#fancy fit and wrinkles..

[gloomedhands]

endless edits of Dakara Sak'oan

[textmel8r]

[ DRABBLE ] 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 ! ( ninth installment ) in which you are forced to plan a corporate event with your office enemy .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; kento nanami

୨୧˚ cw; profanity , alcohol consumption , inebriation , sexual harassment , violence , vomit

୨୧˚ an; i love nami kempo (dis shit like 4k werdssss) ALSO i’ve been getting comments that my tag list isn’t working for me dumb someone help me pls tell me what im doing wrong

୨୧˚ join my discord server ! we share headcanons, fanfic recs, color roles, and more drooling emoji

“Why am I here?” Nanami thinks out loud, glaring pointedly around the unlit dive bar. It’s unglamorous, walls garbed in eclectic music paraphernalia, references that go right past him. Flurries of reds and yellows and oranges in the decor cut brightly, shining through the dim atmosphere. Seriously, would it kill them to switch a light on? It bustles with life; university kids, Nanami is subjected to think based on the… unique fashion sense present in the room. Street wear, torn jeans, crop tops way too short to be considered shirts anymore. He cringes, feeling entirely too dated to be hanging amongst this kind of crowd. His leg bounces restlessly under the ledge of the bar, and he turns to look at you. “Why are we here?”

You’re smiling—actually smiling—flagging down the bartender. “You knew we were coming to a bar,” you cut yourself short, holding up a single finger to him whilst you relayed your order to the older gentleman behind the bar. A rum and coke, you asked politely before glancing toward Nanami. It took a moment for him to realize what that look meant. 

“I’ll have scotch, neat. Thanks.”

“As I was saying,” you steal back his attention, “I made it clear we were coming to a bar. What’s the problem?”

There was a hint of an attitude catching at your words, and Nanami felt his brow twitch in frustration. “You failed to tell me that we’d be in…” He grimaces, peeking back over his shoulder to the sea of youthful patrons slinging over nearly every stool and booth. “ . . . Mixed company.” God awful pop music fizzles through the speakers, twisting and crackling with pops of static; fuel to the billowing flames of Nanami’s overstimulation. “I was expecting something a bit more sophisticated.”

“I can tell,” you’re laughing as you give him a once over, and he gets a shiver of Deja Vu from the coffee shop where you pulled the same exact move. You tweeze at the expensive cotton button down, plucking the bunched fabric of a sleeve at the crease of his elbow. “Thought we said no more fancy clothes?”

Tonight he threw together a plain white shirt and a pair of slim fit khaki pants; the quintessential dad outfit, sure, but fancy? Nanami didn’t think so. “I’m dressed down.”

“Nixing the suit jacket and tie didn’t do much. You still look stiff, man.” Two glasses are brought over, one placed before either of you respectively. Nanami stares down into the glass, a foggy, brown abyss. His alcohol looks watered down and piss cheap. “You stick out, it’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Oh please, you’re too kind.” Nanami rolls his eyes, hunching over the bar and downing a swig from the scotch. Yeah, It was definitely watered down. Fuck this place. 

Your hand slaps his back. “So dramatic. I was kidding Nanami, you look fine.” A cheeky laugh reaches his ears before you tack on, “very handsome.” 

Now he knows you’re messing with him. 

You grin into your cup. “Stop sulking. It’s not so bad here.” Nanami would beg to differ. A debate that isn’t worth having because frankly, it’s a Saturday night and he doesn’t have nearly enough energy to draft a list of all the cons that this joint has to offer. “We got booze,” you raise your glass. “Booze makes everything better.”

His forehead wrinkles. “That’s a horrible mindset to have, Y/n.”

Your boisterous laugh outweighs the ambient chatter, and you take a hearty gulp. Nanami follows suit, albeit a bit awkwardly, tipping more spirits down his throat. You look surprisingly comfortable, slinking against the bar counter with a hazy smile that welcomes strangers in. This time, you weren’t wearing a flowery dress; instead, a low cut shirt and jeans, both equal parts dark and tight. The neckline plummeted deep, exposing slivers of your bra cups and entirely too much cleavage. By God, was his self restraint something to write home about. 

It was easy to fall into comfortable conversation. All in all, Nanami enjoys talking to you now, even if once upon a time the thought of engaging with you evoked such dread that he’d outwardly avoid your presence around the office. Passing along orders specifically meant for you to other colleagues and entrusting them to deliver the message, lengthening the conveyor belt of relation simply because you got him in a tizzy. Back then, all Nanami could see when he looked at you was that cowardly girl in the bathroom with smeared lipstick and a trembling pout. How shameful, he thinks, that it took him this long to see past that terrible first impression. 

“So there I was, balancing ten cups of coffee, shaking like a little bitch,” you laughed as you shared an anecdote from an internship in your university years. Nanami listened intently, head propped up on his fist as he watched your theatrics. Your cheeks flushed with the evidence of alcohol, eyes lidded, smile wobbly. Nanami was feeling the edge of his buzz coming on too, an amazing revelation considering the diluted alcohol this place served. “And I’m walking up ten flights of stairs–”

“Ten flights?” He gawks, feeling looser and matching you with melodrama. “What, did your office not have an elevator?”

You laughed. “It was out of order.”

“Your luck astounds me.”

You flip him off playfully. “I finally get to the last stair and my heel catches on the floor and I eat total shit in front of the entire room!” Nanami can’t stop his own tittering, cupping a palm over his grin. “Spilled the coffee everywhere, twisted my ankle, too. I probably laid in that puddle for ten minutes.”

“That’s why you don’t wear high heels anymore?”

There’s a grimace on your face when you nod, topping off the rest of your glass. “Mm.”

Nanami swaps his own story, of a time when he was in his third year of college and his work laptop got stolen. “I think I cried,” and you guffawed at his misery. “I’m serious, I really think I cried. Alone, on the floor of my dormitory. It was finals week, and I had written my dissertation on that laptop.”

“So what did you do?”

“I pulled an all-nighter in the library on campus and rewrote my entire thesis.” Merely remembering that chaotically stressful night had Nanami huffing a sigh of anguish and dragging an exasperated hand down his face. 

The bartender slides you another drink. Gosh, he was lagging behind. “I would’ve dropped out.” You spoke over the rim of the glass.

“Trust me, I was really close.” Nanami’s eyes narrow, gaging the swell of your throat as you knock back a few swigs. “How many have you had?” 

“A few.” Your answer was blunt, and from that Nanami could gather that his question had rendered you the slightest bit irritated. He understood why; you were a grown woman, who was he to regulate how many rounds you decide to have? But even with this understanding, the man couldn’t shake his concern. “More than you, old timer. Keep up.”

He shakes his head, scratching at his cheek. “This is my last for the night.” Any more, and Nanami would wake up the next morning nauseous with a pounding headache. He took precautions to avoid breaching his limits, he really disliked that hungover feeling. 

You gawk at the declaration. “How lame.” Then you hiccup.

“You can call me lame now, but which one of us will wake up tomorrow not in pain?”

You wave a hand through the air, brushing off his very astute observation. “Hush, that’s for future me to deal with. Present me doesn’t have a care in the world.”

You’re immature, but it’s amusing, so he doesn’t offer any rebuttals. The way you are so insistent on living in the moment is fascinating, almost inspiring even. Nanami feels as though he’s ever crushed by the impending future, always so concerned with what the next day, next week, next month, next year brings. He thinks ahead to a fault, and because of that, forgets to enjoy the little things. But you always stop and smell the roses. It’s admirable. 

“Bartender!” You wag a finger in the air, slamming down your empty glass. Fiending for yet another drink. 

Okay, maybe your ability to live in the now is to a fault as well. Nanami holds a hand up, signaling the barkeep to halt. “Sorry,” he apologizes politely, “she’s all good for now, thanks.” Ain’t that the truth. Your face looked tacky with sweat, pupils scarily dilated. Your words come out dimly slurred, and your gestures uncoordinated. As your business associate, he feels obligated to intervene at this point.

A hand slaps his down. Your hand. “Hey what gives?” You’re upset with him. “Just because you’re done doesn’t mean I am.”

“You’re three sips away from throwing up on yourself,” Nanami deadpans, unphased by your drunken outburst. Unbeknownst to the two of you, another patron had taken up the stool opposite of you. To be expected; the bar was decently crowded, that being said neither of you paid much mind to the man. He was younger than Nanami for sure, his hair unkempt and shaggy, swept back by sweat and something that looked like grease. He was smiling, probably on some brand of dope that Nanami was unfamiliar with. The stranger interrupts, leaning over with his elbow planted on the countertop. 

“You her father or some shit?” He speaks without any warning, catching both you and Nanami’s attention. 

Father? Nanami internally grimaces, jaw tightening. Just how old does he think I am? Trying not to be offended by the inquiry, he corrects the man. “Just a concerned friend, that’s all.” You have yet to speak, still a tad caught off guard by the unexpected company. 

The stranger’s grin widens, reaching shit-eating status. “Then hop the fuck off her case, man.” He shoots a pair of lidded, droopy eyes toward you, eyebrows jumping in a manner that is entirely too suggestive for Nanami’s liking. “If the lady wants another drink, then let her have another drink.”

Nanami feels the awkward tension thicken the air between this interaction. For all the shit you talked about getting hit on in bars, he would have never expected you to act so timid when put in a position like this. Nanami fully expected you to side with the latter party, to order another round of vodka-whatever and then leave with your newfound knight in shining armor. What actually happened: “No, er, my friend might be right actually,” followed by an incredibly strained chuckle. Your shoulders stiffen, Nanami can practically feel the way you harden up beside him. “I should probably take it easy.”

The man feigns grief. “Aw, c’mon. You seemed so eager before. Let me buy you another?”

“She just said—”

“I was talking to her, not you.”

Nanami was utterly shocked by the sheer gall this young man possessed. Was he trying to intimidate him? It was painfully ineffective. “I don’t want one,” you said with a little more oomph this time, fiercely hanging on the urge to defend Nanami. It made him feel strangely prideful. 

The stranger’s smile never retreated, but something sinister glinted in the ocean of his dark eyes. He gave a sniff, brushing the point of his nose with the pad of his thumb before hurling yet another unwanted flirtation your way. “Baby, hey, what’s one more drink? I saw you from across the room, I’ve been dyin’ to chat you up.” Under the table, his hand slips into your personal space. Nanami sees it unfold in his peripherals; the pallor hand slithering over your lap, grabbing a handful of your denim-clad thigh. You yelped in surprise, wincing. Nanami saw it all.  

He was not a violent man. In fact, he could count the number of times he’s thrown a punch in his life on one hand. Physical fights were pointless, a waste of time and energy because Nanami wholeheartedly believed that altercations were best settled with words. But the moment your nervous squeak found his ears, Nanami couldn’t control the urge to beat this guy’s face in. So that’s what he did; sliding out of his seat to round you and pull the stranger off his stool by the collar of his faux leather jacket. The material felt cheap and mingy, not something Nanami would ever be caught dead wearing. Without so much as a second thought, Nanami sends a heavy fist barreling into the meat of his cheek. One good, solid punch, and the sinewy gentleman was tumbling to the ground, walking the thin line between consciousness. “Shit…” Nanami breathes, chest heaving with barely concealed rage, knuckles throbbing to the beat of his racing heart. The bar went dead, too many pairs of eyes locked onto him to count, but the only ones he could care about were yours. 

You looked at Nanami with such astonishment, with your eyes pried wide as dinner plates and your mouth ajar. He was ready for you to yell at him, to curse him for embarrassing you in a pub you frequented, but nothing came. Well, almost nothing. 

“Security!” The bartender hollered thick and deep, slapping a damp rag onto the counter with a wet plap. 

“Shit!” Nanami repeated, cuffing a hand around the thinnest part of your wrist, tugging you into his side as you both raced toward the exit. “Let’s go.”

You’re gurgling and grumbling, latching onto the material of his shirt as little bouts of complaining bubbled past your lips. “Not so fast!” and “Oh God, my stomach” and “I don’t feel good.” Nanami had been reduced to your crutch at this point; he bore the entirety of your weight without batting an eye because your own legs were too wobbly to do it yourself. 

“I know,” he murmured, maneuvering through the crowd. “Hold it together, we’re almost there.”

The first step outside felt like entering Heaven. Nanami basked in the cleanliness of the chilly night air, gulping down a big breath of fresh oxygen that hadn’t been tainted by marijuana smoke. But suddenly, you’re detaching yourself from his hip and he’s bewildered by your sudden need for proximity. “Y/n—”

He turns to face you, only to be met with the crown of your head. Doubled over at the waist, hands on the lower fraction of your thighs, you vomit onto the dewy pavement… and his shoes. Nanami’s cursing once more, drawing closer despite how much you obviously don’t want him to. “Alright,” he coos in exasperation, gathering your hair into a bundle and holding it away from the splash zone. “It’s alright, get it out.”

“You’re… Did I just puke on y-your feet?” Your voice is croaky, something of a mixture of embarrassment and illness. You can’t even look at him. 

“Stand up,” Nanami tells you. He’s unbending you, straightening your body upright with a hand pressing your back in from his bowed shape. “Can you look at me?”

You pout, childlike. “No.” You’re looking at his shoes, the toes slick with remnants of your stomach acid. 

“They’re just shoes, I have a million pairs.” His head cocks to a tilt. “Would you look at me, please?”

You’re sighing, but looking up to him nonetheless. Gazing up with big, glossy eyes and wet lashes that clumped together through tears. Eyeliner diluted and cradling your undereyes in a dark embrace. You wipe your mouth with the back of a palm, smearing shimmery gloss out of the confines of your lip line. It’s all so nauseatingly familiar, this pitiful display. Nanami decides he hates seeing you like this. 

“I’m sorry,” you chirp. 

“Don’t apologize.” 

“I’ll pay for them.”

Nanami puts a hand on your shoulder when he notices the slant in your posture. “Cut it out, that’s entirely unnecessary.” He looks around the parking lot, full of vehicles. They catch the glint from the yellowish street lamps. “Did you drive here?” He thinks it’s unlikely, seeing as you let yourself fall under such intoxication. You weren’t so irresponsible; if you drove here, you would’ve made sure you’d be able to drive home too, like he did. 

You’re shaking your head. “Caught a train.”

Nanami nods, pleased. “Good. That’s good.” With all the grace and gentleness in the world, the man loops your limp arm back around his nape, securing you against his oblique with a sturdy arm snaked around your waist. Everything is ginger, lest he upset your stomach again. “Are you good to walk?”

“Yeah, I think I’m alright.”

“Then let me take you to my car.”

That pulls a frown from you. “You don’t need—need to drive me there, Nana’. The station—” Hiccup “It’s just down the road.”

The blonde glowers. “You can barely stand on your own, public transportation is out of the question.” Like Hell he’s going to let an obviously inebriated, attractive young woman such as yourself ride the subway alone. Please, don’t make him laugh. “I’m driving you home.”

“It’s out of your way.”

“I don’t care.”

It’s a slow race, but Nanami eventually hauls you to his car parked at the entrance of the lot. A midnight shade Maserati; he doesn’t miss the way you gawk at his luxurious ride. “If I had a car like this, I’d never leave it.” He laughs. You smack his bicep. “I’m not kidding, I’d sleep in this thing. She’s gorgeous.”

“She says thank you,” he huffs his response. Nanami leans you up against the side of his car, pinning you between its door and his thigh while he opens the passenger door. “Watch your head.” His hand curls around the roof’s ledge, a makeshift cushion to protect your skull as you duck into the car seat. Immediately, you’re slumping back into the comfortable leather interior, moaning out quiet mewls of exhaustion. 

“Yeah, I’d definitely sleep in here.”

“Keep those eyes open.” The door swings shut, and Nanami makes haste when rounding the rear of his car to the driver’s side. He had barely toed the line of sobriety anyways, but knocking a stranger on his ass was definitely more than enough to woosh any semblance of haziness from his veins. Nanami wouldn’t think about driving—wouldn’t think about putting you or anyone else on the road in danger—if he felt even the slightest bit impaired by the scotch. Behind the wheel, the man leans across the center console to grab your seat’s safety belt, carefully dragging it over your chest and clipping it into the buckle. “I need your address first, then you can knock out.”

“My address…” You ponder, lips pursed and eyes blinking at a snail’s pace. Sleepiness prevails, and you fall in and out of slumber, head lolling and cheek mashed up against your shoulder. 

Nanami carps, unappreciative of your inability to stay awake long enough for this much needed conversation. “Hey,” he bleats, patting the top of your thigh. “Come on, Y/n. I need to know where you live.”

You whine, rolling your eyes at his persistence. “The city.”

“You live in the city.” Nanami deadpans at the useless information you’ve just spared. 

“Mm.” And then you’re drifting back to sleep. 

Nanami pinches high on the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger, over the permanent divets where his glasses have drilled into his skin. The contortment of his fingers sends another spike of pain over his bruising knuckles. “Wake up and give me a proper address.” He supposes his heated seats aren’t doing much to stave off your tiredness, so he presses his knuckle into the off button. You whine. 

“I don’t remember, okay?”

That’s how you ended up at Nanami’s home, tucked under his lavish sheets in his bed that’s entirely too big for one person. Your outfit had been neatly folded and piled upon his dresser, exchanged for one of his tee shirts and a pair of sweatpants that were cinched at the waist. He helped you into his clothes—with your undivided consent, of course. A completely clinical and respectful process; Nanami looked elsewhere, acting as a handle for you to hold onto as you stepped into the oversized pants he held open for you. They were far too wide, falling off your hips, so he took the time to tie a precious, little bow with the drawstrings. 

