, your ignoring him only infuriating him further. “It won’t be ready in time now. I’ll just look like a fuckin’ idiot for the critic tonight! Not that you care! Why would you, huh? I-I mean just our livelihood, just our fuckin’ income!” 

You swallowed back your tears, head tilting towards the ceiling, hands shaking with every shove of your things into the overnight bag. Just enough to get you through the night, the next day. A few essentials, Teddy’s spare onesies, a charger, your wallet- you stopped mid-shove of your items into the weekender bag, the sun’s rays catching in your wedding ring. Your heart fell, more and more, you weren’t sure how that was even possible. 

Carmen’s furious voice was still booming from downstairs, ringing and shaking in his furious fit. Richie and Sugar both warned you about Carmen’s tantrums, brought them up to embarrass him, tease him about it until he was red faced and hissing hushed threats at them. You never, never in your wildest dreams thought you’d be on the receiving end of one. 

You jumped, another slam of something Carmen had thrown, maybe hit in a fit of rage, causing Teddy to wail louder, Anchovy skittering nervously away. Tears leaked out of your eyes, twisting the ring off your finger, setting it on Carmen’s bedside table. Pulling the carrier out of the closet, Anchovy got in much easier than usual, which you were thankful for. 

Carmen was gripping the marble of the countertop when he heard you again, walking from the bottom of the stairs, quick steps towards the door to the garage, Teddy’s voice nearly hoarse from her crying. You kept your head high, tunnel-visioned towards your car, ignoring his heavy breathing and frantic pacing. 

“Wha-What are you doin’?” Carmen’s voice was softer now, still with a jagged edge that was cutting and harsh. The car door opened, the baby carrier hooked into the car seat. 

“Hey, wha- what are you- where’re you goin’? What’re you doin’?” Carmen’s heart dropped in a damning rush of hour, stumbling on heavy legs towards the garage. You ignored him, shushing Teddy gently, running a calming hand over her wet cheek, trying to coax her paci into her mouth. 

“Baby, no-no, no. Hey, no, I-I- What-” Carmen’s chest felt tight, mind numbing and racing, stuttering nervously. You reached for your bag, his hand reaching to grab the strap. “Whe-Where’re you-”

“-Don’t touch me.” You hissed, teeth bared, eyes shining with tears. Carmen flinched, pulling his hand back like he’d touched a hot stove. “Don’t you dare fucking touch me.” You sneered, pinning him with a watery glare that had his stomach turning in sickening fear. 

“Baby, hey, w-wait-C’mon, d-don’t-You don’t, you don’t need to do this, ok? I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Carmen choked out the words, frantic and unsure, his hands shaking when they ghosted over you back just for a moment. Wanting to touch you, to hold you, to grab you and keep you from leaving, but too scared to. Instead, he grabbed the car door you flung open, holding it when you tried to yank it closed. 

“Let go.” You hissed, sniffling back wet, snotty tears of fury and hurt. 

“Please, don’t-do-don’t do this. Please, baby, I-I’m sorry.” Carmen begged, blue eyes deepening with the burning red hues of tears, bloodshot and lashes wet. “Don’t-Don’t do this-” 

“-I didn’t do this.” You sneered, leaving Carmen flinching at your words. “Don’t you dare try to say this was me. After how you just talked to me? The shit you said to me in there? You think I’m going to stay?” Your voice cracked with emotion, lips pressing together to keep a cry in. 

“No, no, no, no, no, baby, please. Please, ju-just come inside. Come inside, please? Please, don’t-” 

“You don’t get to talk to me like that. To say that kinda stuff to me. That hurt, Carmen. That was mean.” You glared at him, tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes. “I don’t care if you’re stressed. I don’t care what’s going on- nothing, and I mean nothing, warrants you talking to me like that. Just because you fucked up, because you forgot to ask me to do it, because you’re stressed out- I don’t care what it is. You don’t talk to me like that, say those things when I’ve been home all day taking care of my ch- our child.” You nod back towards the sniffling baby, whimpering and crying half heartedly, her little eyelids drooping with sleep that was interrupted. 

Carmen felt sick, his knees tightening in fear, he was sure they might give out, that he might fall to the ground right there. Looking at the tiny baby, lip jutted and shaking in the mirror hooked on the back of the seat, then back at you, eyes red-rimmed and glaring at him with a hurt filled anger. 

“Don’t-” Carmen’s chest shook, a white-knuckled grip on the door. 

Your own hand curled around the door’s inner handle, yanking it away from him. “Move,” You hissed, pulling again. 

Carmen wasn’t sure why he let it go, why he let you shut it, locking the door in case he tried to open it again. Why he let you pull out of the driveway, why he didn’t stop you, why he didn’t run after you, only taking soft shuffles down the drive like a zombie as you drove away. Standing in the drive, Carmen swallowed down the spit that pooled in his mouth, stomach churning, sure he was going to be sick. 

He managed to trudge back to the garage, mind racing and far away, the ringing in his ears dulling but still deafening. It felt like he was in a dream- a nightmare, a hallucinating trance that felt like a sick, sick dream- Carmen was hoping it was. That he’d wake up and find you next to him asleep. That he could hug you, pull you into him, nose buried in your neck, still warm from your slumber. 

As the sun began to sink low into the sky, minutes turning into hours that Carmen sat motionless in the garage, staring in a trancelike state, he realized that this wasn’t a dream or a nightmare. No this was his reality, a horrific reality that he’d made into his own. Carmen sat, eyes trained on the concrete of the garage, voice racing and blending in his mind- his words, yours, Teddy’s cries, Natalie and Richie’s, flashbacks of his mother screaming fits. 

He didn’t move, frozen in chilling, eerie fear. What ifs and terrifying possible scenarios, consequences to his own actions that left him feeling sick, hands trembling. A spiraling of fears that only drug him deeper and deeper with every haunting replay of his outburst. Even the flashing of headlights turning into the driveway, filling the garage with light, didn’t pull him from his trance. 

“The fuck is he- Cousin!” Richie roared, laying on the horn. Carmen didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge that he heard it, only stared. Richie frowned, turning the car off, throwing the door open. 

“Cousin? Carm? What-What are you doin’? Dinner service started an hour ago. Syd is freakin’ the fuck out.” Richie threw his hands up, walking towards the man who still didn’t move. Richie’s heart skipped, flashbacks of Mikey flooding into his vision, parallels of the two brothers blurring before him. 

“Yo, Carm, you-you good?” Richie stepped into the garage, his spine tingling with icy fear. It was quiet, an eerie, unsettling quiet. “Cousin, hey, what-what’s wrong?” 

Carmen's chest rose and fell, tighter and tighter. He was suffocating, head spinning and mind racing so fast he felt light headed. He could barely hear Richie’s voice over the noise in his head, Richie’s hand shaking his shoulder finally breaking his trance enough to meet his eyes, rounded in fear filled question. 

“Carmen, what’s wrong? Is it- Don’t fuckin’ tell me it’s the baby. What the fuck is goin’ on-” 

“-She left.” Carmen’s voice shook, raspy and scared. His tongue still felt too thick, head still spinning. He wasn’t even sure he said it, Richie’s widening eyes the only thing confirming that he had said it. 

“What? Who-Who left? Who?” Richie looked around, like the clues might be there, sure that Carmen wasn’t talking about you. No, he wouldn’t- he couldn’t. Not you. 

Carmen’s breath hitched, a strangling of a sob caught in his throat, running his hand over his face. Richie didn’t miss the way it trembled, shaking even as it rested over his eyes. Your car was gone, the house too quiet, no baby Teddy crying, nothing but silence was left. 

Richie’s heartbeat crawled into a rapid, scared pace. “Why? Wh-Why would she-” Richie looked at Carmen, eyes wide but still, reading his expression. “No. No, Cousin, no. What-What did you do? Carmen,” Richie grabbed both his shoulders, shaking him lightly until he met his gaze. “What did you do?” 

Carmen’s face began to crack, behind his eyes, Richie could see flashbacks of something- something he didn’t know what, but whatever it was, it was painful. That was evident by the fear that glossed over Carmen’s eyes, realization and horror. Carmen’s shoulders shook, frame rocking with a sob he tried to swallow, but couldn’t. Deep cries, guttural sobs breaking out of his frame, heels of his hands pressed to his eyes, fingers curled and clenched around his greasy curls in agony. 

The damning realization flooded over him, that you’d left. 

You’d left, you’d taken Teddy, taken Anchovy- you’d left because he’d driven you away. His angry outburst, petulant, mean, hurtful- he’d been so cruel to you. You. His wife, the love of his life, mother of his child, the one person who loved him endlessly without stipulations or boundaries, the one person who truly understood him. 

And he’d driven you away. 

He wished he could blame his mom, his dad, his family for fucking him up so severely, maybe Mikey, even, for leaving him the shit show that was the restaurant, making his anxieties worse and fuse shorter. But sitting in the empty garage, Richie standing above him in silent shock, his sobs and angry sniffles echoing off the cement floor, Carmen knew he had no one to blame but himself. 

He’d fucked up. Really fucked up. Fucked up in a way that made all the other times look obsolete. 

Carmen had fucked up, and for once, he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t avoid it, ignore it, deflect it like other times. Half hearted apologies and promises of change wouldn’t work, you weren’t here for him to even try to give them to you, and he didn’t know where you went. 

Carmen wasn’t sure where you went, how to fix this, why he’d done what he did, and a million other things that raced through his mind. What he did know, sitting in the too quiet garage, chest stuttering with heaving cries, was that he’d do anything. 

Anything, to get you back home. To make it right. To fix this and make it up to you. 

He wasn’t sure how, but he’d give up everything. Anything. His restaurant, his dreams, his hopes, his life, at this point, to make it up to you. 

[withahappyrefrain]

Oooh! 13 with Tyler on the way to an area to chase. Because you KNOW he gets keyed up before a chase!

HE ABSOLUTELY DOES!

All it takes is the notification sound going off on his phone and you know. The Cheshire-like grin on his face is just confirmation of the obvious.

A storm's a coming.

It was a quick scramble, gathering your toiletry bag and spare change of clothes. After dating Tyler for a while, your duffle bag was ready to go at a moment's notice.

You throw your bag in the back of his truck, along with his. The two of you had to go to Dexter's house to meet the rest of the crew.

While Tyler wouldn't verbally expressed it, you could tell by his body movement he was amped up; the restless left leg that was bouncing up and down, fingers incessantly tapping at the steering wheel, hips squirming in the driver's seat as if he can't get comfortable, his front teeth digging into his bottom lip.

There was always so much at stake; the possibility it could end up being a dud, someone getting hurt, technology failing. So much could go right too; a theory being proved right, new discoveries, new unforgettable memories.

All of that swirled around in his head, much like the tornadoes he chased.

A comforting hand squeeze wouldn't be enough to take the edge off. Neither would words.

"Take a left up here," You instruct him.

Tyler raises his eyebrows, green eyes quickly darting back and forth between the road and you.

"Any particular reason?" He asks, fingers continuing to tap away, much like the rain drops you'll no doubt see in the next few hours.

"It's the scenic route. Gives us more time together too," your smile is as sweet as honey, despite your intentions being as sinful as the Devil himself.

Tyler doesn't argue, the promise of having more time with you before he won't have any is enough to sway him. He follows your directions, giving you a sweet smile upon feeling your hand on his denim clad thigh.

Your hand moves upwards, towards the belt buckle that he won from a rodeo years ago. He knows you like to toy with it, so putting your fingers on it doesn't alert him to your plan.

No, it's when he hears the click of it being undone that his eyes wander to you, ever so inquisitive.

"What'cha doing pretty girl?" He asksd, eyes remaining on the road.

"Put Enid on cruise control." He smiles as he does so, the nickname of his beloved truck a reminder of the city you two first met.

But that doesn't stop him from reminding you of your obligations (and what they don't entail), "You don't have to...you know, it's fine."

Your hand goes from his belt buckle to the bulge that's begun to grow in his pants, squeezing it. Tyler's breath is now sharp, large hands gripping the steering wheel.

"I know," your eyes are focused on his growing erection, fingers making quick work of unbuttoning his jeans.

This isn't your first rodeo.

Your fingers go underneath his shirt, tracing his soft skin and body hair that drives you absolutely wild before going back south, past the waistband of his boxers.

The moan Tyler lets out upon your hand touching his cock is low, breathy. Music to your ears. You adjust yourself, leaning over until your face was mere inches away from his lap.

His green eyes alternate between you and the road, having half a mind to pull over.

As if you could read his mind, you speak out, "Keep driving."

After all, neither of you wants to be late.

Still, you continue, pulling his cock out, hand pumping his length as your tongue darts out, swiping the beads of precum before lowering your mouth onto the thick tip.

He tries to muffle his groan with his hand, as if he's afraid someone might hear him, tries to keep those sea glass green eyes on the road, to give off the impression of normalcy.

Tyler may be able to brave a tornado, but when it comes to your mouth, he's putty in your hands. His hips thrust upwards, desperate to get more of your skillful mouth. What you can't reach is covered by your hand, moving in tandem with your mouth.

The breaking point is when he feels your throat constrict around his length. His eyes search for a place to pull over, finding a spot amidst several trees.

That's when the dam breaks, his hips moving erratically as the broken grunts and moans pour out from his lips. One of his hands reaches upward to grip the handle of his truck, the other tangled into your hair. You can feel his eyes burning into you, but you continue your ministrations.

Your determination is one of the many qualities Tyler adores about you. Though the scene that lays before him isn't one he can use as an example when asked.

On camera, he's cool, confident, close to cocky even. But in his truck currently, he was desperate, unraveled.

All because of you. The high it gives you is similar to the high Tyler gets when he sees a tornado.

He's close, given the way his thighs are clenching. Thank God he's amped up. All it takes is moaning with his cock in your mouth once, twice, three times before his release is coming down your throat. You take every last drop, your thighs clenching as you taste him.

Tyler has to practically pull you off of him, his body surging with oversensitivity. The truck that was once filled with moans and grunts are now filled with heavy panting. With the way his chest is rapidly rising up and down, you'd think he had just run a marathon.

"Fuck, pretty girl, I...." He takes the snapback off his head, running a hand through his sun kissed hair, "Didn't know I needed that."

You giggle, as though he's told you a joke, "We should get going."

"Oh no, pretty girl. I ain't done with you," he moves his seat back, "Get over here."

The group of storm cells weren't going to be strong enough to form a storm for another few hours anyways.

[beenbaanbuun]

the pool w/ choi jongho

words - 3k

genre - suggestive

warnings - fem!bodied reader, bikini, internalised slut shaming (kind of but not really?), public undressing (again, kind of but not really), size kink, awkward!jongho, bff!wooyoung, lifeguard!san, massage, nipple piercings, i thing that’s it

Wooyoung holds a smug look on his face as he drops onto the sunbed next to you. You have to admit that he looks pretty good with the sun bouncing from his wet skin, but you'd never tell him that. You'd say your friendship resembled something more akin to siblings than anything else, and why would you ever have anything nice to say about your brother?

“What’s the shit-eating grin for?” you say as you toss him the sunscreen and lean forwards; an open invitation for him to massage some into your spine. The quiet scoff he passes in your direction doesn’t go unnoticed, but you can’t comment on it before you hear the click of the cap opening and an ice cold drip of sunscreen hits your back. You wince as your friend massages it in with delicate hands, your body not quite getting used to the temperature quick enough for it not to be uncomfortable as he spreads it all over. Wooyoung only laughs, taking great pleasure in the quiet hums of dissatisfaction you make.

But it only takes about 10 seconds from his hands to pull away from your back and the click of the sunscreen bottle closing to hit your ears. You spare him a glare over your shoulder, watching as he rubs the excess from his hands onto his chest knowing full well that he can't possibly have rubbed it on correctly.

“I don't have a shit eating grin,” he lies through his teeth as he takes great care rubbing the cream into his chest—a lot more than he took with your back. You almost want to push him back in the pool to wash it all off again, but that would be petty, even for you. Instead you simply roll your eyes in dismay and shift to a more comfortable position. Your book lies on the table next to you so you grab it, open it and crack the spine. You don’t start reading quite yet, though; you can’t concentrate when wooyoung looks like he’s planning something devious.

“Yes, you do,” you argue. “Tell me what you’re doing!”

“I'm not doing anything!” he fights back, tone defensive and not at all matching the gleeful smile on his face.

“Well, then tell me what you know!”

His eyes flicker to the pool for just a moment before returning to you. Maybe he thinks you didn’t see it, but you did, and so your gaze follows his only to land on him. The same man from the pool yesterday, and the restaurant last night, and breakfast this morning. The very same man you’ve been obsessing over the last few days. You squeak in something akin to terror and immediately look back to a smirking Wooyoung. Your eyes stay firmly locked on his for one, maybe two seconds before some strange magnetic force pulls your eyes back to him.

He leans against the edge of the pool with one arm up on the side, allowing you to see the soft flesh of his arms. The skin is tan and smooth and good god if you don’t get a chance to dig your nails into it by the end of the holiday then you’ll have worn nothing but your skimpiest of bikinis for nothing. The uncomfortable wedgies and uneven tan lines will have been a waste, nothing more than a study in the art of hassle and discomfort, and that really would put a damper on what has been an otherwise enjoyable holiday.

You crane your neck further to get a glance at his face. Those plush lips that look so incredibly soft, the sparkling eyes that turn a deep honey colour when the sun shines down on them. There's something beautiful about him in the same way a bear is beautiful; intimidating and graceful yet somehow sweet at the same time. Perhaps the strange duality is just one of the reasons you can’t seem to take your mind off of him. His hair is pushed back in a way that has you drooling, and not just at the mouth. You can’t help but let your eyes linger for just a second or two before they move a little further south landing upon that mole on his neck; the one you so desperately want to press your lips to…

You’re ripped from your trance when Wooyoung snaps his fingers impatiently in front of your face. With an unsurprising degree of reluctance, you tear your gaze away from him and return it to your best friend who’s smug smile seems to have grown. You’d wipe it from his face if you could, but he’s too far away and it’s far too hot to exert the energy needed to move. You scowl at him instead, tossing up a middle finger in displeasure.

