#foot nail extension

[tojipie]

thinking about toji bringing you to get your nails done :(

content: lots of fluff ! mentions of nsfw, fem!reader

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thinking about how the older man is set on staying in the car and finishing cigarette instead of sitting inside with you.

“m’ not going in there doll, you’ve got the wrong one.”

“who’s gonna hold my bag?” you plead with him, holding out your little tote for good measure. “you just bought this for me! what if it gets dirty or something?”

toji looks away, taking a long drag and holding the smoke in his chest before huffing it all out. “fuck.” he mumbles, opening the driver’s side door to stamp out his cig. “fuck, fine. let’s go.”

thinking about how strikingly out of place your boyfriend would look settled in a fold out chair beside you, mindlessly scrolling on his phone to pass the time. your cream-toned tote bag rests in the middle of his lap, guarded by one of his rough hands.

you lean over as the woman in front of you begins cutting your cuticles.

“what color should i get?” you whisper, giggling at his look of utter confusion.

“i don’t kn— the regular one?” he sounds so unsure. “i don’t know.” he says with finality, looking away to quell his embarrassment.

you hear a symphony of giggles and “aww’s” from the waiting area, toji turns bright red at the attention, turning his back to the crowd of invested onlookers.

“no one’s looking.” you tell him, trying to comfort him where you could. “if you want to go back to the car you can.”

toji side eyes you from his little chair, absently thumbing the strap of your bag.

“i’ll stay.” he mumbles, whipping his phone out again to scroll through his pictures.

the woman doing your set clips and buffs out your base before beginning with your gel extensions. the older man beside you scoots closer to watch.

his phone slips into your free hand, the picture pulled up on the screen almost makes you drop the device.

“jesus— toji!”

the scar on his lips contorts as his sick grin doubles in size.

“get those again.” he teases, leaning back in his creaky chair to gauge your reaction.

your boyfriend had pulled up a picture of the two of you, though the older man was definitely the focus in the image. your smaller hand is wrapped around the base of his dick, stroking his length. the nails in question are almond shaped with chrome line art.

they’re pretty, you’ll give him that. though you’re positive the two of you had taken safer pictures together where those nails were at least somewhat visible.

“fine.” you close the photo app and place his phone face down in his lap. you relay the request to the nail tech, shifting anxiously as she pulls out the chrome powder and gel tubes.

your phone lights up with a text from the man not even a foot away from you.

“you look real pretty right now.”

your heart jumps, basking in the private show of affection. you smile up at the older man, motioning for him to scoot closer. toji snakes a heavy arm around your shoulders, ignoring the squeals of adoration from the women in the back.

he pulls your finished hand to his mouth, pressing a firm kiss to your knuckles.

[neo--queen--serenity]

Flowers are often used as a metaphor for the female characters in the Apothecary Diaries. And for the first time, we, the viewer, are given the direct comparison to which flower is meant to represent Maomao: wood sorrel (also known as “cat’s foot”).

It’s a flower that can treat poisons. A flower that is used to enhance the beauty of the courtesans by painting their nails. A flower with a name associated with cats. A flower that, in hanakotoba, represents maternal tenderness. It’s also one of the flowers that Lakan specifically associates with Fengxian, and by extension, Maomao herself.

In the first opening—aptly titled, “Be A Flower”—the wood sorrel is the only flower that gets special attention. The other flowers are shown together with other varieties, but only the wood sorrel is shown by itself, and more than once.

We see it again in the second opening, with an infant being held by a parent, while flitting between images of Lakan and Fengxian’s backstory.

It’s such a simple flower, too. Small, unassuming, but full of diverse uses and qualities, be they medicinal or ordinary. A very fitting flower for Maomao, and what she brings to the story.

[jesusatemysnatch]

losing all my innocence in the backseat.

wolverine (logan howlett) x virgin f!reader

summary: exactly what it sounds like, losing your virginity in the back of logan’s car.

wc: 2.7k (yea.. 🚬)

warnings/tags: MDNI. porn with plot. car sex! unspecified age gap. logan internal battle if he’s good enough for reader. virginity loss. pet names (princess, bub) dirty talk. blowjob. fingering. logan touches reader. finger sucking. logan can smell reader. pussy pronouns. reader is non descriptive but has hair long enough for logan to hold and is wearing a skirt. masturbation/logan watching reader touch herself. it’s not extensive but there is mention of readers foot rubbing logan’s cock. pretty much readers whole dialogue is begging logan to fuck her lmfao. big dick logan. unprotected sex/creampie (wrap it up!) logan talking you through it. i think this is all but lmk if i missed anything!

authors note: two logan smuts in 24 hours like no i am not ok mentally. also yea.. everyone say thank you addison rae 🙏 i love this song. i’m so much happier with this than what i posted yesterday but yeah anyway if u have requests send send send!!!

the gravel softly crackled beneath the tires of the car as logan pulled off to the shoulder of the road, stretching long and vacant ahead. mötley crüe played low, the leather of logan’s jacket crunching as he pulled the cigar from between his lips, ashing it into the palm of his hand. his brow pushed in a furrow, then eased as he twisted the burnt cherry out into his skin, wound sealing over on it’s own as he looked over at you. you, who looked absolutely gorgeous in the passenger seat of his baby, the setting sun warm on your skin. half the time he’s not sure what you’re doing here with him, damn sure that you had a line of suitors waiting for an ounce of your attention, all of them a better man that he could ever be, but he was too selfish to try an keep himself away from you, pulled in harder each time he told himself to step away. he reached a hand across, rough palm that has been through decades of fighting coming to hold your cheek. he had a hard exterior but was always gentle with you. he watched you, memorizing the curve of your bottom lip, the flush of pink that moves across your cheeks under his eyes. he pulled himself into you, lips pressed to yours, fingers curling at the nape of your neck. he’s kissed you before, plenty make out sessions taking place in his car, on the couch in your apartment, but he’d always stop you before it got too far- always afraid to get closer, to let you give yourself up to a man like him who definitely didn’t deserve one as sweet as you. and believe him, this had taught him well about patience. you never made it easy on him, he could smell the heat between your thighs and it took everything he had in himself to pull back and bid you goodnight. he knew he was in trouble when he pulled off on the side of the road, but he could smell it on you when he picked you up tonight- more pronounced than usual given the skirt that you wear. so god damn short that it was pulling all sorts of attention at the bar you came from, but then again, it’s hard to blame anyone when you look like this. your hands are on him and it’s intoxicating, he loves the way your nails feel when they softly scratch at the back of his head. the warmth of your palms when you squeeze his bicep. his tongue dips into your mouth and he loves the way you hum, as if imagining what more his tongue could do between your thighs. he’s thought about it too, several nights spent jerking himself to what it might be like to taste you. if how you smelt was any indication of how you might taste- fuck was he in for it. your thighs begin to part, he can hear your thighs rub against the leather of the seat as they slowly open, inviting him in. his palm leaves the side of your head, pushing your thighs together again, “don’t do this to me, bub.” he whispered against your mouth, he’s so god damn weak. the smell of his burnt out cigar is slowly fading and you’re taking over, filling his every breath. “please, logan.” the way you plea for him has his jaw tightening, his lips coming back to yours. he kisses you harder this time, trying to distract himself but it’s to no avail, your thighs pulling apart again, sticky with your own self since logan had picked you up earlier tonight. his heart is pounding in his ears, drowning out the sound of the radio station, so focused on you, disappointed when your hand leaves his hair.

a moan hums in your throat and when logan draws back he’s not half prepared for the sight before him. thighs spread, your smaller hand tucked beneath the hem of your skirt, the slow motions indicative of what you were doing. your sweet fills his car, surrounding him as you look up at him with eyes he’s never seen before, so full of want. it’s all so fucking much, and he realizes that denying himself of you won’t go further than tonight. your head slowly falls back against the leather headrest, pads of your fingers slowly working circles against your swollen clit through the lace of your panties, but your eyes hold his, not daring to let him look away. “you want me that bad, bub?” he asks you quietly, the palm of his hand engulfs your thigh, spreading your legs open wider so that he could watch. “it’s all i think about, logan. driving me crazy.” you hum, your fingers already slick through the sheer material, hair sticking to your sweaty neck- the temperature in the car rising as he watched you. he lets his thigh fingers slowly climb closer until he’s gently moving your hand out of his way, hooking your soaked panties with his finger and he tugs them to the side. your pussy glistens under the rapidly fading sun and logan fights to keep his composure. she’s just as pretty as he’d imagined her to be. his hand draws back and his fist clamps, adamantium claw slowly unsheathing itself. “relax, couldn’t ever hurt you.” he promises, using his singular claw to slice your panties in half, chuckling at your gasp.

���logan! i loved this pair!” you swat at him gently as his claw retracts back into his hand. “promise i’ll buy you ten new pairs,” he nods, flat of his tongue licking at his fingers before bringing them to your pussy. he watched you under a furrowed brow, the way you sucked in a slow breath when his calloused fingertips touched your clit, swirling at the swollen nub. you look more beautiful than ever, leaned back into the seat while his fingers rub at your pussy. his cock is pressed hard against the denim of your jeans, low groan peeling out the back of his throat when your slide your bare foot into his lap, sole running against the length of his cock. “greedy girl. let me focus on you, bub,” he nods, lifting your foot from his lap. he chuckles when you pout out a bottom lip but it quickly turns to a moan when his fingers press harder against you. his fingers leave you briefly, spat onto his fingers before they return. “need more, lo, please.” you plea for him and he nods, too far in to not give you what you want. god, he’s obsessed. his middle finger presses at your core and your eyes find his, he leans into you, pressing a soft kiss onto your lips. “couldn’t ever hurt you,” he repeats, and absolutely meant it. he would’ve done anything for you, you were everything to him whether he wanted to admit it to himself or not. you nod, laying back into the seat again as he slowly pushed his middle finger inside your tight walls, all the way to his knuckle. you’re warm and tight around him and he’s eaten up by the feeling of you. you whine softly and he brought his free hand to lay against the back of your head. he gives you a minute before he started to pump his finger inside you, long, slow strokes feeling you out. each soft, breathless moan you let out the button of his jeans strains tighter, fighting to not pop open and ricochet around the car. his thumb fingers your clit, swirling against the nub as his finger slides in and out of your soaked cunt. “more.” you nod, and logan carefully adds a second finger, slower again as he watches your cunt adjust to the stretch, taking him to the knuckle.

his fingers are slick with you as they pump in and out, your arousal wetting the leather of his seat. he took good care of his car, but he’s more than happy to let you make the mess, especially when you looked so god damn perfect doing so. you’ve been torn down to nothing more than soft cries of his name as his fingers pump into you, thumb relentless as it brushed your clit and logan sees stars himself, every second of this tethering him tighter to you. “atta girl. been waitin’ long enough for me to give this to you, go on an cum for me, princess.” his voice is low between the squelch of your pussy that his fingers plunge into, thighs trembling as you melt beneath him, for him, and logan’s lips curl up slowly. he brings you down slowly, fingers pumping slower and slower until he pulls them out, popped onto his tongue like he was a man starved. he feverishly sucks the taste of you off himself, sweet on his tongue and fuck he doesn’t know how he’s managed to go so god damn long without tasting you. his fingers pull off his tongue and are quickly replaced by your mouth as you climb across the front seat into his lap, staining the front of his jeans as you grind yourself down into his lap, desperate for more, to feel full of him in it’s entirety. he lets you rock against his denim as a reminder of you for later, one of his hands wrapped in your hair as he kissed you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue while you push off his leather jacket, leaving him behind in only a white tank top that’s fitted against his broad torso. “lo it’s been long enough.. please,” you beg him and he nods, reaching for the handle and the car door creaks open, stepping out into the night.

the road is empty and he takes his time getting into the backseat with you. the door slams shut behind him, and you’re quickly peeling at his tank top and fighting with his belt buckle as he settled in the seat. “you’d tear me apart f’you could, bub.” he grinned down at you, sighing when you win the battle against his zipper and some of the pressure is relieved. “mhm.” your smile is playful as you tug at his jeans, his head cocked slightly as you lean down into his lap, pressing kisses against him through his boxers. his forehead creased, jaw clamped tight. “you don’t have to do this tonight, bub,” he tried, but fuck does he want you to. “i know,” you nod, reaching a hand into his boxers to pull him out, eyes widened slightly. everything about logan was larger than normal so you shouldn’t have expected much different below his belt, but yet, you’re still surprised at just how big his cock is. he watched you peel at your top, tossed into the front seat, skirt shimmied down over your hips, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. “so god damn pretty.” he shook his head, sucking in a sharp breath when your hand wrapped around his cock, unsure of yourself as you tug at him. “lick your palm, bub.” he instructed quietly, figuring that he might have to walk you through it. your tongue laps a long, spitty stripe against the palm of your hand before you wrap your hand around him again. “jerk it nice an slow,” he nods, pushing a hand back through his hair as he watched your smaller hand carefully pump at his cock, one arm draped across the length of the backseat. “god damn.. s’real good, bub. just like that.” he sighs, hair curling out at the back of his sweaty neck, teeth sinking into the knuckle of his finger. you’ve hardly done much but he was so god damn desperate for you that just about anything could’ve blown his mind right now. a low groan is pulled from the back of his throat when you lean into him, tongue slowly licking up the veins that protrude on the underside of his cock, his eyes fluttering as they roll back. “fuck.” he grits, tongue darting across his wet lips. “come on.. let me feel that pretty mouth.” he motions to you with his chin, watching as your lips wrap around him, holding his base as the warmth of your mouth moves over his cock. the sight of you with his cock in your mouth is something to behold, wordless as your mouth slowly takes him deeper, exploring him, your tongue slowly running over his veins and swirling his tip as his fingers grasped onto the back of your hair, holding it out of the way. the sight of you was enough to drive him fucking crazy. “m’goin’ to cum already f’you keep doin’ that, princess.” he warns, pulling your mouth up from his lap, strings of spit connected between the two of you. he pulls you closer, lips coming back to yours as he pushed off his jeans the rest of the way, shifting in the backseat with you so that you’re laid out across the leather.

a sigh parted logan’s lips as his tip brushed along your slit before aligning himself at your core, pieces of dark hair hung over his forehead as his cock sunk deep inside you. you sleeve around him like you were made for him, squeezing his cock until he’s pressed to the base, your nails clawing at his tanned skin, digging into the muscle of his biceps but his body is quick to rid himself of any long lasting marks. “i know, bub.” he whispered, tip of his nose brushing yours, a sweet kiss pressed onto your mouth. you don’t have to tell him that you love it, he can see it in your eyes, he knows how long you’ve been a good girl and patiently waited to be so full of him while he overthought it time and time again. his hips peel back from yours and he slides back inside with long, slow strokes. his muscles stretch and flex beneath his skin with each roll of his hips, pulling sweet moans from your lips that he’s damn near begging to hear more of, your cries for him so god damn sweet. “she’s fuckin’ perfect, feels so damn good around me,” his mutters, thumb returning to your clit, swirling at the small nub in rough circles as you cry out for him. “m’so full, lo,” “i know, princess. just what you wanted ain’t it?” you nod quickly in response, only part of you grasping the words he’s muttering, the pleasure splitting through you. he takes a look between you, his cock coated in your mess, white ring of creamy arousal built up around his base. “fuck.” he grunts, he’s never seen something so hot in his entire god damn life and that said enough, he’s been around a long god damn time. you catch one of the dog tags that dangled above you in your mouth, teeth clamped down against the steel as you muffled a moan when he fucks you. “cum on my cock, bub. i know she got one more for me, let me have it,” he nods, peeling back to sit upright and he pulls you with him, slowly rolling his hips up into yours and your head drops back. you grasp at his shoulders, his mouth sucking at your exposed throat as he felt your second orgasm rip through you, pussy clamping around his cock. your cries drown out the sound of 80’s rock playing from the stereo, pushing your hips down into his, desperately chasing after his orgasm. “inside, please.” you beg, your fingers weaving into his dark hair. logan is too far gone to argue you, to not give you what you’re asking for, cock buried deep inside you when he came undone, painting you with him just like you’d asked of him. his heart drums in his ears, sighing as his head drops forward against your shoulder, pressing a kiss to your bare skin, palms slowly moving across the span of your back.

sat in logan’s lap while he puffs at his relit cigar he looks over at you with a smirk curled on his mouth. “jesus, bub. i think i might be in love with you.”