“Comfy?” He asks upon his return to the bedroom, holding a glass of tap water in one hand, a bottle of pills rattling in the other. You’re exactly where he left you; swimming in his bedsheets, the comforter hoisted up to your chest. Nanami sets the water down on the bedside table, then takes a seat on the edge of his mattress, working the bottle open. 

“I’ve never been more comfortable,” you sigh blissfully, taking a deep inhale. “Your blankets smell good.”

The blonde can’t help his chuckle. “I’ll give you the name of the laundry detergent I use tomorrow.” With deft fingers, he plucks two small tablets, light pain medication, and sets the pair on the table next to your water glass. 

“Promise?” Your tongue pokes out from between your teeth, playful. He chides an airy yes, snapping the tylenol bottle shut. Then, your smile fades; you’re averting your eyes, fixing them somewhere over to the blank canvas of Nanami’s gray, bedroom wall. “Hey, um…” He watched the side of your face, watches the flex of your jawline and the tension in your neck. “Did I—I didn’t really throw up on you, right?”

You rub at your temple, like you’re trying to find the memory but it’s just out of reach. “No,” he replies instantly, steadily, like it’s not a complete lie. Like his bile-ridden shoes aren’t sitting outside on his front door step, waiting to be cleaned. “You don’t remember?”

“It’s fuzzy,” you grumble, frustrated with yourself. “I had too much.”

Normal circumstances permitted, Nanami would’ve totally took this opportunity to have his I told you so moment. But you already looked  upset, maybe a little bit sick still, so he bit his tongue for you. “Some drunk imbecile interrupted us. We shared words, and then he got sick on us.” He was pleased with himself, his story must’ve been believable with the way you nodded along. 

“And then you punched him, right?”

His face drops. “That’s what you remember?”

Your shrug. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget it, Nanami. Not for my entire life.”

“Kento.” You hum, confused, so he reiterates, “I mean, call me Kento. I just clothed you, I’d say we’re close enough.” It’s true, you guys were getting more and more comfortable together by the day. Even outside of work and the management project, Nanami and you share text conversations more frequently than he would’ve ever imagined. And these little hangouts—granted, only two have been executed thus far—have been the most fun he’s had in ages. More fun than he’d ever hope to have with his ‘friendly’ business colleagues. You’re his friend. 

You, Y/n L/n, are his friend. What a strange fucking twist of events, it nearly gives Nanami whiplash. 

“Ken… To…” You speak each syllable slowly, peeking up at him through your eyelashes. He nods, grinning easily. Happy. “Kento, Kento, Ken—”

“Okay, okay enough.” He rises, arms raised as he gives a hearty stretch to his back. “It’s bedtime. Over there,” Nanami points at a door, “is the bathroom if you need it. You’ve got water here, and make sure you take the medicine in the mornings. You’re going to have a terrible migraine.”

“Wait, where are you gonna go?”

“I’ll take the couch for tonight.”

“Kento…” You whine, and he really wished you wouldn’t do that. “C’mere. There’s room.”

You’re patting the expansive open space beside you, peeling back the heavy blankets. It’s an enticing offer, to slip in beside you and feed off your body heat. To hold you to him and— Stop, what are you thinking? Stupid. “I think it’s best we don’t. Sorry.” And then he’s fleeing to the door because the way in which he worded that made the depths of his soul curl with cringe. Nanami bids you a polite sleep well before leaving you to the darkness, though he has enough sense left to keep the door cracked just in case you should yell for him in the night. 

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[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x muggle wife!reader

Summary: James wants to take you out to one of his families' fancy parties. However, he underestimates how cruel people can be when someone is different.

Genre: Fluff, hurt and comfort / prequel - Enchanted

Warnings: swearing, insecurities, implied sexual relationship, mentions of having kids, cute banter 🥰

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

The candle shimmers in the room as you sit on the cushioned chair in front of your vanity. You admire your reflection in the dusty mirror and play with the silver pin in your hair. Usually, you love occasions where you can look your prettiest but, on this particular night, dread sits in your stomach.

You feel hands on your shoulders and your head leans back onto your nape as you look up. Your smile widens when you see his dark eyes and brown curls. His hair is slick with fancy gel and the smell of his citrus cologne allows your forming nerves to relax. "Hiya, lovie." He whispers hoarsely and kisses your nose as his hands slide down your arms. It sends goosebumps up your skin.

"Hi, James." You laugh quietly and sit normally.

He smiles at you in the mirror, "Y'ready?" He asks and your smile disappears. James's eyebrows crease and he lowers his head to sprinkle delicate kisses onto your neck and collarbone. You turn around carefully so you don't wrinkle the skin-fitted, satin, slip dress you're wearing and James's eyes follow your movement as you stand up next to him. He licks his lips cheekily, "Ravishing." He mutters.

You want to look unamused, but you smile wearily, "I'm nervous." You whisper.

"Whatever for?" James raises one eyebrow.

"They hate me." You reason and fiddle with his navy blue tie, "They hate everything I represent, Jamie. I'm filth to them."

James snorts and he wraps his arms around you. He kisses your temple, "It's a party. My party. You're my girl, no one will dare mess with you. You'll see my parents and my parents adore you, Y/n/n."

"I know. Of course I know that, but with Voldemort around and all this talk — " You start to mutter but James interrupts you with a sweet kiss. When he pulls away, he's looking into your eyes with a delicately serious expression. An expression so unlike him.

"No one can hurt you when I'm around," He promises. James is always so sure of himself. Some may call it overconfidence but for your sake, you can only pray this is one of the times where his confidence means he's right.

* * *

The Potter's ballroom is made out of expensive marble and lanterns, which drift in the air, illuminate the spacious room. Classical music plays as couples dance, women in elegant dresses drink their champagne in the corners, and older men converse with fancy cigarettes drooping from their wrinkled lips.

You can't help but feel out of place as you seem to be the only one who's enchanted by those lanterns and all the fancy named dishes on silver trays which look delicious and also weirdly disgusting.

James hasn't left your side all evening. Not when he meets up with his best friends, nor when his mother calls his name and wants to introduce him to someone. He guides you with him, his hand on the small of your back, and you smile at his mum, "Hello, Mrs. Potter." You say.

Euphemia Potter beams at you and leans in to kiss your cheeks. She looks down, "What a gorgeous dress, Y/n." She exclaims.

"It's an early anniversary present from James." Your cheeks become warm as you look down at your dress bashfully.

"Good boy." Euphemia chuckles and affectionately pats James's cheek. She turns to the woman next to her, "James, this is Matilda, Orianna's daughter. You remember her from your school years, yes?"

You and James look at Matilda at the same time. She's slim and bony. Her blonde hair is curled in ringlets around her shoulders and her perfume smells extremely expensive. You can't deny she's pretty and a new, uncomfortable, feeling forms in your chest.

Euphemia continues, "Matilda was asking how you were, Jamie, and I just couldn't resist bragging about my beautiful boy."

James nods, "I remember you from Potions our sixth year." He says with a polite smile and Matilda returns the smile with an ecstatic grin.

"Exactly! Oh, it's so nice to connect with you again!" She pauses and her sharp hazel eyes snap to you, "And who is this?" Matilda asks with fake sweetness.

"Y/n Potter." You reply tensely.

"Oh, so you're married." Matilda's smile falters.

"Last summer." James interrupts. He doesn't waste time outstretching his arm and wiggling his fingers as he shows Matilda his ring. It's a normal silver band but by James's excitement, he makes it seem like his ring is the rarest jewel he's ever owned.

If you asked him, it is.

"Isn't he all grown up?" Euphemia comments and Matilda stares at you as she nods absentmindedly, "Now, James, come help me choose a drink for your wife while she makes friends with Matilda," Euphemia says innocently. You turn to protest (you can easily choose your own drink) but his mother has already led James away.

You know Euphemia always means well. You don't have many friends in James's circle and she finds it important to introduce you to as many wizards and witches she knows.

You understand but, at the same time, you don't want to be alone with Matilda. She seemed like a sweet girl in front of James and his mum, but when she has you alone you suddenly feel like a lamb in a wolf's claws.

For good reason because she asks you, "So, I don't remember you from Hogwarts, Y/n? Were you a few years above us?" She fakes a smile.

Ouch, you think, you were two years younger than James.

"I didn't attend Hogwarts."

"Beauxbaton then?"

Hesitantly, you shake your head.

"Ilvermorny? Only, I don't hear an accent." Matilda frowns.

You feel a familiar fear sink in again. Should you have lied? The way Matilda's looking at you now makes you feel uneasy, "I-" You mutter and scan the room. You can't see James anywhere and your heart jumps in your chest at Matilda's next question.

"Are you a muggle?" She squints at you and then moves away a little, her eyes shimmering with disgust, "Oh my merlin, he's married to a muggle." She says and it's loud enough for a few other guests to turn their heads towards you.

You panic and mumble a quick, "Excuse me", as you walk away from her. You can't see your husband anywhere so you wander to the first person you recognize and touch his shoulder. Sirius Black turns around, a concerned look on his face when he sees you,

"Y/n?" He asks.

"Have you seen James?" You ask quietly, feeling foolish as tears brim your eyes.

"No. What happened?" Sirius's arms reach out to hug you and you quickly bury your face in his chest. You can't even form a sentence as all you can hear is cruel whispers as you feel everyone's eyes lock onto you.

"She's a muggle. James Potter married a dirty muggle." Matilda makes a scene childishly, pointing her bony finger directly at you and the entire party feels like it suddenly comes to a halt. You knew this would happen and you want to disappear.

"Don't talk about her like that," You hear your husband snap and you move away from Sirius a little, turning your head around.

"What's happening?” Euphemia asks quietly. You make eye contact with James and the moment he sees your tears, the drink in his hand falls to the floor and shatters at his feet. Striding towards you, he swoops you from Sirius's arms and almost crushes you to his chest.

Matilda narrows her eyes at him.

"You're a pathetic excuse for a witch," James insults her, a dark look in his eyes, and you wish he would stay quiet. His mother stares at him in shock but reaches for his arm anyway,

"Jamie, it's okay." Euphemia tries to calm him down but he's visibly furious now. She turns to Matilda and her family, "How dare you slander my son's wife in that manner? You have no business being here with those foolish and cruel opinions. You can leave my house this instant."

Matilda and her mother look practically appalled, "How could you allow this monstrosity to happen, Euphemia?" Her mother asks and some families look as disgusted as she is. Others look sympathetic and most of James's close friends and family look as furious as he is.

"Monstrosity? He loves her." Euphemia defends you adamantly.

"How can you possibly love a muggle?" Matilda asks James, cheeks flushed, and this time Sirius interrupts,

"Oh, you shut up. You're just nasty and jealous because no one wants a horrible woman like yourself."

Matilda gasps and she looks at Sirius with teary eyes. When she begins to cry loudly, her tears send the entire room into a frenzy. Some jump to defend her, while others start to defend your relationship with James.

In the commotion, your husband takes your hand and quickly leads you out the doors. Outside on the front stairs, you see him take out his wand from inside his blazer and suddenly your entire body jerks. In a few seconds, you find yourself in front of your home and you clutch your stomach.

James holds your hair as you vomit and he soothes circles on your back as he apologizes profusely,

"I'm sorry, my love. I'm so so sorry."

You catch your breath and wipe your mouth with your arm. Now you feel ashamed and gross. You straighten yourself and look at James. He looks extremely guilty. "Didn't I tell you that would happen?" You ask and dramatically slump into him for a hug.

He hugs you and kisses your forehead multiple times, "It shouldn't have, my darling. Matilda is a complete nutter. I don't even know why my mum invites her and her horrible family. Honestly, I know mum means well but she can be so daft sometimes." James squeezes you in his arms.

You smile into his shoulder, "I love your mum. She's always kind to me."

James pulls away and begins to move some hair away from your face, "They should all be kind to you. You're bloody amazing. The smartest and prettiest girl I know." He feels your shoulders drop and he kisses your forehead again, "Come on," He whispers and, with his hand on your back, he leads you inside.

James runs you a warm bath and he washes your body delicately as he tries to scrub away the harsh words and screams from the evening. Then, he dresses you in one of his sweaters and when you sit on the bed you share, James starts to braid your freshly dry and combed hair. It's domestic and you start to feel as fuzzy as the sweater on your skin.

"I love you." You whisper, barely audible but James hears you anyway.

"I would certainly hope so," He tries to lighten the mood as he finishes your braid and pushes your hair over your shoulder, "Otherwise, I would wonder why you married me."

You turn around. James cautiously moves your legs over his crossed ones and he pulls you closer to him, "I would marry you in every lifetime, Jamsey." You admit and he looks pleasantly surprised by your comment.

He smirks, "Even if I was a worm?" He raises his eyebrows teasingly, clearly amused by his own joke.

"Yes. If you were a worm, I'd also want to be a worm, silly.' You reason with a small smile.

"Seems impractical," James chuckles.

You kiss him. You can taste the lasting alcohol from the fancy cocktail he drank, and run a hand into his shaggy hair. "Jamsey," You whisper, burning to hear him say the words, "Tell me you love me?"

James smirks, "I love you, baby."

"And you love me even though I'm only a muggle?" You ask softly, suddenly feeling incredibly insecure that you'll never share something that is so much of who James is. You'll never share memories from Hogwarts, or truly understand the references he makes to the childhood wizard films he loves, and sometimes it still takes you time to remember all the wizard terms he uses when he talks.

James is not pleased with your question, however, "Y/n, do you love me even though I know magic?"

"Of course I do," You answer quickly.

"Then why on earth would you think I love you any less because you don't? I married you, for goodness sakes! You have that pretty ring on your finger to remind you of how much I love you."

James takes your hand and you chuckle when he kisses down your neck, "Okay, you're right, I'm sorry." You say and you feel reassured even when you didn't have to feel insecure. James loves you the way you are. He always has. You've known this from the very first I love you.

"Come on, honey, let's go to sleep." James kisses your cheek.

"Hmm, I was thinking we should do something else," You tease, kissing your husband's nose. James smiles at you and he starts to draw little tiny hearts onto your palm.

"What's that, my love?"

"James, I wanna have a baby." You say. James freezes and his eyes round. He looks at you hesitantly, unsure of his next words,

"You want to have a baby? Now?" He asks and you nod, "I-I don't know if we should — this isn't exactly the safest time to have a kid." James reasons and your heart drops.

He sees your expression and his heart breaks, "No, no, honey. I want a baby." He clarifies, "I just don't want to worry about another love in my life. I worry about you enough, darlin'." He jokes behind some sincerity and you squeeze his hand.

"I understand, James." You look at him and try to hide how sad this situation makes you but James can tell. He can always tell.

"You really want this?" He asks softly, "Even after what happened tonight?"

You let out a choked laugh, "I suppose. I just want a mini-you so badly."

James shakes his head with a smirk, "No, you don't. You know that baby will be an absolute headache if they're anything like I was."

"It'll be worth it," You mumble seriously.

You can see James think for a moment and then he beams and says, "Tell ya what, let's have our baby, yeah?"

"Yeah?" Your eyebrows raise in question.

James pauses a moment, "But, can we plan on staying with your parents for a while until things blow over? Just as a precaution?" He looks a little embarrassed to even ask.

You frown. James wants to live with your parents? Your muggle family? Your heart swells. When you married him, you'd both agreed to live with him in his world. Only a year ago it felt like James would never consider living somewhere where he couldn't access magic.

You look at him softly, "Are you sure?"

James nods and leans in to cup your cheeks, "Anything for you, my love. You and your happiness are the most important things in my life." You feel warm spread across your body as he kisses you and helps you climb into his lap. "I love you." He whispers into your ear as his hands lower themselves to your hips.

You kiss his face, all down his neck, until your hands trail down his stomach to his belt and you attach your lips to the crook of his neck. James lets out a shaky breath, "I love you more, honey." You say and sit up to caress his cheek, "Let's make that baby, yeah?" You grin.

"Don' have to ask me twice, love." James laughs in a mumble and turns you over, his arm wrapped around the small of your back as he presses his lips to yours.

[letorip]

i heard your name

"i heard your name and i'll never be the same”

===+++===

pairing: cairo sweet x reader

summary: after a life of fleeting things, you come to tennessee, and find someone you don’t want to be “fleeting” anymore, though she may come with ulterior motives

warnings: rivalry, references to sex, hints at student-teacher relationships, reader is being used (duh)

word count: 4.8k

A/N: i really really hate the concept of miller's girl as a whole, but i can't deny that cairo sweet is a captivating character psychologically, and that jenna does an absolutely amazing job. inspired by lolita, pale fire by vladimir nabokov, and the movie hot summer nights.

===+++===

You became aware of Cairo Sweet on a hot, sunny school day, one that almost seemed to mock your lack of enthusiasm for the new school in its beauty and the light breeze.

The high school was an ugly building, one that sat in limbo between southern charm and the studious American educational experience seen in the likes of pretentious New England. The decorator had clearly not known which one to pick, but no amount of fancy classrooms or bookshelves and Turkish rugs would make you forget you were in Tennessee of all places.

It would be just as unmemorable and brief as the last, and that’s exactly what you reminded yourself while you waited dreadfully early in the front office, in an uncomfortable yellow plastic chair that had one leg much shorter than the others.

The receptionist lady seemed nice enough, smiling at you all bright and wrinkly like old people did. “So sorry about the wait, dearie. Any minute now, she’ll be—”

“It’s no problem,” you shrugged. “I’m not really in a rush.”