“Stop being weird, Woo, nothing is going to happen,” you say through gritted teeth because god, you desperately hope that statement isn’t true.

“You want it to, though,” he seemingly reads your mind. “You should do something about it!”

“What, like you’re doing with that lifeguard?” You point to the shirtless man across the pool who has absolutely zoned out when he should really be watching the water instead. You can only hope no one has an emergency whilst he’s busy gawping at your friend who has been endlessly peacocking–not that you can say anything–since the day you arrived at this hotel. Wooyoung sends a wink in his direction before turning his attention back to you, just in time to see you fake gag.

“See; I am doing something about the lifeguard,” he grins at you.

“A wink and a smile isn’t going to get you laid.”

“Well it’s more than you’re doing with your man,” he counters, “creepily staring at him isn’t going to get you laid either.”

With a groan you toss your face down into the soft cushion of the sun bed. Wooyoung is right as much as it pains you to admit that to yourself. You want the pool guy so bad and yet all you’ve even attempted to do to seduce him is wear tiny little bikinis that haven’t seemed to catch his attention even once. At least wooyoung has some form of communication with the man he wants to fuck, even if it is just mentally undressing each other from opposite ends of the pool. Knowing your luck, by the end of the holiday wooyoung will have bagged himself the hot lifeguard and you’ll be alone… again.

Wooyoung sighs at your dramatic performance before grabbing your coin purse from the bag. “I'm going to get you some liquid courage,” he says as he stands up, “don’t ever tell me I don’t ever do anything nice for you.”

“But that’s my purs—” he puts a finger to your lip to shush you.

“Thank you is all you have to say.”

And then he’s gone, swinging his hips with each step he takes. If you were to look over to the lifeguard you’re almost sure you’d be able to see him licking his lips with desire. Almost like you when you immediately turn your head to sneak another look at him.

Only he’s not where he was when your eyes last left him. In fact, when you give the pool a scan, he doesn’t seem to be anywhere at all. Did he leave? You question yourself as you less-than-subtly scan the pool over and over again. It would probably be the best thing for your own sake if he did and yet your heart still aches at the prospect. It's not like you were going to speak to him–you absolutely, unequivocally weren’t–too shy and anxious to put yourself up for that rejection, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t want to pine for a little while longer.

Feeling nothing but dejected ,your eyes shift across to where Wooyoung stands at the bar, top half leaning over the counter slightly, pert ass pointed in the direction of his beau. You’d call him a slut if you hadn’t been doing the exact same for the last week; putting your body on display as some sort of mating ritual in the hopes of a man fucking you halfway to oblivion. At least one of you seems to be having some success in his tiny little swim shorts that definitely show more off than they need to. It’s a good job he has a nice ass, you think to yourself just as a shadow passes over you, blocking the warmth of the sun beating down on your back. It’s just someone walking past a little too close, you tell yourself as you keep your vision on your friend, it’ll be gone in a moment or two.

Except a moment passes, and then another, and the shadow doesn’t move. You’re about to turn your head in the direction of the obstruction to see what’s so important for you to get a them-shaped tan line on your back, when you hear a voice. “Your boyfriend didn’t rub your sunscreen in too well, did he?” It’s pretty, musical and sweet just like a little songbird. Somehow that’s all you need to know exactly who it belongs to. Call it intuition or something but you know it’s him blocking the sun right now.

Your heart beats out of control for just a second before you manage to rein it in. “He’s not my boyfriend,” you respond, turning your head to gaze upon his damp body in all its glory…

Perhaps you’re no better than a man since the first things your eyes focus on are his tits. They’re soft and beautifully tan with little moles dotted here and there to match the one on his neck. You dart your eyes between them like you’re playing your own little game of join the dots. It takes you on a tour of his chest, pupils darting from one pec to the other until your eyes land on something you never expected to see.

Two metal bars…

On either side of his chest…

Right through his nipples…

Holy fuck…

Your jaw goes slack, and so, it seems, does your hand. Thankfully the sound on your book thumping against the less than dry ground is enough to break you free from the stupor his nipple piercings had put you in. Your vision shifts in an instant, settling instead on the pages of your book that more and more water seeps into with each passing second. “Shit,” you mutter, bending down and wrapping your fingertips around the now sodden paper.

“You got it?” he asks, clearly not too put off by your strange behaviour. You hum affirmatively as you lift the book and place it on the table beside your sunbed. He makes a similar sound, although his sounds more thoughtful; more like he’s trying to come up with something to say. It takes a while but eventually he seems to finally land on something, pulling in a deep breath before opening his mouth. “I could've grabbed it for you if you wanted,” he’s kind too? Well that’s horrible news for your crippling obsession with the stranger, “if you’d, you know… asked me to or something.”

You can’t help but let out a laugh at how unsure he sounds. It’s as if his words aren’t his own, dropping from his lips before he’s even had time to realise what he’s saying. There’s a grin on your face as you twist your head back around to see him, only this time your eyes focus on his face. He’s even sweeter looking up close, his wide eyes and round cheeks making him look something more akin to a little cub than an intimidating killer. Perhaps his face would kid you into thinking he’s innocent if it weren’t for the bars glinting at you just a foot further south.

“I shouldn't have to ask,” you grin, trying your hardest to sound seductive. To your own ears it sounds more like a petulant child; you can only hope that he doesn’t hear it too. “Not if you’re a gentleman, anyway.

“But what about consent?” he says as a pretty shade of peach covers his cheeks. You want to bite them, as if they’d give you the same sweet juice as the fruit they so clearly resemble. You wonder if his lips taste that sweet; you bet they do. “I didn't want to overstep.”

Your grin splits your face in two as he shuffles awkwardly from foot to foot. Upon first glance, you were half expecting him to be some suave, smooth talker. He'd say a few flirty pick up lines before taking you to his room for a one-and-done. This, though—this is much more dangerous. This is feelings territory.

“You’re not overstepping by picking my book up,” you say, “that’s simply courteous—gentlemanly, like i said!”

“Courteous,” he repeats slowly as if it’s a new word to him. there’s a ponderous look on his face that quickly morphs into a shy smirk. It seems to transform into something much more confident in the matter of a few seconds. It's almost cocky, and yet there remains to be that sweet, unsure look in his eyes. It's adorable, really. “Well,” he pauses to take stock of his next few words, “would it be courteous to offer to finish rubbing in the sunscreen your boyfriend missed?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you repeat.

“Well–”

“Just rub it in, will you?” you cut him off with an exasperated sigh. As much fun as you’re having playing this little game of cat and mouse, the need to have his hands on your back far outweighs any amusement you’re getting from his pitiful attempt at flirting. He listens, placing one hand on your calf to support himself as he perches himself on the edge of your sunbed. It inches its way up to your inner thigh, stopping just before it gets dangerously close to your core. His thumb barely brushes against the exposed crease where your ass meets your thigh as he softly grazes his fingertips over the back of your leg. They shift to the side, gracefully slipping over the thin string of your bikini bottoms that rests upon your hip. They catch against it, tugging ever so slightly on the bow that holds the flimsy garment together.

It's a promise, that much is crystal clear.

His palm is warm when it first comes into contact with your lower back, yet it still manages to send a shiver up your spine. It’s big too, covering just enough area for you to realise how small you are compared to him. You could see it in his broad shoulders and his thick arms, but feeling it is just… different. He’s barely even touched you yet there’s already a moan on the tip of your tongue. God only knows what’ll happen when his hands get a little more adventurous.

“Can I undo your top?” he approaches the question with about as much grace as a baby giraffe, clumsy yet endearing with the way he blurts it out. It’s impossible to hold in your giggle, your heart swelling with just how awkwardly adorable he is. But then his fingers tug dangerously upon the little bow at your spine and your breath suddenly hitches in your throat. You feel it loosen, but not quite enough for it to fall completely open. It’s not quite clear if he’s just clumsy or if he knows exactly what he’s doing, but either way the simple action has you shifting your slick thighs against each other. “Well?” he softly purrs, and by the tone of his voice you have to assume he's so blissfully unaware of everything he’s doing to you.

“If you think it’ll help,” your voice sounds strained but he doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t tease you about how much he’s affecting you, or do something unprovoked to force you deeper into this pit of unadulterated arousal you’ve found yourself in. Instead he just tugs open your bikini, just like he said he would, and then his hands are on you again.

The first moan you let out as he grazes his hands up and down the plane if your back can be passed off as one of enjoyment. The massage you’re receiving from the big strong hands of an unbearably handsome man is just good and the sound you let out is simply one of appreciation. No one can blame you for wanting to show how much you’re enjoying it, right? The second moan, however, is almost impossible to pass off as anything other than a plea for more. As his fingers dip down your sides, hands cupping your waist and making you feel so small and malleable beneath him, you can’t help but groan as you sink your teeth into your bottom lip.

His fingers pause, hands tensing a little as the grip they have upon your waist intensifies. Although you haven’t exactly tried to hide it, you know that this is the exact moment that just how badly you need him really sinks into his adorably awkward brain. You’re not entirely sure what else he was hoping to get out of giving you the world's horniest massage, but it’s clear that he wasn’t expecting to get this far. Maybe he’s just a pervert who just wanted an opportunity to feel you up before going to furiously masterbate in the comfort of his room, or maybe he really did just want to come and talk. It doesn’t really matter either way, now; you still need his cock buried deep inside of your walls.

He leans in, grip intensifying as his torso comes to rest against your spine. The metal bars that you nearly almost forgot about feel like ice against your spine as he pushed you down into the bed with his body. Small; you feel so incredibly small, like it would take him no effort at all to pick you up and put you anywhere he deems he wants you. You hope he wants you sitting on his dick, if that really is the case.

“Do you want to come back to my room?” he whispers in your ear like a child passing a message in the middle of class. Nothing about his voice reads sexy, and yet you know if you were standing it would have your knees buckling. you nod silently, not trusting your voice to come out in a way that doesn’t make you seem pathetically desperate. He hums in appreciation. “good,” his lips connect with the side of your head, “the names Jongho, by the way. just in case you need something to moan.”

[moontyun]

Ateez: The type of...

☆ ateez masterlist ☆ ...partner ☆ requested? no ☆ genre: fluff, attempted humor, slight angst ☆ warning(s): jealousy, mentions of food, mentions of murder(?), mentions of bug death:( ☆ requests are open!

៚ Seonghwa

loves to spend quality time with you

building legos together is what he loved to do best with you

Music played softly in the background, lights were so bright it looked like a surgery suit. He was super focused on the project at hand. His glasses slipping off of his face, as he put the pieces together and read the directions. You sat next to him, putting your own little piece of the set together. It was peaceful, an absolute fun night for the two of you.

៚ Hongjoong

obviously the jealous type

writes you little love songs in his spare time at work

It was late at night, you hadn't expected to stay this late with him at the studio. You were here to drop off his dinner but then he started to ask for your input on some of the things he had been working on. "Okay, I'm going to play you something. It's a bit cheese-y but I want your opinion on it." You agreed as he played the song. Slowly it clicked with you that it was about you. You pouted cutely when it was finished and told him how much you adored it.

៚ Yunho

loves to match with you but in a more show-y way

gets upset when you don't match with him but tries not to show it

Today was your three year anniversary with Yunho. He wanted you to wear matching neon pink t-shirts with flowers all over it. It was the ugliest thing you had ever seen in your life. You had told him you didn't want to wear it because it wasn't up to dress code for where you two were going. His feelings were clearly hurt, but he agreed not to wear it. You cupped his face, "We can wear them to the beach tomorrow when we meet my parents, okay?" His face lit up, clearly okay with it.

៚ Yeosang

packs your lunch, leaving you little notes telling you to have a good day

expects you to call him every day when you get off of work, no matter how late it is for him.

Today, you had the day off. All day you had been lazing around the house, not really doing much of anything. But now, lunch time had come and you were starving. You opened the refrigerator to see a box of tupperware with a little sticky note attached to it. Immediately, you knew Yeosang packed you something to eat. Pulling it out, you read the note. He wished you a good day and that he loved you, as well as to call him while you were eating. He wanted to have lunch with you but couldn't physically be there. He was the absolute best!

៚ San

cuddle bug galore

follows you everywhere you go because he hates being away from you for longer than 10 minutes

"-and so, he told me to kill the bug. I told him hell no!" He had been telling this little story for about five minutes now as you showered with the occasional "mmhmm", "Oh" every couple of minutes to let him know he was being listened to. You were used to him following you everywhere. He was always following you into the bathroom, the store, wherever you were he was there. So him sitting on the toilet, while you showered was not abnormal for the two of you. It was a cute way to show he loved you and wanted to spend all his time with you.

៚ Mingi

you need to reassure him a lot

needs to be cuddled every night before bed

Mingi had been mopey the whole evening. He was laying around, wrapped up in a blanket like a burrito. You having just walked through the apartment door, noticed this. "What's wrong, princess?" you asked, immediately. He didn't say anything but buried himself deeper into the blanket. You waltzed over to him and threw yourself on him, moving the blanket from his face, peppering his face in kisses. "You didn't answer my question earlier." You had to think back, he did text you a question. "Oh! I got busy helping my mom. I'm sorry, baby." He nodded his head, "Just let me know next time please?" he pleaded. You hugged him tighter, "I will, I'm sorry!"

៚ Wooyoung

jealous when someone starts to get too close to you

loves to ramble on and on about his day to you, because he loves having your feed back

You knew this guy had been trying to hit on you all night and you were getting to the point of just throwing a drink in your face. You and Wooyoung kept moving away from him but the guy wouldn't get it. "Should I just kill him? Can I?" You laughed a little. "Let him have it, babe." You said. Wooyoung got close to the guy, "I'm their partner. Get lost." The guy backed off and you hadn't seen him since.

៚ Jongho

always stays on the side closest to the street

protective over you

The first time he did it, it spooked you a little because he switched sides so suddenly. He pushed you to the other side gently, so he could walk along side you. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion as you continued to telling your story. "And so, she was li- I'm sorry, can I ask why you did that?" You asked halting your story. He laughed a little, "Making sure your safe and a car doesn't hit you." Your face flushed, none of your exes had ever done that. Ever since then, he's done it every time you guys were out walking.

[thirdsaltyhunter]

Lost With You

Dean Winchester x gn!Reader

Summary: getting caught in a storm with your sweet boyfriend

Warning: FLUFF, kissing, swearing probably, gn but use of 'sweetheart'

700ish words

A/N: little gif drabble, not proofread all mistakes are my own

You had set out for a hunt in Minnesota earlier in the morning. Sam was out of commission due to hurting his leg on the last hunt, so that left you and Dean to deal with the latest pop up of werewolves alone. Even though you hated seeing Sam hurt, you'd be lying if you said you minded the alone time you were getting with your boyfriend. You loved the long drives with Dean; it felt freeing being with him, windows rolled down blasting music.

At this point the sun had long since set and you had been driving most of the day, aside from the occasional food or gas stop. You had hoped to make it to the motel and get some shut eye before scoping out the town in the morning. Driving down a stretch of backroads, everything was going as planned until the sky suddenly decided to unleash the most intense rainstorm you had ever seen. The sky darkend even more and the droplets pelted the windshield so hard you couldn't hear the radio anymore.

"Son of a bitch, the bottom really dropped out didn't it," Dean said clicking on the brights, not that it helped.

After a few minutes of struggling to see the road and losing the reception on the GPS, Dean pulled over onto the side of the road. As good of a driver as he was, he knew when to throw in the towel. Right now he couldn't see more that two feet in front of the car, had no idea where he was going, and he was not willing to put you or his car in danger for the sake of making it to the motel.

"Guess we're stuck here for a while" he turned to you.

"Where even are we?", you asked pulling out you phone to see if you had any reception. To no avail.

"Honestly I have no idea" he said with a humorless laugh "But get comfy, I don't think it's clearing up anytime soon". He turned and reached over the seat, digging into one of the duffel bags and pulling out a few lore books.

Turning back, he tossed one to you before resting his back against the door and started flipping through his book.

After about a half and hour of reading, you started to lose focus. You were tired physically and tired of researching. Your eyes drifted up to your boyfriend, you couldn't help but admire how he looked right now. It was pitch black outside, but the glow of the dashboard lights illuminated the side of his face, bringing out all of the contours of his face, the curve of his lips, the soft freckles on the bridge of his nose. You loved him so much and it was moments like this that made you realize that all the more. Moments like this where you were able to make the best out of the worst situations; together.

You're definitely staring and now he's looking at you. "What?", he asks wondering why you're staring at him with a peaceful smile on your lips.

"What?" you echo softly, sounding dazed and tried.

"You're staring" a teasing smirk graces his face but he can tell you're still lost in thought.

For another moment you look into his eyes, losing all sense of reality and you can't help but reach over and cup his cheek. There's a brief look of confusion the crosses his face before he closes his eyes, leaning into your touch.

"You ok?" he asks eyes still closed before opening them to gauge your reaction.

"Sometimes I love you so much it overwhelms me."

You said it so genuinely that Dean was taken aback. He didn't really know how to respond to that and if he thought about the weight of your words it would probably make him cry. Before he could think about it, he was reaching for you.

"C'mer," he said tossing his book into the floorboard and pulling you to lay between his legs with your head over his heart.

You sighed contentedly, nuzzling you face into the warm flannel lining of his jacket.

"I love you too, sweetheart", he said pulling his spare jacket over you and rubbing his hand up and down your back.

He looked down at you and could see that you were teetering on the edge of falling asleep. "Let's just stay here for tonight", the rain was still coming down heavy and he was pretty sure he was too tired to find his way to the motel.

"Ok," your voice was muffled by how your face was hidden in his shirt.