[krkiiz]

sly swordsman . luke castellan x reader

luke decides to distract you by confessing in the middle of a duel

luke castellan x f!reader , reader is the daughter of apollo , luke being head over heels , confessions , fluff , slight teasing

note : sorry if there are lots of mistakes, i wrote this on my phone with nail extensions and it’s so hard to type pls help 😭😭 apologies for grammars n errors, i’ll edit them tmrw hehe (also this is my first time writing pjo n fight scenes so i hope it’s decent!)

let me know your thoughts ! likes, reblogs, and comments appreciated <3

“Let’s go Kayla! Beat his ass!” Shout one of your fellow half-siblings along with boos from the opposing side.

Clanking of swords can be heard from miles away. Today the children of Hermes and Apollo are scheduled to a joint swordsmanship practice. Where the two cabins will have to engage on a 1v1 duel against another.

Right now stands in the center of the battlefield is your half sister Kayla, along with one of Hermes’ son. Kayla is known to be a skilled archer just like any of Apollo’s children. But that doesn’t mean she can’t beat the swift son of Hermes.

The battle ends her sword pointed right at his throat as he gives a sign of defeat to his opponent. The children of Apollo cheers with glee as they congratulate their half sister.

The two retreat, their places soon replaced by none other than their head counselors. Luke and you approach the center of the battlefield as your fellow half-siblings watch in anticipation.

It is so secret that Luke is an outstanding swordsman. As his skills rivals Ares and Athena’s children themselves, you knew he was a challenging opponent.

Well that’s a good thing you love challenges.

“I admit my defeat on our archery battle last week. But now, let me show you how good I am with the blade, Yn.” He smirks as the two of you start circling one another.

“Must’ve hurt your ego, Castellan.” A chuckle left your lips like honey and Luke suppresses the butterflies swarming in his stomach.

“Let’s see how good you really are, Son of Hermes.”

The two of you got in your positions, fingers tightly gripping on the sword and the shield, waiting for a sign to charge.

The hornet blows and Luke wastes no time to charge forward. The point of his blade almost piercing the epidermis of your skin before you block him with your own sword.

Luke knows better than to underestimate you. Sure, you are the daughter of the god of Archery, not swordsmanship. But everyone knows that you are an outstanding dancer and you treat the battlefield like it is your stage.

Your movements swift and laced with elegance. It’s always extremely difficult to predict your next moves. Your footing carefully calculated as you deflect all of his upcoming attacks.

Luke is also quick to encounter your offense as he blocks the side your blade that was aiming at his neck.

With such close proximity, Luke can see how the sun compliments your e/c irises. Complimenting every contrast and detail of the pupil.

Gods were your eyes always this beautiful? Were you always this beautiful?

Luke feels himself caught in a trance just for a second before earning back his composure. But one second is enough for you trip his leg leading him to fall right on his back as he looses his grip on his sword.

The sides of your blade nearly makes contact with his neck as you lay above him giving him a look of triumph.

“Yn, have I told you how beautiful you look on top of me right now?” The boy starts causing you to roll your eyes and scoff at his antics.

“Yeah, try again because that’s not going to work on me, Luke.” You press the blade against his adam’s apple causing him to wince slightly.

The crowd wonders on what was happening and why hasn’t Luke gave a sign of defeat knowing well that being under your sword doesn’t give him a good chance at winning.

They fail to see how his right hand is slowly reaching discreetly trying to get ahold of his fallen blade.

Luke lets out a lighthearted chuckle, his eyes never leaving yours. “I like you, Yn. Let’s go on a date.”

Now this caught you off guard. “What?”

The sly swordsman took your state to his advantage as he unclasps his knee from your hold and flipped your positions, your sword disregard in the process.

With his blade firm in his right hand, now it’s his turn to reside his sword against your neck, just like you did to him a few seconds ago.

You try fighting back but he just tuts and starts applying more pressure to his blade before you finally give the sign of defeat.

The Hermes cabin roared with glee congratulating their win, knowing that their head counselor will never fail them.

Luke quickly stands his ground giving you a helping hand, in which you accepted with a smile. He pulls you up against him, the sudden movement made you loose your footing but he’s quick to steady you with his free hand placed on your waist.

“So, about that date.”

©️ sirena | krkiiz 2023

[glotoru]

ooh baby, ooh baby, i’m in love | eren jaeger.

the note 𐦍 i’ve recently been thinking about a successful, older (early to mid thirties), soft spoken eren who lives to spoil the woman of his dreams—so i’m gonna share this with y’all too. i’m actually just projecting our relationship. not proud of the ending but wtv. part two here. inspired by west coast, lana del rey.

contains 𐦍 nsfw, fem!reader, stupidly rich!eren, established relationship, vaginal sex, mating press, cervix kisses, use of pet names (princess, baby, my wife, the usual yk), unprotected sex, breeding, squirting, softie eren, mild body worship, size kink, hand on stomach while fucking mhm, i love you’s exchanged, praise kink, eren talks to your pussy while he’s in it, i’m thinking black reader but it’s all subjective babes: if you like it, read it!!

truth be told, eren jaeger doesn’t believe he has much to live for.

he’s kept his circle small for all of these ongoing years; with the occasional extension of acquaintances from work dinners, or christmas parties—though, he preferred to slip away from such events when eyes weren’t so…watchful. he likes to think his social battery has drained over the course of his life. looking back at his angstful teenage years, fourteen year old most likely wouldn’t recognize the person he is today.

his once intense nature that resembled an overbearing presence of loud determination turned calm—steadfast and slow to visible anger (with the exception of a passive aggressive comment here and there from simple annoyance). the short hair that once barely covered his nape now fell to his broad shoulders, however, he preferred to keep it up—maintaining appearances while keeping it convenient. the smaller five foot six body grew to an intimidating lean six foot four instead.

however, those things were quite trivial; he knew such changes happened with growth and eventual maturity.

but for a significant chunk of his life, eren was never the greatest with women. he was oblivious—blind to the wandering eyes full of admiration from girls in his classes and workplace—and nose deep in his books. he wouldn’t rest until he was on top of his grades; which he had no problem with. His emphasis on success failed him when it came to the dating scene; to say the least he was shy—and married to his work as well.

but on top of all this, eren was a patient man, and good things always comes to those who wait.

and when a dangerously beautiful woman comes wandering into his life on the street outside of an office dinner he gracefully slipped away from, asking him for an extra five dollars to help pay for her cab home from a no-show date—a woman that has him battling the slew of warning alarms sounding away in his usually zen mind and redefining what he thought was himself—he knows that he’s waited long enough.

simply put, he’s a man of his craft; dedicated to two things. his work, and his wife.

His wife—the phrase has his brain melting into pure grey matter that spills out his body in the form of love. To even think he has the opportunity to refer to you as such is priceless in itself. eren didn’t believe he could love—let alone love this hard. you ask him to run, he’ll say how far; jump��how high?

you’ve changed him—ever since he offered to drop you off in his sleek black mercedes benz parked somewhere by the valet and you giggled in response, saying ‘i’m not usually so trusting of strangers’ will the slightest glint of curiosity in your bright eyes.

and somewhere in between the months, his ten hour workdays turned to six, important software development meetings got pushed back for convenience, the accumulating days of paid time off started being used, for once, his assistant could do their job, and his new focus was you.

diamonds and pearls, nails and hair, dinners on boats and vacations on beaches, shopping sprees on his black card and all of his devotion towards you—only you.

eren…he’s a worshipper—it doesn’t take much for him to get on his knees for you. he’s not ashamed, if anything, he’s proud. he likes to say that anything that’s his, is yours; so who are you to deny what he gives you?

that’s another thing he oh so loves about you—you readily take everything he can offer. you let him take care of you, and he wouldn’t want it any other way; you’re his wife after all.

his wife, his wife.

“my wife…” eren mumbles to himself as he buries his face into the crook of your perfumed neck. the pronounced scent makes his head spin, you can’t fathom how in love with you this man is. as his large hands engulf your own, he’s met with the texture of your wedding ring that cost him over twenty grand, the one you cried over when you saw it in his hands offering it to you—but eren doesn’t think it does his adoration for you enough justice.

he prefers to show you.

while there’s no doubt that material items and dream homes are things you like to receive—there’s nothing better than the way he has you now, one leg resting atop his shoulder and the other barely slung around his waist as he steadily ruts his hips into your own.

oh, how could you be so beautiful? splayed out on the bed like a wicked man’s deepest desires and dreams; the one he secretly lusts for from across the room with no hopes to introduce himself because you’re just so out of his league. your hair is messily draped over the silk pillows, all remnants of your lipgloss/lipstick gone from your parted lips and instead smudged on his own, the gold necklace with his diamond initial was falling into the dip in your neck, and you were gazing at him with need. pure, heartfelt need.

your body arches towards him, manicured hands trailing towards your own chest to play with your nipples that hardened from the low temperature of the room. “i need you eren, make me feel you—i want it.” your voice is smooth, accompanied with a small whine that reminds him just how spoiled you are, and how it’s all his fault.

but he couldn’t care less—you deserve it for wandering into his life to make you his own.

“i know princess, i know.” he knows damn well you need him, he knows, he knows—he’s repeating it as he peppers a kiss to your jewelled ankle before pressing down on the back of your thigh to steady himself.

eren fucks like he loves—endlessly and hard.

maybe that’s why the way he bullies your pussy while bottoming out has you grasping at the threads of the sheets and chanting his name like a hymn followed by prayer. he lets your cunt feel every bit of him, the ridges—veins, down to the last inch. he’s terrifyingly big, another thing you love about him.

his dick feels like it’s mushing your insides, curving up against your spongy walls that oh so desperately tighten around him. every thrust is harder than his last, and the way the trimmed hair resting above his base brushes against your clit provides all the extra stimulation that has your head rolling to the side. your uncontrolled moans turn to sobs when you feel his tip tickle your cervix—and boy does it make him a rejuvenated man.

“look at me.” his words barely register as syllables in your clouded mind—you keep your head turned, eyes focused shut as your body shakes upwards from the fervour of his unrelenting tempo. there’s a lot of things eren can have, and you not watching the way his slick covered dick slips in and out of your weeping pussy isn’t one of them. “you have to look at me pretty girl.” his tone is soft but firm, thick fingers taking your chin in his hands and turning you towards him once again.

“see how well you’re taking me? all of it.” he gives you a million dollar smile, hinting for you to watch where the two of you connect. “your pretty cunt just wants it so bad, right?”

“oh, eren…” it’s always a sudden surprise how soiled his mouth can get at times like this. heeding his request, you watch his cock disappear in your folds—and you sight of it has you fluttering around him like a whore.

“you were made for me, weren’t you? prettiest sight i’ve ever seen.” you’ve heard his praises a multitude of times, having him ramble on about fucking you so much your walls moulded to fit him like a tight glove, only that now, he’s saying it to your pussy instead.

“only you ‘ren, was made just for you.” you babble out, feverishly bucking your hips up to meet his ruts.

when your eyes finally rip away from below and back up to his face, the look he wears has your cunt melting like putty. with furrowed brows, a dip in his forehead and a bitten lip, he watches your body move with each fuck. even in such a sinful position, you were just so divine.

almost subconsciously, his ringed hand moves from your hip and over to your torso, gliding over your pierced belly and stopped at your lower stomach, “I’m right here baby.” gently, he applies pressure to the spot, making your eyes blow open as you moan in response. the feeling gives you butterflies—ones that go straight to your clit and stimulate the nerves in your shaky legs.

“cummin—eren i’m cumming!” you’re rambling, scrambling to push his hand away from your belly, but it’s all too late, and eren knows that well. how could he not? your body is a temple, he’s explored every inch of it, and the sudden vice grip your walls have you him and periodic throb of your cunt is all too telling. your orgasm is drawn out, legs spazzing around your entranced husband, “mm, oh-fuck! yesyesyes eren, don’t stop!”

oh, aren’t you just perfect. his eyes soften when he watches how your mouth hangs open in a silent scream, only to capture it in a languid and sloppy kiss, teeth grazing your plump lips and sucking on them like a sweet. you whine he pulls himself away from your body completely, instead he takes the time to tack his thumb to your puffy clit, rubbing feint circles and the occasional attempted heart on the bud. he always does this, coaxing out the last of your orgasm with nimble fingers that you dream about

“you gonna let me take good care of you?” he asks softly between hushed breaths while grabbing hold of both your legs and hoisting them over his shoulders. helplessly, all you can do is nod; you’re in a trance at the very sight of him. his defined torso is illuminated by the back light of one of the many lamps in your bedroom, his hair is slipping from its captive elastic band, the grip of his hands on your ankles sends searing hot pulses straight to your sensitive clit.

he gives himself a few good pumps, sliding his length between your folds. your wetness aids him in bottoming out once again, but your sensitivity has you squirming in his hold. “gotta stay put baby.” he marvels, talking you into submission, “that’s my girl.”

his praises are followed by the shift of his hands down to the back of your thighs, they gently rub the plush skin before pushing them down to meet your chest. while there are some circumstances where looking down at you sparks something within him, eren likes to be eye to eye with you when he’s balls deep—turns him on even more being in such close proximity with such a captivating woman.

you squeal from the uncomfortable burn in your hamstring from being folded in half with the additional feeling of eren’s body weight on your own. you swear that you can feel your heart palpitating in your ears as you feverishly clench around him. “it’s too much! can’t take it, can’t take it!”

“of course you can, you know you can, your pussy takes everything i give it.” eren speaks between juts, pressing your knees to your shoulder blades as he pistons into you without any regard for decency. his thrust feel like a hammer, knocking your body into the memory foam mattress you begged him to buy.

stars cloud your eyes as he wraps himself tighter around you, head in the side of your neck as he peppers kisses across your skin. your pants and gasps are loud, amplifying the sounds of slapping skin and balls hitting the fat of your ass. his favourite part is when you dig your nails into his back, leaving cresent shaped imprints and jagged lines across it like a painter with a canvas; scars of your love.

deep groans fill your ear, soft and sweet; all eren can ramble about is you—how good you feel, how quick you can make him unravel like a ball of string, how lucky he is to have you in his life—the list goes on.