The woman nodded, her eyes melting into little crows feet at the ends. There was a theory you had heard once, that the more wrinkles someone had, the more they had smiled in their life. It didn’t fit many of the crotchety old people you had met, who seemed to have frowns permanently stitched onto their leathery faces, but it definitely fit her. She glowed like a beacon, or twinkled like a chandelier of happiness.

“Are you excited about coming here?" She asked. "Starting the new semester has to be exciting!” The entire time the older woman kept sheepishly glancing over at the door, waiting someone to come in. Whoever was supposed to be guiding your tour was clearly very late.

You had long given up on hoping your mom would pick a spot and stay there. In two more months maybe, she would announce she 'wanted a change' again, and you wouldn't give this place a second thought when you left, just as you hadn't given the last places a second thought either. But you couldn't just say no.

You smiled back at her. "Yeah, kinda. This seems like a good school."

"Oh it's just splendid!" She assured you. "The kids love it here, it's just-" Before she could finish, the office door swung open, and a girl in crazy clothing bustled in, dropping her bag on the floor in the middle of the room and spinning to the receptionist.

“I’m so, so sorry!” She said, visibly dishevelled (though maybe that was just her nonsense outfit) and maybe sweating a bit. “I completely forgot I was supposed to do this!” She laughed. She seemed like one of those girls that were always drunk— not in a sad, alcoholic way, but like they were drunk on life (and maybe alcohol too).

“It’s alright, Winnie. They haven’t been waiting long.” Winnie spun around, noticing you where you sat, leaning your head back against the wall.

“Hi there, I’m Winnie,” she said, holding out her hand with a smile. You stood up and shook it in your own, smiling back. This would all be fleeting anyhow.

“Hi, yeah I heard. (Y/n)."

Winnie tilted her head, giving you a devilish smirk. She was absurdly energetic for it being so early. "Boy, aren’t you cute.”

“And aren’t you really forward,” you laughed.

She shrugged. “I think it’s more fun that way. You got a nickname?"

"Eh," you shrugged. You did, from your mom, but it wasn't worth mentioning when you wouldn't be here that long. "Not really."

"Nooo, you definitely should have one," she said, and you raised your eyebrows at her.

"I'm really good, I think," you said, grinning. "Not the most nickname—able name out there."

"Fine," she shrugged. "Suit yourself I guess. Now c’mon,” said Winnie, sticking her hand out to you. There was a certain glint in her eyes then. “I’m gonna show you every little place in this shitty little school.”

"Winnie, language!" The receptionist scolded her.

"Sorry," she winced.

Winnie dragged you around the halls like that, hand in hand and pointing into classrooms; she waved to the people that she passed. It was decent sized school, with a big cafeteria and gym, but not much else unique to boast except for the few sports fields outside. Your last school didn't have that, but it had been northern Alaska, so it made sense. It was probably hard, what with the snow.

“Boris!” Winnie waved over at a man in a track suit, with a whistle around his neck that all gym teachers seemed to wear. He rolled his eyes, waving back at her. "That's Coach Fillmore," she explained.

“What’ve I told you about that, Winnie?” He asked.

Winnie slipped her red-heart sunglasses over her eyes, flashing him a smile. “Still your favourite though, right?”

“Yeah yeah.” And he turned his attention back to the football field, coffee in hand. Winnie spun back to you, with an almost infectious aura.

"So, why'd you move?" she asked, grabbing your hand again and tugging you back inside. The metal door slammed shut behind you with a loud thud.

"Witness Protection Program," you shrugged as she pulled you around the corner. “On the run from the cartel." She looked at you like you were crazy for a moment, eyes all wide, then you laughed and ruined it. "I'm kidding. Not actually."

"OOooooO, I like you. Cute and unserious. I thought you were going to be all square, but it turns out you can joke," said Winnie, shaking her head at you. "What's your locker number, again?"

You handed her the paper. "She wrote it on here."

Winnie took it from your hand, holding it up to the fluorescent lights and examining it like a slide under a microscope. "Ah, damn. You're on the opposite side of the school from me. Like literally, the exact opposite side. That's good though, right? Your first block is Calc?"

"Uh, no. It's uh..." you stopped, leaning against a wall and sliding your backpack off. You pulled your schedule from the top pocket. "Creative Writing, with Mr. Miller."

Winnie's eyes lit up, and she punched you on the arm. "No, fucking way?! That's my first block too!"

You shrugged. "I'd honestly rather do that than calculus right now, so."

Winnie laughed. "Yeah, you and any normal person." She stopped for a minute. "Are you okay if I go off and get some breakfast before class? Winnie hungee," she said, rubbing her stomach. "I also kind of ditched my friend, and I told her I'd find her."

You nodded. "Go ahead. I'm just gonna find my locker."

"Okay!" She said, giving you a small salute. "See you in class."

===+++===

You found your way well enough, and after fumbling with the big metal lock and struggling to put the code in, could actually open your yellow locker and throw the heavy bag you had been carrying inside.

You could see other kids walking up and opening theirs around you. Their doors had metal magnets and small whiteboards, stickers and posters. You hadn't brought stuff to decorate your locker in four years. Instead, your backpack had everything you carried in it, ready to go at the drop of a hat.

The creative writing classroom was down a hallway that split off near the gym, and luckily seemed less ugly than the rest of the school. The room smelled of pine and paper, which was probably a good sign, and bookshelves and glass jars littered the walls with a bunch of other random things setting the scenery for the big chalkboard and wooden desk in the middle.

Most of the other students were already there when you arrived through the double doors, including Winnie. She stood at one of the front desks talking to someone. When she saw you, she waved, eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree even from afar. In her past life, this girl would have been a golden retriever. You waved back then turned away, heading to one of the back desks that put you firmly away from the teacher's line of sight.

Mr. Miller seemed like an alright guy, or just enough of one. He didn't do any cheesy introductions of people, or make you do one of those stupid icebreakers that made you want to die, no— he was straight to the point, with just a splash of drama.

"Hello everyone! This semester my main goal is to make you write. And I mean really write." He paused for dramatic effect, as if he thought it was Dead Poet's Society. "This is not like your other English classes, where you put minimal effort into a 'meh' essay and turn it in, and you're happy with a B. No, I want you to feel something."

After that, you couldn't help but tune him out. He wasn't bad, no. But he was just boring and unremarkable, and anything a high school writing teacher from Tennessee would be, in the way he stuttered or played with the lid of his plastic coffee cup.

He spent most of the class prattling off the syllabus and giving out the first assignment, due in a couple of days. You weren't especially interested in writing as a whole, and even less interested in the prompt of 'write about you,' but you shoved the paper into your backpack and figured you'd give it a shot.

"Mr. Miller?" asked a voice from the front.

"Yes, Cairo?” Mr. Miller said, and you raised your head up, looking to where he was speaking. The hand belonged to a girl with dark hair, and you immediately recognised her as the one Winnie had been talking to before class. She was clearly very smart, with a small stack of books on her desk in front of her.

“Are we talking about ourselves literally, as in our achievements, or as in our emotions and how we feel?” she asked. Cairo looked pretty when she talked, though you dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. This was fleeting. It was important to remember that.

“It’s up to you, actually,” he replied, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning back against his desk. “Whatever really lets me know you.” Boy, how cliche.

When class ended, Winnie bounded over to you with a smile, her school bag tucked under her arm like it had been earlier. “Sooo, how was your first class?”

“It was pretty good, no complaints,” you said, fumbling with your folder and shoving it back into your bag.

“So, listen, do you want to sit with me at lunch? Me and Cairo sit together and you can totally join us if you want,” said Winnie, still as bubbly as ever. She gestured towards the door, and you could see the girl from earlier looking through the books on the bookshelf that stood next to it.

You shook your head. “Sorry, I got invited by a group to sit with them and I already said I would.”

Winnie frowned, pouting cartoonishly with her lower lip drooping. “No worries. If ever again though, me and Cairo would be happy to have you."

You gave her a tight-lipped smile. "Maybe tomorrow."

You ate lunch that day leaning against a concrete wall underneath the football bleachers, with no one else around, a thick paperback in your one hand and a sandwich in the other, headphones over your ears.

===+++===

"Thank you all so much for your submissions," Mr. Miller said, a stack of essays sitting under his arms as he passed them back to the class. The weather of that Friday was much more relaxed, with a smattering of clouds covering up the sun, the way you liked it.

The past three days had been just as uneventful as the last, and you went home each night only to wake up the next morning and stay equally as unenthusiastic, and attempt to bury your face into the fabric of your pillow for another five minutes.

He cleared his throat. "I've decided to do something fun, and kind of crown a 'winner' for the week, if you will." He shrugged. "It's just someone I really was impressed with, and want to recognise so, uh, we'll do this after every writing piece."

From behind the class with your head propped up on your palm, you saw Cairo tensing at his words. It had become clear even through disinterested observation that she cared way more about the class than literally anyone else— maybe even Mr. Miller. She raised her hand first, offered feedback on anyone made to read aloud, and always stayed after. She was probably itching for the recognition and you figured she deserved it too.

Which was why it shocked the hell out of you when Mr. Miller walked right up to his desk, put his hands in his pockets, cleared his throat like he thought it was a drum-roll moment, and announced, "this week I was incredibly impressed with (Y/n)'s writing."

There was no way. You froze, not entirely sure he was talking to you. Maybe he had just mispronounced someone else's name indistinguishably close to yours. Cairo's head whipped around, face equally as in shock. There was no way. Winnie was smiling at you, other kids were staring, and you wanted to die.

"Uh...thanks."

From the other side of the room, Winnie whooped for you, clapping a little, in an awkward way. Someone else let out a cough. Mr. Miller shook his head, and said, "No, thank you. Your writing was really impressive. It made me feel, in a way that was refreshing from some other things I've read."

Cairo whipped back around to gape at him for a moment and then back to you. Then, back to Mr. Miller as he continued. "I don't have much in terms of prizes, but there is a bowl of candy over there, and you can take one if you'd like."

You nodded, standing up and making your way over to the clear bowl. Why the hell not. Writing had never been something you thought you were fantastic at— you had never shared it with anyone since there had been no one to share it with. Your fingers went in, and out you pulled a grape lollipop, retreating back to your seat and popping it in your mouth.

From the front, you felt Cairo glancing at you from over her shoulder, but tried to ignore the raising hairs on the back of your neck with her focus on you. “Okay,” said Mr. Miller. “Turn to your textbooks.”

===+++===

The grape lollipop was still in your mouth at lunchtime, leaning against the concrete wall and feeling the hot Tennessee breeze ruffle against your soft shirt, moving it gently against your skin. It was quiet out, and you had your headphones over one ear, leaving the other one to listen to the trees and the wind.

That's how you heard the footsteps from around the corner, even through your music. You looked up from where your eyes had been tracing the cracks of the concrete and watching the ants walk by into their nearby hill, and there she was.

Cairo Sweet had found you.

She stood a bit down the way, on the path, with her arms crossed right over her chest. Her eyes were just as dark as before, and they bore into yours with a strange carnal desire. It sent a shiver down your spine.

"Uh, hi?" you managed. She didn’t even acknowledge it.

"So, how long are you going to keep lying to Winnie for?" Cairo asked, her voice as smooth as butter on your ears. It was a question that caught you completely off guard in its sincerity.

"Uh— I'm not— I haven't been lying," you stammered. Cairo wasn't convinced; her eyebrows lifted a little, creasing her forehead in disbelief. She took a step, one agonisingly after the other, closing the distance between you two until she stood directly beneath you, staring up through her lashes in a near haunting way. Subconsciously you took a small step back.

"I have a question," she whispered, like it was right in your ears. You could feel your blood rushing to them quickly, and it felt as if everything was happening in an almost sinful daze, slow and burning.

"Yeah?" you murmured back, fighting against the lollipop to speak. It made it harder to swallow.

"Can you smell my perfume?" Cairo asked, and your brain hung off every word that spilled from her lips.

"Yes," You clumsily nodded, eyes shooting down to her perfect mouth as it moved, then up to the freckled apples of her cheeks. You knew you were breathing loudly. "It's lavender, and—"

"—Good," she praised, barely audible in her sickly soft whisper. You nodded again, head feeling heavy. God, this girl. "Good," Cairo said again. You didn't know what to say.

"I want to read your essay," she continued, scanning the bleachers for a moment and then eyes shifting back to you in full force. She had you right where she wanted you. Under her thumb.

"Uhhhh, why?" you trailed off, confused as all hell and letting out an awkward laugh to cover.

"It's good, isn't it?" She asked, challenging you with her stare and a smirk, as if to say she knew exactly what she was doing to you chemically. "I haven't found many I want to read."

"Essays?" You mumbled.

"Good ones," she corrected you, whispering it slowly. Your gaze lowered to her lips again, her lower one caught between her teeth. Her own eyes flew to the lollipop, the stick hanging between you both.

Your breathing hitched when her hand came up, lightly grabbing the end and oh so gently pulling it from your mouth, some of your saliva carrying with it. She twirled it, never breaking eye contact with you as she placed the purple crystalline sugar on her tongue, closing her mouth around it for a moment. Cairo smiled, then pulled it from her lips and placed it back in yours.

You blinked slowly, unsure of what this was but finding it all too addicting to know how to stop it. At the sound of voices in the distance, the spell was broken, and Cairo looked back over her shoulder. You cleared your throat, realising the situation you were in.

"What're you trying to do?" You asked. It wasn't a gentle question, but it wasn't a harsh one either. Part of you wanted her to whisper back something cheesy and romantic. Or maybe you wanted something salacious to come from her all-too-plush lips, and the moment to end with hers on yours.

But instead she just blinked at you. It was like the question had taken her power away; she faltered completely. She frowned, almost frustrated by you asking, and she didn't have an answer. "Just let me know about the essay? I'd really like to read it."

Before you could reply, she turned around and walked away, as if going back to a drawing board far off in the distance. You watched her go, turning the lollipop over in your mouth.

===+++===

I should like to think that when I am older, the places I have been will make me cry. They will not meld together, in one long train; I will not move from car to car, blazing past what it may contain and never stopping to look out the window.

I will slide into a booth or take out a folding chair if I must, and watch the world go by. I will sit atop the mountains or amongst the grains of sand on a beach, and watch my eyes begin to water in the light of the setting sun.

Your eyes scanned over the essay in your hands, flipping through it and looking at all of Mr. Miller's notes. There were only four, and two of them were 'Wow!'. Even knowing he was impressed, you were at a loss for how this could be considered impressive. It was just words on a paper. Not difficult to write them, or copy them down. You were just talking, but on a page.

My mother seems to think I can’t hear her crying through the walls at night, wishing she were different. Her tears keep me up, and I trip and drown in the puddles of her despair, falling through the surface and into the depths hidden beneath, whenever I leave my room. I love her, and she always manages to convince herself I do not. She loves me, I always must convince myself she does.

It was this paragraph that made you hesitate, standing behind your locker door and rereading it over and over in your mind. There was no way you could show this to someone- and especially not Cairo.

And right there, like Cairo was conjured up by your mind, she was walking right past you, bag over her shoulder and book under her arm. You looked at her pass, the voice in the back of your mind whispering the word fleeting into your ear. It had been a week since your uncomfortable conversation (if you could even call it that) from underneath the bleachers, and she was acting weird.

She was almost avoiding you, and it was rather noticeable. Not to anyone else, who were unaware you knew each other existed, but to you, you knew. When Winnie said good morning and Cairo happened to be there, she would glance away, fully aware of you staring at her like a big idiot.

You found your way into the classroom, and Mr. Miller was writing something on the board in big white letters. It said 'MEANING,' and 'SYMBOL' in a smaller script underneath. He turned back when he was done, smiling over at Cairo and stuffing his hands into his pockets.

She always was the class favourite, and it made sense. Even if your writing was enchantingly fantastic, or some other amazing bullshit word Mr. Miller would write in blue pen that made you doubt he could actually read, Cairo was the one who actually tried. "I want everyone," he said, clearing his throat with a grunt, "to find a partner and sit down with them. This is going to be a partner activity."

You froze. Shit. These things sucked when you were the new kid who knew no one. You glanced over at Winnie, hopeful you'd find a partner in her, but she was madly gesturing towards Cairo to get her attention, and it made you smile a bit at the look on her face— until you saw who Cairo was staring at. You. Your smile went away in an instant.

Her brown eyes were staring at you again, sharp and intense. Then she picked up her bag, tucked the books she brought with her under her arm, and made due on her plan to pick you. You sent your glance away, as if to pretend you couldn't tell she was coming for you. And yet when her books landed on the table with a soft thud, you couldn't ignore her anymore.

"Care to partner up?" She asked, pulling the chair back to sit down before you could even answer. From the other side of the room, you could see Winnie staring at you, looking confused as all hell.

"Uh, sure," you managed. Was she just going to pretend you two hadn't shared whatever that was? It seemed to be the case, and it seemed she knew you were uncomfortable. Cairo Sweet almost seemed to relish in doing that to people.

"So, how'd you enjoy your first week here?" She asked, pulling out a notebook and flipping to a fresh page. She leaned forward, crossing one leg over her other.

You shrugged carefully. "It was good. Boring, but good."

Cairo nodded. "This is a really boring town, so that makes sense."

"Yeah..." you trailed off. She made putting sentences together incredibly hard for you.

Mr. Miller's assignment was boring beyond belief, but Cairo sat up straight the entire time he gave out directions, eyebrows lowering a bit or head tilting after every clarification, like she was making a mental reminder to remember that later. You attempted to ignore her, looking over to the bookshelf on your other side out of boredom.