Dean smiled down at you and felt sleep tugging at him too. He settled back against the door, feet propped up on the bench seat with you laying on him, and thought that, in the grand scheme of it all, there was nowhere else he'd rather be than right here. Lost with you.

[shuenkio]

Brought the heat back | PsH. 💥

Paring: Sunghoon x M!reader | Genre: SMUT

Synopsis: Arrange married Park Sunghoon who you had never seen since birth, finally took a turn when he realized you're the one.

Cw: explicit scenes, cursing, cumming inside, moaning, whimpering etc (read at your own risk)

Non proof read | Eng is not my 1st lang.

This is a work of fanfiction, do not throw unnecessary tantrums on this nsfw/sfw blog. ©Shuenkio

A&N: from ANON request. I'm super sure there'd be awkward parts because I'm stressed out to write a perfect smut but might fail... Nvm enjoy reading. Smut below cut ✓

Enjoy your life at peace eat, drink, work, and sleep. Cycle this routine as life goes on. Until a man who is not your dream shows up. Since his parents and yours used to be hardcore bff when they were young, they wanted to tie the bond together by arranging a forced marriage between Sunghoon Park and M/N.

Disagree to this arrangement would be useless; why on earth would your parents befriend the gangster group out of everyone else? Which makes it worse if you don't want to be married to a man you have never met.

Along with your future groom, maybe at least you expected that he would be a gentleman, is a green flag, have a nice attitude, know what's right or wrong, be mature, talkative, or so on, yet none of these can be seen in him. All Sunghoon had was a face, a body, and a dead-looking, cold face.

He was an ice prince, for real. So on the day both guardians confirmed this ceremony, you couldn't help but wonder: What did you do to deserve all of this? A future husband who couldn't fit your standards—a future husband you didn't even know and love before. What would the tension between this unfold? Just sigh and let it be; better shut up or be breathless.

Later on, after the big party, Sunghoon and M/N were freshly married. Nothing special happened, not even a spare word for each other, any eye contact, especially Park Sunghoon, what's do you expect? All you got on your night together was,

"I don't like you, m/n—don't get your hope up just because we're married; now remember your place,"

and that was the last thing you've heard him say, and it's the most hurtful thing you've ever experienced. Then why? A month had passed since we were married, and you had noticed that Sunghoon's behavior had slightly changed from before.

He has a hot temper whenever you're on the phone with anyone, having a nice conversation with the neighbors, or interacting with anyone passing by when going out, and he can't seem to calm down. Sunghoon himself didn't even know why he felt this way; he said he hated you, but why would he be jealous of somebody else other than him? However, he didn't care if you'd bring up those events when he said those words.

All he knows is that he realizes that nobody else cares about him more than you. M/N, as Sunghoon's husband. Never been a lazy househusband; whatever the tension of hatred is, you still make him eat three times a day. Doing all the shit in the house as if you're the one who brought it. When he was sick, you were never afraid to ask him what's up and how he feels. And that's when he knows that you're the one.

Either you love him or not, he's going to repay you and make you love him back. Who cares right now if you love him or not, because once you're in here, you can't leave in anyway? Coming home after a late-night date, Sunghoon's is full of all the memories and contact you had with the waitress earlier at the restaurant. You were a little too sweet toward those guys. as a result of making him unable to hold back his possessions and jealousy any more. Sunghoon needs to mark you as his own; it's now or never that you are his property only. The eyes contact; ugh, he can't seem to stop the burning sensation inside his brain.

Without further ado, once m/n settles in the bedroom, Sunghoon quickly locks the door slam with one click, and all the windows shut off from the remote. Starlet, by the sudden, you ask him nervously; a look could kill a person's presence on Sunghoon's face. It was dark; if his eyes could glow, it'd be lava red in irritated. Yet he didn't respond with anything. He ripped off his top and threw them away before buckled his belt, prepared to do something to his desire.

You know that you'd be a food to his Hungary by this midnight, all fabric on the floor. What's that mean? Well,  he's probably doing what most couples do; actually, he's going to fuck and drive you nuts. Gulping down a hard lamp in your throat, too scared to run away, too scared to say no, but there's a small part in you that screams you have to let him be; there's must be something underneath after all of this. When you open up for him, exhale what's coming for you. In one motion, both of you and his underwear are nowhere to be seen.

You always wonder, as a boy, what the dick would look like for the hot guy. It is long, small, curved, or what? Yes, Sunghoon was there to unveil that; his cock was gorgeous, he had big, huge ass balls, and the shaft was paler than his skin. His tip is faded pink, and well, the best part is that he's uncut. He doesn't like getting his skin chopped off anyway. Seeing you gone speechless by the view he was giving, only to boost his desire even better, no warning alert, your two legs are thrown across on his shoulder, while his cock is in the position of your small hole.

The atmosphere changes in an instant; the dark, empty bedroom is filled with a burning spark. Neither you nor him had any experience, but let's say Sunghoon has been trained for a while now, probably most of his alone time, to know and do what could drive you to your begging stage.

"S-sunghoon, I know it's not wrong, but... You're too huge for me."

"I don't give a damn, m/n, endure it. I'm yours, husband, isn't it? You can't say otherwise!" Distracted by his words, you were surprised at the contact of his cock buried inside you, thrusting in unexpectedly. The enormous hard cock of his indeed spread your ass into two, resulting in your cries out with pleasure.

Seeing you still adjusting to his size, Sunghoon trailed down his lip, brushing softly against yours. The kiss is mixed with love and jealousy of his; he can't stop it now to breed you and mark you as his own. He was eager to tell the world you were his only. Sinking into Sunghoon's touch, you slowly and finally adjust to his huge cock. Once he knew you were ready, his demonic power took over him as he began to push his hip to the deepest part he could ever go in one thrust. The sudden sensation drizzled you as you whimpered out loud shamelessly. Meanwhile, Sunghoon also had the same feeling; his body shuddered into pieces when he moved his own hip up and down.

All those sex toys are nothing compared to your tight entrance, which is clenching so hard and tight of his cock at the moment. He is groaning so good; it was heavenly pleasurable. It's going on for another couple of poundings until Sunghoon gets a sign he'll explode anytime soon. Clearly, you are unprepared but have to be without it. As both of his large arms encircle your waist, the wet kisses continue harder than his tongue licking over all your lips and intertwined in your mouth. Chasing that climax, which is what you're aiming for too,

"M/n, I'm fucking coming; I'm coming; I'm —" desperately, he breaks the kisses, and in one last grind, he comes undone inside of you. The massive load filled you like a cum dump, squirting out all of his orgasms and shivering with all the nerves. Enough with him cumming out; you're soon finding your dick twitches, following his orgasm as it squirted, and shooting out the hot white liquids too.

With your eyes flying up facing the ceiling, you endure the pleasure, sucking in a sharp breath. You were almost passed out with just one round, your chest heaving nonstop while Sunghoon was already recovering a while ago. M/N just feels too good to fuck, and he won't stop till he is satisfied.

"M/n! Don't test me from now on; I realized that you're nobody but someone who still puts up with me even if I'm a bad husband. I'm going to love you like no one else can, and if you ever smile at somebody else than me, I promise I'll bring the heat back." 

🗣️Reblog and like is much appreciated ♥

🗣️ please mind my English! ><

🗣️ CRD TO ALL THE OWNERS.

[lowkeyremi]

Late Nights aizawa x reader

it's my birthday so im writing about the man i share it with (-ε-)

content: post war au, fluff, established relationship

"This isn't good for your health, Sho." Today marks the 5th night he's stayed up past 11 pm grading papers or doing something else for his job.

"How do you think I managed before I met you?" His small sigh meets your ears, and you really want to help him. Seeing out of only one eye is most definitely slowing him down.

"You looked dead on the outside when we first met. Do you want me to help grade papers?"

"I'll finish before one, go back to bed, honey." His eyes meet yours once he hears you scoff. He's draining himself by staying up this late, every single night. His face is lit by the warm kitchen light, one of his hands tugging at his long black strands of hair in order to keep himself sane.

"Shota. I'm not taking no for an answer." You say firmly, crossing your arms to indicate that you mean business.

"I knew you'd say that, come sit down." He gives in every single time. He knows he needs the help, he just doesn't want to admit it.

"Can you read through these essays?" At first you're confident, there's only a few papers on the table.

"Can you?" You nod diligently. You confirm you're willing to help, and your husband gets up from the table and slowly walks toward your shared bedroom. When he does return there's a large stack of papers in his arms. They drop on the table with a thump. He chuckles at your horrified expression.

"Just get through as many as you can. Write feedback on them too, hon." No wonder he's always so tired, you forget that 1-A isn't his only class. If you can remember right he has six periods of classes.

"Is this pile all your class or.." He's sat back down by now and started going through papers with red pen.

"That's 3rd and 4th period. I'm finishing up with 1st and 2nd right now." You click your tongue. It's hard to get started, you don't have any motivation unlike Shota. His only motivation is probably the fact he has to do this.

"Why don't you have an online classroom? It would make grading so much easier." He's probably going to say something about not knowing how to use it..

"I prefer for my students to write manually, because it helps with remembrance." Sounds like something an old man would say. You'd voice your opinion but he'd have a comeback for sure.

-----

"Shotaaaaa, I don't wanna do anymore." Your head is resting on the table, the cool wood on your cheek. He doesn't even spare you any sympathy either, laughing at you quietly. His rich chuckles sound like comfort more than mockery in your opinion though.

"Sweetheart, you've only graded four essays." The huge stack of papers looks back at you from it's side of the table.

"Yeah and each essay had like four to five papers in it. I feel bad for your students." The two of you are going to cuddle. You're determined to make it happen, so before he could even reply, you bounce up from your seat, grab his hand, and tug him towards your bedroom.

"We're going to sleep. I'm not taking any other answers besides "okay" or "yes my love." He clicks his tongue at your statement, but finds no reason to oblige.

-----

"Do you want to know something?" He whispers into your ear cuddling you close enough to feel the warmth of his chest on your back.

"What?" At this point you're only half-conscious, struggling to register what your husband's just said.

"I'm actually ahead of schedule. I can grade those papers loosely throughout this week." He admits with no guilt or shame in his voice at all. What a workaholic.

"Are you serious? So I could have been cuddling you all this time?"

"Yeah, I just do work to get out of my head." You wonder how many times you'll have to remind him that you're his strength and that you'll help him through anything, before he actually believes it.

"If you were having trouble sleeping, you should have told me." His big hand rests in your hair playing with it slowly.

"Didn't wanna bother you." His hand is so comforting that you almost fall asleep.

"You're never a bother to me Sho." Your voice is so soft and sincere that he almost breaks out into tears of joy. He's so happy to have met you.

"Oh." It has finally clicked in his brain, even though you've been married to him for quite some time.

You are his light.

[thrasherella]

Dragon!hybrid who absolutely on purpose accidentally gets himself and his cute lil' human coworker trapped in the supply closet while everyone else is at lunch

...

"Was that the door?" she felt an uncomfortable lurch in the pit of her stomach, a little grunt escaping her as she was roughly pushed forward into the shelves.

"Fuck," he swore softly; she thought because he, like her, had realized that yes, the light 'click' they just heard was the door closing behind him, locking them inside the cramped space until someone from the outside opened the door.

The actual reason he had sworn, was because with the way they were positioned in the tiny space, her back was fully pressed against his front, and she was at the perfect height that her soft ass was jammed into his crotch.

He tried to move so that he could give her more space but it was impossible, ending up pushing further into her; she could feel her face growing hot as she became aware that his cock was nestled right up against her slit, separated by just a couple of layers of clothing. The thought of his thick, ridged cock being shoved inside her made her cunt ache, feeling a hot pang behind her naval, using every ounce of her willpower to keep herself still.

This was exactly what he wanted.

"This is the closet with the funky lock, huh?" of course she already knew the answer; everyone at the office knew this supply closet was jinxed, had an abnormally heavy door, and a lock that locked automatically from the outside as soon as the door closed, but for whatever godforsaken reason couldn't then be unlocked from the inside. She was just really, really hoping that she was wrong.

He could tell she was trying so hard to be nonchalant, but he could already smell her mounting arousal, feel the little shifts of her hips, the heat starting to radiate from her body.

She might have wanted this as much as he had.

"Yeah," he breathed, licking his lips, mouth suddenly very dry. "We're stuck until someone opens the door from the outside..." his voice trailed off, and there was a very pregnant pause, and then it was as if a sudden switch was flipped.

They were desperately grinding against one another, writhing within the small space, hips rolling and bumping as they tried to push themselves as close together as possible. She made soft moans and sighs as he hushed her gently, reminding her to be quiet.

"You don't want to get caught, do you? Or maybe you do, hnnnn? Do you like being watched?" his voice was unexpectedly low, and he felt his swelling cock throb as she gave a little whimper in response, but did not argue against him. "You do like being watched; what a dirty girl, I knew you were a freak," she heard his tail thump against the door the same time she felt his tongue, hot and wet against her ear, and she bucked her hips harder, a shiver running down her spine. She wished so badly to feel more of him, and as if he had read her mind she felt his clawed hands running up the length of her thighs, scratching her lightly, goosebumps racing along her skin.

He was unintentionally pushing her into the shelves, and she accidentally knocked over some spare boxes of pens and permanent markers, sending a couple of them clattering to the floor as one of his hands slipped under her skirt and quickly pulled aside her thin panties, pressing his digits against the outside of her soaked entrance. "Mmmmm, whoops--" one curious, insistent finger slid into her soft folds, and she was unable to stop the heady sound that fell from her lips. "You're just so wet..."

He fucked his finger in and out of her, adding a second digit, her sweet juices running down his hand and wrist as she drenched him, his unrelenting fingers brushing up against all the right spots. Mercifully, she'd found an old, spare blanket that was way back on one of the shelves, which she now pressed her face into, muffling her erotic cries.

"Fuuuck that's so hot," his breath was hot against her ear, voice again that low, rumbling tone. "Do it again..."

He made her come three more times on his fingers before he was satisfied, all the while feeling his rock hard cock grinding against her ass.

She felt a sudden molten surge of anticipation as she heard the clinking of his belt buckle being undone.

"Tell me little freak, is this your first dragon dick?" there was the soft sound of fabric hitting the floor, she felt the back of her pencil skirt being pulled up and something very hot was between her legs, pushing earnestly against her waiting pussy, her breath catching in her throat as he slowly filled her and then some, stretching her to her limit around his thick rod. She was seeing stars, feeling like he was going to split her in two as he made her take every inch of him. She had been right in her assumptions about his ridges, the extra texture rubbing against her insides in ways she hadn't felt before; it was amazing.

"Yeah," she managed to pant out, her legs already beginning to shake. "You're my first...it's so fucking good," she finished with a high pitched whimper as he gave a particularly rough shove, pushing his feet underneath hers so that she was standing on him. He held onto her hips, claws digging into her delicate skin, bouncing her up and down along his cock, pulling her back against him, using her like his little fuck toy.

Her mind clouded over, she couldn't think straight; all that she was able to process were the intense waves of pleasure that crashed over her again and again with every stroke of his cock, her pussy clenching and fluttering around his length as she came, squirting all over the floor and the shelves on front of her, his husky voice whispering and moaning in her ear.

"That's it cum for me baby...fuck you take me so well...I knew you would feel so fucking good on my dick; so wet and tight...cum for me again pretty girl..."

She became aware of something big pushing against her cunt, his rutting becoming more erratic as he fast approached his own climax.

"I'm gunna knot you," he grunted, grasping onto her hips tightly. "You're gunna look so pretty filled with my cum..." he abruptly rammed himself even deeper into her, his knot penetrating her already stuffed cunt and locking her to him as he gave a long, low growling moan, shooting her full of his hot load as he came. Her vision started to go black around the edges and she felt tingly all over, crying out in ecstasy into the blanket, coming with him for one final time.

She was overflowing with him by the time he was finished pumping out his orgasm into her, both of their juices mingling and staining much of the storage closet.

They remained entwined together as they caught their breath, his knot eventually relaxing and allowing him to slip out of her wetly, more of him dripping to the floor now that she didn't have his cock as a plug.

"You're gunna wanna clean that up before lunch hour is over," he chuckled lightly, getting his pants back on as his tail flicked against the doorknob, which turned and opened the door with ease. "By the way, the closet that does lock from the inside, is one floor up. We should really do this again sometime..."

[starzshopoflove]

Worlds biggest snoop

Soap is nosy as fuck and drags poor Gaz into his nonsense, Ghost just misses you.

Notes: fem reader! sfw mostly ,size kink if you squint, literally just me projecting onto reader, Soap is nosy, drabble! (WC:936)

Okay, it was bound to happen eventually. Simons on deployment and his poor little civilian girlfriend is left all alone in her little bookshop while he's away on base. Of course he told you before he left and, you both made sure to spend plenty of time together on dates (and in bed)

You send him off with plenty of hugs and kisses reminding him to call whenever he has time and not to forget to take care of himself. Simon would probably keep a few photos of you in his gallery in a locked album that he looks at every night before sleeping once he’s called you.

This man is so paranoid, he even changes his wallpaper. It was a photo of you holding a pie you both made together ( he stood on the side reading the instructions while you did all the work bc you were to scared he would mess with the dough, this man has lived off of mre’s and meat his ass can NOT bake) with a little ghost dough shape baked on the top. Now its just a picture of a pile of books with your glasses on the top of the stack. Easy enough to pass off as a nice photo and still something to remind him of you.

He makes sure he has no trace of you on him once he's on base. Save for the one picture he has of you both holding a big bouquet of flowers side by side, he's staring at you stare at the camera like a love sick puppy, while you're smiling so wide your eyes are shut. That's the only thing he will keep on him, if he dies on the field he wants the last thing he sees to be you. Other than that he risks nothing.

Plain clothes that don't have your smell, none of the fancy lotions you’ve forced him to use, none of the little trinkets you slip in his pocket, none of the little letters you've slipped in his bag (He saved those to read when he came back).

Nothing.