“i love you—fuck, i love you so much baby, you treat me so well.” with his declaration of love, his pace seems to increase, fucking you dumb and leaving you to heave for whatever air is left to breathe.

“i love you too, so much.” your eyes scramble around in your haywire brain, overloaded by the repeated feeling of the jackhammering going on in your walls and the non-stop cervix kisses he gives you. “it’s all yours, eren; you deserve it, you deserve this pussy. you married this, have it.”

eren jaeger doesn’t believe he’s deserving of much; has he earned things? yes. but you…laying beneath him, telling him he deserves you? it makes him never want to leave—not that he would dream of doing so in the first place.

he does deserve it—your words make his brain malfunction. he deserves it. fuck, you might just be the death of him.

you’re crying for him, grasping at any part of his body possible to get him closer to you than physically possible. your tighten around his base once more, and your hand flies down to messily prod at your clit in an attempt to play with it.

meanwhile, eren’s unrelenting pace falters; that man knows he’s going to cum soon, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do it with you. so he pleads with you to give him one more—telling you that you’ve got another one bundled up in there for him. to say it’s true is unknown, but your body listens to eren, and miraculously whatever he believes will happen comes to fruition.

but your body is delicate—everyone knows delicate things break under pressure. with the unrelenting strain and stretch his dick gives your walls, the tight feeling in your core, and aching numbness in your legs, your buildup feels much more violent—ready to release all built up tension given to you by your husband.

“eren—keep on going like this and i’m gonna make a mess!” you fuss around, hand reaching to gently push his torso away in fear you may soil the freshly made sheets.

“that’s the goal.” he states as a matter of factly, brows furrowing as a suppressed groan bubbles up from his chest at the thought: pretty little face going stupid and clawing at anything within reach as you writhe and cum all over his torso and lower body. you can’t make him budge now that he’s a determined man.

his strokes grow sloppy but powerful, curved cock repeatedly ramming into your spongy spot that force your plush walls to grip around him, “you’re eating me up here, love.” he mumbles, moaning into your mouth in the disguise of a messy kiss.

the last roll that tips you over the rocky edge is a shaky one, the last one he could give before emptying himself into you. it’s thick and hot and you feel it fill you as you twitch underneath him and cover his abdomen with your juices. wordlessly, his hands reach for yours as he stills; soft lips peppering the lining of skin on your cheek.

eren jaeger knows that change is inevitable—it comes with time. but eren jaeger also knows one thing will stay the same; his love and adoration for the pretty girl laying below him.

[versupital]

Folded. | k. nanami

sumsum: your husband doesn’t know how to respond to you getting your feet done; he feels like some kinda sick freak because of how much he likes it <:

CONTENT: gn!reader, husband!nanami, NOT FOOT FETISH-Y I PROMISE, implied smut, sexual language.

word count. 1k ^.^

“How was your shopping, my love?”

You’re clamoring in the front door with a handful of bags.

Nanami sits on the couch, in what he considers loungewear: a green sweater and black slacks, legs crossed over themselves. In his hands is the book he’s been using to keep himself from missing you too terribly while you were gone.

“It was wonderful,” you say with an exasperated huff. “Just exhausted, and sore.”

“Why didn’t you call me to tell me you were here?” Nanami places his book down on the coffee table before rising to join you at the door, where he takes almost all of your bags and walks towards the kitchen to sit them down. “I don’t want you carrying heavy loads like this.”

“I forgot,” you say honestly. “It’s okay, honey. I can do it, ‘m not helpless.”

Nanami gives you a stern glare and your face heats. “I know you are capable, but it’s my job as-”

“My husband,” you grin, joining him at the kitchen table to peck his cheek and place a hand between his shoulder blades, as you sit the rest of the bags down. “Thank you. I will remember next time, okay?”

Nanami’s face twists to smile at you, as he knows he cannot actually stay upset with you. “Alright, but if you don’t, I’m going to invite Satoru over for dinner every night for a week straight. And I’m going to serve him liquor.”

Your eyes widen in panic. “No! Absolutely not.”

Nanami grins and he leans down to kiss your forehead. “Now, what all did you get?”

“Ugh, I’d love to tell you in explicit detail,” you say, hands flying up to rub your temples, “but I need a shower first. It’s so hot out there, got so sweaty.”

“Yeah, what is it you always say to me after I cut the lawn?” He taps his chin. “You smell like ‘outside.’”

You playfully thump him on his shoulder but he is not moved. With a firm pat to your bottom and a quick kiss, he sends you off towards the bathroom, where you take a short, but efficient shower.

Around thirty minutes later, you emerge back in the living room, dressed in one of Nanami’s favorite pajama sets of yours; a light blue top and a pair of shorts with tiny white rabbits all over them.

Nanami’s eyes look up from his spot on the couch, the instant your foot passes over the threshold of the living room entrance. You see his nostrils flare as he takes in your new scent: shower fresh and cocoa butter.

“Feel better, baby?” he asks softly, opening his arms to gesture for you to join him.

“Yes,” you say, sitting next to him. “But my feet are really sore still.”

“Done,” Nanami grins, and gently pulls your feet out of your fluffy house shoes, then hikes both of your smooth legs onto his lap.

He runs his fingers over the soft skin there, eyes focused on your face. “You shaved,” he voices aloud.

You grin. “Yeah, I did. Didn’t want the ladies at the nail salon to judge me.”

“The nail salon?” Nanami’s thick eyebrow raises and his eyes fall to your hands. “But your nails are not done. I would have noticed.”

You sheepishly point towards your feet, and Nanami follows your gaze. You watch as his hands freeze when he takes in the cute, shapely acrylic tips on all of your toes; not to mention, in his favorite color.

“I…” He takes in a deep breath and then looks back at you. “I did not know that you could get the nail extension things on your feet.”

You nod and bite your lip. “You like?”

His hands slide down your calves and to the underside of your feet, where he mindlessly begins to massage them in the same professional way he always does to work out your knots.

He nods. “D-Did you pay for them?” he questions. “Or did I?”

“You did,” you say innocently. “I hope you aren’t ups-”

“No,” he grits quickly, before he clears his throat. “N-No, I’m not upset. Wanna know you’re taken care of, and looking how you want, so that you can feel good, too.”

You smile and reach out to rub his arm as his hands continue to work on your feet. “Thank you, honey.”

“Now,” he says, turning his gaze back to your toes. “I feel weird, because I keep staring at them. But I just…”

“What?” you coo, wiggling your toes under his grip.

“Mmh,” he responds. “They’re gonna look so pretty right next to my head, aren’t they, baby?”

Your eyelashes flutter as heat pumps into your cheeks. “Y-Yes, I suppose they will.”

“You’re so adorable,” he grins, one of his free hands breaking away from your foot to massage up your calf; even though the woman at the nail salon had already done so, you don’t have the heart to tell Nanami to stop. “Always get so flustered when I bring up folding you into the mattress.”

Your stomach tightens a bit and your nervous fingers curl into the material of your pajama shorts. “N-No I don’t.”

“Do too.” Nanami clicks his tongue, his eyes following your nervous fingers. “Then, you wear my favorite pajamas of yours, naughty baby.” He nods his head and now both of his hands are sliding up your legs in sync, nearly reaching your knees already. “My little life partner who always knows exactly how to seduce me, don’t you?”

You blink and cock your head innocently to the side. “Kento, what ever do you mean?”

You watch his eyes nearly roll back in his head as he slowly begins to climb on top of you.

“Calling me Kento now, huh?” His voice has dropped to a sultry whisper, and now you feel the heat of his body and the thump of his pulse as he gently makes his way over you. “I like it better when you’re screaming it.”

From then on, you always make sure your toes are done, as both of you grow fond of the way they look pointed in the air - and of course, resting on Nanami’s shoulders, curling and uncurling as he shows his undying appreciation with his hard, sloppy strokes.

A/N:

kinda wanted to write out the full smut about this but i felt like i needed a short fic to balance things out 😭

~ pennjammin

[starlessea]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙏𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙈𝙚𝙣𝙙 [𝘿𝙖𝙧𝙮𝙡 𝘿𝙞𝙭𝙤𝙣 𝙓 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧]

Chapter 1: Tally

Series Masterlist: The Ties That Mend

Summary: Three-hundred-and-ninety-six days after the outbreak, you are discovered in an abandoned community college, covered in filth and barely able to speak a word. Despite the showers (multiple) and rehabilitation attempts (also multiple), it's apparent that your mind is elsewhere. Beyond saving.

This new world is chaos, but you're lucky to find good people in it. More so than any is a man named Daryl, patient enough to let you put yourself back together—one stitch at a time.

There’s no space left on the walls.

The thought sickens you; bile backs up into your throat before you swallow it down. There has to be something, somewhere—a small patch of unmarked paint for you to draw your next tally line. Desperately searching, your hands shake with realisation. There’s no more space on the walls. Nowhere left for you to mark the day. 

How many had it been, again? Four-hundred—more?

You start counting the tallies in multiples of five, beginning with the wall nearest the door and working clockwise around your bedroom. It had been a supply cupboard initially, scarcely big enough for you to lie flat. Blankets were scrunched at your feet, the result of yet another restless night, and your few belongings sat tucked into built-in shelving. You had committed it all to memory—every inch, a map of your isolation.

Three-hundred-and-eighty-five… Three-hundred-and-ninety… Three-hundred-and-ninety-five—

A sound interrupts your counting. 

There’s a thunk in the distance, barely there. You pause mid-breath. Soon enough, another follows. It’s a distant, hollow thud that sends ripples of panic through your body. 

The response is immediate. The tremors start with your fingertips before spreading upwards. Every breath exacerbates them, and soon you find yourself violently shaking. Something is approaching. You know it before you hear the next noise, a clink some ways off that cuts through the stillness.

Instinct takes over. You’re on your feet before you can think it through. The hatchet under your pillow is cold, its handle familiar. It becomes an extension of your limbs as your fingers mold around it. Your voice, alarmed, races through your head:

How’d it get in—what entrance had you missed? How many? How many?

You find your footing. The supply door creaks as you toe it open; it needs greasing again. There’s a jerry can in the music room downstairs—you know—but you’d lacked the energy for the trip. The hunger pangs had been keeping you bedridden, and only when dark spots crept into your vision did you dare venture out. 

Now you have no choice. Something’s coming, and you need to deal with it.

As you creep through the door, the smell of decay hits you. Gore and innards have seeped into the floorboards, your bare feet squelching atop the ichor. Before you, the corridor is lined with undead, their bodies shoved up against the walls to form a pathway through the middle. 

At first, you’d made an effort to clean them away—burying and burning and scrubbing and praying. But as the days went on, they just kept piling up. There were only so many bodies one person could attend, and even that took its toll. Before you knew it, they were under your nails and in your hair, then sometimes your head.

It was pointless.

It didn’t matter if you locked them away in the auditorium; you were never truly rid of them. Eventually, you gave up altogether. They were just another fixture of your life. Another layer of filth that had come to define this world.

They’re watching you now. You feel them. Judging you, condemning you. Stop it, you think, fixing onto one—it’s face half-shredded, an eye hanging from the socket. Don’t look at me like that. But its gaze is unrelenting. You swallow hard, and continue past the corpse. He was a kind man, once. Back when he had been one.

Your hatchet is weighing you down. It’s far heavier than you remembered, and your body, more sluggish. Most of the food has perished by now—only a few cans left rolling about the cafeteria. You didn’t pick through them anymore. There were too many memories in there. Too many things left behind. 

Malnourishment had taken its toll on you. Despite covering all the mirrors, you couldn’t avoid the contours of your hands, skin stretched taut over boney fingers, topped by brittle nails. In certain lights, you were not dissimilar to the undead—slowly wasting away.

“Man, this place is god-awful.” 

You freeze. Voices slice through the cloying air. 

“I’m telling you, something ain’t right here,” one says, close enough to spit. “Bunch’a dead walkers and you don’t stop to think, why? We got the meds, food’s nothing but dust, so what are we sticking around for?” 

A second voice, lighter, and a bit strained rebuts, “I don’t remember making you in charge. Keep walking, and I’ll keep pretending like I didn’t see you stuff that bottle of pills down your pants.”

Pills? You blink, your mind struggling to piece the words together. There were pills in the sick-bay down the hall—yes. That was true. So these people… Were they real?

You deliberate for a moment. In your entire time here, you hadn’t seen another person since the outbreak. Not a real one at least—or living.

No, you decided. They were undead. They had to be.

The shuffling of footsteps grows louder. They’re close now. Too close. You’re shaking so viciously that your bones ache. It’s now or never. As the undead round the corner, you are decided.

You aim for the head when you swing.

Thwack. 

The impact is solid—satisfying. But beneath the hatchet, the wall crumbles. There is no corpse, no contact with flesh. Before you, a man stares wide-eyed, his jacket crumpled in the fist of his companion, who had pulled him backwards in the nick of time. 

Your breath catches in your throat as you ready yourself for another go. 

They won’t fool you. There’s space in the auditorium—you’ll make space.

“Jesus Christ, put the axe down!” yells the man.

Each word is raw, grating on your ears. You don’t move; you can’t move.

“Bob, stop,” snaps the first man. His hands are up now, palms flat as though facing off with a wild animal. “Look, we’re not going to do anything,” he says, punctuating each word. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

Beside him, the other one reaches for his gun. Your mind flashes—weapon. They want to hurt you. They’re going to kill you. Your knuckles turn white.

Your head shakes of its own volition. You know fear; you’re looking at it in his eyes. 

Was he… afraid of you?

“You’re alone, right?” he asks, unmoving. “We can take you back with us.”

No reply comes. Your head swims. You don’t trust him. You can’t trust him. But something in his tone—something warm and steady—pulls at you. You’re not sure why.

Something stirs inside of you. Back?

Despite your silence, your expression must have given you away. The man stands straighter, slowly letting his arms retract and settle in at his sides. 

His eyes flicker to your hatchet before he clears his throat, “We have a community. It’s not much yet but we’re making it into a home,” he says, gesturing between himself and the cautious man. “Us and a few others.”

Your body is screaming from exertion at this point. The hatchet trembles in your hands, but you don’t lower it.

“Th—there—” 

You pause; your voice isn’t coming out. It’s ragged and the stutter is a new development. 

All this time… had you forgotten how it felt to speak?

You force a swallow and try again. “There are o—others?” you eventually manage.

The man with the frightened eyes doesn’t respond, but his companion—Bob, you recall—crosses his arms over his chest. “How long’s it been since you seen someone, huh?” he asks brusquely.

Three-hundred-and-ninety-six days.

You shake your head. The action seems to irritate him. He dares an approach, and like a trigger pulled, your trembles evolve into full-blown convulsing. Your heel slides back on a pool of blood, the shift in balance unsettling you. 

“Hey, hey—” A voice breaks through, fixing your attention. “Look at me.” 

The man whose name you do not know crouches just enough to toss his gun to the floor. The weapon lands with a dull splatter. Bob’s follows—much to his dismay.

The action does little to ease your concerns.

What if these men weren’t real? 

Your mind has done this before—crafted strangers out of silence. It wouldn’t be the first time you mistook the undead for a familiar face. Worse thoughts suddenly cross you:

What if they are real? What did they want with you—what would they do to you?

Quick as a blink, you’re back on guard. 

The weaponless man sighs. “Look, I don’t know what you’ve been through, or how you’ve managed to hide out here this long…” he says, pausing for a moment. “But you can’t stay. This place reeks of death.”