They were all leather bound, in alternating shades of brown and green, and some hardcovers in sheathes intermixed. Finnegan's Wake and Scienza Nuova, Being and Time and Infinite Jest, you recognised and had read them all. Day-long car rides would do that to you, and it was within reading you found a particular solace from your mom screaming along to the radio.

"(Y/n), are you listening?" Cairo whispered over at you, pulling your gaze back towards her. You nodded, even though you weren't. Her leaning in seemed to fill your nose with her smell. It was lavender, and it was overpowering.

She raised her eyebrows at you like she knew you were lying again. "Really? What're we doing, then?"

You blinked. Shit. "Uh...I don't know, sorry," you apologised, feeling somewhat sheepish. Cairo gave you a judging look, and you were starting to feel like maybe she was regretting choosing you as her partner. She sighed.

"It's fine. Do you want to maybe come over on Friday? We can work on the paper," she said, playing with her pencil. You frowned.

"I thought Winnie said there was a party on Friday."

Now Cairo looked confused. "Are you going to that?"

"I thought you were?" You questioned, trailing off. She laughed at that, like it was a funny suggestion.

"No, it's not really my scene. Winnie's the partier," she grinned. "A party animal, even."

You nodded, feeling yourself relax a little bit. "That makes sense. You're probably writing or reading instead or something."

She seemed intrigued. "Is that what you think of me? A nerd?"

"Uh..." there was a certain heat flowing towards your cheeks, and it felt like the room was a million degrees. "A little, yeah."

"Wooow!—" Her voice rose in a mocking offence.

"—No, I don't— That's not!— I—"

"You think I'm a geek."

"Yeah, only because you're always reading and stuff, so," you argued, raising your hands up. She laughed.

"So if you read, that makes you a nerd?"

"That's obviously not what I'm saying, but the normal kids just go home and watch a show or something," you shrugged. A beat of silence passed between you, and you groaned, realising your mistake and dragging your hands down your face.

"'Normal', huh?" She asked. You sent her a glare, only to find her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she smiled at you, taking great fun in making you red. Then, within an instant, as if it had been flipped like a switch, the weightless look in her eyes shifted to something far darker.

"You know," she said, and you found your heart catching in your throat. "I don't only read in my free time. I find other things to do." She was back at a whisper, leaning in towards your ear. Each enunciation reverberated in your ear drums and filled your brain with sinful ideation.

"I actually like to do things over and over. Creature of habit, really," she continued and your eyebrows rose. The classroom felt even more humid than it had before, and some sweat was already forming on your forehead. Mr. Miller stood behind his desk, and you felt hyperaware of how he kept glancing towards the both of you, his arms crossed and a deep frown on his face at the almost voyeuristic display.

The bell rang, and just as if nothing had happened, Cairo stood up, gathered her things, and walked off like she had under the bleachers.

"Wait-" You were left frozen there, watching her go out the door and down the hall. It took another ten seconds of sitting there for the spell she had cast on you again to be broken, but when it did, you shot up.

Clumsily you threw your notebook into your backpack, slinging it over your shoulder and taking off as quickly as you could. You wouldn't let Cairo flee.

She was near her locker, where you found her a few halls down. From over her shoulder, Winnie saw you coming, and sent you a friendly wave. Cairo followed her eyes, turning towards you and eyes widening. She was clearly surprised, crossing her arms over her chest as you walked right up to her and stopped.

"I have a question," you said.

"Ask away," said Cairo.

You nodded, thinking for a moment. "Why'd you pick me as your partner in this?"

She scoffed at this, uncrossing her arms and rolling her eyes like you were missing something obvious. It hadn't mattered how loud the passing crowd around you was. You heard her loud and clear, and it filled you with a sense of warmth that you hadn't felt since "fleeting" was just another word in the dictionary and not a mantra.

"Because, I think you're special," she said, only to you in the crowd of passing kids. You couldn't see Mr. Miller watching you both intently from the far wall, one arm crossed over the other.

===+++===

okay so this may or may not be a series i'm starting, but i at least know there is a part two that's already halfway done. part of what took me so long and why i've been gone for like a month has just been me agonising over every damn word. so. enjoy this bad boy ig? not that much happens in this part, but i promise the next part will be kind of crazy.

[taylorswiftstyle]

Attending a wedding | New York City, NY | September 8, 2024

Larkspur & Hawk ‘Posy Earrings’ - no longer available EF Collection ‘Diamond Mini Huggie & Prong Set Chain Stud Earring’ - $850.00 Cartier ‘Agrafe Herringbone Twisted Necklace’ - $27,250.00 Jacquie Aiche 'Spaced Out High Neck Body Chain' - $11,550.00 Wove Made x Michelle Wie West 'Custom Diamond Tennis Bracelet’ - $5,680.00 (starting) Lizzie Mandler ‘3 Row Cleo Bracelet’ - $18,300.00 Zimmermann ‘Halliday Dress’ - $795.00 Vivienne Westwood 'Rosie Circle Frame Denim-Jacquard Bag’ - $544.00 Christian Louboutin ‘Condora ’85 Leather Heeled Sandals’ - $845.00

It’s not often we see Taylor looking this fancy outside Electric Lady - the NY recording studio where she’s recorded many of her albums (including all TV’s, Lover, folklore, Midnights, and TTPD). On this occasion, Taylor wasn’t heading in for a session - but for a wedding! With Travis as +1, the two were guests to the nuptials of model Karen Elson and Electric Lady Studios owner Lee Foster. To Vogue, Karen noted the importance of having one of their intimate ceremonies (the other was in Nashville) at Electric Lady. "[Lee has] put his heart and soul into [it] … it’s really his home,” she said. 

Taylor has a go-to wedding guest formula: a fit/flare midi dress, tons of jewelry, and minimalist heels. The dress is lovely and I’m a fan of the scallop detail at the top and hem + the pretty floral print. I can’t even get too mad at the wrinkles - it’s linen, after all. Overall, it’s a great pick for a breezy, late summer garden party. And of course I’m a fan of those minimal ankle strap heels (natch). 

The addition of the “something blue” bag was genius. It ties into the blue of her floral print + the coordinating Vivienne Westwood polo Travis was wearing. While Taylor couldn’t have known, it also played nicely with the bride’s custom Valentino gown which featured a blue floral appliqué. The biggest question mark? If wearing such a light coloured dress to a wedding is appropriate. There are unconfirmed remarks that the bride requested female guests wear cream. As someone who loves to aggressively plan and prefers to err on the side of caution, I elect to stay away from a dress this light - even with a floral print - when dressing for a wedding. Though Taylor’s dress is actually much warmer toned in retail photos. It falls closer to a pale orange. Ultimately, if this was indeed bride’s orders - I think she aced the assignment. 

I love that Taylor’s jewelry styling tapped into one of her key style pillars: repetition. All of these are familiar pieces we’ve seen styled before. The oldest are her earrings which she first showed off in 2021. Next is her beloved vintage Cartier necklace which she acquired last summer. And, most recently, both her EF Collection earrings and Lizzie Mandler bracelet which she wore to the Chiefs vs Ravens opening season game this week. 

In looking at her jewelry, my eye also happened to spot a body chain she paired with her Cartier necklace. This immediately brought me back to Jack Antonoff’s wedding last summer when she also wore this piece. Maybe it’s her wedding signature move. 

Illustration by Amelia Noyes

[cottonlemonade]

First Date

word count: 1157 || avg. reading time: 5 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Sakusa x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: implications of xenophobia

When you finally said Yes to a date with Sakusa you had an inkling it would get fancy, but not “five star rooftop restaurant” kind of fancy. The sushi place was hidden, out of sight of tourist attractions and other major travel spots, giving it an air of “if you know, you know”. Sakusa was a regular.

His considerate gesture of sending you a link to the restaurant’s dress code a week before the date, only sent you into a panic spiral. You never owned a dress even close as fancy as was required and even if you had the money to afford one, Japan didn’t exactly cater to a foreigner’s chubby body type. Only after nearly losing your mind did you find a place at the other side of Tokyo that rented dresses that you could barely fit into and with half a month’s rent now clinging uncomfortably to your squishy tummy, you met Sakusa outside your apartment on a Friday night.

“You look gorgeous.”, he said with a small smile, opening the passenger door to his car. With your tongue tucked between your lips for concentration you accepted his hand to help you inside. The dress didn’t exactly allow for much movement.

You chatted about your day at work as he drove and he invited you to his next game before you even reached your destination. He handed his car keys to a valet and offered his arm to lead you inside.

In the elevator you made sure to smooth out any wrinkles in your dress, real or imagined, and gasped when the doors slid open.

The atmosphere was intimate and calm. Over the quiet hum of voices you could just make out the sounds of traditional Japanese music and smartly dressed waiters brought mouthwatering, jaw-droppingly beautiful designed plates of sushi to the tables. Floor to ceiling windows allowed the patrons an unobstructed view of the city lights.

“Sakusa-sama.”, the lady at the reception greeted him with a professional smile, “Welcome. Please follow me.”

You saw her hesitate for a moment when she finally noticed you, but led you to a table in the corner of the restaurant. You held your breath when you sat down, the ride was already a challenge for regular breathing and you had no idea how you were supposed to fit any food inside you with the restrictions of the dress. But you didn’t care when Sakusa smiled at you.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me.”, you beamed.

A waiter appeared at the table and said with deeply faked apologetic tones, “I’m very sorry, sir. But it seems we cannot serve you tonight.”

Sakusa raised an eyebrow, then glanced at you, then back to the waiter.

“This is not going to be an issue.”, he said coolly, then turned his attention back to you. But the waiter didn’t leave.

“Sir, we will have to ask you to come back another time.”

“Please explain it to me. We are right on time, we are appropriately dressed and I made reservations.”

“Sir-“

Sakusa glared at him. “Please tell the chef that if he has any issues tonight to come tell me himself.”

And with that the waiter poured some water into the empty glasses before you, bowed and left.

You looked after him thoughtfully and took a sip. It happened before that you were turned away from restaurants due to a “no foreigners” rule, but you didn’t think that such an issue could arise at a place like this.

Sakusa smiled again and steered the conversation back to lighter topics, making you feel at ease within seconds. You were about to inch your hand closer to his when another person came to the table. He was undoubtedly the chef, dressed as he was. The waiter stood a little behind him.

“Sakusa-sama.”, the man in the spotless black uniform began.

“You’re not serious.”, Sakusa couldn’t help but scoff.

“Please understand that we are not able to provide the full service to foreigners.”

“She speaks Japanese.”, Sakusa informed them, “And even if she didn’t, I would translate for her.”

The chef shifted a little, throwing some kind of glance in your direction that you couldn’t quite interpret.

“We won’t be able to accommodate any dietary restrictions, Sakusa-sama.”

“I don’t have any.”, you said with a strained smile.

The chef was quiet and looked at your date imploringly. He held his gaze, then Sakusa quietly pushed back his chair and stood up.

He offered his hand to you.

“Thank you. The water was delicious.”, you said sweetly to the waiter who avoided your eyes.

“I can’t wait to tell everyone about your hospitality at my family’s next gala.”, Sakusa added with a cold smile and gently pulled you along, past a few gawking people to the elevator.

When the doors closed and the sounds of the restaurant disappeared, Sakusa let out a long sigh.

“I’m sorry.”, he said, leaning his back against the paneling, crossing his arms.

“Don’t worry about it. I think that’s about as much exposure as I would ever need to a five star restaurant.”

He chuckled. “The next one will be better, I promise.”

You smiled and went to stand next to him, lightly brushing your shoulder against his to cheer him up. The elevator began its slow descent.

“Bet you can’t wait to get out of that dress.”, he noted, then his eyes widened a moment later, “Wait, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You laughed. “You’re not wrong actually. Breathing does not come as a standard with this one.”

He considered you for a moment.

“Turn around.” He said it gently. More as a question than a demand.

You blinked in confusion, then did as he requested.

“Don’t be alarmed.” He stepped closer, his breath brushing against your neck.

You felt his hands work on the zipper on your back.

“What are you-“, you began feebly, your voice not quite having the grasp on your vocal chords like you would have wished.

He slowly ran the zipper down, the buttons by your nape holding the dress together but you felt the immediate relief around your tummy.

He shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over your shoulders.

“There. Better?”, he asked. You nodded, your heart still beating too fast to turn around without revealing the intense blush on your cheeks.

The elevator came to a stop and the automatic voice announced you arrived at the lobby.

“Your bra is pretty.”, he said quietly, almost whispering it into your ear as the doors opened.

“You still hungry?”, he asked when the cool night air brushed your faces as you waited for the valet to get his car.

“Starving.”, you admitted.

He grinned. “I know just the place.”

People stared but Sakusa couldn’t care less.

He rolled up the sleeves of his black button down and offered to trade you a chicken nugget for some French fries.

art: @qyhssss on Twitter

[garciaasfluffypen]

the suit stays on (we're feral for you)

pairing: jemily x reader word count: 2.5k warnings: SEXUAL CONTENT. MINORS DNI. (we’re operating under the assumption that y’all have fucked or at least seen each other in various states of undress prior to being in an established polycule), toy usage, fingering (reader recieving), female terms of endearment -- "our girl", mentions of mental abuse/belittling in previous relationships request from this ask a/n: i have no clue if this stayed on prompt or not but its here and its all i could think about while i was at work today

gods, you looked good in a suit. 

you adjusted the jacket that tara had helped you pick out for the upteenth time, smoothing invisible wrinkles off the dark maroon fabric as you made your way to the door of the bedroom. well, technically it had become your shared office, but you knew your favorite women barely looked into the closet in this room unless there was a gala they had to go to. it was the perfect hiding spot. you ran into their bedroom real fast, hearing emily humming to herself in the bathroom as you went over to the bag you had brought over to grab your black pumps. you rarely wore them, but you figured since rossi was paying for emily to treat you and jj to an anniversary celebration it was only fair that you pulled them out. 

while it wasn’t jj and emily’s anniversary (considering they had been together for years and married before you came along) it had been five months to the day that they had asked you to officially join them, to be more than just a friend and a confidant. to be their girlfriend. sure, it had scared you, but now it was second nature. you had fit into their relationship like a hand sliding into a glove. it was so easy for you to find your place with them. they made sure you felt comfortable from the beginning- separating work from pleasure, each taking you out on separate date nights at least once every other week and a trio date twice a week. making sure to remind you every day that you were loved and appreciated. to let you know it was okay to not mask your stims or feelings- they were always making sure you felt safe. none of your previous exes did that, always belittling you when you would stim in public or forget to take your medication. but with emily and jj? it was easy. 

loving them was easy.

your feet slid into the pumps with ease, welcoming the extra few inches they added to your height. with a smile, you went over to the front door to scan the checklist jj had put up for you, reading it over. keys, check. wallet, check. badge, not necessarily needed but you had it in your wallet just in case. meds, which were only a morning thing, not including your magnesium that you took at six pm each day. you didn’t need to take them unless you forgot them, but jj and emily had been good at making sure you had taken them whenever you were over. the adhd brain fog you got when you don’t take your meds was rough, you’d hate for it to show up in front of them. 

“baby are you--” jj stopped in her tracks as she looked you up and down, her jaw dropping slightly. 

“do i look okay? i don’t, i knew the suit was a bad idea, i’ll go--”

jj grabbed your hand, turning you to face her. “absolutely not. you look….” 

“beautiful.” emily joined you two by the front door, slipping an arm around your waist and placing a kiss on your cheek. “the word she’s looking for is beautiful.” 

emily had put on a pair of slacks and a fancy blouse, one that she had most likely gotten from her mother at some point. you didn’t know much about ambassador prentiss, but you knew she almost always sent emily stuff that she barely wore. most of those clothing items hung in the guest room closet. jj wore a baby blue sleeveless top with black jeans, her hair falling down behind her in those beach waves that you loved and adored. you had no idea what they had planned for tonight, but all you knew was that they looked hot and you were in fact, very in love with your girlfriends. even if you couldn’t find the words to say it to them yet. 

“where’d you get the suit?” 

“uh, tara took me shopping the other day. when she heard about the date.” you swallowed nervously. “i hope thats okay.” 

jj stepped closer. “you should buy more suits. i can’t even put into words how hot you look right now.” 

you blushed. “are you sure i’m not overdressed?” you moved to take the jacket off. 

“absolutely not.” emily gave you a stern look. “the suit stays on.” 

“you’re not overdressed at all, lovey.” jj squeezed your hand. “you look amazing.”

“are you sure?”

“i promise.” she tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “we got reservations at fiola, that italian place you wanted to try. you’re perfectly dressed.” 

the glint in emily’s eyes pointed to other undertones, but you kept your mouth shut. better to not start anything in case you were reading the situation wrong. you let them lead you to the car, making sure you were buckled in before heading out. jj leaned forward to rest her hand at the crook of your elbow, keeping light conversation with you so you didn’t get lost in your thoughts. the two women knew that you didn’t do the best with plans you didn’t know everything about, so they made sure to keep you in the loop as much as they could. granted, they didn’t even know the restaurant they were going to until this morning, but they told you what they were doing as they were doing it. it was a nice change, especially since in the past you would have to deal with your exes just scooping you up and taking you places without asking for your input. 

you enjoyed the meal, despite feeling out of place. rossi had made sure to get you a secluded corner booth, far away from everyone so you could make the most of your night together. after dinner, emily and jj took you for a walk through the georgetown waterfront park while you awed at the sights. they knew you would love it, since you always found beauty in small things like this. it was rare that you let your guard down like this, but they knew you trusted them enough to do so. even if these nights were far and few between, seeing you be your true self was something they adored deeply. to end the night, the three of you got ice cream at a little local shop before heading back to the apartment. 

minutes within getting inside, you kicked your heels off and went to take your jacket off, only to be stopped by a set of hands. emily walked in front of you, silently telling you to let her take care of it. jj had momentarily disappeared, and you searched for her as emily took your jacket off with care. it was folded neatly on the back of the couch before she ran her hands lightly over your arms again, stopping to hold your hands. you searched her eyes, attempting to figure out what your women had planned for you.