But he was bound to fuck up eventually no?

Soap was the first to get nosy. His LT was never this calm or relaxed on deployment. He rushed a little more to get to his office each night. What was even weirder is he would lock the door this time, he never locked the door.

So of course he started taking matters into his own hands. Standing behind Ghost when he was sitting down on his phone, once he even saw him scroll past the locked album. He didn't open it of course. He never opened that unless he was alone, but he scrolled past it and Soap could see the album title.

Your Initial with a heart next to it.

This is when all the bells actually went off in his head. At first he thought Ghost finally went to therapy (LMAO NO) or maybe picked up a hobby (DOUBLE NO), but heart emojis? What on Gods green earth had moved thee Ghost to using a heart emoji

Soap was sticking like glue to Simon, reluctantly he tolerated this. Except of course when 9pm rolled around and he was kicking him out of the office. 

“Come on Lt, what you gettin 'rid ‘f me for? Not like yer gonna wank in the office yeah?” 

“Get out” 

“Aw come on can't spare ya favorite sargent a couple hours to entertain?”

Soap was whining at this point just being an annoying little shit to try and break him.

“Out”

Ghost just dragged him out by the collar like a misbehaved kitten.

Making a show of it Johnny walked down the halls wailing about how Ghost must hate him and that their friendship means nothing, while Simons just watched him tumble around dramatically wrapping his arms around Gaz. 

Once he hears the click of Ghost's office door locking he instantly straightens up, face locked on like he's on a mission and arm wrapped around Gaz like iron. 

Gaz the poor boy, is verily confused watching this interaction, more confused as to why Soap is dragging him to their Lt’s door.

"C’mon”

Soap hisses pressing his ear on the door motioning Kyle to do the same. 

“Fuck is you doing?”

Gaz is looking as Soap like a child who's about to get a shot, lips pursed tightly, eyes narrowed up. Course Johnny just pulls him to press up too.

Price probably just walks past them mumbling some nonsense about kids these days ignoring it, the less he knows the better

The 2 stand there in silence for a good moment until they hear the classic dialing of a number and the shifting of what sounds like Ghost taking off his mask. 

Then, the sound of a woman's voice?

“Well you look awfully tired”

Oh my god Lt’s calling a woman

Your voice is chirpy and bright probably since you’ve got the night shift and had enough sleep to run the shop for the night. You little chitters of how your day went and questions of concern filled the room soothing Simon's nerves of whatever he was worrying about that day. 

Soap and Gaz are jaw slacked behind the door staring at each other listening to this. Lt’s bird chirping through the little phone speaker and him actually replying in full sentences in a soft warm tone they didn't know existed 

The 2 scatter before the call ends giggling to each other, well Soap giggling Gaz trying to process how Lt got a girl before him

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Three - Deja vu

Remember when I said this was supposed to be the easy side project made of easy to consume chapters that was supposed to be easy on my brain? Oh the way life throws a wrench in things.

Apologies for the wait but thank you for the patience! A bit longer of a chapter this time (almost double the length) because if you also read my other fic you'll know I have a moderation problem :)

Trigger warnings: angst, depression

Time converted its seconds into a slow-motion camera, capturing the hectic moment as a series of shutter clicks in your mind. Rich earthy elixirs trapped like icicles in a frozen pour from heated spouts. Spare precious change suspended in mid-air spilled from jittery hands. A systolic heartbeat waiting to finish its rhythm. An overplayed Christmas jingle with the record player set to the lowest speed. 

How did you not pick up on the telltale signs sooner? It wasn’t as if this was a first occurrence for you anymore. Precious moments of escape wasted daydreaming of warm comfort when it could’ve been spent backpedaling to the safety of your vehicle. Even more insulting when you considered how perceptive you’d been not ten minutes prior, untrusting of your nose to keep you from trouble in the supermarket bakery, head on a dizzying swivel for any more unwanted surprises.

Yet here you were again, betrayed by the very caffeine that was supposed to be your savior, too slow to duck back out the shop before your scent had a chance to reach his nostrils. 

Now you were pinned in place by a complete stranger who had no business smelling that edible.

Pupils blown wide mirrored your own. Blue irises framed by full lashes contrasted against a faded tan that spoke of time spent abroad in warmer climates. Dark brown hair shorn close on the sides peaked into a mussed up mohawk, slightly damp from melted snow and tousled by the wind. Your eyes unfocused to take in the body belonging to the man - shifting lower, past slightly parted lips greedily inhaling your scent and a craggy chin scar encircled by a dusting of dark stubble. 

A deep brown leather bomber jacket stretched tight across broad shoulders only a few shades darker than his hair, upturned against the elements and protecting a tree trunk neck, accented along the trim by matching tufts of a lighter insulating sherpa. A hint of medium wash jeans caught in your periphery, unable to glance further at the lower portion of his body, too encapsulated by the cosmic force that kept you snared within his gaze.

The back of your neck prickled with the knowledge that whatever was passing between you in the charged space across the checkerboard tiles was a transient mirage at best and a dangerous amalgam of broken aspirations at most. That grim lesson had been embedded into your retinas the hard way– 

No matter how potent the connection, this man was not yours. 

You shouldn’t be here. You should not be here.

The alpha didn’t miss the way you transferred your weight onto your back leg. Predatory focus latched onto the subtle way you shifted, instincts preparing behind barely contained canines. You’d accidentally triggered something; a millennia’s worth of ingrained primality overriding the structured norms of good societal behaviour. Like an old timey saloon, it was an overstrung standoff to see whose will would break first.

Your need to run outweighing his need to possess. 

Eyes narrowed slightly, he pointed right at you with a warning look. In a rough brogue, “Don't…”

You didn't listen.

“Hey hey hey–!” 

It was all too familiar now - this choreographed dance of avoiding uncomfortable affairs instead of facing them head on, ignoring the startled clamor of bewildered customers as you darted past a group of unsuspecting teenagers through the narrowing gap of the cafe door.

Nearly bowling an elderly couple over in your haste to escape, you fumbled out a half-hearted apology as you skidded around the next corner with a high pitched squeak, losing traction on the glassy ice in your well-worn snow boots and catching yourself on a vintage lamp post that you used like a springboard to gain a few precious milliseconds of a head start. 

This was twice in two days now that you’d undergone a fateful encounter the majority of the population could only dare dream of. And here you were bolting from destiny like a frazzled rabbit scurrying helplessly through the underbrush from what should have been your savior.

What the hell kinda luck was this?! And why did it have to choose now of all times?!

The door flung open only moments after, the previously innocent bell chime now a harbinger of doom. Heavy footfalls slapped through the condensed slush of snowfall. Something feral rose up in the presence of a hunter in pursuit of his quarry. 

There was something on your tail, and it felt far more intimidating than a starving wolf leering at his lunch.

Your pulse was bellowing in your ears, weaving through the conglomerated foot traffic as best you could with a body not prepared for a long winded chase. A hot poker stitched your side and hobbled your gait. Frost coated your lungs with every ragged inhale, sapping what little breath capacity you had and crippling until you were little more than a wounded mammal, panicky and acting on pure foolish adrenaline. The rational part of your brain spoke of the futility against someone his size, the brief glimpse afforded to you of his stocky frame earlier proof that your alpha was capable; well fed, sculpted for survival, muscles made of endurance and stamina. 

Everything desired in a good mate, the back of your mind unhelpfully supplied.

Long strides ate up the distance, navigating the pavement far more sure footed than you.

“Bleedin’ Christ!” growled out the voice. “Will ye jus’– wait!”

The firm grip on your bicep rather than his frustrated words was what halted you in your tracks. The slippery slush beneath your feet gave way to an involuntary squeak as another hand snapped out to steady your skidding, keeping you from tucking ass over tea kettle. Heavy breaths turned visible in the frigid winter air as you panted from exertion, sucking in a heady mixture of espresso and chilled vapors that fogged up your mind and muddled your senses. 

Fuck, he smelled good.

A gloved hand shuffled you further out of the way from the crowds of passersby, huddling beneath a shopkeeper's veranda, muffled conversation from the building’s interior a muted buzzing compared to the ringing in your ears. He shifted so as to take the brunt of the whipping winds on his back, sheltering you from the worst of it and allowing you to blink clear the stinging snowflakes from your eyes.

Although you never really stood any substantial chance of escape, there was still something surreal to be said about standing toe to toe with an alpha outside your family circle. He beheld you with the same wide eyed stare you gawked at him with, pupils stuck in a constant state of dilation as he huffed in your shared air, just as drunk off his scent match as you were. At this proximity, even the outside breeze wasn’t enough to dampen the waves of pheromones spiking like heated tesla coils between you. Unlike you, he found it in him to scrounge together just enough self control to soften his stance and manage a relaxed smile your way.

“There now, lass.” His words weren’t winded in the slightest, something that petulantly annoyed you in your weakened state - even if the accented baritone of his vibrato was soothing the consternation from your veins. “See? No need fer misbehavin’.”

There was an obvious gentling to his tone; something placating with an edge of sternness that felt at odds with his choice of haircut. Blue orbs roamed your face as if he half expected you to collapse on him, no longer holding on to you but keeping a readied hand hovering in case your shaky legs gave way. Truthfully - with how you were still sucking in breaths - you weren’t quite sure his assistance wouldn't be needed.

“Christ, LT was right about ye. Got a scent that can skelp a man flat on his arse.”

Even in your current state he must’ve judged you steady enough to maintain balance, despite still keeping the rigid preparedness in his shoulders as his hands sought a place in denim pockets. “Got a habit fer runnin’, dontcha?”

The capability of speech was all but lost to you, tongue cemented to the roof of your mouth and dry as a wilted prune abandoned on the vineyard soil. You’d at least managed the bare minimum of appearing less like a beached guppy by snapping your jaw shut, but the snicker from his lips at whatever he found while searching your face revealed your inadequacy to mask as a functioning human.

Azure eyes sparkled with mirth. “I ken I’m a looker, hen, but I ‘ave tae say it’s been a while since I’ve left a bonnie lass like yerself truly speechless. Strokin’ my ego a bit, ye are.”

“Your coffee…”

The first words you say to the man of your dreams and all you can think of is his wasted cup left unoccupied on the counter.

“Eh, it’s only a drink.” His shoulder’s finally loosened with a shrug. “More concerned about yers. Not tae make ye feel bad, lass, but ye’re lookin’ a wee bit peckish if I can say.”

So your mirror liked reminding you every morning. 

You waved him off on instinct, not needing the alpha to start concerning himself with your health. Not like there was much either of you could do about it. “It’s fine. Shouldn't be spending the money anyways.”

He wasn’t satisfied with that answer, raising an eyebrow at your justifiably frazzled appearance, but choosing not to question it just the same.

“Gonna be honest, lass. Wasn't exactly expectin’ ta bump into ya.”

You could tell by the bite marks on another woman’s neck.

No. Stop it girl. That’s not fair to him.

You shoved back the bitter taste of jealousy, forcing a smile you both knew was awkward. “Yea… what are the odds…”

“Mind ye, when the others mentioned their wee run-in with ye at the shop the other night I ken’d there was a chance– Christ, when Cap’n finds out the…” His words carried on, but you stopped processing them beyond a certain point in his ramblings, focusing more on the melody as it slowly faded to the background. There was a lilt to his speech that didn’t quite fit the occasion - at least to you. A restrained awe; measured happiness so as not to overwhelm you right off the bat with unbridled emotion. 

Part of you was thankful for his careful insight considering the delicate nature of the situation. But even so, the squiggly edges of his personality felt forcefully crammed into an elaborate puzzle rather than fitting naturally into a predetermined space.

You should be thrilled to be having this conversation. Things should be clicking and the world should make sense and his voice should be songbirds twittering in your ear on a beautiful summer’s day without a cloud in the sky and…

All you can hear is the man in a blue camry honking at the lady jaywalking in front of his car, the squeal of halted tires and shouted insults from hot spilled coffee across his lap. The poor woman on the corner shaking a can of loose pennies in hopes of a two dollar meal from the shop down on 7th Ave. Dogs barking at strangers and high heels clacking on wet slushy pavement. 

Overstimulation hits you hard, leaving you incapable of making out anything but the shapes of his mouth without any of the feedback. His voice muffles despite only the foot distance between you, and try as you might you have no idea what’s causing that smile on his face. For all you know he could be just as easily discussing the week's snowy forecast or reciting Chaucer like those lunatics on the steps outside the performing arts college. 

The nagging presence makes itself known in the back of your mind, adding to the chaos plugging your senses and making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end in a way that has nothing to do with the chill. The disgruntled alpha half a country away calls to your fraying nerves, taking advantage of your weakened mentality and twisting like a gnarled root around your windpipe. You disguise the full body trembles with a forced shiver, the restlessness of your fingers giving in to the urge to claw at your mating mark, hiding the motion by readjusting your scarf more securely and clearing your throat. A cold sweat breaks out underneath the insulating layers of warmth, adding to the already miserable conditions of the snowy bluster. There’s only so much more you can take before you split apart at the threads and reveal to the stranger just how rotted your insides were.

You needed to end the interaction.

“Look–” you interrupt his languid tirade, voice barely holding steady and as timid as a field mouse, mittened palm up to keep him from going any further and stunning him into silence. “You don’t have to do this. This kinda thing just… doesn’t happen to normal people. I’m not gonna hold anything against you when it was a one in a billion chance of us ever crossing paths. You have your life and I have mine.”

Something hard caught in your throat and gummed up your words, threatening to crawl into your lungs and make a permanent home if you focused on it for too long - gave it too much power. You hoped he didn’t see the way you forced yourself to push through. “Let’s just… be adults, acknowledge that it happened, and go about our day as if we were two strangers passing by on the street. No expectations, no mess. ‘Kay?”

Clearly not envisioning that reaction now that he’d finally gotten his paws on you, something in his look tightened at being told ‘no’. “Hardly seems fair.”

Who was he to know ‘fair’?

“And what about us?” he continued with an unexpected bite. “Ye think we can jus’ ignore the fact that our scent match is wanderin’ about somewhere in the city unguarded and at risk of bein’ hurt or– or taken?”

You could almost taste the self satisfaction flaring across the tainted bond, fighting back a wave of nausea and bristling at the emotional wound he unknowingly gut punched.

“And your omega?” You watched him flinch at the obvious retort, both hating and relishing in his discomfort at having reality thrown back in his face. At least you both knew there was an element of betrayal lingering beneath the surface. “You really want her to have to come home every day with you smelling like another woman? Your fated woman? Do you realize the damage that’ll cause not just to her but to your mating bonds?”

In a perfect world, this whole encounter would be different. He’d say hi, you’d give him your most winning smile. The two of you would go back to the cafe and he’d pay for your coffee. You'd sit across from each other with stars in your eyes, getting to know the ins and outs of their soul for however much time your schedules allowed, blowing off prior commitments in favor of lyrical words dancing sugar plums around your head. Numbers would be exchanged and you’d both part ways feeling lighter and hopeful and impatiently waiting for the start of the next exciting chapter.

God, you hated fairy tales. 

The alpha was clearly frustrated at how the conversation was playing out, scratching a rough hand through his mohawk with a groaned out hiss, eyes darting around empty space as a grimaced mouth searched for the right words. “Look, lass. The four of us–” 

Four. There were four of them. Four mates. 

“–aren’t gonna stop worryin’, not now that we ken ye’re within reach and without a pack of yer own.” Blue eyes skimmed downwards trying to peer beyond the veil of your scarf, flicking back up to your face when he failed, searching for a sign that you remain unmated as he suspects by your reactions thus far. 

Glancing off to the side, you avoid his gaze and focus on the piles of brown snow gathered along the curb, not trusting yourself to keep a straight face under his careful scrutiny. He must take your avoidance as confirmation, returning to the conversation at hand.

“Alright, yea. We’ve already bonded another. Nothin’ tae be done about it now and there’s no use bawlin’ o’er what might ‘ave been. But if ye think that's gonna stop us from tryin’ tae be a part of yer life then yer sorely mistaken.” 

There’s an endearing quality to his convictions - as misguided as you believe them to be. So sure of himself, reflected in the take-no-objections posture and firm set of his brows. All confident alpha bravado. 

A small part of you keens at his certitude, recognizing it on a primal level and wanting to bask in the commanding presence your– the alpha provides. But those same instincts that scream at you to welcome his protective nature also serve as a reminder of why that could never work.

There’s a reason packs only keep one omega. While alphas are stereotyped as being the possessive pigheaded brutes who covet your kind like unstable beasts, everyone knows there is none so fierce as a territorial omega, baring her teeth to encroaching females without a moment’s hesitation to defend. It’s not like you’re the worst sorts of overly attached pack mates though. Society wouldn't be able to function if an omega snapped every time they all came within three feet of each other. 

But to have the two coexisting within the same ecosystem fighting over the affections of the same alphas…

If the heartbreak wouldn’t kill them, the blood on their teeth will.

The fact that he’s trying to send all that flying out the window is both impressive and infuriating in its stubbornness. 

Your own voice is far more subdued as you fidget with the hem of your coat. “That’s not how this is supposed to work…”

“Oh aye? Turnin’ down gaggles of soulmates jus’ a light Saturday mornin’ fer ya then?”

Despite the dour mood, you huffed in something akin to levity at his words, feeling some of that tension unreel from your bones in the face of the small upward curve of his lips that accompanied them. “If I say yes will that convince you to throw in the towel?”

Enchanting eyes sparked with determination and something playful. “Hate to break it tae ya, lass, but we’re a right stubborn bunch o’ blokes.”

“And her?” 

Cerulean eyes hardened again. “We’ll sort that out between us.” 

A leather covered arm reaches out to guard your left side, a firm body stepping into your space to block you from a passing beta encroaching too close on your private conversation. You don’t miss the slight rumble in his chest given as a warning to the traipsing man, the subtle growl claiming this spot and two of you in it, an intimidating scowl berating him for nearly knocking into you because of it. It catches you off guard, unconsciously leaning into the alpha's safety from the unaware intruder, the heady scent of freshly ground coffee beans permeating his clothes and coating you in a fresh pot to ease your delicate nerves.