The word lingers in the air. He directs a grimace at the audience of blue-black corpses behind you.

“God, it smells so bad.”

Before you can reply, he's back looking at you—through you, almost—like he’s staring into the very foundation of your being.

“You don’t want to rot away here, do you?” 

You stand frozen, unable to respond. Your throat tightens as you search for words, but none come.

Bob’s impatience cuts through the moment. “Glenn, let’s get out of here already. You can’t save ‘em all. This one’s bat-shit,” 

The words don’t sting; they barely register. In this moment, your eyes are only trained on the man whose head you almost dislodged from his shoulders—Glenn. 

He’s waiting. You can discern no pity in his face, no judgment. Just an offer.

You say nothing. 

After a beat, Glenn gives you a small nod and concedes. Bob counters with a told-you-so sort of look before retrieving his pistol from the floor—wiping it over his jeans. 

They prepare to leave.

“W—wait.” 

It’s barely louder than a breath, but Glenn hears it. He stops, turning just enough to face you. 

Your chest is heaving now, the anxiety, palpable. Every instinct screams at you to run, to hide, to stay locked in the little supply cupboard at the end of the hall.

“I’ll go,” you say instead.

Glenn doesn’t smile—there’s nothing triumphant about it—but his own fear seems to have left him. He keeps a good distance but beckons you with his hand; it’s clean. 

“Come on then,” he says. “Let’s get out of here.” 

—

Bob is dry-heaving in the passenger seat. 

The heat of the truck only amplified the stench of death clinging to you. They were right; it is awful. Back at the college, you did your best to bathe somewhat, with whatever water you could scavenge. But it was never enough. The foul miasmas had seeped into everything: your clothes, your skin, your sweat. It would take some time to air out. 

Curling tighter to the door, you try to avoid Glenn’s strained expression in the rearview mirror.

“Told you it was bad,” he says. His tone is light, far too casual; it makes you want to sink into the seats. “Nothing a good shower won’t fix, though?”

You can’t bring yourself to nod. Perhaps you’d feel ashamed had it not been for the unadulterated panic ripping through you. Everything is too much: the thrum of the engine, the weight of the hatchet on your thigh, the sunlight—

How long had it been since you’d seen it? Four months?

That’s right. It had been four months since the generator had sputtered out, leaving you to exist in the dark for the remaining two-hundred-and-sixty-odd days. In truth, you’d grown used to it. Most windows you’d pasted with newspapers from the old art room, so even the sunniest days were reduced to a shadow. The open sky feels wrong to you now, like it’s exposing you to things you’d forgotten how to face.

You try not to blink. Each time the sun slices through the trees, it adds to the utter overstimulation. Your muscles are spasming, sapping the little energy you have left. The movement is making the smell worse. Glenn flicks the fans in a poor attempt to cycle the air, and almost immediately, you’re greeted by warm wafts of your own stench. 

Bob sticks his head further out the window. You cough wetly—trying not to vomit.

“Deep breaths,” Glenn reminds. You catch his eyes flicking between you and the road. “We’re almost there.”

You don’t answer; you can’t.

“Though I am going to warn you about something,” he adds. Hesitation lines his voice, doing nothing for your nerves. “I don’t want you to freak out, but… our community is, uh, in a prison.”

A prison?

The word ricochets in your head.

Your jaw slackens as you process the words. Glenn hurriedly continues. “Hey, it’s okay,” he blurts, “We’re not gonna lock you up or anything.”

His reassurance does little to stem the panic.

“We’re locked up now anyway,” Bob mutters from the passenger side. “Stuck in this hotbox with a raging loon.” 

Glenn smacks him. The truck veers as he forfeits the wheel, but he's quick to correct it. He finds your eyes in the mirror again. “I promise it’s safe. Safer than anywhere else we’ve found.”

You don’t believe him.

But before you can spiral any further, the truck slows, rolling to a stop in front of a chain-link fence. Beyond, a prison looms in the distance—a great hulking thing absent of any colour—and from it, a figure comes jogging to open the gates. You're here.

At the sight of another unfamiliar face, your doubts make themselves known.

Run. You have to get out. Run. Run. Run—

The door handle is in your hand before you realise it. The truck hasn’t fully stopped, but you shove it open anyway. The rush of motion tilts the vehicle, and Glenn curses as he hits the breaks.

The ground comes up fast. Your legs give out the moment they hit dirt. Above you, the sunlight is blinding. This time, you’re sure you’ll be sick.

“Whoa, hey, hold up!” 

A woman’s voice brings you back. Before you can react, there’s a pressure under your arm—hands, firm but steady. You instinctively jerk away but you’re too weak to pull free.

“Don’t struggle. It’s okay,” she soothes. Trembling, you force yourself to look up. 

Crouching before you is a woman with cropped hair, her features delicate yet hard. As her eyes sweep over your body, you catch a flicker of sadness in them.

“Goodness, you poor thing,” she murmurs. “Seems like Glenn’s brought home another stray.”

Her arm slips under yours again, and this time you let her help you up. There’s no fight left in you; it’s taking every morsel of strength to hug your hatchet to your chest. Each step is heavier than the last, but her encouragement—almost motherly—keeps you moving.

You try not to stare as she leads you toward the main building. People move around the yard. Real people. More than you’ve seen in months. Their voices blur together, too loud, too close, and you want nothing more than to shrink away from all of it.

As you make it inside, the air is cooler but no less stifling.

You're in a cell block. It's stark, structurally plain. Metal bars, concrete floors, and the faint scent of bleach that doesn’t quite mask something darker. In the center of the room is a makeshift cooking area, a hodgepodge of furniture surrounding a lunch table poached from the outer yard. A small group gathers there.

You do a quick count: Man. Man. Child. Woman. Baby—

Your brow furrows. Baby?

The woman cradling the infant has dark skin and neat locs, as opposed to the child, whose parents were probably another casualty of this world. She maintains her distance.

“Rick,” the woman at your side calls out, garnering the attention of everyone. 

A man responds to the name. He cuts through the group with measured steps. His stature is lean, his features weathered. He’s dressed simply—dark jeans, boots, a tan button-down rolled to the elbows—but his stance, the set of his jaw, that air of gravitas… It all screams leader. 

You plant yourself firm into the floor. 

The man—Rick—scarcely spares you a glance. “Another one?” he asks Glenn from over your head. “Where d’you pick ‘em up this time?”

“Old community college,” Glenn answers.

Rick lets out a short, tired breath. “Okay,” he says, before directing his attention toward you. “Then answer me this: how many walkers—”

He stops mid-sentence. For the first time, he really sees you. His expression sours as he does a quick scan, taking in every detail from your bare feet to the stained-red hatchet embedded in your chest. You see his nose twitch as he inhales.

“Rick...” the short-haired woman interjects, placing a hand to his chest. “Not now,” she says firmly.

“Not now,” Rick echoes. The frown lines marring his brow soften slightly. “It’s okay,” he says instead. “You’re safe now.”

You blink once.

Safe? Why does everyone keep saying that—Like it’s some guarantee?

Something in his eyes tells you he doesn’t believe it either; like he’s said those words too many times before.

“It’s not much, but it’s a roof and four walls. It’s a place to raise our kids.” Rick nods his head at the child with his likeness, a brown-haired boy in a deputy hat, and then to the woman holding the baby. “We’ve got water here—food. Daryl’s a hunter, and a damn good one. We’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

You’re only half-listening. At the mention of another name, your eyes drift past Rick, settling on the figure at the edge of the group.

That’s the hunter—Daryl. You can tell by the crossbow slung across his back, and the dirt stains on his skin, far greater in number than the rest of them. His stance was casual but guarded, his sleeveless shirt exposing corded muscle. You catch his eyes, pinned under a mop of tawny fringe. 

They’re the kind that don’t miss a thing. 

You can tell he’s studying you just as closely as you’re studying him. There’s a tension in his posture, like a rubber band ready to snap at a moment’s notice. It unsettles you.

It frightens you.

“She should lie down,” Glenn says, breaking the silence, “Let Hershel take a look at her when he’s back.”

Rick nods. Instinctively, he reaches out to steady you as you sway on your feet. 

“I can walk,” you mutter, words barely audible. “I can walk.”

No one listens.

There’s an exchange of glances between Rick and the short-haired woman. Then, with a gesture so slow it feels deliberate, she steps in close again, threading your arm through hers. Her grip is firm but unobtrusive; you feel yourself leaning into her without meaning. 

Glenn attempts to relieve you of the hatchet, but you twist away, eyes flashing with warning. He raises his hands in surrender.

“Okay. You can keep it,” he placates.

The next thing you know, you’re being led into the prison’s interior. The cell they bring you to is small, the cot inside neatly made. But the room feels too open, too exposed. You hesitate at the doorway.

“This one’s yours,” Rick states simply. As he points, a keychain jingles at his belt. 

You fixate on it. “The—The key?” you question.

Rick’s brow furrows. He hesitates, then thumbs through the chain until he finds the one he’s looking for—a long, slender thing with a dull shine. 

“Here,” he says. “Take it if it makes you feel better.”

It does.

You don’t mean to snatch it from him, but the warmth of his hand is unexpected, and you find yourself clawing for the key. Tucking it into your palm, you slide the gate shut. It latches with a clink, and a shaky breath escapes you.

“Right, well...” Rick steps back, giving you space. “Get some rest. We’ll come check on you in a bit.”

He lingers for a moment longer, his hand hovering over the bars like he’s deliberating prodding an animal at the zoo. When you don’t respond, he straightens and beckons Glenn to follow him out. The kind woman gives you one last reassuring nod before retreating, her boots echoing down the corridor.

Alone again.

Despite your fatigue, you don’t move to the cot. It’s far too clean. Instead, you yank the sheets from it, piling them onto the floor in the furthest corner of the room. They bunch at your feet, turning the colour of rust as dried blood flakes from your skin. Quietly, you sink down into your new bed.

For once your mind is empty. Your eyes, unblinking, stare at the expanse of wall. It feels wrong in some way you can’t quite place. Instinctively, your fingers find the loose match in your pocket—the one you kept for emergencies. You strike it and watch the flame quiver for a brief moment before blowing it out.

With the blackened end, you draw a tally mark on the stone before you:

One.

There’s plenty of space on these walls.

A/N And that's chapter one! It's been years since I've written anything like this, but I have big things planned. My style has definitely changed (hopefully for the better) and this series will be heavier than my previous stuff... But that hopefully means better payoff. I'd love to hear your thoughts. In all honesty, I was a little nervous about sharing this. I don't know if anyone still reads my stories, or even cares, so some feedback would be appreciated :) See you in the next one x

[seaslugfanclub]

Heyyy !!! Love your writtings and drawings !! You Rock !! And I was really curious about your thoughts on Y/N and Ratigan's relationship! Like how Ratigan grew to like them and all- I have a funny headbanging that the park Attendant managed to save him from Lucifer the cat one time XD

Ratigan and (Y/N)’s First Introduction

————————————————————————

Being in the Disney parks is overwhelming enough, but try being less than a foot tall.

Oh sure, Disney can bring all of these fictional characters to reality, but guess it was too much work for them to size up the smaller characters!

Ratigan is not having a good time. Just like his entire life, he’s had to fight tooth and nail for even a modicum of respect. Now he has to fight even harder to get a room to himself.

Disney didn’t think that far ahead about having a rodent sized villain living amongst the others. For the first few weeks of Ratigan new existence, he had to rely on his extensive talents in order to carve out a small space for himself in the villains breakout room

Oh, how humiliating it was to sleep behind a wall socket like some common vermin!!

And the food situation! It’s nearly impossible to get access to the fridge, and the cabinets have nothing that could even begin to match his expensive tastes.

Not to mention the other villains less than stellar reactions to seeing a ra- ahem- a mouse in their living area

Most of the female villains would screech at the sight of him, jumping onto chairs and demanding for the male villains to kill him.

Yes… it certainly hasn’t been all champagne and caviar…

Ratigans new life only began to improve after his less than respectable meeting with the park attendant (Y/N)

————————————————————————

“(Y/N).”

The park attendant wiped off their brow, setting down a box full of spare costumes to turn towards the intimidating woman in the doorway.

“Oh, good afternoon Lady Tremaine. How’re you doing?”

Tremaine didn’t bother with the pleasantries,

“I have not seen Lucifer since breakfast. Would you have any idea where the little creature is?”

(Y/N) shook their head, “No, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

“Well I have matters to attend to soon, and I need Lucifer with me. Find him.”

With nothing but a small grimace, Lady Tremaine left, her shoes tapping sharply against the linoleum tiles of the hallway.

“…..ok…”

(Y/N) shuffled in place for a moment, beginning to think of the cats usual whereabouts.

————————————————————————

“Luci!! C’mon baby! *pst pst pst*

(Y/N) shook a bag of Lucifer’s dry food, hoping the sound would lure the chunky cat out of hiding.

They had been searching for a good 15 minutes without any sign of the feline, and (Y/N) was beginning to feel an anxious flutter in their chest.

Turning up empty handed to Lady Tremaine was not an option.

(Y/N)’s search had lead them to a quieter wing of the villains building, this area mainly being used for storage and management meetings. The park attendant stopped for a moment, hoping to hear the sound of little paws, before going back to shaking the dry food.

“*pst pst pst pst pst* C’mon Luci, your mama’s looking for—” (Y/N) paused, faint scuffling could be heard further down the hall.

Finally!

(Y/N) followed the sound, approaching one of the storage rooms at the end of the hallway, but the closer they got to the scuffling, something else could be heard.

….Yelling?

The door was already slightly ajar when (Y/N) fully pushed their way into the room, causing two pairs of eyes to meet them.

In the back of the room, amongst filing cabinets and schedules of years past was Lady Tremaine’s cat, Lucifer, who’s claws were primed and at the ready… and the heaving body of Professor Ratigan pressed into a corner.

From the look on both of their faces, (Y/N) walked in on something intense, although Lucifer’s expression was one of disappointment while the professors was one of quiet relief.

“LUCIFER—The hell are you doing!?!!! Go, your mama’s been looking for you!” (Y/N) yelled at the cat, who seemed physically pained to leave the rodent alone. Reluctantly, Lucifer trudged pass the park attendant, who was still admonishing him.

“Like you’re not fed enough! What, Where you dropped as a kitten!?”

Once (Y/N) saw Lucifer’s tail disappear around the corner, they immediately turned their attention towards the still cornered Ratigan.

“Professor, are you alright!? I am so. sorry.”

They dropped the bag of cat food to rush towards the rodent, slamming down onto their knees as their eyes flitted over Ratigans form.

His chest was rapidly going up and down, Ratigan obviously still trying to catch his breath. His usually slicked back hair was now falling in front of his face as he stared up at (Y/N).

He seems frazzled, but thankfully free of any scratches or missing appendages.

“…alright?” Ratigan heaved after a few moments of silence, “You asked if I’m alright? OH YOU MENTALLY DEFECTIVE WRETCH, HOW ON EARTH COULD I EVER BE A L R I G H T???”

(Y/N) flinched at the sudden increase of volume, staring down at the now manic looking rodent in shock.