“how are you feeling, y/n?” her voice was low and husky. “are you up for more? if you’re not, you can tell us.”

“can we do whatever it is with jj?” 

“of course, lovey. she should be in the bedroom, do you care to join us?”  

you silently nodded, letting emily guide you to the bedroom. as she opened the door, you saw your favorite candles lit on either side table, with jj leaning up against the wall as she waited. her eyes practically lit up as she saw you and emily walk in, stepping over to you. 

“if you’d rather just curl up in bed, say the word and we can do that, okay?” jj gave you a smile. 

“okay. but what are we…”

your voice trailed off as you started to notice that jj had changed into a satin robe, one that she only took out for special occasions. you remembered buying it with her years ago, when penelope had invited you to girls night as a way to introduce you to emily before she had gotten with jj. before you had been asked to join the BAU, even. your hand ghosted over the satin fabric, subconsciously finding the string and fidgeting with it. your head fell to jj’s shoulder, slowly shuffling closer to her. 

“we couldn’t help but wish we could have you all night,” jj started. “you’re just so hot and all we could think about was you. we're feral for you." jj paused, looking at you. "is this okay?”

you nod. “more than okay.” 

“you’re in control, tonight is about you. you want us to stop, you tell us.” 

a noise fell from your lips. “mm”

“i need words, y/n.” 

“yes.” 

within seconds, jj’s hands started exploring your body, waiting for you to initiate a kiss. you leaned in, your hands wrapping around jj’s midsection and pulling her close to you as possible. emily came up behind you, her hands moving around your waist and starting to kiss your neck. your head fell back, giving both women full access to you. slowly but surely you feel yourself being taken to the bed, emily sitting down behind you and letting you lean against her knees. jj slowly started to undress you, taking her time and practically worshiping your body. emily placed kisses down your back, her hands exploring your upper body. they were taking care of you, taking their time and letting you know how much you truly meant to them. your hands found their way to the tie on jj’s robe again, un-tying it and pushing the fabric off her shoulders. with a swift movement, jj moved you so you were on the bed, emily shuffling to give jj room to adjust everything before continuing. you grabbed at emily, pulling her close and giving her a kiss while starting to unbutton her blouse, being sure to be careful. even if she didn’t care about it, it felt expensive and not worth ruining. 

emily helped you push her blouse off her shoulders before laying down next to you, the red of her victoria’s secret bra a stark contrast from her porcelain skin. you found your way to her breasts, kneading one with one hand while you pestered kisses all over the other one. emily’s hand made it's way into your hair, the other gripping the side of your arm lightly. moans fell from emily as you switched breasts, repeating the same process. as you did so, your free hand went down to your center, which was hot with need as your girlfriends took care of you. she slowly pushed you back onto the bed, pushing the hair out of your face and trailing her hand down to your jaw, turning your face to look at her. emily shifted so she could turn your head and envelop you in a kiss. as you kissed, her hand went to replace the one hovering over your center, easily slipping two fingers in with a smirk on your face as you moaned out. your head fell into the crook of emily’s neck, biting and nipping at the skin in an attempt to leave a semblance of a mark. 

“emmy… emmy please.” 

emily’s free hand grabbed your hip, holding you in place as you tried to move your hips. she was teasing the hell out of you, knowing you all too well. you mewed out as emily’s fingers slowed, the high you were chasing fading away. a pout flew over your features as you clawed at emily’s shoulders, silently pleading with her to continue. you finally regained movement of your hips as emily’s hand loosened, letting you find that high again at your own pace. noises fell from your lips as fireworks exploded all around you, the skin of emily’s shoulder becoming victim to yet another set of bite marks as you worked through your high. 

a blush crept up on your cheeks as you remembered jj had been there the whole time, now noticing the baby blue strap now situated over her hips. jj placed a hand on emily’s back and stood next to her, looking over to you to ensure you wanted to continue. you nodded, pulling jj closer so you could grab the strap. jj lightly moved your head to the strap, holding her hand at the back of your head while emily positioned herself behind you, her hands going to knead your breasts as you sucked jj off. 

“do you need more, y/n?” you nodded. “words.”

“yes. more.” 

 “so beautiful,” she placed a kiss on your cheek, then your neck. “our girl.” 

“what does our girl need?” emily looked at you.

“more, please.” 

you clawed at jj who pushed you down on the bed, hovering over your entrance as you nodded again as a signal for her to continue. slowly she pushed the strap into you, her hands going to hold you in place as she bottomed out. a moan of pleasure left your lips as she sat there for a second, waiting for you to adjust before she started pumping in and out. your hand reached for emily and went straight to her center, finding her clit and starting to rub. 

“look at you, taking me so well. laying there and taking me like a good girl should.” jj pressed into your hips. “getting emmy off while i fuck you so good, huh?” 

your free hand gripped at the sheets. “oh, oh fu--”

“yeah? jayje is so good to you, huh?” you nodded. “tell me, use your words.”

“so good, jay, so-- fuck-!” 

emily came to a climax first, with you following closely behind. jj smirked as the two of you rode your climaxes out together, both of you moaning out in tandem. as your high faded away, leaving you breathless on the bed, jj’s hips starting to stutter as her own climax hit her. emily slowly pushed your hand away from her and watched you through hooded eyes as you whined at the sudden emptiness you felt below. jj fell on the bed next to you, pulling you as close to you as she could before emily joined the two of you. 

“was that okay, y/n?” 

you covered your eyes and let out a breathy laugh. “how are you so good at that?” 

“at what?” jj smirked. 

“oh shut up,” you playfully nudged her shoulder. “you know what i’m talking about.” 

“what can i say, the best of me comes out when i’m with you. the both of you.” 

you couldn’t help but blush. “really?”

“really. we wouldn’t have asked you to be ours if we didn’t both adore the hell out of you.” 

emily wrapped her arm around your midsection. “you mean the world to us, y/n. truly. we’d do anything for you.” 

it felt as if your heart grew three sizes in that moment. you snuggled further into emily and pulled jj close, inhaling the subtle scent of sea salt from her shampoo. you closed your eyes and let the two women draw patterns over your skin, relishing in the moment before ultimately one of them got up to get a washcloth. your eyes started to slowly shut, the warmth of your girlfriends bodies engulfing you in a hug. 

you could get used to this. 

and maybe… maybe you were almost ready to say those three words.  almost.

[katsu28]

hiii request for jamie tartt here🫡 i loved ur recent fic sm!!! could you maybe do the acacia flower or sunflower prompt? in my head i see hiding their relationship bc reader is a teammates sibling, but oopsie someone got heart eyes and started rambling haha

or literally anything else is fine too if this doesn’t strike your fancy lol<3 tysm!!!

hello!! i loved this so much, u are a gem for requesting it <3

acacia: a hidden relationship + sunflower: drunken rambling about their adoration, jamie tartt x kent!reader (no physical descriptors so imagine whatever sibling type u want!), 2k

“Are you sure we can’t tell him about us?” Jamie’s voice from where he was fixing his hair in the mirror pulled you away from your book and you glanced over at him. 

This was a question he posed to you all the time, and every single time, your answer was the same—though getting more creative with the details with every occurance. 

“Do you want my brother to gouge your eyeballs out? Cut off your dick? Possibly murder you?” 

Jamie paled, freezing in place. “Not particularly.” 

“Then no, we can’t tell Roy we’re seeing each other.” You picked up your book again, ready to resume your reading, but Jamie let out a noise resembling that of a kicked puppy’s whine. His shoulders slumped and he trudged over to you, throwing himself down on the bed in front of your crossed legs. 

Setting your book aside for good this time, you watched him make himself comfortable with his head in your lap, cheek pressed against your thigh as he looked up at you with the puppy dog eyes to match his previous whine. 

“I hate all the secrets. I have to lie to him, straight to his scary face, every fuckin’ day. D’you know how stressful that is? How stressed I am?” He huffed. You bumped your knuckles against his chin affectionately.

It wasn’t fair, Jamie having to face Roy and lie everyday when you had to do it a tad less often, but it was a necessary evil. One day, you’d tell your brother, but first you had to figure out how. 

This, among other reasons, were the downsides to being in a secret relationship with Jamie. There were tons of upsides too, no doubt about it. 

You had the privilege of seeing a softer, sweeter side of him that was reserved only for you, but you couldn’t go out in public with him. Nights in were your favorite dates, but sometimes you wanted to go to a fancy restaurant and eat expensive food and share a dessert with your boyfriend without needing to worry about the tabloids having a field day of it all. 

You could already see the headlines if the press ever caught wind of your relationship—AFC Ricmond Star Jamie Tartt Bags Manager Roy Kent’s Sister. They’d stir shit up, claim that Jamie was only with you because your brother was in a position of power over him and who knows what else. 

Most of all, you certainly couldn’t let Roy find out you were seeing one of his players, especially not Jamie fucking Tartt. They were friends now, but he’d always been overly protective of his sisters ever since you were all kids. He’d throw a fit and probably kill Jamie, then you. Well, he probably wouldn’t go that far, but you’d definitely be on his bad side until he got over himself. And you loved your brother to death, but he was a dickhead sometimes. 

“I’m gonna get early wrinkles, love. You don’t want me to have those, do ya?” 

“I think you’d look adorable with wrinkles. Like a cute little old man.” You dotted a kiss to his forehead, attempting to smooth out the crinkle between his eyebrows with your thumb. 

“That’s not funny.” 

“It’s a bit funny.” 

“Right, since you obviously don’t appreciate my problems, I’m off.” Jamie heaved himself off the bed, forcing out a rather overexaggerated sigh. You smiled innocently at him and he rolled his eyes, his own soft smile still on his face. He leaned down to press a kiss to your lips before heading for the door. “Dunno when I’ll be back but don’t wait up for me, yeah?” 

“Have fun, my love. I’ll just be here, thinking about you with wrinkles.” 

“Still not funny!” 

The Greyhounds were out in full swing tonight. Colin had somehow managed to book an entire pub for a whole night so they could drink and have a good time without being swarmed by the press vying for any morsel of gossip about one of the best up and coming Premier League clubs. Good friends, good food, even better beer—what more could anyone ask for? 

Jamie had been taking full advantage of it. That, paired with the fact that he no longer had to follow that god awful diet that deprived him of his beloved ice cold beverage, had led him to where he was right now, leaning heavily against the bar, drunk off his ass due to some sort of drinking game Jan Maas had insisted on teaching him. 

See, tipsy Jamie was fun. Very generous, would offer to buy a round or two, good for a few funny stories the next day. Absolutely pissed Jamie was a textbook oversharer. He didn’t make much sense, so everyone just mumbled a ‘very cool, mate!’ or something of the sort, made sure he didn’t topple over—those kinds of things. 

Roy was nursing his own beer next to Jamie tonight, half-listening in contained amusement as the Mancunian babbled on and on about someone. Who the fuck it was, Roy had no idea, but it was good entertainment and had soon garnered the attention of the rest of the team. Maybe this could be another one of those funny stories they could joke about in the locker room tomorrow. 

“She don’t look anythin’ like you, thank god. Imagine—imagine that! A lady Roy. Shit’s mad!” Jamie mused, amber beer spilling over the lip of the pint. “Nah, she’s the prettiest and the funniest and the coolest person ever and I love her.” 

“Who the fuck are you talkin ‘bout, bruv?” Isaac asked incredulously, looking just as amused as everyone else.

“Mate, I’m talkin’ ‘bout me girlfriend,” Jamie said very as-a-matter-of-factly, like they should’ve known that. “Duh.” 

“You’ve got a girlfriend? Since fucking when?” 

Jamie counted off on his fingers, scrunching his nose in thought. “Erm…four, five months? Maybe six?” He shook his head quickly, correcting himself. “No, not six. Would’ve done something special for six, wouldn’t I?” 

“First I’m hearing of it. How ‘bout you boys, did you know Jamie had a girlfriend?” Isaac asked, looking around. A chorus of ‘no’s and similar answers sounded amongst the others. Jamie’s brow furrowed. “It’s settled then. Who’s got the heart of the great Jamie Tartt?” 

“Good rhyme, boyo!” Colin chimed in, clapping his best friend on the back. 

Isaac looked proud of himself. “Whoa. I’m a fucking poet and I didn’t even know it.” He accepted another few praises before turning his attention back to Jamie, who looked like he was thinking really long and hard about something. “Okay, back to you. Tell us about her.” 

“I don’t even know where t’start, man,” Jamie sighed happily, resting his chin in his palm. “She’s kind and warm and—and she knows me better than anyone. It’s like…it’s like she’s an angel.” 

It was kind of weird, hearing Jamie be so open about his feelings for another person. He’d always been one to play things close to the vest, so that’s how they knew things with this secret girlfriend had to be serious. 

Sam beamed, happy as ever that his friend had found someone special. “Surely the angel from above has a name? Maybe one of us knows her?”

“Y/N.” 

The room fell silent. Everyone turned to look at Roy, who looked like he was about to start punching dicks. 

“Y/N, like…Roy’s sister, that Y/N?” Sam replied hesitantly, drawing pointed looks from every single one of his teammates. “I’m just confirming! There are other people named Y/N in London, you know.” 

Jamie pointed in his teammate’s general direction, nodding aimlessly. “Yep, her. That’s my girl.” 

Roy stood from his seat without a word, grabbing Jamie under the arm and dragging him towards the door. 

“Hey man, what the fuck are you—” 

“Just fucking shut up, will you?” 

“Okay.” 

You were about to call it quits on finishing your book and turn in for the night when the doorbell rang. When you went to open it, you definitely weren’t expecting to see your brother standing on your doorstep, practically carrying your half asleep boyfriend and looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. 

“Your prick boyfriend got proper pissed. Where do I put him?” 

So Roy knew. And judging by the way Jamie was swaying on his feet, you guessed that he’d been the one to let the cat out of the bag. 

“Erm, couch is fine. I’ll get him settled later.” You opened the door a little wider to let them in and Roy grunted his acknowledgement, hauling Jamie over to the couch and promptly dumping him onto the cushions.

Jamie didn’t even flinch when his face hit the pillows, instead just letting out a dreamy sort of sigh and smacking his lips together without even opening his eyes. You were the one to roll him over onto his side, nudging the dustbin right near his head before covering him with a blanket. 

“How much did he drink?” You asked, smoothing the walnut mist strands away from his eyes. 

“Too fucking much, that’s how much.” Roy grumbled. He wandered over towards a different area of your flat, not wanting to wake Jamie. “Jan Maas taught him a Dutch drinking game, except that fucker can actually hold his alcohol.” 

You cast a fond glance back at your boyfriend, smiling softly at his peaceful face. “Yeah, this one can’t really drink much anymore. Said it’s because of your training regimen, the no beer thing.” 

“Of fucking course you’d know.” 

“I assume Jamie told you about us.” You said quietly, picking at a loose thread on the sleeve of your jumper instead of looking at Roy. Another vague low noise of acknowledgement from him, though it sounded a bit more strained this time. “If it helps you come to terms, Jamie’s been wanting to tell you for ages. I was the one who wanted to keep it under wraps.” 

“Why?” 

You let out a humorless chuckle, shaking your head. “‘Cause I knew what you’d think. Knew what you’d have to say about it.” 

“Are you a mindreader?” 

“No.” 

“Then how would you know what I’d think?” 

“Oh come on, Roy, you don’t think I know how you are? You get…dickish. I still remember you scaring off poor Billy Montgomery in year nine!” 

“Billy Montgomery was a fucking wanker, that’s why.” 

“Yeah, I know that now,” You huffed, scowling. Roy raised an expectant brow at you. “You’ve always been outspoken about the people I date. I just—I didn’t want you to be that way with Jamie. I know you’ve had your differences, and I know you’ve made up, but…I dunno, I was just worried about what you’d think of us.” 

“Do you love him?” Roy asked stiffly. There was a tic going in the hard line of his jaw when he forced his gaze to yours, and it almost looked like he was in the middle of shitting a brick. If you hadn’t been so nervous about his reaction, you probably would’ve laughed. 

“I do. A lot, actually. He’s…everything I could’ve asked for. Everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner.” 

“Then it shouldn’t fucking matter what I think.” Roy said. “Jamie makes you happy, and that is the only thing that matters.” 

To say you were taken aback was an understatement. You’d been so worried about how you thought your brother was going to react to the news, you never stopped to consider that maybe Jamie wasn’t the only person who’d been working to change for the better. 

“Thank you, Roy.” 

Caught up in your heartfelt sibling talk, neither of you had noticed Jamie had woken up and stumbled over to the two of you until he gathered the two of you into a rather squished hug.