It takes the two of you a moment to separate despite both of you knowing the ‘threat’ is gone; and even then the amount of space between is kept minimal at best. It’s hard to deny the pull molecularly chaining you to this man whose pheromones are carving out spaces in the cracks between the marrow like rapids, filling the pock marked gaps and branding your existence as something completely different than it was before. 

The structural fibers in your body are being split in half like colliding atoms in a particle accelerator. It’s a molecular tug of war between listening to ancestral instincts imploring you to stay with the protective alpha and past emotional trauma begging you not to give in to complicated matters of the heart. You’ve been hurt once before by someone of his kind and the last thing you needed was to punt yourself all the way back to square one when it had taken you so long to reach this part of your healing journey. 

You know where that path leads. There’s nothing waiting for you but despair.

Unknowing or lacking regard for your internal struggle, the alpha surprises you by shifting his arm to sprawl across your shoulder, a gentle but unrelenting force ushering you back in the direction you’d originally come running from, the deceptively casual grip brokering no room for argument. “Now, what’s say we make up fer scarin’ ye earlier with that cup of caffeine ye were gantin’ after, eh?” 

Maybe if you’d possessed a stronger will you might’ve opened your mouth to protest his commanding treatment over you. Instead, nestled close to his body and tucked in tight against his shoulder, he was gentleman enough not to comment on the small whiff you snuck on your way back to the cafe.

The soft instrumentals playing festive tunes over the cafe speakers were an appreciated break from the harsh monotony of whirring kitchen equipment. Depictions of snowmen and candy canes painted artistically on the inside glass celebrated the joyous season. Evergreens and mistletoe; frozen fractals falling from white fluffy clouds. A veritable winter wonderscape - the natural frost accumulated on the outside only adding to the weathering effect. 

Red and green twinkle lights hung strewn across overhead support beams. Garlands with small plastic ornament bobbles snaked around the insides of display cases. An electric votive nestled cozily in miniature wreaths and placed at every table flickered warmly for an added ambience to the already welcoming interior.

The holiday decorations had been up since Thanksgiving, but you’d never taken a moment to really notice them, too focused on the transactional exchange and the time on your phone to give it more than a passing glance of acknowledgement. Fidgeting in your seat, it was a welcome distraction.

You’d been ushered towards one of the secluded tables upon returning to the cozy cafe, your companion either ignorant or uncaring of the odd glances tossed your way by those still inside who witnessed your previous outburst. You kept your head ducked from the initial embarrassment, blood heating your face as he helped you out of your coat and slung it over the back of your chair, making sure you were settled before sauntering off towards the register to place the drink order you’d rattled off. 

While he stood distracted at the counter amongst a sea of waiting customers, one of the older baristas with a candy cane apron discreetly tried to flag down your attention, meticulously cleaning one of the espresso machines with a soiled napkin purposefully tilted away from his view. 

The words in scribbled sharpie pointed your way: ‘You ok?’

Touched by her concern, you gave her a surprisingly genuine smile despite your jittery insides, easing her enough to pass along a thumbs up as she goes back to working on whatever festive drink concoction the lady at the drive thru has deigned to torture her with. It was kind of her to look after you given the strangeness of the day. But against what should be all rational thought you trusted the man who was for all intents a complete stranger.

Here’s to hoping life didn’t pair you with a serial killer.

Shaking your head of such nonsense (hopefully), it took you a moment to recall the last time you gave yourself permission to linger somewhere. With the exception of the hour spent every week in Dr. Miranda’s office, you avoided congregating in public spaces for more than the few minutes it took to get in, get out, and return to the safety of your abode. Crowds made you skittish; the abused animal inside burrowed deep within your rib cage voicing its objections and reflecting its displeasure in the way it made you outwardly twitch. Once upon a time even stepping foot in a place like this - enclosed, swirling with clashing aromas, a singular point of escape - seemed like such an unattainable goal. Even now the awareness of the situation caused your agoraphobia to writhe under your skin, poisoning like fire ant venom and tempting your lungs into anaphylactic shock. 

Deep breaths, girl. In… out… in… out… let it wash over you… inhale… exhale… 

You are safe. You are safe. You are– 

Like nails on a chalkboard, the scratching of wood against ceramic jostled you from your meditative process, an involuntary yelp met with a small grin of apology as the imposing alpha placed your own drink in front of you before taking up residence in the open seat across. Something about the setting exacerbated his already potent smell, mixing with the sweetness of the beverages and leaving you with a deep gnawing ache to lean across the table and drink it straight from the source.

The tide of anxiety receded back to the depths of your mind, your inner omega settling in the presence of your scent match. Even if you couldn’t escape the dark presence prowling like a half-starved panther on the other end of the bond, the natural relief that came with sitting three feet away from your opposite designation had you breathing steadier than you had since leaving therapy a short while ago. You may not be entirely comfortable with this predicament, but at least the attention came with a few built in perks. 

The fake candle in the center highlighted the limited edition designs on your respective drinks, but it’s the name scrawled in sparkly black sharpie that catches your attention on his disposable cup. “MacTavish?”

“John,” he confirms, “pleasure ta meet ya, lass. Though I s’pose tha’s how I should’ve started things out in the first place. With, ya know… manners.”

“Not like I made introductions easy for us…” you mumbled with a wince, tracing over the cafe’s symbol on your cup as a small distraction from having to make eye contact at the admission.

“Aye, ye didn’t. But I cannae fault ye fer havin’ a sense of self preservation starin’ down a big burly Scotsman, now can I?” 

It had been moreso about running from your problems than being outright intimidated by the man, but you weren’t about to question his assumption and open up a whole new can of worms in the process. “Right...”

There was a brief pause as he stared at you expectantly, hoping you’d return the favor now that he’d taken that first step with an official greeting. Something about offering up even that little part of yourself scared you though. It felt like handing over power to the fae folk; like once he knew your name he could strip the autonomy from your spirit and ensnare you forever in his enchanted domain.

Instead, you took a sip from the hot liquid in your hands, soothed by the syrupy blend like a steady palm rubbing lines down your back. Not nearly as good as the earthy bouquet your nose had been sampling with every inhale. Maybe if you’d added a pump of caramel…

You fought desperately to ignore the part of your brain that whispered comparisons to the rich espresso-y figure across the way, stopping any and all sidetracking towards scandalous thoughts of a more private taste testing. 

This was not the time for slick inducing fantasies.

Once he realized he wouldn’t receive an echoing answer, he mirrored you with his own brew, humming in approval at whatever pleasant taste he found and dropping the subject temporarily. Thankful he didn’t push, you read further down on his own drink, unable to help the small scoff of surprise after reading the incriminating label.

“A sugar cookie latte? Not the most masculine of drinks, is it?” You’re not sure where you found the courage to softly tease him over his beverage of choice. Clearly his heavy alpha pheromones were messing with your logic receptors. “Thought your kind liked to keep things dark and bitter.” 

“I'm an alpha, lass. Chasin’ after sweet smellin’ omegas is what we do fer fun.” There was a sparkle there that hinted towards your earlier predicament, a not so subtle implication combined with his cheeky grin that reassured you it was all good natured. You at least had the decency to duck your head abashedly, face heating up from more than just the warming drink. “Kinda gives us a wee proclivity fer honeyed tastes.”

Honestly, he had a point. Can’t say you’d ever thought of it that way before. I mean, seriously. Whoever said alphas needed to be gritty when they came naturally ingrained with a sweet tooth?

“Guess that’s why she smells like chocolate.”

Your lips formed the words without thought, something mean tugging at you the same time he did. Nails bite into the recycled coffee sleeve like sharpened teeth, taking out the urge to scratch on the poor item rather than call attention to the scarf still secured around your neck. Couldn’t even get through a normal outing without him adding his two cents to the mix.

A hard tap on the tabletop called your attention back to John. You’d maybe expected an affirming response, but what you don't expect is to find him staring at you from across the table with a suddenly serious expression, speaking to you in an almost chiding manner. “I'd rather ye didn’t bring up sore spots to intentionally cause yerself pain.”

He didn’t allow you to hide, his face moving in tandem with yours as you attempted to duck his gaze, the blunt observation leaving you sheepish as you worried your bottom lip. 

“...can't avoid the conversation forever.”

“Aye. But the least we can do is get ta know each other first.”

That genuinely puzzled you. “Why?”

Even through the bulk of his winter coat you could see the way the material stretched to make way for his biceps as he crossed them over his chest, leaning back in his seat as he regarded you with easy going eyes. “Yer my scent match, lass. Ye think I'm not o’er ‘ere stewin’ in a fruity cocktail wishin’ I’d ‘ave taken ye tae a juice bar instead?”

Your face heated again at the implication. Seems his own thought pattern wasn’t too terribly dissimilar to the wiley suggestions pawing at your psyche with scintillating ideas of debauchery. “Wouldn't go that far...”

“Got no shame in admittin’ yer drivin’ me up the wall.”

He really didn’t, did he? 

“Not sure you should be saying things like that.”

“Probably.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Ne’er been one fer followin’ rules though. Doesnae make sense when we're both wantin’ the same thing.”

You examined him over the rim of your cup, forearm resting on the sticky laminate as you leaned in closer, almost imploring in your tone. “Isn't that just further proof we shouldn't even be talking right now?”

Taking a sip of his own, he brushed off your concerns like a piece of lint from his sleeve. “Ye really think ye can jus’ wipe yer hands and forget about us?”

Silence laid thick in the air between you. There was no point denying when he felt every bit the earth-rattling gravity well that had the two of you touching toes beneath the table. 

He didn’t even bother trying to hide the smugness from his expression. “Exactly. I may not be takin’ ye ta my bed, lass, but yer mine nonetheless.”

You shouldn't have liked the way that sounded. For the past four years of your life you’ve been unwilling property to a man holding you confined in a secret realm of bleak oblivion. You’ve begged and pleaded through every starless sky to go back to being the woman you were before fate intervened, desperate for peace in an internal war. All you ever wanted was freedom; to bound over mountains and soar across fields. To scrape off the layers belonging to him and build castles in the clouds far beyond his reach.

Yet here you were thanking the maker of scent wicking panties that your match couldn’t detect the perfume wafting up between your legs at the thought of him staking his claim over you.

“So,” he went on, “we figure out a way tha’ we can be in yer life that doesnae cross any boundaries and ye gain four brutes that'll gladly shank a man fer ya.”

You raise an eyebrow at his choice of wording before taking a sip from your cup. “Sounds a tad extreme if you ask me.”

Canines gleaming, the look he sends you is downright carnivorous. “Oh, yer in fer a spell, lass.”

Chatter turns to small talk in an effort to distract you from the discomfort of previous conversation. Turns out he’d drawn the short straw when he and his pack mates realized over piles of paperwork and exhaustive meetings that certain individuals who would not be named - but he’d been more than happy to throw under the bus - hadn’t checked some things off their list while out doing a routine grocery run the other night. Seems like the previous two you’d met were left nearly as shaken as you after the encounter, forgoing the last few needed aisles in favor of ending things early to process tough decisions behind closed doors.

That’s all the information he offers; no further details exchanged on the matter. The internal workings of your personal lives kept private. It didn’t take a mathematician to understand why you prefer to remain guarded, but you assume on his end it had a fair bit to do with the obnoxious purple elephant in the room, trumpeting and stampeding all over the future you could’ve built had it just stayed locked in a zoo. There’s still some moments along the line where he lays a trail of tiny bread crumbs, challenging you with hungry eyes to follow the path through winding woodland and glittering caves towards whatever lay beyond. You’re tempted a few times to chance a couple steps, toeing the line of curiosity but always pulling back to the safety of the unknown. 

The less you know about their lives the better. You never even inquire as to the missing three names.

Eventually you settle on the topic of just how exactly he proposed this hairbrained… relationship?... was going to work. Fuck, there really had to be a better word for it. Not friends, not lovers. Not a situationship. Not total strangers anymore.

Companions? Counterparts? Symbiotes?

Either way, you’d both been spouting suggestions for the better part of five minutes and you weren’t any closer to a solution that would leave both parties feeling satisfied. Granted the only thing that could work for you would be as little interaction as humanly possible, but he was firm in his convictions.

“We can keep it ta texts fer right now if ye like.”

“But then she'll feel bad if she sees you writing them.”

“Then we'll jus’ ‘ave tae come visit.”

“But then I'll feel like some sleazy homewrecking call girl.”

“Now yer jus’ bein’ a numpty.”

“I’m being realistic.”

“Yea, ye should stop tha’.”

“John!”

“Lass.”

Oh, how you wanted to wipe that flippant laughter off his face and pry it from his mouth with dental tools. The damn thing was unfairly infectious in the way it warmly beckoned a smile to your lips. Here you were trying to be sensible about the situation he created and so far all attempts to come to some sort of compromise were met with off handed ribbing and facetiousness.

You wouldn’t admit that some of the holdup was partially your fault - looking for desperate excuses to keep this from happening - but it hung suspended in the quiet between your words. And what’s more he knew it too.

“What about the occasional email?” you threw out for the hell of it.

John outright guffawed at the ridiculous suggestion, drawing the attention of some of the surrounding tables without a care towards who heard, brawny arms tossed upward in fond exasperation. “This ain’t a business transaction, hen! Saints, what a notion…”

“Well…” you sputtered, “then it seems like we’ve reached an impasse.” 

Please just drop it.

He just looked at you with further amusement, swirling circles on the table with the bottom edge of his now empty coffee cup. “Ye always a neurotically charged mess or is this jus’ my lucky day?”

Oh god. In your desperation to undo the upheaval he’s already causing in your life you really weren’t painting a pretty picture of yourself were you? 

You cringed backwards at the realization. “Pretty sure you’re the reason I’m making myself look like one.”

“Aye, but a bonnie one,” he agrees.

“And you’re not worried about the mental stability of the person which life has comedically deemed yours and is making a complete fool of herself?”

“Just tryin’ tae make ye smile. It's been workin’.” A fact he looked quite proud of.

And it was. You couldn't deny that. For how much havoc this was wreaking on the parts of yourself that had become so ill equipped to handle basic human interactions outside your minuscule inner circle, there was a part of you that was glad to find you still possessed the capability of laughing with a stranger.

The conversation paused as his brow knit in confusion, the faint buzzing of a cell phone rattling in his pocket barely audible over the din as he drew it from the interior lining of his coat. The way he held the device and flicked through it with his thumb implied a text message as opposed to a phone call, huffing as he read over the contents before palming it in his meaty hand.

“Och, the louses are houndin’ me fer their caffeine fix. Hang on a tic, lass.” Flashing a quick smile, his chair slid back with a sharp squeak as he stood, strolling back towards the counter and flagging down an unoccupied barista. It was impossible not to follow him with your eyes, ogling his stocky frame as he rattled off coffee orders from the conversation pulled up on his phone. Even the sweet beta girl behind the register wasn’t impervious to his roguish charms; just a little more subtle in the way she admired the casual arrogance in which he leaned against the marble. 

How long had it been since you last let your eyes wander over the shape of a man and thought of something other than a rancid dumpster and abrasive brick scraping morse code across your exposed back?

There was something uniquely disarming about the alpha. In many ways his ability to break past your bullshit reminded you of Dr. Miranda. Both refused to let you spiral to darker thoughts, spinning the world into one of muted colors rather than shades of desolate gray. But where she spent years undoubtedly locked in a study hall pouring over dissertations and cramming decades of designation theory over red bulls and ramen, John had accomplished that same level of trust in a matter of–

You checked the time on your phone. The pair of you had been sitting in this cafe for roughly fifteen minutes now. That’s all it took for this whirlwind of a man to blow away the cobwebs accumulating in your chest and deliver a shot of adrenaline to your synapses.

Too bad the monster in your veins would make sure it didn’t last.

John came back from the counter holding a cardboard coffee carrier by the handle, looking down at you expectantly from his position towering over you. “Right, lass. Need tae be droppin’ these,” he raised his arm a smidge, gesturing to the drinks, “off tae the lads. So hows about we quit the stallin’ and skip tae the part where ye stop overthinkin’ things and lemme have yer number?”

He didn’t even let you open your mouth in feeble defense of that (true) statement before serving you a warning look that dissolved the syllables from the tip of your tongue. From what little you’d gathered during your brief stint together, you didn’t doubt his potential gumption to wrangle you to the cold tile floor - even in the presence of all these people - just to fish the device out of your pocket himself if need be.

Personally, you didn’t feel up to testing his bluff. 

Working off pure muscle memory, you handed over your phone and watched as he pulled up your messaging app, inputting his name amongst the scant others on the list and shooting off a fruit emoji. If he noticed the sparse amount of contacts in your phone he didn't comment on it. Not like it was hard to miss a grand total of four separate text chains.

His phone buzzed again from the text he sent himself, handing back your device with a smile that erred on the side of slightly devious contentment. The bastard knew he won and was being unfairly smug about it. “There now. See how easy that was, lass? Perfectly painless.”

That’s when it hit you.

“What if she says no?” The sheer panic gripping your chest catches you off guard as much as the blurted out words. Trepidation crushes like a hydraulic press, the thought of this precious fleeting moment being all you ever get seizing your body like a hundred electrified shocks. The rickety tower of emotional stability you’d been working so hard to keep steady seemed to crumble beneath your feet now that there was a chance he wouldn't be around to keep it from falling. “What if this is all just some big mistake and we never should have met and I end up ruining your pack–”

Gods, this was so fucked up. A minute ago you wanted nothing more than to never hear from John again and now your inner omega was giving you whiplash trying to cling to an alpha that wasn’t hers by the skin of her blunted teeth. 

This was exactly why you didn’t want to have anything to do with them in the first place! It was a no win scenario that was only going to make things worse by confusing your already emotionally precarious omega. Delaying the inevitable. Dragging things out. Torturing her wounded soul trying to wring water from stone.