“Ever since I’ve been brought to this demented park, I’ve been nothing but humiliated and scorned! Forced to fend for myself like the common vermin because YOU PEOPLE didn’t have an iota of sense that taking me from the grave would cause me to live amongst GIANTS”

Ratigan began pacing, his eyes wild as he continued,

“I have had to scrounge and scrap to continue this miserable existence, reduced to living off of stale crackers and tap water, to lay my head beneath electrical wires. I’ve been forced to scavenge in these back rooms for supplies since every employee runs off at the sight of me before I can even open my mouth for the simplest of requests. Oh! And let’s not forget me being preyed upon by that devil in feline form! I’ve been hunted by that beast for the past few hours, nearly meeting my second demise! Left alone to die like a cretin, like I’m NOTHING. DO ANY OF YOU KNOW WHO I AM? DO ANY OF YOU KNOW WHO I USED TO BE? I HAVE NOTHING NOW. NOTHING.”

Finally his tiny body gave out, Ratigan collapsing to the carpet dramatically, arm covering his eyes.

“Oh…I’d have been better off a bloated corpse in the Thames.”

(Y/N) couldn’t find any words, watching helplessly as Ratigan sprawled across the floor. Their throat felt tight.

They’d only been hired several months ago, and they’ve only just begun getting along with a few Villains. (Y/N) rarely saw Professor Ratigan, and when they did they reasoned that he had the same provisions that the other smaller Disney rodents had.

When (Y/N) first arrived, they got to meet Ms. Bianca and Mr. Bernard in front of their tiny apartment styled home, which was built into one of the walls of the Disney Protagonist’s building. During the quick introduction, it seemed that the company had thought of everything the couple could’ve needed.

Guess the same quality of service didn’t apply to villains…

(Y/N) sat in silence for a few minutes, allowing Ratigans words to fully sink in, before finally speaking up.

“I didn’t— …..I’m sorry.”

Ratigan didn’t lift his arm from his eyes, “Please. Spare me your pity, human.”

“Oh please, don’t start with that— I’m sorry that you’ve been screwed over, I wasn’t aware that the company’s been this irresponsible.”

Slowly, (Y/N) reached out their hand, palm open in offering,

“I’m still pretty new here, but I think I’ve got a way to pull a few strings…”

Finally lifting his arm, Ratigan looked up at the park attendant. The scent of their sincerity almost nauseating, but what else did he have to lose?

Taking (Y/N)s palm as an invitation, he lifted himself off the carpet and onto (Y/N)s hand.

Oh, how low he’s stooped.

————————————————————————

Turns out (Y/N)’s “few strings” was the one of the villains that they had managed to befriend. With Ratigan in hand, (Y/N) went all the way to the other side of the building to the villains lounge, where they explained the professors dilemma to a very confused Hades, asking for his help.

As distrustful as Ratigan was around humans, he could appreciate this park attendants persuasiveness through subtle manipulation and use of accumulated favors.

Hades, who’s always been a fan of things creepy and crawly, (and also wanted to earn some brownie points with (Y/N) ) agreed to help their little charity case

Half an hour later Ratigan still sat in (Y/N)’s hands, looking up at the now nervous park attendant as they fidgeted in place, staring at the door of their managers office.

After a few minutes and some smoke leaking from underneath the doorway, a very pleased Hades opened the door. The god strolled up to (Y/N), patting them on the back and commenting how “he warmed him up for you” and was about to leave before acknowledging Ratigan in their palm.

“Ya’ better be grateful, tiny. You’ve found the only person in this park who gives a shit about you.”

Just as Ratigan was about to demand an explanation on what (Y/N) was planning, the park attendant strode into the office. Where the pair met eyes with a very pale manager.

The previous anxiousness on (Y/N)s face instantly melted into professionalism, introducing themselves, then placed Ratigan on the managers desk and asking him to share his current quality of life with the sweating man before him.

One slightly confused but melodramatic explanation later, (Y/N) went on to say how “disturbing” it was to see this type of mistreatment in a company who had bragged about the quality of their intellectual properties well being, and that it would be “unfortunate if word about Disneys beloved characters being mistreated got out to the general public, especially those protesting Disneys new holographic AI.”

(Y/N) went on to virtually demand that the company recorrect this oversight, and give Ratigan a fully furnished living space and amenity’s just like the other mice in the park.

The office was dead silent once (Y/N) had finished speaking.

The manager dabbed the sweat from his forehead, cleared his throat, and nodded. The pasty man tried to come up with excuses for the company before conceding, agreeing with (Y/N)s “request” and apologizing to Ratigan, who for once in his life was speechless.

(Y/N) and Ratigan left the managers office with the promise of Ratigans new home being fully constructed within two months, and full permission to take any food/ rodent sized items from the protagonists building.

Ratigan, who was still dazed with the sudden change of luck, was dropped off in the Villains lounge. (Y/N) promising to pick up some fresh food and maybe a rodents sized bed from the “good guys place” before running out of the room.

It wouldn’t be until months later that he’d fully express his gratitude…. But for now, he admitted , he is lucky that he found the one person in this park who gave a shit him.

———————————————————————

Hope this answers your request! I thought it’s be nice to learn how Ratigan and (Y/N) first met!

I’ll definitely make another post about their friendship and more fluff, but how could I resist writing some angst? 😭

[princessbrunette]

hai!!!! just curious, because ik everyone kinda has their own definitions when it comes to different kinds of readers, what do you describe puppy/kitty/bunny/deer!reader as? what makes them them?

anyway, luv ya n all that ya do- ,,^-^,,

ooo fun question !! ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ³ ᵔ ꒱ྀིა

BUNNY:

she was born for the soft life. a highly organised system in her closet, and a whole separate closet just for shoes. she’s not bratty, she doesn’t even know what being bratty is or how to do it, but there are of course times she starts thumping her foot, whining and pulling at rafes clothes. this petulant behaviour is often solved by a stern look, a tap on the cheek or a reach under the skirt to tug at her fluffy bunny butt plug. her nose twitches when she’s upset, and has a big toothy grin when she’s happy. she leaves the glitter from her body all over rafe’s clothes, mink eyelash extensions on the sink, tubes of lipgloss in her boyfriends pockets. she’s an r&b / rap girl lover to her core, and a day isn’t complete without bouncing around her room to flo milli or saweetie. bunny doesn’t have an ounce of shame in her body— whether that’s from her skirt riding up in public (as to which rafe has to irritably tug it down again) to pawing at him, begging him for dick infront of his friends. luckily, rafe doesn’t have much shame either.

KITTY:

be careful, she bites! no really, she does — cross her and she’s squinting at you, sinking her teeth into an arm until you yelp. according to jj, anyway. she’s odd, and that’s what he likes about her— collecting horror movie memorabilia and trinkets from the thrift store she thinks might be ‘haunted’. she keeps her nails long, stiletto shaped even — whether that’s from scraping her money together for acrylics or growing them out herself. she has the craziest oral fixation, always needing something to lick, suck or chew on— that something often being her boyfriend jj. despite the black liner in her waterline, she is still a spoilt little priss who needs her pink ribbons tied round anything and everything, requiring the fluffiest of blankets and pillows for her daily nap. unlike bunny, she does work — having a little gig as a bartender/waitress at a beachside restaurant. she gets super huffy and puffy, not enjoying having to speak to so many people — but her boyfriend gaining a linecook job at the same joint makes things better. she’s deftones biggest fan, even owning a pair of panties with their album cover on the front. jj loves seeing them on the floor of his room.

PUPPY:

she’s playful, clingy, and ever so whiny. shes the most energetic of the bunch, firing off into a million topics at once, talking and talking until john b has to interrupt her to tell her to breathe or she will pass out. her signature is her big doe eyes, used as a weapon ready to fire at all times on anyone who dares to upset her. she’s not spoilt, infact she’s very humble and fairly docile unless provoked— she just requires oodles of attention and affection, pats on the head and praise are her love language! she works at the local pet store, often coming home with hilarious stories about handling animals, john b plucking hay out of her hair as she tells them. she has the energy to keep up with all the animals, running around until she arrives home to john b and passes out on his lap for a quick nap before bursting into a fit of energy once more. pup is never seen without her walkman, and can often be found dancing around the empty chateau with 80s pop blaring in her ears, or knocked out with the audio tapes john b had recorded for her to help her sleep.

DEER:

riddled with anxiety, whilst somehow being the most still and unsettling person in the room. deer!reader, much like a real deer is skittish, easily frightened, but ever so curious. she has a different view on the world to most of her peers, a master in people watching and could win any staring competition. she’s often found with her nose in a book, the topic being either of something completely fanatical, or something informative and peculiar. due to her reading habits, much like her boyfriend pope she is a whirlpool of information, constantly quietly spewing facts into his ear (which let’s be real, is practically foreplay for the two of them.) she has a tendency to get into trouble from her prying, exploring and staring — but she doesn’t mean to come across that way, she’s the picture of innocence really! she likes 50s/ 60s music, finding a charming and simple peace to the sound — and is a mass collector of callico critters, sonny angels and blythe dolls. pope finds it adorable.

[moralesluvr]

FABLE AND TRUTH 3 | billie eilish

୧ ‧₊˚ love was the law & religion was taught…. ↳ summary: you had always been raised on being poise, feminine, classy. but what was most important to your family was your religion— and it had embroidered itself into your daily life. but when it’s time to pick between feelings and faith, which will you choose? pairings & aus. billie eilish x fem!reader warnings. religious backgrounds & guilt | mature language | sexual content | substance use author's note. WOOO CHAP 3 IS HERE wc. 8.1k

✧ 11:33 am, tuesday ✧

when you wake up, you’ve got a headache, and not the kind that derives from alcohol. 

you stretch out your limbs, head pounding as you reach over to look at your clock, and you almost scream at how late it is. although you don’t have classes on tuesdays, you had missed your morning Bible study, which made you slip out a groan, grabbing your phone and checking your notifications. 

a bunch of pictures were piled into the shared photo album between you and your friends, the group chat was blowing up with texts, and you had three missed calls from one of your friends from Bible study, loretta. 

you sighed, placing your phone into the cushions of your bed as the door to your dorm swung open, emma’s sleepy frame coming into view as she rubbed her eyes. she’d swapped her party outfit for oversized sweats and a hoodie, her hair a messy bun of waves and curls as she let out a thick yawn. 

“morning. everything alright?” she mumbled, voice laced with fatigue as she slumped into the doorframe of your bedroom. you sat up, the covers above you shuffling as you cuddled into a pillow, sighing. 

“good morning. and yeah— i’m fine, i just slept in too late. missed my Bible study.”

emma’s face warmed up, and she padded over to sit at the edge of your bed. although emma could be loud and rowdy sometimes, she was always there for you when you needed it, and she always knew when to soften up. she scoots closer to you, “you feeling okay, love? you seemed… tense as shit last night.”

before you could answer her question, there was a loud knock echoing from the door, followed by naomi’s unmistakable, recognizable voice. you really longed to be alone right now, but you sit up straighter underneath your bedsheets, prepared for whatever shenanigans she has to offer. 

“open up!” she sing-songed dramatically, and you honestly wondered how she could be so hyper after the night you shared previously, “we brought coffee!”

that makes you want to be alone a little less. 

you start to get up, but emma shuffles to the door, pulling it open to reveal naomi, jules, and oliver standing in the hallway. naomi held a tray of iced coffees while jules had her tote bag slung over one shoulder, her sunglasses perched on her head like she was ready to model at any moment, though you can tell she hasn’t been out by the way she’s clad in slippers and sweats, which she would never step foot outside in. oliver stood between the two girls, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, grinning lazily.

“we figured you wouldn’t come out today, knowing you— so we came right to you instead.” naomi giggled, handing you an iced coffee as she waltzed into the room. she plopped onto your bed, careful not to splash any of her drink, “yeah, i know, we’re great friends like that.”

the four of them made themselves comfortable very quickly, naomi got up and plopped onto your desk chair, jules claimed the cushiony, lilac colored beanbag in the corner, and oliver flopped onto the huge rug by your bed. emma returned to her perch on the mattress.

“so… how are you feeling?” jules starts off, pulling out a makeup mirror from her tote, brushing a freshly manicured nail through her lash extensions. she looks at you when you don’t respond instantly, and you let off a shrug, your voice hallow and quiet. 

“i feel alright.” you muttered, sipping at your coffee, though no one believes your lie. you wouldn’t necessitate consider it one— you did feel alright, but you definitely have felt better. 

the encounter with billie was still on instant replay in your mind. all the way from the party to your awkward conversation at the diner, it felt like it all happened literally five minutes ago. you couldn’t get her face out of your head, what she said to you before she left, how she somehow knew your name and you hadn’t even told her it. she was attentive, such a great listener— and you were one back. but now things were tense, and they were driving you nuts, and all you wanted to do was to sink further into your mattress until it swallowed you whole. 

“oh, come on,” naomi drags out with a smirk, “don’t think we didn’t notice how fast you bolted out of that damn diner last night.”

oliver sits up in confusion, “you went to the diner without me? you assholes.”

“yeah right.” emma offers up a scoff, “why weren’t you there? oh, my bad, you were too busy getting dicked down!” 

you wave a hand at the two as they start to banter, “okay, okay, please. not today.” 

they all go quiet, murmuring apologies at you as you felt your headache growing stronger. by this time, you would’ve already had breakfast and your morning coffee, probably on a run or shopping with emma. but instead, you were laying in your bed idle, having a needed albeit unpleasant conversation with your best friends. 

jules snickered at you, closing her mirror and shoving it into her bag, “so, billie? ring any bells?”

“guys,” you groaned, setting your coffee on the nightstand, ready to defend yourself. “come on, it wasn’t like that.”

“really?” naomi teased, tilting her head. “because it sure looked like it. i mean— you may not swing that way, but you were ready to switch teams for that girl.” 

oliver grinned. “never seen you that flustered, y/n. kind of refreshing, honestly.”

“what the heck?” you deadpanned, glaring at him. “you literally weren’t even there.”

“pictures were sent, what can i say?”  naomi giggled, but you didn’t laugh with her. you were starting to become a little irritated at the whole thing. it was already bad enough you started your morning off on the wrong foot, and this impromptu interrogation session wasn’t helping you feel even the slightest bit better. “billie was clearly into you. and you didn’t exactly shut her down.”

you sighed, running a hand over your face. you really want to tell them to leave, but you weren’t that type of girl. they were annoying at times, but they were your friends— almost like siblings. and this is what they do, so you couldn’t complain. “for the last time, she was drunk. it didn’t mean anything, so drop it.” 

emma, who’d been quietly observing the entire exchange, finally spoke up at the three, “okay y’all, leave her alone. she’s clearly not in the mood for this.”

you shot her a grateful look, and she shrugged as if it were her way of saying ‘you’re welcome.’ the group grumbles but they ultimately understand, so they all collectively promise that they’d drop it once and for all, trying their best not to make you upset even further. 

the conversation eventually switched to oliver’s little one night stand that took place last night, and you pretend to listen as best as you can, but your efforts are failed. you can’t think straight— last night’s events are gnawing at you, and it makes your skin crawl when you let yourself think about billie. she’s undeniably gorgeous, and the kind of interesting that makes you want to know her thoughts about everything, how she feels, how she thinks. her demeanor is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before, and much differentiated from how yours is. she’s bold, and it’s obvious that she isn’t swayed easily. 

you try to convince yourself that it’s just a deep interest in her, and nothing more. a longing to be her friend— to understand someone that’s much different than you, to catch a glimpse at a different perspective. but it’s not normal how you stare at her longer than you should, or how your skin tingles every time someone even mentions her name. 

but it’s wrong. she’s a girl, and you’re a girl, and it’s obvious that those kind of feelings aren’t even to be uttered out loud about. so you shake your shoulders in an attempt to shake your thoughts too, but they linger. they stay. 

you pinch at your skin until it aches, saying a quick prayer to steady yourself. you needed to get out of your dorm, otherwise your thoughts would swallow you whole. and everyone seemed to pick up on that when you hear bags shuffling and shoes being put on, and you open your eyes to see everyone packing their things up, ready to leave. 

but you needed this. and more than anything, all of this made you question yourself. your faith. your path. you’d always believed in staying true to what you’d been taught, to what you felt in your heart was right. but lately, everything seemed so much more complicated.