“My two favorite people, the Kent siblings! You guys are the best!” He slurred, nuzzling into the embrace. Roy let out a growl, but he patted Jamie’s back stiffly nonetheless. You had to stifle another laugh at how utterly uncomfortable he looked right now. “Oh fuck, I think I’m gonna throw up—” 

“That’s it, I’m fucking leaving.” Roy shoved Jamie away from him, wiping his hands off on the front of his jacket and heading for the front door. “Make sure he doesn’t choke on his own vomit and tell him he’s still got training tomorrow, I don’t care how shitty he feels!”

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[dont-offend-the-bees]

The Scenic Route

More dead boys! Post-canon, Payneland, pre-slash/getting together-ish, bestieism, bickering, sex talk/innuendo and soppiness. 2k. Enjoy!

Also on Ao3 (need to be signed in to read)

~

"Cheer up, Edwin," said Charles, brightly. "Might never happen."

Edwin gave Charles a look so haughty it had its own title. "It very much has happened, Charles." He sniffed and straightened out his newspaper with attitude, the rustle of it loud and sharp as a whip crack. "I don't see why we couldn't have simply hopped through the mirror and met Crystal there."

"At this point, Edwin, I'm in total fucking agreement," said Crystal, not opening her eyes. She was burrowed under her coat like a blanket, doing her best to make the uncomfortable upright seat look like a cosy bed. Fortunately this train car was basically empty, so she had space to stretch across two seats – and no one close by to comment on the floating newspaper across the table and the fact she was having a barney with it. "You're like, the worst person to travel with."

"He's just not used to taking the scenic route," Charles joked, nudging Edwin's shoulder. "Whole world out there if you look up from the crossword, mate."

"I've already finished the crossword," said Edwin.

"With my help," Crystal pointed out.

"I died in nineteen sixteen. How am I supposed to know which songstress recorded 'Strike Me Once More'?"

"’Hit Me Baby One More Time’," said Charles.

"Atrocious name for a song," Edwin muttered. "I was given to believe violence against women was frowned upon in this day and age. And yet here you are, making popular songs about it."

"It's a metaphor, innit?" said Charles. His brow furrowed. "I think. Haven't heard it."

"We get it. You're both old ," Crystal groaned. "Now shut up, I'm trying to sleep. Some of us still need to do that."

"You would've had more luck in my day," said Edwin, wrinkling his nose in distaste at their surroundings. "Decent benches, private compartments. Of course, travelling without a chaperone might’ve raised issues. I hardly think Charles and I count, given that no one but you can see us."

"And we're lads." Charles winked at her. "Fit, single lads."

Edwin gave him a withering look over his paper. "Yes, that as well." He flipped through to the personal ads, voice dry as a bone. "Lord only knows what tomfoolery we could be getting up to without supervision."

"No offense, Edwin," said Crystal. "But I don't see you and me getting up to 'tomfoolery' no matter what century we're in."

"Hm. Something else we can agree on."

"Well, I'm game," Charles grinned, folding his arms on the table and waggling his eyebrows. "Never done tomfoolery on a train before."

Crystal snorted. "Don't. Not fun. And don't ask me how I know that,” she said, cutting Charles off sharpish before he could quiz her. “Anyway, without Edwin's fancy private compartments your options are the bathroom or risk a sneaky handjob in your seat."

Edwin perked up. "There's that word again. Charles, you never did tell me what it means."

Charles winced. "Didn't I? Um. Right. Basically, yeah, it's when you..." 

"If you're gonna sit here giving grandpa a sex ed class, I am definitely getting up for coffee," Crystal muttered, throwing her coat aside and levering out of her seat. 

"Sure you don't wanna weigh in?" Charles called after her. He fully expected the middle finger she flipped him before stomping off down the aisle.

"So," said Edwin primly, newspaper set down in exhange for his notebook. He was poised and at the ready with his pen in two seconds flat. "Handjobs."

Charles squirmed. "It's not exactly arcane knowledge, mate," he said, struggling to look Edwin in the eye. "It's when you..." he made a strangled noise, and a descriptive hand gesture. "Y'know. For another bloke."

Edwin watched his hand, and realisation dawned. "Ah,"  he said, slowly tucking his book and pen away. "Indeed." He sniffed. "Crude name."

"Well, what would you call it?"

"Well. I haven't an equivalent term for the act as... bequeathed to another, so to speak.”

Charles bit his lip, holding back a grin. Who the fuck else in his life would use bequeathed in normal conversation? In a sex conversation? He crossed his arms before he could do something stupidly soppy and fond, like drop his head onto Edwin's shoulder and ask him to list his favourite words.

Edwin carried right on, oblivious to Charles' little moment. “But my father would've referred to the solo variation as ‘self-abuse’."

Charles snorted. "'Course he would."

"Yes, it was... a different time." He picked up his newspaper with an air of rigid discomfort. "People are certainly much more liberal in that regard nowadays."

"Yeah. Nowadays." Charles watched him closely. He'd always been a buttoned-up sort of chap, but. Since all that stuff in Port Townsend, with Monty and that bloody Cat King he'd... opened up, sort of. Wasn't going out snogging people or reading dirty mags in the office or anything, 'least not as far as Charles knew. But there was a curiosity in him, now. Something in those keen eyes that sparked up, latched onto certain things. All still wrapped up in good old fashioned Edwardian manners, of course, but Charles knew Edwin like the back of his hand – and he knew what his face did when he was interested in something. Just so happened what he'd been interested in lately was, well. Blokes. Some more than others. "You never try it then?" Charles teased. "The old, uh. Self-abuse?"

Edwin couldn't exactly, literally blush on account of being dead, but Charles could spot the signs. "Privacy was hard to come by," he said, carefully measured.

Charles raised his eyebrow. "But not impossible?"

"...No. No, not impossible." He cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should change the subject. Crystal will be returning shortly. Impolite to discuss it in mixed company."

Charles chuckled and sank back in his seat, casting his eyes out the window. The countryside rolled by, arid and golden. "Never been to France before."

"I suppose we haven't had any cases lead us here," said Edwin. "Nor have we had the need to travel through it," he added, voice clipped and curt. "Up until recently , that is."

"Got a right bee in your bonnet about the bloody travelling, haven't you?" said Charles. "C'mon, mate. Not like you and me are short of time, innit? Got all eternity to sit on bloody trains if we want to."

"I can think of better things to do with our time."

"Well – think of Crystal, yeah?" Charles reasoned. "I mean, she's alive. She's got what, eighty years or something left to be alive. How d’you think she feels 'bout having to spend half of it on public fucking transport?"

Edwin sighed. "Being alive was rather inefficient, in retrospect."

"I'm just saying... don't hurt to keep her company, eh?" He offered his best winning smile – and he had a good winning smile. “She's one of us, in't she?

Edwin rolled his eyes, but for once he didn't argue – Charles had him, and he knew it. "I'll... endeavour to be lenient," he offered.

"That's right big of you,” said Charles. He let their knees knock under the table. "Don't worry, not saying you have to be nice or anything. Just give the grumbling a rest for a bit, yeah?"

Edwin smirked. "Very wise of you to manage your expectations. 'Nice' is not a particular specialty of mine."

"I know." Charles grinned. "That's alright. I like it when you're a rude prick."

Edwin looked at him, and the hard lines of his face softened some. "Yes, you do seem to," he said; light, fond . "An ailment for which I fear there's no cure."

Charles ducked his head, smiling something daft. "We should do France properly sometime,” he said. “Go to Paris. Bet there's a load of old bookshops and that in Paris.”

Edwin brightened, with a little happy hum. "Capital idea, Charles. I haven't had reason to practice my French in some years." Then he sighed, proper dramatic. "Though I suppose we'll be taking the train again."

"Depends on if Crystal wants to come."

"Why wouldn't she?" Some of the stiffness had returned to Edwin's shoulders, but he was doing an alright job of hiding it. Anyone who wasn't Charles might not've noticed at all. "I daresay you two will want to take in the romantic sights while I peruse the booksellers."

Charles chuckled. 

Edwin flashed him an annoyed look. "It's a fair assumption."

"Yeah, well, we're not exactly like that."

"Is that so?"

Charles shrugged. "Had a bit of fun, but. She's still figuring some stuff out. Not looking for anything serious."

Edwin hummed, tightly, eyes fixed on the newspaper. 

Charles swallowed the lump of anxiety in his throat, and flicked the corner of the paper to get his attention. "Besides: had some stuff to figure out myself, too, haven't I?"

Edwin froze, the paper rustling in his hands as his fingers tightened on it. "Oh." He glanced furtively to Charles, while obviously trying not to look furtive. For a detective, he was a right crap actor, sometimes. "Yes. How is that... progressing?"

Charles rolled his neck, tilting his face in Edwin's direction. Edwin looked right strange, perched all prim and proper on the polyester train seat with its bowling alley fabric pattern. Charles could almost squint and see through time, to how he would've looked on a train in the nineteen hundreds; surrounded by wood panels and velvet, by family who wouldn't touch him unless it was to fix his hair, straighten his bowtie. He looked out of place here – but he was right next to Charles, so actually, he was exactly where he ought to be. And the afternoon sun on the yellow fields looked dead pretty scattered across his cheekbones and his nose and that neat, handsome sweep of dark hair from his temple.

Yeah. Charles was figuring a thing or two out, alright.

He looked away and fidgeted, trying to shut his eyes and settle back in his seat in a way that looked relaxed, unbothered – and not like he was trying to avoid looking too closely at his best mate's lips or his eyes or his long, clever fingers. "Let's make it just a you and me thing," he said. "Paris, I mean."

There was a moment of quiet, then the sound of Edwin's newspaper coming to rest on the plastic table. "...Yes. Yes, I'd like that."

Charles smiled, and let the rhythmic motion of the train roll over him – if he had a heart, it'd be thumping in time to the clickety-clack on the tracks. He couldn't sleep, not even in the dark behind his eyelids, but he could daydream. Imagine that he could feel the sun on his face, the vibration at his back.

And while he was at it, he could reach out, just a little, and hook his pinky finger through Edwin's. Just 'cause.

A very, very small laugh escaped Edwin – almost like a runaway gasp. "I suppose," he said, mildly. "The scenic route has its charms."

 ~

Soon, the thud of Crystal's boots rejoined them, along with Crystal herself. Charles didn't even need to open his eyes, so he didn't bother.

“Charles,” Crystal greeted – and then, curtly: “Edwin.”

“Crystal.” Edwin replied, with matching coolness. But the ice soon broke on an audible, weary sigh. “Truce?” he offered.

She took a loud, long, deliberate swig of coffee before answering. Her and Edwin were peas in a dramatic, petty little pod, much as neither of them wanted to admit it. “...Truce.”

Edwin cleared his throat. “Yes. Very good.” Then, after a moment: “Thank you for your patience.”

The sounds of Crystal getting resettled stopped abruptly. Charles opened his eyes and found her half in her seat, hand and coffee cup on the table, staring at Edwin like he'd grown an extra head.

"So you're in, like… a good mood, now?” she said. “That was almost an apology. What'd I miss?”

Charles glanced sideways. Edwin had his face angled to the window – and a small, soft smile barely tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Oh," said Edwin lightly. His finger twitched around Charles’, just a little. Almost a squeeze. "Nothing of import."

Charles fought – and failed – to suppress a grin.

Crystal looked between them. "Charles. You didn't like..." She made the same crude handjob gesture he'd done earlier. "Give him a demonstration ...?"

Edwin squawked in indignation, Charles burst into surprised, sheepish laughter; and the golden fields outside the window gave way to row upon endless row of lavender and grapevine as Provence rolled alongside them, painting the plodding hours in green and purple.

And Edwin only complained about it ten, maybe eleven more times. New record, that!

~

Hope you liked it! Consider dropping us a comment or a reblog if you did 😊

Wrote this in part to distract myself from a horrifically busy train ride, in part as wish fulfilment while daydreaming about a world where the British public transit system isn't in shambles and I can get on a cross country train that isn't cancelled and sit in my pre-reserved seat as planned. Written and posted on my phone so apologies if that's reflected in the form and formatting!

Til next time!

[milliesfishes]

please please please Millie can we have someting where Billy is watching reader being so good with children (and people in general, like, she's so sweet) and he's like "that's it. i'm leaving everything behind and making that woman my WIFE and the MOTHER OF MY CHILDREN" pls he'd be so enamoured with herrr ♥

ps: it's okay if you don't want to do it ♥ i love everything you do!

this is so cute plzz thank you anon <3 ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝓫𝓲𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓲𝓼 𝓮𝓷𝓪𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝔂𝓸𝓾⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝓯𝓮𝓶 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝔁 𝓫𝓲𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓴𝓲𝓭

Your presence was sunshine and rain, creating a wonder of nature's rarity. Everything about you shone so brightly that Billy wondered how the angels hadn't swept down long ago to claim you back as one of their own. Like ivy, you crawled over the walls of the hearts of everyone, enchanting them and planting your flower in the thorniest of gardens.

He was privileged beyond the wiles of men to be allowed to fall in love with you so completely. You consumed him, crept into every waking thought and every resting dream. Billy fancied himself a changeling around you, willing to morph into whatever you needed. Fortunately for him, you only wanted to be one thing: himself.

Proving he was the luckiest soul in existence, you sook his arms often, sheathing yourself in them. Gentle kisses and mountains of cuddles often ensued, as he requested you tell him about your day.

Wrinkling your nose adorably, you always said, "I haven't done anything terribly interesting today."

"Tell me anyways," he smiled, taking you by the waist and setting you atop his hips. You giggled, hands bracing on his knees behind you as you leaned back. His big hands found a place in the crease between your thigh and calf, thumbs rubbing your knees.

Of course you would give in, face lighting up in the way he always hoped it would. Truthfully, it wasn't the content of your day he was eager to hear, but the way you told it. You could breathe life into the most mundane of topics, his beautiful girl.

You were the silver lining to the storm cloud of his roughened life, worth beyond your weight in gold. The kind of face men went to war for and wrote poetry of love in wax sealed letters back to. And you were somehow his.

The ring looped on a ribbon and wrapped in a handkerchief stowed away in a place of safety had been yours from the first moment your lips touched his. It had been his beloved mother's, a token of her undying love that she'd passed on to him, telling him to keep it safe for a girl who kept his heart safe. You fit this description and exceeded it.

Though the life of an outlaw was hardly appropriate for such a beauty from the inside out, he found that he could hardly unglue himself from you. Forget water and air- he needed you. You were love in physical form, a skyful of stars bound beneath the skin of a woman. The earth in bloom, all that was good in this world. You were entrancing in every possible way, tied with a ribbon and edged in lace like an embroidered gift tailored to him.

Your utter sweetness never failed to swath him in joy. As of now, he had been packing his recent purchases in his saddlebags when you caught his eye as you always did, acting as his north star.

Surrounded by people as always, you were chattering excitedly, making big gestures with your hands. The eyes of those listening were alight with wonder, and he couldn't help but smile at the sight. Your very existence was captivating.

Then a little girl approached you, tugging on your skirt. You got to your knees so you were at her level, ignoring the dust that settled on your skirt. Shyly, the girl held out a handful of wild daisies to you.

Gasping, a hand flew to your heart as you accepted the gift, and you said something to her with a darling smile brightening your face. Plucking a daisy from your bunch, you tucked it behind the little girl's ear, much to her delight. She giggled and retreated back into the crowd.

Mesmerized, Billy leaned against his horse in a daze. Your pure natural sweet nature and love for the world and everything in it was inspiring. You were a rare patch of sunlight in life's darkness indeed, one that he'd been most fortunate to stumble upon.

Heralded by your divine presence, Billy's sense of time slowed. His surroundings blurred as his vision centered on you as the light at the end of the tunnel. He knew. He knew you were everything good in this life, that the very stars spelled your name in the heavens. He knew that after the tumultuous years on the run, you were the very best life would gift him. You were the very best anyone could be gifted.

He saw a vision right then of you, belly swelling with his child, hand adorned with his mother's ring and standing on the porch of a house he built for you. His wife. The mother of his child. Oh, the words tasted sweeter in his mouth the more he tried them out.

The crowd dispersed, and when Billy looked up, you were alone, twirling your gift of flowers between your fingers. The roseate picture you struck was like lightning in his heart. The organ had roamed near and far in search of a place to settle and call home, edging the Fate's will of survival. You were the answer.

His heartbeat pulsed as his feet moved, emotion guiding his movements. Nearly stumbling, his hands found your waist, arms engulfing you as he lifted you off your feet and brought his lips to yours.

"Mmph!" Your surprised noise was cut off by him again, mouth hungry and fervent for you. All of you. Your arms twined around his neck, and you smiled into the kiss. The brim of his hat bumped your head and he tilted his head back briefly, letting it fall behind him before he returned to you, pressing kiss after kiss to your delighted, awaiting mouth. Maybe it was a bit much for a public setting, but he hardly cared.

He lavished tiny pecks on your puckered lips, bringing you down from the high of it. When Billy pulled back, he didn't put you down, instead gazing into your eyes and watching you in the afterglow of the kiss.

You nudged your nose against his, one of your feet popping up as he held fast to you, slightly swaying back and forth. "What's this all about?"

"Can't I kiss the woman I love for no reason?" Billy grinned, securing one arm under your bottom to hold you better. The other remained at your waist.

A content smile overtook you, and your fingers tangled lightly in the curls at the nape of his neck. "My love...I would believe you if you hadn't swooped across the square with that look in your eyes."

"Hmm," he hummed, nuzzling his nose to your neck and burying a kiss there. "I should tell you what I'm thinkin' shouldn't I?"

"I'd like that," you lifted your chin merrily, leaning your forehead against his briefly. Your touch was his nectar of his life, and if it pleased you, he would drink long past overindulgence.