But you couldn’t give him up anymore - not now. Maybe once you’re home safe in your nest and can breathe clean air not tainted with his fragrance. When you’ve forgotten the oceanic hues that gleam at you with such open eagerness. When his brogue and his candor are replaced with flashes of doe eyed brown and thick flowing locks and the taste of chocolatey truth cuts too deep to heal. Maybe distance will make this ache inside easier to bear. 

But at this moment, despite your earlier hesitations, you weren’t ready for the clock to strike midnight on the impossible.

If he couldn’t read the distress on your face then he certainly was made aware of it by the sour smell of overripe fruit cascading off of you, bitter and tart and pungent as you began to spiral, getting lost in a torrent of what ifs and worst case scenarios. 

You never got to finish your verbal stream of consciousness. Alpha instincts snapped into action before you could begin blowing fumes, disregarding his coffee as he hoisted you up from your seat with immediate alertness. Strong arms encased your vulnerable form, one hand cradling the back of your neck with gentle pressure, engaging the bundle of nerves located there with a direct line to the body’s limbic system. An omega’s weak spot; it overrides all internal circuitry and sends calming signals to the brain, disengaging stress receptors, activating the amygdala, bringing you to a headspace of obedience and security. It was highly taboo to touch an omega there without their explicit permission; a right reserved only for close family members and chosen pack mates. 

You should be angry– you should be furious. How dare he assume that just because he was your scent match that it gave him any right to manhandle you! Robbing your ability to retake control and leaving you just as helpless as that fateful night in the alley.

But he was. And you just didn’t care. Call it biology working against you, but all you felt in that moment was a deep rooted need to sink into his grounding embrace and let your mind go blissfully blank. Trusting in fate to send you an alpha with morals and integrity. Handing over the keys to a man who knew how to drive.

Releasing more of his smooth creamy scent into the air around you, body and designation worked in tandem to soothe every aspect of your overwhelmed being. Outside influences floated away with all the cares of the world, revolving around a fixed point in space exactly where you stood. Nothing else existed in this fraction of the universe. Just two souls destined to be together by forces beyond comprehension.

This was what you were made for. This felt right.

And, god– he was purring for you.

“Hey hey– shhh shhh. Settle, omega, settle... easy now. Jus’ like tha’... There’s a good lass.”

Slowly but surely, the acrid odor of anxiety faded back into the sweet juicy scent of a fresh crisp pear. A small whine escaped your lips as he sapped your body of strength, held aloft only by the taut muscles in his forearms. Glazed over eyes reflected the haze fogging your senses, melting you down into something gooey and malleable that dripped like corn syrup, sticky and coating every inch of your skin in a clear varnish. Breathing became easier. The heavy thumping in your ears faded back to white noise. Bones turned rubbery and tendons fell limp until you could no longer remember what upset you in the first place.

No longer needing the subduing effects of gentling, his hand moved from its spot at the back of your neck to the base of your skull, thumb tenderly stroking where skin met hair, shushing soft assurances against your temple.

“Ye needn’t worry a strand on tha’ bonnie wee head of yers. Ye dunnae ken her like we do. Jus’ leave everythin’ tae me. I’ll sort things right as rain, yea?”

The rational part of your brain knew better than to believe honeyed lies, but in the cloudy serotonin you simply nodded into the dark leather of his coat, spellbound under his tranquilizing touch.

“Atta girl. C’mon, let’s get ye tae yer car.”

Helping you back into your coat, he made sure you were bundled up nice and snug before shuffling you outside into the frosty air, a hand resting over the small of your back in a way you didn’t object to in your current slothful state. The chime felt a little less abrasive this time around as you exited the cafe, moving in the direction of your car parked in its spot alongside the bustling rush hour traffic.

You knew the elderly thing was a spectacle to behold; all chipped paint and rusted metal, duct tape holding the bumper together, a dent in the passenger door from where your neighbor’s kids had kicked a ball into it last spring. There was a crack across the windshield from where a bird made friendly with it earlier in the year that sliced through your vision but didn’t impede you from driving. 

‘Character’ was the word you used to describe it, but it certainly wasn’t what everyone else usually chose. John obviously fell into the latter camp.

“Ye sure tha’ thing’s operable, lass?” He scrutinized every banged-up, well-worn inch of it, pulling a face at what he found lacking and raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “Not sure I trust it ta get ya to point b without a few bumps and scrapes.”

You sighed at the familiar criticism, having heard much the same from your fathers. “It gets the job done. Still safer than walking around by myself anyways. I promise I wouldn’t drive it if I thought it’d get me killed one day.” Only a partial lie at least.

He was clearly unconvinced, but blessedly didn’t say anything further besides whatever mumbled remark he kept under his breath. Watching quietly while still keeping an eye on the surrounding area, he stayed near your side as you fumbled with the keys, grabbing the handle to hold it open as you tossed your bag on the passenger seat. “Right. In ya go then.”

You thought that would be the end of it as he closed the door behind you, buckling your fraying seat belt and hoping he was far enough away that you could safely attempt to start your car without any more judgment from him if this ended up being the one time it didn’t turn over.

You jumped slightly as his gloved hand tapped on the glass, turning your head to watch him motion for you to lower the window. Rolling the old school contraption down, you were again hit with a velvety shot of espresso as he half leaned in towards you, forearm resting against the top of your car.

“If ye think fer one minute tha’ I’m gonna jus’ up and forget about ye now tha’ we’re partin’ ways ye’ll be sorely disappointed lass. Tha’ there thing in yer purse’ll be ringin’ before ye ken it and I’m not afraid to come lookin’ if I dunnae get an answer.” 

The promise in his tone felt suspiciously like a threat, but one without any real intended consequence. His relaxed posture and sparkling irises assured you that while he’d probably still be cross if you ignored his attempts to reach out, you wouldn’t be awoken in the middle of the night to someone taking a battering ram to your flimsy front door.

At least, you hoped they wouldn’t.

Flashing you a playful wink, John took a step back from the vehicle. “Take care, omega. Be seein’ ya real soon.”

You’re shouting your name at him before you even realize what you’ve done, the small part of you that longs for a deeper connection clawing free from the part that fears having her heart shattered. From a few feet away you could still see the fireworks bursting in his eyes, the way he stands a little taller and puffs out his already broad chest with euphoria at your proffered olive branch. You can’t bring yourself to regret it when his unabashed smile conjures images you never dared hope for.

He waited until you rolled up your window and heard the telltale click of the locks on your doors engaging before finally taking off, crossing to the other side of the slippery street and walking with a hand tucked into his coat pocket until a line of cars finally blocked his retreating form from view. 

You sat there for a moment with your hands on the steering wheel, the silence in the vehicle more deafening than the wind howling outside. The past twenty minutes played like rewind on a VCR, speeding through the chain of events leading to the present to be watched again and again and again. 

After the fifth or sixth replay, all you could think of was rushing back to your apartment before fate could intervene once more and you accidentally run over your fourth scent match’s pekingese with your fucking car. 

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[dancingtotuyo]

Part I

High Infidelity | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: Tommy gets himself into more trouble than he can get out of.

Tags: Tommy x Reader, Joel x Reader, Tommy's Wife Reader, infidelity, emotional affair, slow burn (as much as you can get for 5 chapters), Tommy goes to jail, Reader has had a child

Warnings: US justice system (it don't work, probably bad understanding of how it operates), mention of drugs & weapons, alcohol consumption, let me know if I missed anything

Notes: when I planned this out, I didn’t realize I’d scheduled the first chapter to drop on Pedro’s birthday! So happy birthday to him!

Shout out to @janaispunkfor beta reading and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for letting me scream about this endlessly and shaping this world. Finally, @saradika-graphics for sustaining our fic writers with an endless supply of dividers!

Words: 4396

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Daily Clicks for Palestine & Other resources

You’re asleep, or at least you should be except the phone is ringing and the bed is cold next to you. That’s a bad sign. It always is. 

A small grunt echoes from your gut as bare feet hit the cool hardwood floor. You can’t find the phone before it stops, buried under clothes you haven’t folded, scribbled crayon drawings, and bleary eyes. It starts back almost immediately.

“Tommy?”

“He called me.” Joel’s voice echoes through the line. “It’s bad this time.”

“How bad?”

“He asked for a lawyer.”

You press your palm to your forehead. “Shit!”

“The sitter is on her way to yours. I’m getting Sarah up now. We’ll be there in 10.”

“Thank you, Joel.”

“Of course. See you soon.”  Joel hangs up. 

You roam through the laundry basket for a clean pair of jeans and an acceptable t-shirt. You run a toothbrush through your mouth to freshen your breath. You do your best to push back all the possibilities running through your brain. 

You crack open the door to Nathaniel’s room. Your two-year-old son sleeps tightly, his mop of black curls spread out on the pillow. You want to run your hand through his curls and kiss his cheek, but he’s the world’s lightest sleeper, just like his daddy. 

The sitter is there 5 minutes later, all too familiar with this routine for your liking. Joel ushers in a bleary-eyed minutes later. He tucks her into the spare room bed. Sarah doesn’t ask questions. She’s asleep before he can kiss her head.

You move like the well-oiled machine that you are. He grabs your purse, ensuring the checkbook is there while you say a few words to the sitter. Joel hands you the small black bag and a light jacket.

Doors open before you and close without you touching them. You and Joel are riding down the highway. The windows are cracked, the breeze playing through your hair as street lights play off the windows, growing bigger and brighter as your eyes fill with tears. You chew on your thumb as the thoughts finally begin to take over.  

You’ve felt Tommy slipping these past few months. You’ve tried to ignore it, excuse it. He’s had a hard time adjusting. This is hardly the first time he’s been in jail. It feels like a weekly occurrence at this point, but he’s never needed a lawyer. He’s never been held longer than overnight. 

“Did he say what they got him for?”

“No… he asked me to come alone.”

“Fucking hell.” You run a hand over your face. Tommy’s antics are aging you prematurely. 

“He’s going to be okay.”

“Says who?” You snap. “We’ve been doing this dance for months, Joel! I know he’s having a hard time adjusting, but maybe we’ve been giving him too much room.”

Joel sighs, letting silence fall over the truck cabin. His blinker clicks as you turn into the familiar station. You wonder if the night shift is actually going to fulfill their punch card offer this time. 

Joel has barely pushed the truck into park before you’re out of the vehicle, flying through the front doors. Joel is hot on your heels, not bothering to lock his beat-up pickup. 

Your ID is already on the desk, you don’t even have to say a name. The officer at the front desk doesn’t need your license. He barely looks at it. It’s all a raging formality. They escort you to a room, not a holding cell as you’re used to.

Tommy sits at a table talking to a tired-looking public defender. His head snaps up, eyes jumping from your face to Joel’s behind you. “I told you to come alone.”

“The fuck you did Thomas James Miller!” You say before Joel can defend himself.

Tommy stands to his feet, the chair skidding back. “You’re not supposed to be here for this!”

“I’m your wife! You call me!”

“Or maybe you should be home with your child!”

“Oh, I should be home with our son? And what about you?”

“I’m not having this fight with you right now.” Tommy throws his hands in the air moving his attention to Joel who leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “You were supposed to come alone!”

“What’re you in for?” You ask, not giving Joel a chance to answer. Not that he was going to. He knows not to let Tommy deflect to him when you are around. 

Tommy sighs falling into the chair like a rag dog. Stress lines engrave themselves deep into his forehead.

“Tommy…” A pit drops in your stomach. “What did they get you with?”

“A gun-“

“Without a permit.” The Lawyer speaks for the first time. There’s a roll to Tommy’s eyes. 

“And?” 

Tommy can’t meet your eyes. He shuffles in his seat. 

“Tommy,” Joel says, voice low and gruff. It’s automatic, parental even.

“A couple grams of coke.”

“Fucking hell, Tommy.” Joel hits his head against the wall. 

“I didn’t- I never took it. I promise.”

You take a shaking breath, trying to calm your worn nerves. “So what are we looking at here?” You ask, eyes trained on the lawyer. 

You see Tommy out of your peripheral vision using his pleading puppy dog eyes on you. You square your shoulders determined not to fall for it. They’re the reason you’re in this boat in the first place. 

“Babe-“

You hold up a hand cutting him off, eyes trained on the lawyer. “What are we looking at?”

“Probably Jail time. DA’s office has been cracking down on these kinds of cases the past few months.”

“Is he getting out tonight?”

The lawyer shakes his head. “We have to wait until tomorrow for arraignment and bail.”

“Then, I’ll see you two tomorrow.” You give them a firm nod, exiting the room in a flash.

The Texas air wraps around you as you exit the stale police station. Joel’s pick-up is cool under your fingers, anchoring you to something.

This can’t be happening. You’ve felt him slipping through your fingertips for months, but you wonder if this is it if this is the moment you lose Tommy for good. 

Firm arms wrap around your waist. It’s a warmth you’ve become way too familiar with over the last couple of years. You turn around, letting your tears soak Joel’s shirt as they have so many times before. You twist his shirt in your fists as he cradles your head against his chest. There’s a slight sway in his movements, soothing your wrenching soul. 

“We’re going to get through this.”

“He had cocaine!”

Joel sighs. “I know.”

“I can’t keep doing this. It’s going to kill me.”

“Let’s get you home. Get some sleep.” Joel squeezes you and then guides you into the passenger side seat. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

“What time is-“

“Lawyer said about 11. Wants us to meet them at the courthouse at 10.”

You nod, clearing the tears. “Okay.”

The drive home is quiet. You’re used to Tommy throwing out every excuse in the book, promising he’s going to change. The silence makes you want to scream. How do you go forward? How do you explain to Nathaniel that Daddy won’t be home for a long time? Jail Time. It bounces off the walls of your brain like a gong over and over. 

You’ve done this before. Raise your son alone. Tommy was overseas when Nathaniel was born. You did the first 3 months on your own- or sort of alone. Joel and Sarah spent many nights at your and Tommy’s home those first few months helping you through the learning curve of being a new parent. If you’re completely honest, you’re still doing it alone, but now with a shell of a man to look after as well. 

Joel hands the sitter cash and she’s gone without a word. Your purse and jacket are forgotten on the chair as you collapse onto the couch, holding your head in your hands. The weight of the night threatens to finally break you. 

“Here.” The cool weight of a bottle presses against your jeans.

“Thank you.” You take it, tipping the bottle back in unison with Joel in a quiet ritual. 

“I think I’m just gonna crash on the couch tonight.”

You nod, a humorless huff leaving your chest. “Just like the good ole days, I guess.” 

Joel looks over your profile, catches the wear in your frame, the silent tears slipping from your eyes. The rattle in your chest changes from sarcastic to sorrow and then a sob slips from your lips. 

Joel sets his beer on the coffee table, arm slipping around your shoulders. He pulls your loose body into his side. For the second time that night, your face burrows into his chest. 

“Shhh, I’ve got you, Darlin’. We’ll get through this.” His voice is soft and soothing. His fingers brush softly over your head down to the back of your neck. You fall asleep like that, lulled by the steady beat of his heart. 

You wake up to the morning sun, your body stiff from sleeping on the couch against Joel. He’s up, the smell of coffee wafting toward you. You hear him talking to Sarah and Nathaniel in the kitchen. 

You stand, stretching out your sore muscles in wrinkled clothing following the promise of caffeine. Sarah and Nathaniel sit at the kitchen table with syrupy smiles. 

“Mommy!” Nathaniel yells. 

You force a sleepy smile, kissing his sticky cheek. “Morning, sweet cheeks.” You dip your finger in the syrup on his plate, licking it off your fingertip making him and Sarah laugh. “Morning, Sarah Bear.”

“Morning, Auntie,” She says. “Your clothes are wrinkled.”

Joel’s hand lands on your back and a cup of coffee lands in your hands, sending warmth through your body. The hum in your body is automatic. “Thank you.”

Joel only nods, returning his attention to the pancakes sizzling on the stovetop. You sip on the hot coffee. Joel prepared it exactly how you like it, just like he always does.

 “You hate pancakes.” 

“Yeah, but the gremlins love them.”

“That they do.” You grin, sipping on the coffee again. “Ugh, it’s infuriating the way you come into my home and make better coffee than I do.”

Joel chuckles, flipping two fluffy pancakes onto a plate. He tops them with cut-up strawberries and whipped cream handing them to you with the biggest shit-eating grin. “And pancakes.”

For a minute you forget it all, the impending arraignment, your husband in jail for unregistered weapons and drug possession, the two children sitting mere feet away. It’s just you and Joel and a stack of whipped cream-covered pancakes. Joel who held your hand through labor and helped you with midnight feedings. The man who got you through Tommy’s deployment. The one who always calls the sitter and drives you to the police station when Tommy gets himself in trouble. You and your rock. 

The shattering of glass echoes through the kitchen. “Uh-oh!”

You spin around, taking in the broken glass on the floor. Orange juice leaks over the table, dripping over the edge. You and Joel spring into action, pancakes forgotten. “Both of you stay in your seats,” You say.

Joel grabs the broom before you, sweeping up the shards, his feet already protected in his boots. You turn off the stove, keeping an eye on both children to ensure you don’t add bloodied feet to your morning agenda. 

“Sorry, Daddy,” Sarah says, keeping her feet crisscrossed beneath her. She looked up at you. “Sorry about your glass, Aunt Bonnie.”

You smile at her, handing Joel a towel to soak up the spilled juice. “It’s okay, Sarah bear. I just want you to be okay.”

She nods back, curls bouncing around her face. “I’m okay.”

You sigh, staring at the pancakes on the counter. The whipped cream has melted into a lopsided mound, half of it turned back into cream that soaks through the pancakes. You take a bite, the flavors settling nicely over your tongue even if the texture of the pancakes is slightly off. For a man who claims not to like them, Joel Miller sure knows how to make a mean pancake. 