“hey, you okay?” emma’s voice broke through your reverie, and you realized the room had gone quiet. everyone was standing up now, and everyone was looking at you.

“yeah,” you said quickly, trying to sound convincing, “i’m honestly just tired.”

emma frowned at you but she didn’t press further, and soon enough, your friends were saying their goodbyes, eventually filing out the door. but emma stayed behind, lingering in the doorway.

“seriously, you good?” she asked you with a pleading tone, “you don’t have to lie to me. it’s okay.” 

you want to take refuge in emma. you want to express to her how confused you feel, how badly your mind is swirling, how foreign and unpleasant these feelings were to you. but you just nod anyways, offering up a small smile, “i’m okay, really, em. just need some time to myself.”

emma didn’t look convinced, but she let it go, closing the door softly behind her as she bid you farewell. 

once you were alone, you sat on the edge of your bed, staring at the floor. your phone buzzed beside you, and you picked it up to see another text from loretta, asking if you were okay. guilt twisted in your stomach as you typed out a quick response, apologizing for missing Bible study and promising to see her as soon as you could. 

and soon came faster than you expected. less than an hour later, you found yourself walking into the small classroom where your Bible study group met, clutching your journal and Bible like a lifeline. loretta was already there, along with a few others, her warm smile lighting up the room as she waved you over.

“we really missed you this morning.” she said, her tone kind but tinged with curiosity. loretta won’t ever pry, but she always speaks in a way that could make someone spill all their darkest secrets to her. but it’s familiar to you, so you press your belongings further into your chest, shrugging at her lightly. 

“i’m so sorry, etta,” you speak, your voice nothing but a whisper, taking a seat beside her at a lone table next to the window that bleeds golden rays of sunlight. you thank the Lord for that, instantly boosting your mood a little. “i just had such rough night. i didn’t wake up in time.”

loretta studied you for a moment, her eyes soft with understanding. she doesn’t push, she just sets a hand above your own, “you want to talk about it?”

“not really,” you admitted, looking down at your hands. you drew them back, and loretta passes you a confused grin as you set them in your lap. you feel bad, but you can’t be bothered with the intimacy right now. “just a lot on my mind.”

she nodded, not pushing any further, and then the study began. there were always multiple a day on tuesdays, but you preferred to catch the morning ones because they always made your day better, and plus— you had the rest of it to spend as you pleased. but today you had strolled in at the one p.m, and something felt…off. 

you try to push it away, excusing it for your late awakening. but as the discussion moved through the week’s passage, you found it hard to focus. your mind kept wandering, questions swirling in your head left and right. you scribbled notes in the margins of your journal, but none of it felt real, none of it felt connected. you felt… lost.

“i just can’t focus today,” you mutter to yourself, tapping your pen lightly against your journal, your mind wandering among other things. the passage of the day is from the book of james— chapter one, verses five through eight. it’s a familiar one: if any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him. but let him ask in faith, with no doubting…

the words drift in and out of your mind, brushing up against the edges of your thoughts but never quite sticking in. the leader of the study, a soft-spoken senior named marcus, begins breaking it down, his voice steady and sure. “james is talking about faith that doesn’t waver, even in uncertainty,” he says. “it’s about trusting that God’s wisdom will come in His timing, even when we don’t have all the answers. does anyone have any thoughts to add to that?” 

your pen pauses mid-tap, and you feel a lump forming in your throat. the room is quiet as everyone listens, but you’re anything but. your heart is racing, and your thoughts are louder than ever, and it’s nothing like you’ve ever felt before. you’re usually so attentive, so focused— but everything felt blurry now, and you honestly just wanted to leave. 

you felt almost guilty for even thinking that, but feelings weren’t sinful. it was true and raw, and although it made you feel a little sick, it was honest. 

you think about what marcus said, trying to force yourself back on track. 

faith without doubting. faith in His timing. it feels personal, like the words are aimed straight at you, piercing through the fog of everything you’ve been trying to suppress. but you don’t speak up, you just keep tapping your pen against the blank pages of your journal, waiting until someone else breaks the silence. 

and it finally happens. 

“but what does that look like in practice?” someone asks. it’s a girl you’ve seen around but don’t know well—melanie, maybe? you weren’t sure. 

 “how do we trust when things feel… messy?”

marcus smiles gently at her, flipping back a page to quote scripture. “well, morgan, it’s not easy.” 

so, not melanie. you snort quietly. 

“…but it starts with honesty—with bringing all of your doubts and messiness to God. He can handle it. the act of faith isn’t about being perfect; it’s about surrendering even when it’s hard.”

you glance down at your journal, your new scribbled notes blurring together. you write the word “surrender” in the margin, circling it harshly, but the idea feels heavy, almost suffocating.

marcus moves on to another topic out of genesis, but you’re stuck on the first lesson, that first word.  surrender. what does it even mean, really? how are you supposed to surrender when your thoughts and feelings are so tangled, when you can’t even untangle them long enough to pray properly?

your chest tightens as the conversation continues around you, voices rising and falling like waves, but you’re drowning beneath them. the guilt from the night before, the confusion about billie, the shame of missing this morning’s study —it all feels like too much.

you can’t sit here anymore.

closing your journal quietly, you slide it into your bag and stand, keeping your head low as you make your way to the door. a few people glance up, but no one stops you. no one except loretta.

“y/n?” she calls softly, her voice filled with concern, but your feet betray you. you keep moving towards the door, your bag shuffling against your jeans as you walk faster. 

but then you pause, hand on the doorknob, and shake your head. “i’ll be back,” you say, though even you aren’t sure if you really mean it. you haven’t a clue when you’d be back. 

you step out into the hallway, the cool air hitting you like a wave of relief. but it doesn’t stop the tightness in your chest, the way your hands tremble as you lean against the wall. you take a deep breath, then another, but it doesn’t help.

the door creaks open behind you, and you know it’s loretta before she even speaks.

“okay honey, what’s going on?” she asks, her tone soft but insistent.

you shake your head again, trying your best to avoid her gaze. “nothing. i just… needed some air.”

“y/n,” she says, stepping closer. “this isn’t nothing. talk to me.”

the sincerity in her voice almost breaks you. you glance at her, and the concern in her eyes feels like a mirror, reflecting all the things you’ve been trying to hide. you feel like she can see right through your excuses— she’s got that kind of anointing on her, and you sigh, almost accepting your defeat. 

“i don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “i just feel… off. like i’m failing. at everything.”

loretta frowns, leaning against the wall beside you. she speaks gently, “now why would you think that?”

you swallow hard, the words clawing their way out of your throat, scratchy and forced, “because i can’t focus. because i missed the morning study. because i keep getting caught up in… things that don’t even matter.”

“things like what?”

you hesitate, the memory of billie’s words flashing through your mind. something good, she’d said. but what if she was wrong? what if there wasn’t anything good about you?

“just… distractions and stuff,” you say finally, wrapping your arms around yourself. you weren’t telling the whole truth, but details didn’t really matter now. loretta can tell that you’re hiding something, but she doesn’t ask. she just wants you to be raw. 

“things that make me feel like i’m not good enough. like i’m not who i’m supposed to be.”

loretta is quiet for a moment, and when she speaks, her voice is gentle. “y/n, you’re not supposed to have it all figured out. none of us are. that’s why we’re here, why we study and pray and try to grow. it’s not about being perfect; it’s about seeking Him, even in the mess.”

her words hit you like a balm, soothing but not erasing the ache. “but what if i can’t?” you ask, your voice breaking. “what if i keep messing up?”

“then you just keep trying,” she says simply. “God’s grace isn’t a one-time thing. it’s new every morning, remember? His love doesn’t depend on you getting it right. it’s just… there. always.”

you close your eyes, letting her words sink in. it’s not a magic fix, but it’s something to offer.

“thanks,” you say quietly, finally meeting her gaze.

she smiles, her hand brushing your shoulder lightly. “anytime. and, y/n? you’re not failing. you’re just human. whatever it is, it doesn’t change you as a person. you’re still you.” 

that soothes you, and you smile at loretta, “thanks. i’m going to study, but…i’ll keep your words in mind.” 

she offers you a sweet smile, waving as she watches you walk away, disappearing into the warm sun. 

✧ 5:45 pm ✧

by the evening, you found yourself wandering the campus library, hoping the quiet would help clear your mind. the big windows of the building let in wispy, warm air, the sunset painting golden streaks across the few students who sat scattered at tables, their heads bent over books and their headphones above their ears. 

the familiar scent of aged paper and polished wood grounded you, offering a comfort nothing else but loretta’s pep talk had managed to provide all day. your steps were slow, almost aimless, as you trailed your fingers along the spines of all kinds of books, the cool texture grounding you further. eventually, you stopped in the music section, though you weren’t sure why.

maybe it was curiosity. or maybe it was that same uneasy pull you’d felt since the party, a pull to the music that blasted through the speakers, but especially to the music sung live— raw and unpolished— literally right in front of you.

her music.

you flipped through a biography of some lesser-known jazz singer, your fingers lingering on the edges of the pages, when a familiar, confident voice broke the stillness.

“huh. figured i’d find you in the nerd section.”

you jumped, nearly dropping the book in your hands as your heart raced. of course, it was billie— her voice too distinct and her teasing known by you all too well. you swallow thickly, spinning around on your heel where you found billie standing a few feet away, her hands shoved in the pockets of her extremely oversized jacket. the same smug smirk you’d come to associate with only her tugged at her lips, her ocean blue eyes sparkling. 

“oh,” you spoke out of obvious surprise, “hi, billie. w-what are you doing here?”

“nice to see you too, princess,” she giggled, “i’m here to read. y’know, that’s what people usually do at libraries.” 

“w-wait…you go to…yale university?” you questioned, cocking your head to the side. she didn’t seem like the type to even be interested in what your college had to offer, and no major seemed like one that you’d expect her to be endorsed in. 

she grinned stupidly at your confusion, her eyes narrowing with mischief, and it was obvious that she took pride in pestering you, “what, you think i just wander onto campuses for fun? as much as i find that dope, no— i do go here.” 

“i mean… it seems like it’d be your style,” you admitted, your words hesitant as you tried to say that as less offensively as you could. billie really didn’t seem like the type to be drawn to yale’s particular offerings, and you couldn’t picture her fitting into any of the usual cliques or anything you associated with your school. you set your book down on the table forgetfully, now engrossed in this conversation with billie, “what are you even studying?”

“music theory.” she said simply.

your eyebrows shot up, the revelation catching you completely off guard. you hold a hand up, “wait— hold on, seriously?”

billie rolled her eyes, but her grin stayed in place. “yes, seriously. what, you think just because i can sing, i don’t care about the technical stuff? that’s the best part.” she gestured dramatically toward the shelves around her, stuffed to the brim books on everything from classical composition to modern sound design, none of which you really knew about— it was so much different from your major of law. 

“no, it’s not that, i just…” you trailed off, feeling a little sheepish under her knowing gaze. it was embarrassing how quick you judged her, and you felt instant regret wash over you. “i guess i just didn’t expect you to major in something like that, i thought singing was just a hobby of yours. i’m so sorry.” 

“don’t worry about it, sunday school.” billie snickers, leaning against a table, “but yeah, honestly, people tend to underestimate me. not that i really give a shit. it makes moments like this way more fun.”

you frowned, clarifying your intentions, “i’m not underestimating you. i just—”

“—just didn’t peg me for a nerd?” billie finished your sentence for you, raising an eyebrow.

“i didn’t say that!”

she laughed, the sound light and unbothered. she slips past you to reach for a book above your head, her shoulder bumping into yours, and the light and quick moment of contact makes you shiver, “you didn’t have to. but don’t worry, princess, i’m not offended—” her sentence stops as billie stood back on her heels, waving a foreign book in front of your face excitedly, “this book’s so fucking good, i’ve read it like a hundred times. it’s fantasy, but it’s still a banger. alright, so basically…”

and then she babbles on. something about how a dude’s got the most insane case of synesthesia, which she also has, and that’s why she likes the book so much. “—he can literally see music notes as they’re being played. and they like, make a path or some shit…that part’s blurry— but anyway, he meets his wife from it and it’s so dope. and they make music together and have little musical intelligent babies and like, oh my god, it’s been my favorite ever since i picked it up.” 

you felt your cheeks heat up, the warmth blossoming against your skin, and you turned slightly, pretending to scan the titles on the nearest shelf to avoid eye contact. you hum to let her know that you were listening, but if you looked at her for any longer, you’d throw up. 

it was almost inhuman, how effortlessly beautiful she looked—her excitement lighting up her face in a way that made it hard to focus on anything else. you’d never seen her this talkative before, and while it was a stark contrast to the teasing, smug demeanor you were used to, it didn’t bother you. in fact, it was a welcome distraction from the awkwardness of monday night.

“you should read it.” she said suddenly, thrusting the book toward you with a light toss. 

you blinked harshly, glancing down at the cover. it was worn from use, the edges frayed and the spine creased, and you could get that all those little flaws were because she’s probably checked out the book a million times. “me? read this?” you asked, a little hesitant, “i honestly don’t know if it’s my thing. i’m not good at the whole….music thing.” 

billie rolled her eyes, though her unbreakable smile a dead give away that she was only playing, “ugh, don’t be like that. trust me, it’s good. and if you hate it, you can yell at me later. i won’t be offended.” 

you laughed softly, taking the book from her hands. her fingers brushed against yours briefly, and you tried not to think about how warm they felt, how her rings were a cool contrast to her fiery skin, how it made you feel so much calmer, although it was only an accident. you stifle a cough, “fine,” you said, flipping it over to read the back cover. “but if it’s terrible, you owe me coffee for the inconvenience.”

“deal,” she said with a wink, stepping back to lean casually against the nearest shelf. “but, spoiler alert, you’re gonna love it. it has all the nerdy shit you like.” 

you shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself, “yeah, alright, we’ll see.”

for a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of her presence lingering in the air as you pretended to read the book summary. in truth, you were hyperaware of her gaze, of the way she seemed completely at ease while you felt like a bundle of nerves. she was staring at you, taking in your features, her eyes moving rapidly— she wasn’t wasting anytime. she was fixated on you. 

“so,” she said finally, breaking the silence, looking across the various, neat stacks of books, “what’s got you so wound up today? you seem off.”

you hesitated, debating whether to brush her off or actually answer. but something about the way she looked at you—curious but not pushing too hard—made you feel like maybe it was okay to share. you felt comfortable. 