"Well," he began, the hand at your waist rising to cup your cheek, shifting the one at your bottom to support you. "I think I'm gonna marry you."

"Really?" you giggled, kissing his nose. "You want to marry me?"

"Wanna marry you 'n have a baby." He pressed a smattering of kisses across your cheeks. "And spend the whole rest of my damn life with you cause you're my girl and I ain't ever lettin' you go."

"Oh!" Your lips found his again, and he eyed you tenderly afterwards. Unable to quell your joyful smile, you asked with a starlike twinkle in both eyes, "You really want that with me?"

"More 'n anythin' darlin'," he promised, lips finding your forehead. "Sweetest girl...I love you so much."

Billy set you back on your feet, straightening your dress and pulling a flower from the bunch you still held in your hand and tucking it behind your ear just as you'd done with the little girl. "You'll make our little ones daisy chains, won'tcha?"

Nodding eagerly, your eyes seemed unable to leave his. Billy took your free hand in his and knelt to pick up his hat and hit it against his side to knock the dust off. Once it was satisfactory, he dropped it on your head, pulling it playfully over your eyes for a moment before knocking the brim back up.

"I've got somethin' to give ya when we get home," he promised, kissing your temple and thinking of the ring hidden beneath the floorboards. "Somethin' special."

"Can't wait." You kissed his cheek and he guided you over to the horse hand in hand.

He'd never been more excited to get down on one knee before.

[chao-thicc-hcs]

If you don’t want to do this it’s completely fine.

I wonder how tr characters would react when they overstimulation yn sm that she used her safe word 🧍🏻‍♀️🤸🏻‍♀️🧍🏻‍♀️ if so, please add sanzu ran baji 🤧🤧👀

a/n: tumblr keeps flagging and labeling my posts, so I will force myself to use "cock", cuz it will deffo be better ☠️

featuring: baji keisukue, sanzu haruchiyo, ran haitani

off to hornyland we go!

↳warning(s): idk

↳ALL CHARACTERS ARE 20+. MINORS DNI

↳reader is afab!

IMPORTANT! ON RAN'S PART, THEY BOTH HAVE TALKED ABOUT THIS BEFORE AND THE READER IS CONSENTING TO THIS!!!!

Baji↷

He was angry today. Much to your own surprise, he wouldn't even soften around you, nor would melt under the way your hands cupped his face and brushed his hair, and he didn't want to talk about his anger. He just wanted to fuck you senseless. And you, of course, didn't mind it.

Shaking under his movements, your eyes almost doing a 360 at how rough he was, your legs felt like giving up and you were on the verge of passing out. Tears were rolling down your cheeks so thick and frequent you could see them dropping on the bedsheets. You were screaming, voice cracking from the amount of pressure you were putting on your vocal chords.

It was all too much, his cock was so immaculately hitting your g-spot, sending waves of pleasure over your entire lower area, his rough hand tugging onto your hair, other one squeezing your hips like you were going to slip away at any second. The bed was shaking, so were you, so was Baji.

-V-vanilla...!- you moaned out, and his movements slowed down. Baji leaned down and whispered in your ear, his eyes filled with worry and his voice softer than before

-Are you okay, dollie? Did I hurt you?

-Ah, no... just...

There was a minute of silence between the two of you as you tried catching your breath and stopping the tears from flowing down. Baji stopped what he was doing and hugged you from behind, placing gentle kisses on your shoulders and massaging your lower abdomen.

-Doll, should we stop here?

-N-no... I was just overstimulated, you were way harsher than usual. I just need a minute to calm down.

-'m sorry...

-Hey, don't stress it, I will be okay, I am calmer now.

Baji nodded and placed you to lay comfortably down once again, inserting his entire length inside of you, making you squirm, still sensitive from before. -'m gonna make you cum now, babydoll, but do tell me if I am too rough again.

-No, be as rough as you can get, my love, I can handle it now.-with your words followed an abrupt increase in his pace, making you arch your back and scratch his back, loud, lewd moans escaping your lips.

-I will make you scream so loud that our neighbors will be knocking on our door.

Sanzu↷

You were supposed to be on a fancy dinner with his gang, chatting and eating inside a lavish restaurant, sitting on a huge, round table with an expensive, velvet tablecloth. Sanzu, however had other plans, and he had you sitting on top of him inside the toilet stall, riding his cock like crazy.

He couldn't take it any longer. How could you wear the sexiest silk dress known to mankind that beautifully hugged your body, emphasizing your tits and ass, and not expect Sanzu to get hard on the spot? Calloused hands roamed around your butt and thighs, wrinkling the once neatly ironed dress you wore, your panties were torn apart and thrown on the ground. Sanzu's face was buried into your tits, sucking and nibbling on them, leaving purple marks and bites, inhaling the remaining scent of your sweet perfume on.

-Just like that, babygirl, gosh - you're taking me so well, you're gonna make me cum so quickly.

He was big, and you barely fit him inside. Your hands were grabbing the fabric of his suit on his shoulders, your lips placed on his forehead, leaving lipstick stains. His thrusts were rough and harsh, the echoes of skin slapping wafting around the bathroom stall. Your hips moved in unison with his, and it felt as if you were seeing stars falling down in front of you. His eyes stared right at yours, smirking and enjoying the way your expressions change with every second he thrusts inside of you.

-M-m, Sanzu... deeper..

He managed to get his entire cock inside, filling you up so good, lewd moans and whimpers escaping your mouth, eyes shut and head arching back, exposing the skin on your neck he immediately latched onto. -You're filling me up so good, shit...-your walls were clenched around his cock, but you didn't want to cum just yet.

-Say it.

-Huh?

-Say the word.

He said in a stern tone, squeezing your ass tightly, leaving crescent marks. You bit your lip, hearing people coming in and out of the bathroom, embarrassed to speak up again, you didn't want to get caught. As soon as it became quiet once again, Sanzu thrusted harshly, hitting your cervix with force.

-Say.it.

-Daddy!-you moaned out, gritting your teeth.

Sanzu was riled up, his pace accelerated, relentlessly hitting your cervix over and over with his long, veiny cock. The light pain mixed with pleasure made your vision go fuzzy, sweat beads going down your forehead, lightly smearing the mascara and eye pencil you were wearing. Your hands were convulsing, your legs were trembling, unable to support your weight anymore.

-P-pe-ach!-you barely finished the word, and your legs gave up, you couldn't move on his lap anymore. Sanzu ceased his movements, letting go of your ass and helping you stand up. The pinknette helped you fix your dress in front of the big mirror in the bathroom, his hands wrapping around your waist in an embrace.

-You did so good, babygirl. Always making me feel so good.-he pulled you in for a gentle kiss, licking your lower lip

-So did you, Sanzu. I was just overstimulated.

-I know, now let's go to the others, or they will get suspicious. And keep your panties off, I will finish you off with my fingers.~

Ran↷

It was around 2AM when Ran woke up from a wet dream, hard and sweaty. You were sleeping, your back facing him, wearing his oversized T-shirt and had his boxers on. The view just made him go insane, to the point where his cock was hurting and already leaking with precum. What a beautiful sight you were.

Ran slowly removed his and the boxers you were wearing, revealing the sight of your pretty pussy in front of him. His mouth filled with saliva, and lightly licked your entrance, just so he can get you wet properly, and his cock found its way inside of you. You just cannot miss how good he filled and stretched you, because he packed in girth. You woke up, a light purr escaping your mouth, still drowsy from the sudden feeling.

-Aw, my kitten has woken up, do you like it when I do this, hm?

Your clit never went unnoticed. His fingers made their way to your sensitive clit, massaging it slowly and sensually. You lifted your leg a little, moving with him. You could feel his breath on your ear as he moaned in a raspy voice, sending chills down your spine. The room was filled with the sinful mixture of moans and skin slapping. Silk sheets wrinkling under your bodies.

As your moans got louder, Ran's hips moved faster and faster, fingers still playing with your clit, stimulating you. His free hand grabbed your neck, squeezing it tightly, making you light-headed and drooling from your mouth. Manipulated under his touch, your drowsiness suddenly disappeared, your eyes widening at how close you were to cumming, but Ran's fingers worked wonders, and his cock was oh so sweetly hitting the spot.

-Ran, rose!-you moaned out and Ran stopped moving.

-What rose, exactly, my kitten?

-...white...

You had your fair share of Ran overstimulating you, and you loved it when he continued while your body convulsed under him, but just in case - white rose meant to continue, red rose meant period is near, and yellow rose meant stop. Ran smirked and his movements continued, but he began slower this time, teasing the living fuck out of you.

-Just you wait, I don't intend to sleep anymore. The night is ours.

©chao-thicc-hcs. reblogs are deeply appreciated, i read all your tags.

[haveihitanerve]

Stephanie Brown hated Galas. Well, that wasn't exactly true. She loved parties of any kind, and technically a Gala was just a big fancy party. More accurately, she hated the people at Galas. The rich, snooty elite who looked down at her with their perfectly straight noses, a polar opposite of her very crooked nose because one can only spend so long as a vigilante and get your nose broken and set so many times before ones nose loses its original shape. Hated them with their fake pitying looks. The whispers about her being just another street rat. Orphan trash. Which wasn't even true, but Steph preferred it to if they knew the truth. All in all, the company at Galas wasn't particularly pleasant. Which is how she found herself huddled in the far corner, nursing a glass of champagne. “You're not old enough to be drinking that.” rumbled a deep voice. Stephanie almost dropped her glass. As it was, it sloshed around enough to spill onto the front of her dress. “Asshole.” Steph hissed, setting the drink aside and reaching for napkins or something. “Cant you just approach like a regular human?” She griped. Bruce Wayne smirked at her, tugging out his own handkerchief to help her. “No bruce, thats your- pocket thingy.” Steph declined, shoving his hand away. “Stephanie.” Bruce let out a sigh of exasperation. “It doesn't matter. Stop- stop, here.” He leaned forward, dabbing at the spill. Steph grumbled, but dropped her hands, letting him work. “What are you even doing in my sulk corner? Shouldn't you be out there- i dunno, bedazzling the guests?” Bruce chuckled lightly, looking up at her from where he was crouched. “Bedazzling? Sulk corner?” He pulled away, satisfied with his work, standing up straight. Steph crossed her arms. “Ah. I see it now.” Steph uncrossed them. Bruce granted her another listen of his laugh. “I wanted to see you.” Steph raised an eyebrow. “You can see me just fine from over there.” Bruce gave her a look. “Come on, you're dancing now.” “what?? No- no Bruce!” she hissed, but it was too late, he had her hand and was dragging her to the dance floor. “Bruce!” Steph hissed through gritted teeth as he swung her around into a dance pose. “Im not supposed to be here!” She whispered as he led her in a circle, one arm securely on her waist the other steadily holding her hand. Bruce raised a perfect brow. (damn him) “Why not?” Steph looked around at the very obvious eyes on the richest man in the room dancing with her. Steph's cheeks flushed. “I don't- im not one of them.” She gestured at the crowd around them before letting it fall back onto his shoulder. Bruce smiled. “I don't care about that Stephanie.” Steph blushed. “No no i know you don't. But they do.” Bruce shrugged. “Who cares what they think? I’m the richest man in this entire room. They're just some elite fuckwads. Fuck them if they cant deal with me dancing with my daughter.” 

Steph gaped at him, eyes wide. “I’m sorry did I just die and am in hell? Does Bruce Wayne say fuck in hell?” Bruce rolled his eyes. “And secondly, when did you adopt me?” Now it was Bruce’s turn for his eyes to go wide. “You mean I haven't already?” He gasped. “You have your own room at the manor and I have a headache that is induced by your presence.” Steph scoffed. “Those are all the requirements?” Bruce shrugged. “I mean theres stuff like, I love you, and I would hate to live in a world without you and all that-” Steph wrinkled her nose. Bruce nodded. “Yeah exactly. So those are the main criteria.” He suddenly looked a little nervous. “Are you saying you don't want to be adopted?” Steph rolled her eyes. “Don't get all sentimental on me now B. I mean, maybe?” She shrugged. “I don't know if I fit the requirement.” Bruce stared at her. “Headache. Induced by your presence.” Steph rolled her eyes. “Not your requirements. I could be a fucking delight or a little gremlin and so long as I looked pathetic enough at certain times you'd be willing to adopt me.” She threw a look over at Damian and Jason. “Actually thats not even a requirement.” Bruce scoffed. “I just meant, their requirements.” Bruce looked confused. “The kids? They all love you. In fact, I think you're the least stabbed out of everyone by Damian.” “No i meant- wait really?” Bruce nodded. “Huh.” Steph glanced back over at him, and indeed, Damian even smiled when she caught his eye.  “Anyways.” Steph sighed. “I meant your friends. Society.” She clarified when it was clear he was about to bring up some bullshit about Clark and Diana. “Ah.” Dawning realization swept over Bruces face. “Yeah.” Steph muttered. “Im afraid your ‘ton’ wont take so kindly to another charity cased street rat.” Bruces hold on her hand tightened and Steph looked up in surprise. “Don't.” Bruces voice was uncharacteristically hard. “Don't ever say that about yourself again Stephanie do you hear me? You are not the insults they call you. If it was acceptable for me to rip out their vocal cords everytime i hear them say that sort of stuff about you, about jason and dick and-” Bruce cut off, breathing hard. “Alfred denies me, although he is no fonder of it.” Steph gave a laugh that sounded suspiciously close to a sob. “Okay.” She whispered. Bruce smiled in relief. But Steph wasn't done. “Okay you can adopt me.” If Steph had any doubts of Bruce’s feelings being untrue, the pure elation on his face just then destroyed any of them. That look of pure joy just couldn't be scripted. And so, under the watching eyes of every elite member in Gotham, she threw herself at his neck, wrapping herself around him in a tight hug. She didn't care anymore. After all, they were just some elite fuckwads.

[freesia-writes]

Ch 41: Cooking

Master List ~~ Previous Chapter ~~ WC: 2.6k

ONLY FOUR MORE CHAPTERS, MY FRIENDS! 😭

Song: “Hazy” by Rosi Golan ft. William Fitzsimmons

A number of weeks passed, full of regular work at the butcher shop, family dinners that Lyra and Breslin sometimes joined, visits to Omega at her jobs, and a variety of dates with Lyra. It was an odd period of time for Hunter – he felt as though everything were new, happening for the first time, complete with blushing flirtation, lingering hugs, and as many affectionate little touches as they could manage. It was like building a new layer on an established foundation with a renewed sense of confidence and hope. At times, there was a downright giddiness that he almost didn’t know what to do with. There were still flavors of that same old doubt too, that he was living a lie and somehow it would all collapse soon, and yet they were quickly and frequently assuaged by both optimism and eagerness.

Hunter found himself pacing nervously between the stove, where a sauce had been simmering for a while now, and the shelf in the hall, where a small, old music player was filling the room with peaceful instrumentals. A fire crackled happily in the hearth, warming his cabin and making it a cozy respite from the chilly months that had replaced the balmy summer, and he heard Omega and Breslin laughing in the clearing outside. His heart leapt in his chest and he brushed off his apron, then re-rolled his sleeves to make them look a little neater. 

When the girls burst through the front door, he realized that he’d never actually had company at their house. He had always just defaulted to others’ homes or any of the beautiful places around the island, so there was something special about being able to host some of the people he’d come to care about most. They emerged into the main room, chatting happily, followed closely by a much quieter Lyra. Her hair was styled a bit more than usual, the top half in a loose braid with some wispy long bangs framing her face. She was bundled up in one of her large, thick coats and held a small package in her hands. 

Breslin and Omega ditched their jackets in the entryway and continued in, sending casual greetings Hunter’s way before continuing to Omega’s room, lost in conversation. There was a bit of an age gap between the two of them, but they each had their share of adventurous stories and a general zest for life that created a natural delight with one another. Hunter met Lyra in the entryway as she was unbuttoning her coat, and he courteously helped her pull it from her arms before hanging it up and watching her set her package down on the shelf. She glanced down at her dress, nervously tugging it into place, then looked up at him timidly. 

“It’s a little different than usual, but Breslin insisted,” she admitted, wrinkling her nose for a second. She was wearing a faded blue dress with a dainty floral pattern and pearlescent buttons up the middle. It was rather fitted around her waist – a contrast to her usual loose, flowy style – and had a thin lace trim along the neckline and sleeves. It was fancy and nostalgic at the same, and Hunter flushed with affection as he placed a tentative hand lightly on her waist, leaning in to brush his lips against her cheek. 

“It’s beautiful,” he whispered, voice slightly weak.

He himself had opted for jeans, a cream-colored henley, a denim button-up, and a textured cardigan that was a pale green-gray, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to confess that Omega had told him to wear it as well, exhorting that “it brought out his eyes”. But as Lyra took an extra moment to hold his gaze, a  feather-light hand brushing some tousled waves of brown hair away from his face, he got the sense that she noticed, and it was disproportionately satisfying. 

“You’re so handsome,” she said quietly. He muttered some generic deflection, rubbing the back of his neck, then gestured for her to follow him into the main room, which mirrored the one in her house in the sense that it consisted of a kitchen, dining table, and living room all in one comfortable space. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly to soak in the delicious smells of wood fire, sauce, and the unique scent of him and his home. “Need help with anything?” she offered as she stood beside him at the stove. 

“If you don’t mind giving this a stir, I’ll finish chopping the vegetables for the salad,” he said, passing the wooden spoon into her hand. She nodded and began, leaning over to sniff the pot and letting out a little sigh of contentment. “You’re quite the cook yourself.”