Your mind plays back to the nickname. Not many people call you Bonnie anymore. Just a few years ago, it had been a constant. Stemming from Tommy’s group of army buddies, they declared you Bonnie for always stealing Tommy away from their group cookouts and whatnot, and Tommy was Clyde due to his propensity for getting into trouble. For whatever reason, probably just to annoy you, Tommy had introduced you to Sarah as “His Bonnie.” So that’s what she calls you. 

Joel empties the remaining shards into the trash can. Several high-pitched clinks sound off until the shards settle. Your fork stirs the whipped cream and syrup together. 

“Pancakes are usually best eaten, not played with.” Joel teases, picking his coffee up to take a sip. His fingers graze your arm as he sets it back down, returning the broom back to its rightful place.

”You don’t even like pancakes.” You furrowed your brow, taking another bite. Whipped cream marks your upper lip. You take another bite. “God, one day you have to tell me your secret.”

Joel chuckles. He leans across the counter, elbows resting against the granite much like yours. He sips on his coffee, eyes watching as you stuff another bite into your mouth. “I’ve got many secrets, Darlin.”

You laugh, mouth full of fruit and cream. “You’re an open fucking book, Miller.”

”I think I could surprise you several times over.” He chuckles. Something sparks behind his eyes like he’s actually keeping something from you. You’ll figure it out. You always do. 

“These are delicious, Joel, but if I take another bite, I’m gonna be sick.”

Joel frowns. “You feeling okay? You don’t have a fever do you?” He presses his fingers to your forehead before you can roll your eyes. 

“Anxiety.”

Joel nods. “You’ve got a little-“ He motions to his mouth.

You cock your head to the side brain not picking up on the obvious signals. He sighs in mock exasperation. Reaching forward, he wipes the whipped cream from your lip with his thumb, pressing the excess to his mouth. The moment catches you off guard, something stirring in the back of your mind as you zero in on the thumb pressed to his lips. 

“You should go get ready.” He says as if nothing happened, taking your plate. “We need to leave in an hour.”

You nod, pushing back from the counter. The weight of the day at hand keeps that moment from playing over and over again on a loop.

”Daddy,” Sarah says. “Isn’t it time for school?”

”You’re going to stay here with Nathaniel and Miss Lacy today. Your aunt and I have some things we have to do.”

”Oh,” Sarah nodded. “Uncle Tommy things?”

You stop, sharing a look with Joel. You’ve tried your best to keep Tommy’s troubles from the kids, but it’s inevitable. Sarah is almost 6 after all. She’s always been incredibly perceptive and observant. 

“Daddy?” Nathaniel asks, looking around. Your heart breaks a little bit. 

Your mind wanders. When will he get to see Tommy again? 

Joel takes the lead when you arrive at the courthouse for which you’re grateful. You’re both dressed in nice clothing. High heels clack beneath you. A tie reaches around Joel’s neck. You hold Tommy’s suit in a garment bag as a guard leads you to an office-like room. Tommy sits at a table with his layer from last night and another man you don’t recognize. They seem to be deep in a serious conversation. 

All three men turn as you enter, making you feel like you’re in the wrong place. You can’t tell if Tommy is relieved to see you or not. A pit forms in your stomach, like you’re not going to like the outcome of this meeting. 

“What’s going on?” You ask. 

The door clicks shut behind you as Joel’s scent creeps around you.

”We’re talking.” Tommy says. 

“About?” You press. 

Tommy sighs, unable to meet your eyes. “A plea deal.” 

You bite your lip, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. This is easier. It’s probably better in the long run, but you’re not ready to face the music. You prepared for court, not a plea deal. Not for Tommy to admit guilt with a stroke of a pen, not a judge in sight. 

“What’s in it?”

”Baby…” Tommy pleads like he wants to make amends right now. 

“What are you signing us up for, Tommy?”

“Two years and a half years. Probation after that.”

You inhale sharply. 

“It’s a good deal,” The man you’ve never seen says. “He’s looking at at least twice that if this goes to court, and he will be convicted if this goes to court.”

You look to Tommy’s lawyer for confirmation. He doesn’t make it obvious but gives you a solid nod. 

“You were about to sign it.” You look at your husband. It’s not a question. 

“Yeah.”

”I’d have appreciated it if you had talked to me first,” you say. 

“You’d have told me to sign it.”

You nod, barely keeping the tears at bay. “Yeah.”

The DA holds a pen out to Tommy. Tommy looks back at you for final permission. You give it, watching that expensive ass pen glides across the paper with Tommy’s chicken scratch of a signature. Your heart breaks with each stroke, crumbling a little more as he dots the I and crosses the T.  

Joel places a hand on your shoulder. The heat spreads, anchoring you to the moment, keeping you afloat as you stare down the barrel of being a single mother yet again. 

Tommy slides the paper back to the DA. He looks them over, tapping them against the table with a satisfied nod as if a family hadn’t been torn apart. 

“You have about 30 minutes before they come to get him.”

”That’s it?” You ask. “We can’t even take him ourselves?”

The DA shrugs like he’s being generous, igniting a deep hatred of him inside you. You don’t even know his name. He holds up the papers before sliding them into his briefcase. “Terms of the plea deal.”

You clutch your fists as he walks out of the room. Tommy’s lawyer slips out with him, and then Joel, leaving just you and Tommy. 

He stands and you finally realize it’s all happening again. You’ll be alone, worrying about your husband though this time for different reasons. 

“Baby, I-” He steps towards you. You don’t move offering zero indication that you register Tommy’s movements. 

He reaches for your hands, but you pull them back. “You weren’t supposed to take the Bonnie and Clyde thing seriously.” 

You fight back tears, turning so he can’t see them. “Pretty sure they both died.”

A humorless laugh leaves your body as you collapse onto a couch, holding your head in your hands. 

Tommy kneels in front of you, slowly peeling your hands from your face, taking them into his. Despite it all, you feel yourself melting into his familiar touch. It only confirms what you are beginning to fear. It doesn’t matter what Tommy does, you’ll always be here waiting for him. He is the love of your life and you would burn the world down to look into his sweet brown eyes and feel his skin against yours. 

You look at him through blurry eyes, sniffing back the congestion gathering in your sinuses. He gives you that crooked smile you love so much, and you feel better despite the weight bearing on your shoulders. The past three years have aged him ten. You suppose time has done the same to you.

Slowly, he presses his lips to your hands. “I know I fucked up. If-” He pauses, swallowing. His thumb plays with the thin gold band on your left hand. “If you’re not waiting for me when I get out I understand.”

You squeeze his hand. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Tommy snorts. “Easily? Just last week you were yelling at me for putting you through hell.”

“Yeah, well…” You run your fingers through his black curls as you sniff back your tears. “You kinda hold my heart in your hands, Tommy Miller. I don’t think I could get it back if I tried.”

He smiles at you. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his. His hands creep up your thighs as he rises to his feet. Your back collides with the plush back of the couch as your fingers tangle in his long hair. Tommy presses his tongue into your mouth, a smile growing across your face. This is the first taste of your Tommy you’ve had in months, the one you fell in love with. 

The door opens, and before Tommy can pull away, Joel’s gruff voice echoes through the room. “Prospect of going to jail really puts you two in the mood, huh?” 

Heat surges to your cheeks. You’re not sure why. You and Tommy had been caught in much more compromising positions throughout your relationship.

“Gotta get what I can while I’m still a free man.” Tommy grins at his big brother, pressing another exaggerated kiss to your lips. Joel’s eyes move to the corner of the room. Your smile feels a little more forced after that. 

Your thirty minutes fly at lightning speed. They take Tommy before you’re ready. Any energy you gain from Tommy’s affection is drained the moment he’s led out of sight. You barely catch the look he gives Joel.

”Take care of them.”

Joel nods, gripping his brother’s shoulder. There’s a silent exchange between them. “Take care of yourself.”

 A clerk goes over everything with you and Joel. You’re given a strict list of items you can drop off for Tommy at the prison. You don’t process a word, the weight of it all falling on top of you. You came to the courthouse today expecting an arraignment and bail, not to be kissing your husband goodbye for the next year and change. It feels unfair like something was taken from you. 

Joel is the one who keeps it together. He always keeps it together. He asks the questions and makes note of the important things. He secures the horde of important documents held limply in your hands. 

When the clerk says your name for a second time, or maybe a third, you’re not sure, it snaps you out of the fog. Joel’s eyes are sympathetic as he holds out a pen. His single nod tells you he has all the information in his head. You can sign. You don’t have to think. You sign as flashes of Tommy doing the same filter through your vision. 

The pen drops to the table as you push back headed straight for the nearest exit. You feel like you’re in a dream. Joel catches up, tucking everything you forgot under his arm. He grabs your elbow, steering your aimless body in the right direction. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay. He knows the answer. 

You feel like a toddler, wandering and lost, relying on Joel’s firm grip to get anywhere. He opens doors and boots you into his pickup, patting the door once it’s closed. The car is warm from the sun. You fumble with the seat belt, but Joel’s calloused hands are there, guiding your weary bones. 

The ride is silent. You basket in the warm sun, head pressed to the window with your eyes closed. The world feels so far away, but you’re extremely tuned into the heat of the sun, the rumble of the truck on the shitty roads, the blinking indicator light, and Joel’s listless tapping on the steering wheel when the vehicle draws to a stop from time to time, toeing the line between consciousness.

This is just a dream, right? You’ll wake up soon and Tommy will be behind you, drawing random patterns around your stomach hip, or thigh. The past year of your life and the past 12 hours have just been the world’s longest nightmare. That’s all. 

The truck lurches to a stop. The engine turns off with a distinct click. Your eyes blink open slowly. Your stretch out, toes curling in your dress shoes. Joel’s tie lays haphazardly on the dash. His cuffs are unbuttoned, pushed to his elbows, and the top couple of buttons of his dress shirt are undone. He still looks out of place in his dress attire, but a little more like himself. He hadn’t dressed this nicely for your and Tommy’s courthouse wedding. 

Your eyes drift out the windshield. A neon light reflects off your irises. This isn’t home. You look at Joel. “Why are we here?”

His seat belt comes undone with a click, snapping back. “We’re going to go in there and get drunk off our asses.”

”It’s the middle of the day.”

Joel raises an eyebrow at you. 

”Can we just go home?”

”No.”

”Why the fuck not?”

“Because we have a sitter all day, and you deserve a night before the weight of the world falls back on your shoulders.”

”Joel.” You want to go home and crawl in bed.

”This is three times longer than his deployment.” The statement hits you square in the chest. “You need this. Give yourself today. If you don’t do it now, you never will.”

You sigh, staring down the flickering neon in front of you. He’s right. You know he is. You might be exhausted, but it’s tempting. When was the last time you let go? Maybe that one good month you had after Tommy got back? When it was all making up for lost time and shit. 

“We’ve got a sitter for the whole day,” Joel says. “My treat.”

You inhale deeply, allowing the memories of drunken nights past to fill your brain. You can feel the thrum of alcohol already. You haven’t cut loose in a long time unless you count the nights spent at home alone drowning away the world after you’d tucked your son in for the night. 

Your fingers press the red release button of your seat belt. The metal buckle hits the window. “Fuck it. Let’s go.”

Joel smiles, dragging you inside.  

Taglist: @pamasaur @alltheotps @rizzraa @moel-jiller @misstokyo7love @justagalwhowrites @pedritosgfreal

[motherlvr]

Hi, can you do a Earth 42!Miles x Earth 42!Spider-Woman!Reader where Reader somehow meets Hobie and they hit it off. Miles sees them one day and gets jealous

tysm for the req!!

wc: 2.8k

pairing: E-42! Miles Morales x Spider-woman! reader

warnings: cursing, argument, friends to lovers, makeout sesh, slightly suggestive

a/n: imagine some comically sized british chap comes in and steals ur girl nahhh

-----------

Your webs were useless against him.

At the moment, you were trying to apprehend a Vulture-like man and prevent him from further harming Brooklyn. As you have been for the past hour. You tried to pin the winged man down using your webs, but he tore right through them like they were made of paper.

What you initially believed going to be light work turned into a much larger problem as you were slammed into the side of a building. The unwelcome guest had an unfair advantage over you. You had to learn that the hard way.

His wing regenerated within only seconds of you ripping it off. It was like you were inside a cartoon.

Your jaw almost dropped to the ground. Hammerspace was real? You had only read about it in comics. "Dude, who even are you?" You shouted in confusion. But whoever he was, he wasn't from your world. That part was evident.

But it seemed like the tides were turning to your benefit.

You heard it before you saw it. You could've sworn guitar riffs rang throughout the air before another unexpected visitor came flying through a portal.

Upon further inspection, you realized it was another Spider-person. How was that possible? You thought you were the only one. But it wasn't the oddest thing you've seen as Spider-woman.

Bashing the winged man on the head with an electric guitar, he temporarily caught the Vulture off guard. Using it to his advantage, he quickly encased the anomaly in a force cage. Dusting off his palms, his lengthy legs strode over to you.

"Hold ya applause." He joked, giving you a small bow and pretending to tip an invisible hat.

His slightly cocky attitude was justified as you almost did applause. He folded the guy you've been fighting for an hour within only a few minutes. With a damn guitar, nonetheless. You almost geeked out, "That was fuckin' sick!" you exclaimed.

"Don't sell yourself short, mate. You did most of the work. My name's Hobie." He introduced himself. And from there, a grand friendship bloomed.

---------

Present-day and a few months have passed since you were practically drafted into the Spider Society. It was like a full-time job, as consumed most of your free time. The spare time that you'd usually spend hanging out with Miles. So needless to say, you were deprived of interactions with anyone that wasn't genetically enhanced by a spider.

Balancing your social life and the fate of the multiverse was much more challenging than Miguel originally let on. But what would he know about social life, anyway?

In the time you've spent at the Spider Society headquarters, you gravitated towards the infamous freedom fighter, Spider-punk. Or as he refers to be called: Hobie Brown.

Ever since he singlehandedly took the Vulture out with a guitar, the two of you just 'clicked'. Better yet, you guys were an unbeatable duo when it came to dealing with anomalies. You were almost inseparable. Just as Miles and you once were. Miguel even assigned Hobie the same missions as you.

One could say Hobie became what Miles once was to you. As you used to confide in Miles, you started to turn to Hobie instead. It wasn't that you were intentionally trying to distance yourself from Miles, but rather due to the convenience that Hobie shared the same issues as you. Rather, in this case, almost the exact same story. Hobie understood you to a Tee.

Miles was aware of your identity as Spider-woman as you were aware of him being the Prowler. But it wasn't always that way. Once upon a time, Miles originally intended to keep his identity as the Prowler a secret from you, but you found out anyway. Call it your spider-sense, if you may.

When someone close to you mysteriously disappears for various periods of time, it starts to hit a little too close to home. Miles trying to keep his identity concealed from you was a routine that wasn’t too different from yours. Him sneaking out at night, returning at ungodly hours with bruises, and lying. It was all too familiar. You eventually figured it out on your own. And when you confronted him about the truth, he confessed it all to you.

When he apologized for keeping such a crucial piece of information a secret, you couldn't help but feel a bit guilty. So you revealed your secret identity to him. The two of you entrusted each other with your greatest secrets. Secrets that could completely ruin one's life if they were spread to the world. It would put massive targets on both of your backs. The two of you had something special: trust. Or at least, used to.

Refocusing back on the present, you were currently out hunting anomalies with Hobie as you have been for the past months.

Today's anomaly was a particularly pesky villain. He had Hobie and you running in circles all around New York. Inevitably, the two of you caught him anyway.

Wiping the sweat off your forehead, you realized how fatigued you were. You were sure Hobie felt the same.

Your life revolved around the Spider Society and what missions needed to be completed. You worked all day and all night to ensure the protection of the multiverse. You didn’t have much time to yourself nor time for anyone outside of the Spider Society.

So, after completing the mission Miguel had assigned the both of you, you convinced Hobie to take a short interlude with you before going off to catch another dimension-destroying villain. Thankfully, he agreed.

Opening a portal to your selected safe space in New York, you guided Hobie outside the Clocktower. You frequented it when you needed a quick retreat from all the responsibilities being Spider-woman came with. But unbeknownst to you, Miles did the same. He was leaning his back against the other side of the Clocktower, unsuspecting of your presence.

Safe to presume, both of you were alike in more ways than just having secret identities as vigilantes.

Miles has been visiting this Clocktower ever since he took up his Uncle's mantle as the Prowler. He came up to this tower to wind down, away from his vigilante duties. His life was turned upside down, but the one thing that remained constant in his life was you. Now was a different story, however. You were slowly fading away from him, and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

Angling his head up towards the sky, he pondered about your disappearance. What could possibly have you so occupied? Another guy? Just the thought irked him.

You stopped returning his calls, messaging him, and didn't seem to have any free time. He knew being Spider-woman must come with great responsibility, but the excuses you made were piling up. The mutual trust the two of you once shared was slowly becoming a distant memory.

As Hobie and you pulled your masks down, you let out a long exhale of air. Sitting on the ledge of the clocktower with your legs swinging, Hobie made himself at home next to you. He said, "I am absolutely knackered." his English accent becoming more prominent. You cracked a slight smile and teased, "You tired, innit?" He only rolled his eyes at you and said, "You ain't even use innit right, you pillock."

Your uncontrolled laughter could be heard from miles away. It felt good to be able to relax for once. Even if it was only for a few minutes. Dramatically wiping tears from your eyes, you asked in between laughs, "What the hell is a pillock?" Hobie didn't find it nearly as amusing but gave a small chuckle at how comedic you found it.

As your laugh rang throughout the air, Miles' ears almost perked, despite not hearing your voice in months. Suddenly rising from his position, he wondered whether his ears were deceiving him. But as your laughter got louder, he was positive it was you.

Following the familiar sound of your voice, he spotted you sitting on the ledge of the Clocktower, looking as carefree as ever. Your back was facing toward him, and he was dying to just catch a single glimpse of you.