“just… a lot on my mind,” you admitted, keeping your eyes on the book in your hands.

“like?”

you sighed, finally looking up to meet eyes with her, “it’s nothing, really. just school, life… trying to figure out what i’m doing with myself. stuff about me.”

billie tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “well, join the club, sunday school. i don’t think anyone really knows what they’re doing. we’re all just kinda winging it, to be honest. this life shit isn’t easy.” 

you couldn’t help but smile at that, her words oddly comforting, though it isn’t exactly something you’d ever say. “yeah, maybe.”

there’s silence for a second. and then billie speaks up again, tossing a section of hair to the side of her shoulders, toying with the ends. she twirls them around a black-manicured nail, and she seems more serious now. 

“do you, um…” she mumbles, and you raise an eyebrow at her, coaxing her to finish her sentence, “—get coffee?” do you wanna go? with me?” 

you almost laugh at how choppy her sentence is. you know that you shouldn’t go, it was already bad enough that the two of you were conversing so much— but you obliged anyways. she was just a friend, don’t friends hang out? 

“sure.” you give her a warm smile, “why not?”

she nods, “alright. cool.”

as you both stepped out of the library, the cool evening air wrapped around you, the sky fading into deeper shades of orange and purple. the colors bled together beautifully, and it made you smile at what a wonderful creation it was. billie walked beside you, her usual swagger a little muted. the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was a noticeable shift in her energy.

“hey,” billie started, her voice softer than usual. you glanced at her, surprised by the change in tone as you both kept walking down campus. her hands were stuffed into her jacket pockets, and her gaze was fixed on the ground ahead, not even bothering to look at you. she seemed shameful. “about the other night at the diner… i just— i need to say that i’m really fucking sorry.”

you stopped in your tracks, turning to face her fully. her expression was uncharacteristically serious, the usual teasing glint in her eyes replaced by something more vulnerable. it was extremely unexpected, and you kind of wish she hadn’t said anything at all— because now you had to discuss it. 

“you’re… apologizing?” you asked, not meaning to sound so incredulous, but you couldn’t help it. it was just so out of the blue, and you assumed she was one of those people who’d chat with you after something happens to compensate for what she did wrong. 

“yeah,” she said, her lips twitching into a faint, self-deprecating smile, “look, i know i was a jerk. i pushed too hard, and i made you uncomfortable. i was drunk as shit, but that still wasn’t cool of me. not an excuse. so… i’m sorry.”

you blinked, caught off guard by her sincerity. it was rare to see this side of her, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. “thank you,” you said finally, your voice soft. “i appreciate that.”

you two laughed, the tension between you dissolving as the two of you headed toward a nearby café. it was cute— white with pink accents, and it was definitely right up your alley. you were surprised you had never heard of it, and you made a mental note to come here in the mornings for your alone Bible studies. 

billie opened the door for you, ushering her hand in front of you with a grand gesture, “m’lady.” 

you feel yourself shrivel at her words. it was a joke— you shouldn’t be so stuck up about it, and you aren’t even sure why her saying that would make you feel…off. it would’ve been totally different if one of your girls said it, and that’s what bothers you. what was so different about you and billie’s friendship? why did it bother you so much? 

you stepped inside the restaurant, trying to play off how nervous you are. the café is cozy and warm, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air as you slid into a booth across from billie. she handed you a menu, though you both already knew you’d order something simple. it was nearly seven now, and coffee at night usually wasn’t your thing— so you settled on ordering decaf. 

“so,” billie spoke, resting her chin on her hand as she watched you skim the menu. “what’s your go-to?”

“just a latte,” you said, setting the menu down. you rest your head on your hands, “well— not today. it’s too late for all that caffeine, so i think i’ll go with decaf. what about you?”

“black coffee,” she said with a shrug. she flips to the back of the menu, her movements smooth, “i like it bitter. keeps me sharp.”

you raised an eyebrow, unable to resist teasing her. you felt slightly more comfortable after her apology, like you really could be friends. you try joking around with her instead of her initiating the teasing while you try not to pass out. “yeah, bitter suits you.”

she laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. it makes you feel good that you could make her feel the same way she made you feel. “touché, princess. touché.”

when the drinks finally arrived, billie slid yours across the table to you, her fingers brushing against yours briefly as she passed you a straw. you ignored the spark of warmth that shot through you, focusing instead on the beautiful and intricate foam art in your cup.

“so,” billie started after a few moments of quiet, her tone casual but curious. she takes a sip of her coffee first before speaking again, and it’s astonishing how she doesn’t react at the taste of her bitter coffee. “why yale? what made you pick it?”

you took a sip of your latte, thinking about your answer. “it just felt right,” you said after a moment. “the programs, the campus, the challenge. it just… felt like where i was supposed to be. i wanted to be successful, and this seemed like the place to do it.” 

billie nodded, her blue eyes glossed with thoughtfulness, attentiveness, like she didn’t want to miss anything you could have to say. “that’s cool. i get that.”

“what about you?” you asked her, leaning forward slightly, trying to keep the conversation at an easy flow, “you said you like the library. is music the only thing you have interest in?”

she grinned, a hint of her usual playfulness returning. she sets her cup of coffee down, “wouldn’t you like to know?”

you rolled your eyes, but your curiosity was piqued, “well, yeah— that’s why i asked.”

“fine, fine,” she said, holding up her hands in mock defeat. “just joking with you. but i fuck with art a lot. i’m drawing constantly, and it’s a major reason why half the songs i’ve written are even written. music is just what i love the most, and i’d be a much better musician than an artist. i’m no picasso.” 

your eyebrows shot up in surprise, your head boding eagerly, “really? i didn’t know you were into art like that.”

“there’s a lot you don’t know about me, princess,” she said with a smirk. but then her expression softened. “music’s… it’s my thing. it’s how i make sense of the world, y’know? it’s kind of like my therapy. but art is like that, too. both go hand in hand.” 

you nodded, a small smile forming on your lips. you finish off your coffee, sipping until only ice remains. “that’s… really cool, billie. i think it’s amazing that you’re so passionate about it.”

she looked at you for a moment, her gaze steady and warm. “thanks,” she said softly.

the conversation flowed easily after that, the two of you sharing bits and pieces of your lives over coffee. by the time both of your cups were empty, you felt like you understood her a little better— and maybe, she wasn’t as intimidating as she seemed. 

you both finished up, as you stood to leave, billie pulled out her phone, handing it to you with a small grin. “here,” she pressed her phone into your hands, “put your number in. in case you hate the book and need to yell at me about it, of course.” 

you really didn’t know if this was the best idea. it was back and forth— somethings felt alright, but this felt like too much. 

but you can’t keep withdrawing yourself just because of how you feel. it’d be different if the both of you were feeling off, but you just felt like you were making things weird now. so you laughed, taking the phone and quickly typing in your number. “or, you know, if i actually like it,” you said, handing it back to her.

“yeah,” she said, her grin softening into something more genuine, “that too.”

you nodded at her, the both of you treading out of the coffee shop before splitting off onto your separate ways. you fished out your phone from your bag and put your headphones in, your music loud, but your thoughts seemingly louder. 

as you walked back to your dorm, the quiet night air pressed softly against your skin. the faint hum of streetlights buzzed above you, casting pools of golden light along the sidewalk, swallowing the shadow of your footsteps. you held your phone tightly in your hand, replaying the evening’s events over and over in your head.

billie’s apology had surprised you. it wasn’t just the words—though those had been unexpected, too—but the way she’d said them. there was no smugness, no teasing grin. she had been genuine. it wasn’t a side of her you’d ever anticipated seeing, and it left you feeling… conflicted.

you sighed, your thoughts chasing each other in circles, one that clearly had no end. you try to be honest with yourself— there was no denying that billie intrigued you. she was so different from anyone you’d ever known— bold and unpredictable, but also unexpectedly thoughtful in her own way. the way her face lit up when she talked about that book, how her excitement made you feel lighter, even when you were sure you didn’t want to.

even your own friends this morning couldn’t cheer you up. it wasn’t what you needed— their pestering, the plethora of questions that they always had to ask, you didn’t need any of that. but billie made you feel content, airy, like you could let loose a little bit, even when you didn’t feel up to it. 

you frowned, kicking at a loose pebble on the sidewalk. why does she even care so much about what i think? why does she want to know me? the question sat uncomfortably in your chest, its edges sharp and unclear. part of you wanted to write it off as just another one of her games, but another part —the part that noticed the way her voice softened when she apologized to you—wasn’t so sure.

then there was the way she’d looked at you, her blue eyes steady and piercing. it wasn’t like she was trying to figure you out —no, it was like she already had, and she was waiting for you to catch up. it made you feel seen in a way that was both thrilling and absolutely terrifying.

stop overthinking it, you told yourself firmly, shaking your head. but even as you tried to brush it off, her voice echoed in your mind, teasing and warm. 

you couldn’t help but smile at that, though you tried to stifle it. you wiped your face with a cold hand. billie had a way of getting under your skin, and it wasn’t always in a bad way. she just could easily read you, and it scared you a little bit. 

you kept walking as the worship music in your ears grew louder, the volume amplifying until you were sure your earbuds would explode if you turned it up anymore. you had to drown these thoughts out. 

you mumbled a quick prayer to yourself— for clarification, for help on making the right decision. but it felt empty. as some of these prayers always did. 

you always prayed about this. always prayed that these feelings would melt. it wasn’t the first time you felt like your heart was playing tricks on you— you always longed for more than what seemed right and true. but everytime you begged God to remove these feelings, everytime you sat in church and raised your hands when you worshipped, you always felt like in this area of your life, there was no response. 

it was unfair. how could you be so loved, but so neglected? so cherished, but your questions remained unanswered?

as your dorm came into view, you pulled out your phone, scrolling through your messages with her. they weren’t much—just casual exchanges, some teasing, some thoughtful. she had already asked you about the book, and you hadn’t even opened it yet, which made you chuckle to yourself. usually you’d always be cheesing at billie’s dry humor and constant pestering, but they made you smile in a way that felt… new.

what is happening to me? you wondered, your steps slowing as you neared the door. you weren’t sure you wanted to answer that question yet.

instead, you typed out a quick reply to her last text, something simple and sarcastic to keep the conversation going.

but as you walked into your room and shut the door behind you, you couldn’t ignore the tiny flicker of excitement in your chest. you were so engrossed in your thoughts until you saw emma, literally sitting on your bed while scrolling through her phone. 

you froze in the doorway, your thoughts of billie screeching to a halt. “emma?” you asked, your voice laced with confusion and a hint of exasperation. “why are you on my bed?”

she didn’t even look up, her fingers swiping across the screen with practiced ease. she spoke nonchalantly, “cause your bed’s more comfortable than mine. and my charger’s too short to reach my desk, so…”

you sighed, tossing your bag onto your chair and slipping off your shoes, shoving them into their designated spot in your closet. “em. you could’ve asked.”

“and ruin the element of surprise?” she grinned, finally glancing up at you. “besides, you were out late. so spill. where were you?”

“i wasn’t out late,” you argued, brushing past her to grab a bottle of water from your desk. “it’s barely nine.”

emma raised an eyebrow, setting her phone down. “okay, fine. but where were you? and why do you look… different?”

“i don’t look different,” you muttered, avoiding her gaze as you took a long sip of water from your bottle on your beside table. 

but emma wasn’t buying it. she hopped off your bed and crossed her arms, blocking your path back to your chair. you groaned— this wasn’t going to be easy to get out of. 

“you’ve got that look. like, the ‘something interesting happened but i don’t want to talk about it’ look. so? out with it. deets please.” 

you groaned, flopping onto your bed where she’d just been lounging. “it’s nothing, emma. i just—i ran into someone at the library, and we ended up getting coffee. that’s all.”

“someone?” her eyebrows shot up, and her grin widened. “wait, was it a someone someone? like, a certain diner singer someone?”

you felt your cheeks heat up instantly. “why would you even think that?”

“because you’re blushing,” she said smugly, sitting cross-legged on the bed beside you. she put her phone away, her attention completely focused on you, “so, was it billie?”

“fine, yes,” you admitted, running a hand through your hair. there was no point in lying to the girl, so you kept it honest, “but it wasn’t like that. she apologized for the other night, and we just… talked.”

emma’s grin didn’t falter. if anything, it grew. “talked, huh? and now you’re all smiley and weird. sounds like more than just talking to me.”

“it wasn’t!” you insisted, though your voice lacked conviction, “she’s… complicated. but she was nice, and—ugh, i don’t know, emma. can we drop it? you’re always poking me about this.” 

“she’s nice, huh?” emma teased, nudging you playfully. “so, are we talking ‘nice’ as in friendly, or ‘nice’ as in ’i’d let her buy me coffee again’?”

you groaned again, grabbing a pillow and burying your face in it. you voice is muffled as you huff, “i literally hate you.”

“you love me,” she corrected, laughing as she poked your side, trying to grab the pillow from you, but you hold it tight. “but seriously, you don’t just light up like this for anyone. you’re into her, aren’t you?”

your muffled response came through the pillow. “i don’t like girls.”

emma finally pulled the pillow away with undying strength forcing you to look at her. her expression was softer now, more curious than teasing, “right, you don’t like girls— but you like her, and it’s okay if you don’t know. but, like, don’t shut it down just because it’s unexpected. maybe… see where it goes?”

you sighed, sitting up and hugging the pillow to your chest, “emma, i’m not gay. she’s just interesting, and fun to talk to— and the coffee was a bonus to her apology. i wasn’t going to turn that down. she’s cool, but i’m not into her, and i really wish that you and everyone else would stop trying to push this on me.” 

emma grows quiet. you’re clearly not in the mood, but she shrugs at you with a long sigh, “no one is pushing anything on you. it’s obvious that something's going on. i love you— but don’t take this out on us. if you’re confused, then fine, but don’t act like we’re forcing you to do something you literally aren’t already doing. be gay, don’t be gay— we don’t give a shit. you’re still my best friend, it was only jokes.” 

you didn’t respond. it kind of hurt, what emma said— but she was ultimately right. you couldn’t keep being so sensitive just because you couldn’t figure out your own feelings. it wasn’t fair to them, or anyone else, for that matter— it was between you and God alone. 

“i’m sorry.” you apologize, your voice thick with emotion, “i-i didn’t mean to. i’ll stop being so uptight.” 

she doesn’t necessarily know what you mean, but emma didn’t push. she just gave you a knowing smile and stood up, grabbing her phone from the desk. “well, whatever happens, i’ll be here to overanalyze it with you. i love you, okay? now, get some sleep, little lovebird.”

“goodnight, emma,” you muttered, sinking into your sheets as you heard the door slammed close, her footsteps eventually fading out. 

as the door clicked shut behind her, your heart began to race. there was so much going on, so much that made you feel unbalanced, unsteady. 

you reached for your phone, pulling the charger out and opening the Bible app. you clicked on your private notes and started writing, pouring your heart out in a way that felt vulnerable even to you. 

you wrote until your fingers ached. you wrote until you couldn’t see past the blanket of tears that covered your eyes. you were a mess— and you felt so…gross. all of this was wrong. you were too far gone now. 

you couldn’t be friends with billie. not right now, anyways. you couldn’t be friends with her because it was throwing you off your path. it was too much, and you didn’t necessarily adore the feeling of being confused. no matter what, this had to be the last time that you saw billie, that you—

your phone dings. a happy notification sailed across your screen, and you froze. 

billie: hey nerd. wanna hang out tomorrow after class? 

you let out a sigh, ignoring the message as you threw your phone onto the chair across from you lazily. you didn’t have the energy to respond, so you got up to flicker your lights off, forcing yourself to succumb to sleep. 

whatever you do— you have to get away from this girl, or she was going to ruin you. 