“If you like steak,” he chuckled. 

“I do,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows at him in such an uncharacteristic display that he chortled.

“Well good.”

He took up his position at the cutting board beside her, smoothly slicing through an enticing variety of local produce as their conversation wove effortlessly through topics both meaningful and mundane. The sound of laughter floated down the hallway from Omega’s room, bringing a private smile to each of their faces. Lyra dipped the spoon into the sauce and brought it to her mouth, holding a hand beneath it to prevent spilling any, and tasted a bit from the end. 

“Whew,” she marveled, offering it to him. “You’re gonna have to share this recipe.” His eyes flickered from the spoon to hers as he bent to take a taste, enjoying the subtle intimacy of the act.

“I’m afraid that’s classified,” he grinned. “Only place to enjoy it is here. Can’t get it anywhere else…”

“Ohh,” she said as the realization dawned. “What a terrible conundrum.” A smile. A nudge of the elbow. They worked in silence for a few more minutes until the girls emerged from the hallway, drawn out by the delectable scents wafting through their door. 

“Smells like it’s about ready?” Omega guessed, more wishful thinking than any actual olfactory expertise. 

“Just about,” Hunter nodded, slipping out the back door to the porch, where some plump steaks sizzled happily as he opened the cover, prodding at them with some tongs. Lyra followed, emerging from the house with inquisitive steps.

“Now that is sexy,” she snickered, and Hunter snapped the tongs a few times before giving the steaks one final turn. He felt her arms snake around his waist from behind, and she leaned against him, peeking over his shoulder. “The steaks are nice too,” she whispered in his ear, and he couldn’t help a snort at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. 

“Ohhhh, look at you two,” came Breslin’s taunting voice from the doorway, and they turned to see both girls leaning against the wooden frame on either side, grinning at the two of them with infuriatingly knowing looks. 

“Can we at least get some dinner, and then you two can get a room?” Omega jabbed. 

“Actually, give us time to hit the road,” Breslin added. “I don’t want to be hearing stuff…”

“Okay, nothing to hear…” Hunter interrupted, indignant at his own unconcealable embarrassment. “Keep talking and I’ll throw you out right now.” He grinned, brandishing the tongs at each of them in turn. “You’ll have to go begging at Tech’s.”

“Orrrr just go buy dinner in town because we’re adults with jobs,” Omega teased. “We could even bring you guys a dessert. Although it seems like you already have plans for that.” They both giggled.

“I’m being bullied by two young girls,” Hunter muttered to Lyra, who guffawed so loudly that it startled all four of them and she clapped a hand to her mouth. 

“I think you’ll need to get used to it,” she offered unhelpfully. “Occupational hazard.” A playful shrug. He gazed at her fondly before feigning a hard look at the girls.

“Go set the table, will you?”

“Don’t burn the steaks,” Omega threw over her shoulder as they retreated to the kitchen.

“Is this real life?” Lyra asked, shaking her head in joyful disbelief. “This feels like a dream sometimes.”

Hunter smiled, piling the steaks onto the plate in his hand. It did feel that way.

* * * 

Dinner was leisurely and indulgent, with multiple courses that left them all absolutely stuffed. Hours had passed in authentic conversation, wit and humor, and memories and adventures. The fire was burning low, darkness having settled heavily over the island outside, and the dim light was threatening to put everyone to sleep in the complete and total satisfaction of a night well spent. Breslin was the first to drag herself to her feet, glancing down at Hunter and Lyra, who were reclining on the couch. 

The typically stoic clone was in a surprisingly vulnerable position, laying across it sideways with his feet dangling over the armrest and his head in Lyra’s lap. She had it cradled in her hands, her hair falling over one shoulder as she gazed down at him with unmeasurable affection, slowly caressing his forehead and cheek. Breslin smiled at the softness on Lyra’s face when she finally looked up.

“I’ll never make it to work tomorrow if I don’t get to bed,” she said regretfully, patting her mom’s shoulder as she walked around behind them. 

“Need company getting home?�� Omega offered. “I figure you’ve been here long enough to know your way around, but it’s dark.” 

“I appreciate it,” the older girl smiled. “But mom showed me her nifty little fathier trick, and I really like getting to ride them around. And their night vision is way better than mine. Plus, then you’d have to walk yourself home alone!”

“Fair enough,” Omega laughed. “Well thanks for coming.”

“Thank you for having me! Hunter…” she began, an affectionate solemnity painting her features now. You’re a great guy. Your family is awesome. And I love that we’ve had the chance to get to know you. Thanks for everything.”

He nodded and smiled broadly, warmed by her sincerity as he pulled himself up into his usual seated position. “Right back atcha, kid.”

“See you tomorrow, sweetie,” Lyra murmured, basking in the glow of the fire and the joy of the moment. 

“Love ya, mom.”

Breslin disappeared out the door, her whistle for the animals reaching their ears soon after. Hunter watched her small beam of light dancing into the distance as the sound of hooves faded into silence. Omega stood slowly and stretched. 

“Same for me,” she announced, offering a bleary wave as she ambled off to her room. 

“Bed sounds heavenly,” Lyra agreed, turning slightly to nestle into Hunter’s side. “You always make me want to quit my job and just eat and sleep all day.”

“Don’t put that on me,” he smiled, resting his cheek on her hair. “You’d want that anyway.” 

“You’re right!” she laughed. “Oh! I almost forgot… I brought you a little somethin.” She tore herself away from the unparalleled comfort of the sofa and fetched her package from the entryway. Hunter sat himself up a bit more, setting it on his knees after she handed it to him sheepishly. As he began to unwrap it, she started to fidget. “Okay… So I know this is something that a kid would make… but stuff like this makes me happy when I see it hanging on the wall… Like, it’s a fun little reminder… of good times…”

Finally free of the paper, Hunter lifted out a gently curving piece of driftwood with a handful of strings dangling from it, each one boasting a motley array of shells, sea glass, and other bits of beach. He recognized a few of them from their walks, having poked fun at her scavenging more than once, and a rush of memories accompanied each one. Tranquility and delight, curiosity and wonder… The simple collection evoked all kinds of warmth and nostalgia as he studied it in the firelight. 

“I know it’s silly…” Lyra began, but he set it down on his knees and fixed her with a look that stopped her mid-sentence. 

“Now listen,” he said, eyes playful beneath hawkish brows. “None of that. It’s amazing and it makes me happy.” She smiled, bashful and relieved all at once. “Actually…” he continued, thoughtful all of a sudden. “I’ve got something for you too.” Now it was he who tediously extracted himself from the plush cushions and carefully set her beach creation onto a side table, then disappeared to his room for a minute before returning with a closed hand. He sat beside her, on the edge of the couch this time, holding his loosely-clenched fist between the two of them, and she mirrored his position. 

“Please don’t throw a handful of sand in my face or anything like that,” she chuckled nervously, and the unexpectedly preposterous idea made him laugh. 

“That’s probably more Crosshair’s style,” he grinned. “Or used to be… But no, I’m just… I don’t know how to introduce it.”

“Does it have a name?” Lyra whispered, met with a snort from him. 

“I’ll leave that up to you…” He hesitated, then took a deep breath and lifted his eyes from his hand to her face. “I’ve had this for a while… Well, pieces of it. And I never really knew what to do with it… It just kinda took shape….” His face softened, eyes dropping again as his fist slowly opened, revealing an intricately-woven silver chain that led to a smooth, round piece of sea glass. He held it up to the light, where its frosted lavender hue was barely discernible in the glow from the hearth, but it was visible enough to evoke a gasp of awe from Lyra. 

“Wow,” she breathed, touching it with a single admiring finger. “That’s stunning.”

“I was waiting for a special occasion to give it to you,” he continued haltingly, second-guessing every word but gaining momentum as the sentiment fully took shape. “But… I realized… It’s this stuff that I love most. The food, the walks, the simple enjoyment of home and nature and all of it.”

His fingers found the clasp, and with tentative hands he placed it around her neck, fastening it beneath her hair and laying the sea glass gently just below her collarbone where it nestled gracefully on its chain. A smile ghosted his lips as he traced one side of it before pulling back to admire it. 

“I wasn’t created to enjoy life,” he said quietly, looking at his now-empty hands as he held them palms-up in his lap. “Didn’t think I could, really… We’d always get glimpses of it here and there… But it just wasn’t for us…” Her soft hands, with some bony knuckles and well-worn paths of veins across the back, slipped into his. “Anyway…” he sniffed, “Enjoying the ‘little things’ with you has been…” He drifted off, unable to think of the best word that most encompassed the depth of his sentiment.

“I’ve loved it,” she whispered, leaning against him to rest her head on his shoulder, with him in spirit where words failed. 

“Me too,” he smiled. 

.

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[sluggmuffin]

under the mistletoe with dean from mighty ducks and “ho ho holy shit you look good.” ??

You Look Good ~ Dean Portman

Summary: Dean thinks you look especially good tonight

Contains: x gn!reader, description of clothing

A/N: DEANNNN MY MAN 😍😍😍😍 I saw the best edit of him while writing this. Also this isn't good but I'm rusty and it's finals week sooo

"Ho Ho Holy Shit you look good."

~~~

"Team USA Holiday Banquet" read the big banner spread across the floor. It was something you had been dreading since you first heard of it because of the strict dress code, red white and blue "fancy attire", which you know would end up biting you in the ass because of how cold it was around the holidays. It was required for you to attend since not only were you bound by your contract, but you had also been given the duty of decorating along with Connie and Goldberg.

You threw on a nice red sweater and some black bottoms, smoothing out the wrinkles as you take a step back to admire your outfit.

"Ho ho holy shit you look good.” You hear the loud and familiar voice of your boyfriend, Dean, behind you.

"Oh shut up, this was all I had." You laugh, staring at his outfit through the body mirror infront of you. "You on the other hand, look amazing."

Dean had his hair gelled back, as per usual, and was wearing a fitted red button up with black slacks and nice dress shoes, an outfit that looked almost identical to yours.

"Thanks my lovely gf/bf/so picked it out for me," He smirks as his hands find their way to your waist.

"Well they did an amazing job," you smile as you press a soft kiss to his lips.

"Augh gross is this a bad time?" Goldberg gags, standing in the doorway with a few of the other ducks. "We need some help. Fulton tried taping the balloon arch and now he's hanging upside-down and I think the blood is getting to his brain."

Dean looks at you as you both laugh and grab your polaroid before heading out, ready to start the long night.

~~~

[eccentricallygothic]

Ok and just hear me out so like some of the Chris evans characters like Lloyd,ari,ransom,jensen, and Andy like let’s say they all shared reader there little bunny and one one sunny day she was in there pool because it was hot and she was limited to a certain time because they wanted her inside so she didn’t get cold from the water and they all come outside and see her playing and tell her to come in but she’s throwing a fit and being a brat so they tried getting her out but eventually Ari jumped in and she seen so she tried swimming away but she was a little slow so Ari grabbed her by the hips and dragged her closer to him turning her around and she hides in her face into his neck knowing she’s in trouble for pulling her little stunt

Idk it’s just something I thought of☕️😍

!!!!!

Warning(s): Ddlg vibes, bratty!you, polyamorous relationship, brat!tamer Daddies Ari, Lloyd, Jensen, Andy and Ransom, one spank and mentions of punishment, stripping, fluff(?), bunny!you. Browse at your own discretion. 18+

You already know the stricter and older Daddies (Andy, Lloyd and Ari) have their massive arms crossed over their broad chests in disapproval as they watch your little form. 

"Nooo, Daddy! Bunny wanna swim more, ugh!" You brattily huff and throw your feet against the water as you stomp away from the side of the pool they're standing on. 

Ransom and Jensen get the blame for spoiling you so much when the truth is, all of them are equally whipped and can't help but pamper you in every way possible. 

That is exactly why you have been getting brattier and brattier. 

"Bunny…" Lloyd warns as he walks along the length of the pool to try and stop you without spoiling his work fit. "Out, now." 

You turn to only stick your tongue out at him, your little barbie and ducky floaties that Jensen had practically forced upon you, helping you drift away from him and towards the middle of the pool.

The men warningly watched you now, trying to intimidate you into obedience but you were following the strict rule of if I can't see them, they can't get me.

Andy loosened his tie as he sighed. He had just gotten home.

"I'll count to 5" the oldest male warned, expecting you to fold as usual.

But you really wanted to be punished today, didn't you?

A few moments passed as you ignored the concerned men, giggling at how the wrinkles caused by the pool water were increasing along the tips of your fingers and toes. 

"That's it!" Ari was the least fancy out of them all. A literal giant with a stature of 6 foot five inches, he was a rough and tough man that did not have much patience for bullshit. 

Kicking his shoes off, the man pulled his plaid and tee off next. While you stayed high on your brat cloud, Ari shrugged his pants off before diving into the pool like a professional swimmer.

You turned to look behind you in horror when the loud splash of water sounded a small distance away from you.

Ari was bringing the proximity to a very quick close with the help of his fast movements and large limbs.

"NUUU! NOT FAIR!" You screeched as you flailed your arms about you, winding one of your legs back before you started to kick down at the water to get away from the nearing doom.

"Come here, you!" Another screech left you when in your attempt to flee your persuer you accidentally swam a little close to Ransom and his hand lunged towards you to grab a hold. 

Although you successfully dodged him with a quick manouvre, your smaller body was no match in speed to Ari's and before you could recover from Ransom's grab, thick and built hairy arms were closing around your form after your hips were pulled in his direction with the tips of his strong fingers.

"NOOOOO!" You protested in despair, flailing your limbs to express yourself as Ari turned you around to face him. 

The moment his strict eyes that were rather rare but brought you to tears every time they came out, met with yours, you became a mum and whimpering mess.

The lips that the men loved (to play with) so much formed a pout as you weakly buried your face in the conjunction between his shoulder and neck.

The best little girl is a quiet one. 

The older Daddies had taught you this.

"There we go" Ari crooned as he caressed your back while bringing you both to the edge where the other Daddies were standing. 

Jensen pulled you up and out by your shoulders while Ari supported your legs so you wouldn't end up with sore limbs from the force of it. 

But you weren't placed on the ground. 

Instead you were made to dangle like the little bunny doll that you were between the men as Ransom stepped forward to peal your floaties and wet bikini off of you. 

"And now we are just a weak little pathetic pouting brat" Daddy Lloyd's condescending tut along with the sudden nakedness had you blushing furiously as you stared anywhere but at your owners. 

Andy being the most authoritative one was the one you were handed to -more like tucked against his hip as he had an arm around your sorry form to keep you levitated- as you were carried inside.

"Such a spoilt little bunny, aren't we?" The sharp smack he landed on your ass had you whining. 

You were in for a long evening with your cross Daddies.

Omg thank you so much for this ask! I absolutely loved it and your brain because this made me all hot and shy! I know I am responding to this a bit late but I wanted to do it justice 🥵❤️

[laurfilijames]

Hello lovely! I was curious how you'd rank Will's outfits in TF. Which look is your favorite?

Love, Jess 💜

Jess

JESSS.

This ask has thoroughly destroyed me but I am so grateful to you and the thots that have come from it, so thank you very, very much. 🥵

These were not easy decisions, and it took a lot of time staring and researching, but here are my rankings:

The Polo.

Come on. The fit of that thing? Fuck me. The way it stretches over his broad shoulders and his firm tits and how it showcases those arms of his?!? I'm wrecked. Every single time I see THAT scene I am incoherent and making noises and there's drool.

Not only the shirt, but the jeans?!? They cover those legs of his in a way that makes them go on for DAYS. The belt? The way he makes a point to hold the belt as he's talking? Fuck off, Captain Miller, you're too sexy for words.

The Grey Henley. (I couldn't find a better gif 😩)

Just. Yeah.

I hardly have words to explain this one.

I mean, he could've undone that last button which probably would've put this outfit at number one, but god the fit of it is purely carnal and I'm unwell. Points for rolling up the sleeves to show off his amazing forearms which are a favourite feature of mine and a whole kink in itself. And pairing it with those cargo pants? 👌 A+ Will.

I'm calling this next one The Warrior Outfit.

The plaid shirt. The slutty scarf. The tac vest with all his gear and weapons 🫠 (hey, Captain let's put those zip ties to good use…) We have another appearance of cargo pants, this time equipped with built in knee pads (🥵) I can't begin to explain how this outfit gets better over time with him being soaking wet from rain and swimming across that river, the mud and dirt and grime, plus the blood from his gunshot wound….I'm starting to think this needs to move up in the ranks but I'm honestly such a mess right now I can't make a decision to save my life.

The Hoodie

I know that polo is under it 👀 Imagine how warm he is in that? I would like to bury myself in it and never be seen again please and thank you. He just looks so comfy and cozy and thicccccc in it and I really love this casual look on him. For some reason it screams Husband to me 🫠

The “I’m a professional and this is my fancy shirt” Button Down.

He's just so fucking sweet in this shirt. I imagine this is like his “date” shirt. I want to rip it off of him. Points for tucking it in those fucking jeans again 🤤 and rolling up the sleeves. 💦💦

Honourable mention to this outfit

Which I'll call The “this was rolled up in my bag for a week but it matches my eyes” shirt

It looks comfortable. Linen and breezy. Clearly effortless judging by the wrinkles 🤣 and fuck me the way it compliments his eyes in that last scene has me screaming. I'd really like to see him in just that white t-shirt that's under it though.

In conclusion;

William Miller can wear anything or nothing at all and it will severely disarm me no matter what.