He called out your name with only a hint of hesitation. And when you whipped your head around, it was like a wave of affection hit him all over again. He was seeing you for the first time in months. Even after all that time away, you still made his heartbeat pause.

A silent moment passed as the sun's gleaming rays framed your figure in all the right ways. He only snapped out of his trance when he realized you weren't alone. You were accompanied by a rather conspicuous individual. Another guy.

Narrowing his eyes at the sight of the unknown male, he asked you, "What're you doin' up here, ma?

He wanted to hold a grudge against you for barely speaking to him within the past few months, but that was a less-pressing matter that he'd bring up later.

You disappeared for months. But out of the blue one evening, you return with some unknown guy. Staring at Miles, you looked like a deer caught in headlights. He felt as if he wasn't supposed to be seeing this.

Perhaps Miles was being selfish. But he couldn't bare to see you with another guy. So when he saw you with Hobie, he only assumed the worst.

Not to mention, Miles believed you looked a bit too cozy with the enigma of a male next to you. If he hadn't interrupted the two of you, it seemed to him like you would've snuggled right into the other man's side. Who was he? And why would you choose to spend your time with him rather than Miles? What did he have that Miles lacked? His jealousy was bound to make him snap the longer he saw you in the comforts of a guy that wasn't him.

But what he felt ran deeper than just jealousy. He was envious. He was envious of a man whom he didn't know anything about. Because he was who you chose to spend time with, not Miles. That was how Miles perceived it, anyway.

Your response made him snap back to reality. "Miles? What are you doing here?" Emphasizing the word 'you', you tried to reverse the question onto him. The Clocktower wasn't exactly a designated hang-out area for civilians. Hobie stood up and stretched as he was going to introduce himself to Miles. He held his hand out to help you up and you mindlessly accepted it. Miles' eye twitched seeing your hand in another man's hold.

Hobie and you walked over to Miles, and Miles' envy only grew. He soon realized Hobie was a Spider-person as well. Just as you were. Since when did a Spider-man exist? Miles thought.

Hobie exuded nonchalance as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his spiked jacket. He seemed unbothered by Miles' presence.

Questions plagued Miles' mind as he analyzed Hobie: Were you into guys like him? Is he why you haven't been around lately? How was he so tall?

Miles stared daggers into Hobie's eyes. But Hobie brushed off his glare and said, "What's up, man? Name's Hobie." Miles only nodded his head once at him and said, "I'm Miles." "Yeah, I know." Hobie responded. Miles paused for a second but shook it off as he turned to you. Replying to your previous question of why he was here, he told you, "I come here sometimes. You too, huh?"

Nodding your head, you agreed, "Yeah. To clear my mind, y'know?" With some other guy? Miles almost snipped. Instead, he hummed in response. Enunciating, he asked the question that's been lingering in the back of his mind for months. "Where've you been for the past months, ma? You went ghost." He tried to seem as collected as he could.

Rubbing the back of your head, you tried to come up with some lame response. "Sorry, Miles. I've just been busy lately." Miles couldn't stop his next words from coming out once they started to form.

"Busy doin' what exactly? Him?" He remarked, nodding his head in Hobie's direction. His outburst made your eyes widen in shock. You were aware you didn't look entirely presentable, with maybe a few stray strands of hair, but could you catch a break for once? You had just saved another dimension from deteriorating.

Hobie and you blurted out a response at the same time, "Nah, that's mad." "Absolutely not." But Miles wasn't convinced. The way both Hobie and you appeared utterly exhausted wasn't exactly helping your case.

Sensing the obvious tension in the air and the way you gaped at Miles, Hobie glanced down at you and pointed out, "Hol'up, you fancy the Prowler?" as a slight chuckle escaped his lips. His face was laced with an amused smirk rather than judgment.

"Hobie!" You shot him an agitated look, silently telling him to shut up.

Miles was only wondering how Hobie instantly knew he was the Prowler. He was convinced for a second that Hobie could read minds.

Hobie began to understand Miles' initial hostility and tried to assure him. "Apologies, apologies. I ain't know you lot were together." Hobie said, raising his palms in his defense.

Miles had no intention to correct Hobie, but you hesitated as you said to him, "We're not..." The words faltered on your tongue. Noticing your hesitation, Hobie leaned down to you and whispered in your ear, "Yeah? Does he know that?"

Reading the room, Hobie could tell you needed to speak to Miles in private. It seemed Miles was in the dark about a few key things. So as always, once Hobie is satisfied with the mayhem he has instigated, he leaves the scene. Giving you a two-fingered salute, Hobie tells you, "Alright, I'm off. See you in a bit." throwing you a wink. You mentally cursed him as he strolled away. Once he was out of Miles' sight, he disappeared into a portal back home.

For a brief moment, Miles wondered whether Hobie was his replacement.

Sighing, you pinched the bridge of your nose and turned to Miles. "I'm sorry, Miles. I've just been preoccupied with Spider-woman stuff." You said, not going into further details.

His jealousy almost boiled over. "Cut the shit, ma. If you're busy jeepin' with some guy, just say that." Miles was exasperated as he threw his arms in the air.

In pure disbelief, you tried to tell him. "Miles, you got it twisted. I swear. I didn't mean to shut you out, I've been out on missions. You know how it is." You were no fool. You knew how it must've looked to Miles when he caught you with Hobie after disappearing for months. But you didn't want him thinking you had ditched him just to go fool around with some other guy.

You didn't want your friendship with him to end like this, nor did you want it to end at all. "Hobie's just my partner. We go on missions together. That's all we are." You continued to explain to Miles. While you could understand Miles' viewpoint, the guy you wanted was standing right in front of you.

Miles furrowed his brows at you and inquired, "So you aren't messin' with him?" You immediately replied, "For the last time, absolutely not!"

Miles nodded in approval, "Good. Does that mean you ain't gonna be mad at me if I do this?" He ominously questioned you. Raising an eyebrow, you asked, "Do what?"

His gaze flickered to your lips as he lifted your chin with his hand, swiftly connecting your lips. Your lips slowly move together as ocean waves do. Removing his hold on your face, one hand traveled down to your waist to pull you in. You lifted your arms to wrap them around his neck.

Ever since he saw you again, his urge to press his lips to yours was undying. Those silent months caused plenty of built-up frustrations that he had wholeheartedly planned on taking out on your lips. He missed you. The way you felt against him, your voice, and the sweet aftertaste you left on his lips.

As the moments passed by, the heat you both felt was only getting more intense. He backed you against a wall of the tower, and you wrapped a leg around his waist to pull him in even further. One of his hands supported the leg that you encased around him, tracing circles into your thigh with his thumb.

Parting to catch a breath, you left kisses down Miles' neck. In between each one, you whispered an apology. "I'm really sorry. Promise I'll make it up to you, Miles." After you were done speaking, he only glanced down at you. Whispering back, he told you, "Talk less, ma." as he stole your breath yet again, pressing his lips to yours.

You supposed he was right. The two of you would have plenty of time to talk later, as it was apparent he wasn't letting you go anytime soon.

--------

tysm for reading!

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[the-writer-arrived]

Disciplinary Method

Synopsis: you cannot stand veritas ratio, just the sight of him (or his stupid statues) makes your blood boil and causes you to argue with him everytime. sick of your attitude towards him, dr ratio believes you deserve to be taught some discipline.

Character: dr ratio.

Warnings: afab!gn!reader; explicit smut; reader is a member of the intelligentsia guild; kind of brat taming; semi-public sex (you two fuck in an empty classroom); fingering; use of a bullet vibrator; rivals to lovers but not really?? more like fuck buddies? rivals that fuck each other?

A/N: don't look at me, i lost the battle against my demons and was forced to write this!!!

<<This work has sexual themes and is not suitable for minors. If you click on read more, I am not responsable for any discomfort you may feel reading this. You have been warned.>>

The Intelligentsia Guild is a place that welcomes people from all walks of life that have the desire to learn. You are fortunate enough to be one of their scholars and you love teaching, love seeing the spark of passion for knowledge in your students' eyes.

But it seems like not everyone in the Guild thinks the same as you.

"Fail. Get out of my sight!"

Those words are frequently said by Veritas Ratio, or Dr Ratio, your insufferable colleague.

The first time you met, he barely spared a glance at your direction and complained about the arrival of another 'simpleton'. Suffice to say that that was a declaration of war.

From that day onwards, whenever you two would cross paths in the hallways, one would throw a snarky comment which would prompt a jab from the other until it becomes a full out argument (you'd call it 'academic debate' but whatever).

What other people don't know is that most of those arguments between you two end up in a way that was quite unprofessional...

----------

"I can barely hear you. 0 points."

"Stop grading me, I'm not one of your stude- fuck!"

The harsh pull of your poor nipple interrupts your complaint.

You don't know how long you've been in this empty classroom, your pants and underwear hanging on your ankle while Veritas keeps you on his lap, your legs spread open as he tortures your chest from under your shirt with one hand and keeps teasing your folds with the other.

"You kept running that annoying mouth of yours the whole day to get on my nerves, but now you want to keep quiet?"

He makes another attempt to make you moan louder, this time pinching your sensitive clit, and he would have succeeded, if you hadn't bitten down your lip to stop the sound from escaping. The scholar clicks his tongue in annoyance at your stubborness.

"If that's how you want to play, be my guest. Let's see how far you can hold on with this."

Veritas' hand leaves your chest to grab something that makes your eyes go wide: a small, silver bullet vibrator.

"W-When did you get that? And why do you have it with you?!"

"Recently. I thought it would be a useful tool to teach a certain brat a lesson, but who knew the opportunity would present itself so soon." He presses down the button and the bullet starts to vibrate with a low hum.

He starts dragging it from your neck, the cool object feeling nice on your heated skin. Then, he goes to your inner thighs, tracing it ever so close to your needy pussy, but never touching it like you wanted.

"Will you stop playing around alre--Ah!"

Your words are once again interrupted, this time by your own gasp of surprise and the way your whole body shivered when the vibrator is suddenly on your clit. However, as quickly as it came, the stimulation is taken away a second later.

The anticipation and the desire to be touched properly are getting on your nerves, so you grab the hand holding the wretched toy to push it to where it should be, but the man simply turns it off.

"You're not getting what you want so easily. You either do as I say and be as loud as I want or you go back to teaching your next class unsatisfied. Surely even an idiot like you know what choice to make here?"

The look on his eyes tells you he's not bluffing. You've been a fool to doubt him once before and paid the price. Between letting the quality of your teaching drop because of sexual frustration and having your pride get hurt by obeying Veritas' words like some obedient dog, of course you'll choose the latter.

"...Fine."

"Good, it seems like you do have a working brain after all."

The insufferable man smirks, satisfied with your decision. He turns the toy back on and rubs languid circles around your clit, your essence helping the movements feel smoother. You grasp onto your shirt and his arm, doing your best to not muffle your shy sounds and lose this feeling.

"Better, but still not good enough."

"Ngh just... Just shut up, ah..."

Since you've been edged and teased for so long, it doesn't take long for your gasps and whines to become louder. You get closer to the edge, but there's still something missing.

"M-More... Need more..."

Dr Ratio doesn't miss your hole clenching pathetically over the tip of his fingers, your body showing what you truly desire. The asshole chuckles, reveling in the sight of you so pliable and obedient in his arms like that. If you didn't constantly get on his nerves, he'd consider you almost cute.

It's almost embarrassing how your cunt basically engulfs his two fingers with ease, your head thrown back to rest on his shoulder as you moan with abandon. You don't even care about your surroundings anymore, the intoxicating sensation of his long fingers pumping in and out of your drooling hole paired with the small vibrator rubbing on your clit making your brain melt.

You singing so beautifully right into Veritas' ear and the hypnotizing sight of your pussy leaking on his knuckles are both things he wants to engrave in his memories, to be able to recall them time and time again until the next time he has to discipline you.

"Please, please I want cum, please let me cum!"

Your sweet pleas go straight to his twitching dick and he hides his blushing cheeks on the crook of your neck, his voice coming out as a groan.

"Very well, you earned it. Come for me now."

Like an automatic response to his permission, your body convulses in his hold, tears running down the sides of your face and mouth hanged open with a hoarse chant of his name.

Veritas turns off the toy and slowly retreats his fingers, your legs still shaking a bit.

"See? That wasn't very hard, was it? If you had behaved yourself from the start, you would have had this much earlier."

"Oh fuck off... You made me cum using a vibrator, that's nothing to be cocky of. I do that all the time."

"And you call my name as well when you're alone?"

You blame your lack of a comeback at your foggy brain, choosing to whack his stupid face with the back of your hand.

Suddenly, you both hear a melody coming from below you. It's your phone, which had fallen out of your pants' pocket, the screen showing the alarm you set up: 10 minutes until your next class, which is on the opposite side of where you are.

"Oh shit, I'm going to be late- woah!"

If it weren't for Veritas holding you by the waist, you'd surely fall down, betrayed by your own weak legs. You've never climaxed so hard like you just did, but you'll never admit that to him, his ego is already too big without that knowledge.

After making sure you're stable enough to stand on your own, the scholar lets go of your waist and watches you quickly dress up and fix your appearance.

His eyes rest on your neck, wondering how would you react if he to left a mark there, in a place for everyone to see... But he knows he shouldn't indulge in such fantasies, that would cross the boundaries of your... dynamic and he'd hate to cause you this kind of distress.

Dr Ratio is brought back from his thoughts when you go to the door of the classroom and point an accusatory finger at him.

"This is the last time we're doing this, you hear me?!"

You leave before he could respond, but he just chuckles. You always say that after you two get frisky and it has never held any meaning, considering that it's never ended up being the last time for real. He secretly hopes it continues that way.

Now, he needs to deal with his own 'little' problem before he can leave and act as if nothing scandalous happened in this empty classroom...

thanks for reading <3 likes, reblogs and comments are very appreciated <3

heart divider made by @/cafekitsune

red dr ratio banner (smut) made by @/the-writer-arrived aka yours truly ;)

[p0orbaby]

more Arsenal x young r please

Birds and the Bees

summary: now matter how old you are, you’ll always be a kid to the girls

warnings: suggestive themes but nothing explicit

a/n: more you say

word count: 716

-

"Hold up, what is that?"

You frustratedly swat away the hands that pull at the collar of your hoodie. "Quit poking at it, Steph”

"Is that a love bite?"

"No, Steph, it's not. It's a 'didn't duck fast enough during a corner kick' bruise. Real thrilling, I know”. The team snickers, and you continue, "Anyone else got an investigative report they want to file on my neck? No? Good, let's move on”

Steph grins, "You sure know how to kill the vibe”

"I'm here for football, not to be the subject of a teenage gossip column," you retort, the edge in your tone really showcasing your opinion on the matter.

The locker room falls into a momentary silence before Katie dares to speak up, "Alright, tough cookie. But seriously, who'd dare to leave a mark on you?"

You scoff, "Someone who I don't actually mind invading my personal space. Now, can we get back to training or are we starting a tabloid in here?"

“I’m all for tabloid. I missed Love Island last night so I’m running low on gossip” Alessia says as she settles into her cubby, arms crossed and already invested. “Spill it”

“No! My personal life is none of your businesses”

“Teammates share everything. Don’t be boring”

You shoot Beth a glare, “Teammates share strategies, not the ins and outs of my love life, okay?”

Steph smirks, “Come on, we’re practically family here. No secrets. It’s the rules”

“The rules? Since when?” You argue.

Katie adds, “We’ve all got our stories, kid. But yours just got a bit more interesting and we’ve still got a few minutes ‘til training starts”

Alessia, ever persistent, grins, “We won’t judge. Promise”

You relent, knowing you weren’t getting out of this, “Fine, but this stays within these four walls. Her name’s Eden. Happy now?”

The room erupts into whispers and excited murmurs. Caitlyn leans in, “Eden? And what does Eden like to do in her spare time? Other than suck the living daylights out of your neck, that is?”

You shoot her a deadpan look, “Eden happens to enjoy normal activities. Reading books, going for runs, you know, typical human stuff”

Alessia smirks, “Sounds acceptable enough. How about you bring her to one of our games?”

You roll your eyes, “She’s not into football, Alessia. Besides, I don’t want any of you to meet her”

A collective gasp echoes around the room, and you can’t help but laugh at how dramatic everyone is being.

Beth raises an eyebrow, “Why not? Afraid we’ll scare her away or something?”

You scoff, “yeah, actually. And I really like her so I don’t want you guys to ruin this for me by being all weird and annoying”

“We’re not annoying!” Katie exclaims. “We just look out for you”

Steph adds with a grin, “Exactly, like big sisters. Speaking of which, we might need to give you the talk, you know, now you’re sucking face with someone”

“No. Nope. That’s it. This conversation has officially ended” you state, mortified.

Despite your attempt to escape, the team forms an impromptu blockade, preventing you from leaving the locker room. Steph locks the door with a theatrical click.

Beth smirks, “Looks like you’re stuck with us for a little while longer”

You shoot another annoyed glare at Beth. "This is not what I signed up for today”

Katie chuckles, "Consider it an intervention. You'll thank us later”

Steph adds, "Exactly, it's time for the birds and the bees I think. Big sister style”

"No way. That's not happening," you state firmly, crossing your arms.

Caitlyn, leaning against a locker, grins mischievously. "Oh, we've got to cover all the bases. Safety first”

You roll your eyes. "I'm well aware of safety, thanks. So, for the record, I don't need 'the talk’”

Alessia smirks, "Come on, it's a rite of passage. We all went through it”

Steph raises an eyebrow, "Wait, you haven't had 'the talk' yet?"

"Of course I have, I’m not a child” you snap.

Beth nudges Alessia, "Should we give her the pamphlet?"

Alessia nods in mock seriousness, "Absolutely. And maybe some diagrams for good measure”

You groan, "this is ridiculous. Can we please stop this. You’re all insufferable”

Steph grins, "Sure we can, just not quite yet. We all missed Love Island, remember”