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[brickeater712]

breakfast

crossposted from ao3 !

summary: there's nothing more important than her favourite meal of the day.

cw: consensual somnophilia, cabernet x maid!reader, cunn/ilingus, pussy spanking (only once), multiple orgasms, overs/timulation

the door creaks open softly, and the clack of heels approach your figure on the bed. the woman with blazing red hair stops at the foot of the bed, eyes trailing down from your face, to your covered form under the blankets. she bends down and pulls the sheets off of you, grinning when she sees your naked body exposed to the cool air- she doesn’t miss the way your body shivers ever so slightly. 

she isn’t worried- she'll warm you up soon enough. 

she climbs onto the bed, warm hands grabbing your torso lightly and turning your body around. you’re facing the ceiling now, still dozing away. your bareness is an invitation- literally- discussed beforehand as your explicit consent to be woken up in a rather special way. miss cabernet franc doesn’t give this privilege to all her employees, of course, only the cute little maids that look delicious while they clean her huge estate.

she’s spreading your legs, exposing your core to her hungry eyes. she smiles. without hesitation, she dives right into you, licking with a drunk fervour, nails now digging into your soft thighs. she digs into her breakfast, wetting your cunt with each stroke of her tongue. above her, you stir ever so slightly- mumbles falling from your lips when she prods at your clit, thighs twitching when her fiery hair tickles your thighs, hands just barely grasping at nothing when her tongue threatens to dip inside your pussy. 

your body is more than used to this- and so this isn’t enough. she finds that your body subconsciously tries to move downward, chasing the pleasure emanating from its core. 

“needy girl…” she mumbles into your pussy, making a whimper escape your mouth. she’s just as needy as you, though, if not more. her appetite is never satiated, constantly prowling around her mansion to find you for a little extra cleaning, that often leaves you on the floor in aftershocks, sitting in a little puddle of your own cum, pussy sore and covered in your boss’ saliva. 

you’re no stranger to these occurrences- she often walks up behind you soundlessly while you’re cleaning, and starts eating you out as you try to muffle your moans. or like today, when she chooses to take as much of you as she wants, until you’re fully awake to thrash in overstimulation against her unwavering tongue. 

you’re beginning to stir, with more noises falling from your mouth. 

“mm… miss, miss cabernet… more…”

she chuckles into your cunt, glad to see that you yearn for even more, just like her. she moves to rub your swollen clit with her thumb and shove her tongue into you as deep as it can go, attempting to get as much of your sweet cum on her tongue as possible. 

the final jab on your clit makes your eyes fly open, and a gasp leaves your mouth in surprise. your orgasm washes over your body like an earthquake, your legs trembling and hands grasping at the sheets below you. your back arches off the bed, and you squeal out her name as she continues to press at your pulsing clit.

your jerking doesn’t stop her voracity- it only fuels her to move faster, pushing you into overstimulation on her mouth. she knows her lipstick must be smeared by now, but she doesn’t mind. 

“t-too much, miss!” you whine, trying your best to push her away in your sleepy daze. 

she doesn’t let up. “safe word, baby.” she mumbles, and goes back to pressing her tongue flat against your clit and humming. 

you shake your head vigorously. already, you find yourself spiralling towards another orgasm, wanting to chase that high that you won’t live down for a while. 

good girl, she thinks, and thrusts her slim fingers as far as they can go, hitting the spots she knows you love the most- through extensive time spent together. you can feel your orgasm building up inside you, which has tears welling up in your eyes, and wracked sobs escaping your lips.

her fingers curl deliciously inside you, and she massages her tongue against your slightly sore clit. “g-gonna cum, miss!” you scream out, legs kicking in the air as best as they can in her grasp. 

“cum.” she commands, and you yell out, legs attempting to close to protect your pussy from the cruel overstimulation she’s pushing you into. you gush the hardest you ever have, and it coats the bottom of her face with slick. it drips down her chin and onto the sheets, but neither of you are concerned with that in this intimate moment.

“t-too much… no…” you kick out gently, riding out your second orgasm.

your clit almost hurts, but you still want more. your hands go against your control, seemingly pushing her harder into your pussy.

“one more-��ngh! m-miss?” you whimper out, hips grinding weakly against her face. she obliges, of course. who is she to deny you such pleasure? 

she pulls away, just for a moment, and folds your body forwards- she’s kneeling on the bed now, staring down at you with a lustful expression- one you’ve seen many times before. before you can whine at the embarrassing position, she raises her hand and brings it down- right on your sore, trembling cunt. you jolt up from the bed and scream, the sting hard enough to almost bring you to the edge again. tears drip from your eyes, struggling to contain the overwhelming pleasure-pain stemming from your core. 

she wastes no time going down on you again, this time with three fingers inside you- curling and wiggling the best she can, making sure she hits every spot that feels just right for you. her mouth is back on your clit, sucking as if it were her very life force. 

you’re already back on that painful edge, hands weakly tweaking your nipples to add to the heavenly sensations. something builds up in you, threatening to burst with every thrust of her slim fingers against your sweet spot. you thrash uncontrollably on the bed, unable to form a single word, pants, drool and whines coming out of your mouth instead. 

with a final suck to your clit, you go boneless. your body goes slack as you squirt all over her face, breathing paused as your lower body trembles in her hold. she slows her thrusts down gently, each pump of her fingers accompanied by a jet of fluid from your ruined cunt. it’s wet, it’s messy, and it’s audible- each drip onto the bed ringing throughout the room. 

the sheets are stained, squirt dripping from her face and running down your back. she pulls her fingers out of you, admiring her work. she lets you down gently, your legs still shaking. 

you vaguely see her lick your cum off her fingers, already drifting off, back to sleep.

“i’ll clean you up dear. thank you for breakfast.” she chuckles, gently scooping your limp body up into her arms. 

a kiss is planted on your forehead. she won’t admit it, but your breakfast is her favourite meal of the day. 

[honeekyuu]

take the edge off. [suna rintarou x f!reader] chapter two.

>>You struggle with your weight and body image, but Suna extensively and thoroughly undoes all the damage done by other guys.

or

You haven't gotten laid in over a year, and your best friend takes it upon himself to fix that for you.<<

series status: [complete]

previous. || masterlist. || next.

a/n: as it turns out, suna rintarou is just a TIIIIIINY bit obsessed with his best friend. just a little obsessed with her.

[feel free to buy me a cup of coffee!]

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

The ride back to Suna’s apartment passes in a daze. Where you’d been distracted by your dress on the way to the party, now you just cling to his torso and press the front of your helmet between his shoulders without a single care about anything else. He drives fast, red lights finding his hands reaching back so his fingers can wrap around your thighs and squeeze, not a word shared between you.

You just stare down at your lap, at the hands that roam your legs, blunt nails dragging on your skin with meaning. You shiver, thinking of whose hands they are.

What are you two doing? Is this okay? 

You hadn’t wanted to sleep with Hinata at the risk of your friendship, but fucking your best friend is on the table?

You think of the way he’d grabbed you and handled you, the things he’d whispered in your ear, filthy and sweet at the same time. You think of how soiled your panties are right now, of what’s leaking out of you and staining them at this very moment.

Yes, fucking your best friend is certainly on the table.

Suna rolls up to his regular parking spot, dragging his foot along the ground as the motorcycle slows to a stop. You let him go, and he helps you off the bike, lifting your helmet and staring down at you, just like he had at the beginning of the night.

God, that feels like so long ago.

He swallows, brushing his fingers through your hair. “Still want this?” He whispers, eyeing you. “I can take you home instead.” 

You look at him, gaze trailing over his eyes and lips, over his shoulders and chest and down to the arm that’s wrapped loosely around your waist, covered in ink. Mere hours ago, he’d just been Suna. Just a friend – your best friend. Just the same as Atsumu or Osamu.

You don’t think you could ever want Atsumu or Osamu the way you want Suna Rintarou right now.

“Yeah, I-” You breathe, meeting his green eyes, sharp in the moonlight. “-still want this.”

You watch those eyes darken in real time. 

He turns, the hand on your waist tight, and pulls you toward the door to his building. 

The elevator ride is slow and tortuous, and you watch him glance impatiently at the panel somewhere around the time you pass the fifth floor. Only three more, you think. Three more floors and short walk down the hall before you can kiss him again.

He steps toward you, throwing that entire plan in the trash.

With a hand that slips around the back of your neck, he drags you forward and pins his mouth to yours.

“ Mm- ” Your eyes are wide with surprise, but Suna just angles his head and pushes his lips fully against yours, his eyelashes dark and long against his cheeks.

You let your eyes drift closed and fist his shirt in your hands, clinging and pushing up onto your toes to kiss him right. He smiles against you, pulling away just as the ding of the elevator comes.

He leads you by the hand down the hall, fishing in his pocket roughly for his key. Throwing the door open, he guides you in before him and throws on the lights. You take a moment to look around his place, so familiar and safe, and realize you’re here under drastically different circumstances than normal. Suna spins you around before you can think too hard about that.

His mouth is hot on yours, and he’s pushing you by the hips through the living room, your shoes flying off at the door and your purse clattering to the floor somewhere near the couch. You pull away, halfway to his bedroom, and breathe hard while you tug at his t-shirt. He rips it off, and you undo his belt, the sound of the zipper far too familiar.

“C’mere-” He belts his arms around your middle and dips his head, knocking your hands away so he can kiss you. You feel the wall at your back and lean heavy against it, unstable on your feet and too busy carding your fingers through his hair to care. When he pushes his tongue across the seam of your mouth, you shiver, and he draws your bottom lip into his mouth, sucking and nipping at it.

You feel his fingers tugging on the zipper on your dress, and you pull away, eyes wide, a shock of nerves shaking you.

“We can leave it on, it’s fine,” You try, smiling nervously up at him.

He just lifts a brow and narrows his eyes at you. “You’re funny. Take it off.”

You laugh breathily, tugging lightly on his belt loops. “It’s okay, really-” You gasp, cut short by one of his hands gripping your face, fingers squeezing your cheeks together as he tilts your head back so he can look at you. 

“Your choices here are you taking it off, or me taking it off,” He says, tilting his head. “I’m happy to be of assistance, but I’d rather you do it so I know that you’re comfortable.”

All the breath in your body leaves your lungs, and your eyes go wide, jaw slack. No one had ever spoken to you like that. 

When he smiles down at you, it’s amused.

“Well?”

You blink rapidly, hands angling back toward the zipper of your dress all on their own. 

“Look at you,” He coos, clicking his tongue teasingly. “You’re so sweet when you listen.” 

The way he’s looking at you, so bemused that you would ever think he wouldn’t want you naked, draws a mix of embarrassment and arousal out of you. He moves his hand to cup your face and leans in, lips on yours while your dress falls to the floor. “ Thank you ,” He whispers into your mouth, and it warms your chest.

You’d listen to anything he says to get that praise out of him again.

Still, when he pulls away, you’re nervously crossing your arms over your chest, because the dress is strapless, so you aren’t wearing anything under. 

Your head is clearer than it had been at the party, and you’re worried.

But when Suna’s eyes fall to your covered chest, you think you see them light up a bit.

“You’re not wearing a bra?”

“It’s a…” You nod down at the dress pooled around your feet. “It’s strapless.” You tighten your grip on yourself just slightly, because his fingers are wrapping around your wrists. 

When you fight his pull, tensing, he flicks his eyes to yours in warning. You whine, pouting, and he seems to sense that you’re actually nervous.

His grip loosens. “Should I stop?”

You shake your head, because it’s not him. It’s just that-

“I just want you to think I’m pretty,” You admit, staring when his face splits in a wide grin.

“Okay,” He laughs. “That’s simple enough.” He smiles like he knows something you don’t. When you just blink, he’s ducking low and wrapping his hands around your thighs.

You scream as you’re lifted, arms abandoning their mission to keep you covered and instead aiming just to keep you alive. Suna wraps your legs around his waist while you throw your arms around his neck, clinging to him for dear life.

“ Put me down! ” 

“Nope,” He laughs, walking you through the hall to his room. “Gotta prove that I think you’re pretty.” You’re flushing hard, because your nearly bare body is pressed against his, which means he can feel everything .

“Suna,” You plead, voice serious. “Come on, please, I’m too heavy-”

His laugh tickles your ear, low and warm. “Trust me, you’re not. I was benching your weight in high school.” He pulls his head back to meet your eyes, his own full of mirth as he stresses his point. “In high school , Y/n.”

You don’t know what to make of that. “I-”

“You do trust me, right?” He asks, tilting his head to look right at you. He stops at the foot of his bed, waiting for an answer.

“Yes,” You start. “Obviously I trust you, but-”

“Great,” He cuts you off. 

“What-”

And then he throws you on his bed, dropping you without another word. 

You shriek on the way down, scrambling to cover yourself as you bounce on the mattress. Suna just clamps onto your ankles and drags you to the edge, laughing when you yell his name in warning. 

He crouches by the bed and you sit up, forgetting to cover your chest as you smack his arm angrily. “You are so rough -”

“You don’t like it rough?” He asks, lifting a brow with a smile.

You flush. “No, I do , but that’s not what I meant-”

He’s not listening. His gaze is trained very intensely on your body, eyes going a bit wide and his smile dropping marginally. He swallows, flushing, and pokes his tongue into his cheek as he looks everywhere you don’t want him to. 

“Fuck,” He breathes, deflating a bit. “ Fuck .”

You desperately fight the urge to lift your arms, curling your fingers into his comforter instead. It’s a moment of real strength for you, but you meant it when you said you trust him. “What?”

When he laughs, it’s rough, like he’s a little bit upset with you.

“ Fuck- ” He groans, pushing up toward you and smashing his mouth to yours. You gasp, and he uses it to swipe his tongue against yours, a hand on your shoulder. You’re shoved onto your back, and he climbs over you, teeth nipping and tugging your lip, tongue soothing the pain right after.

You whine, lifting your hands hesitantly to his shoulders while he settles between your knees, hands guiding your thighs apart and around his waist. Trembling when he slides his hand over your tummy and hips, squeezing and kneading, you push your fingers through his hair, kissing him fully so you can distract yourself.

It’s easy, the push of his lips warm and sure, the brush of his tongue on yours safe, comforting. His hand wanders to places you’d always kept covered, other boys perfectly content to fuck you quickly – clothes on, lights off. Either one meant you were shielded, and both was even better.

This boy, though – your boy – seems determined to break all your rules, and you can’t say you’re all that inclined to stop him, if what had happened at the party is anything to go on. 

“ Fuck ,” Suna groans against your mouth, fingers gripping tight to the plush skin of your hips, squeezing and pulling and squeezing again. He drops his mouth to the spot under your ear that you liked so much earlier, that wandering hand finding the curve of your breast while he digs his other arm into the mattress by your head, barely propped up on an elbow while he sucks at that sensitive little spot. 

“W-What? Why do you keep saying that?” You pant, tilting your head and giving him better access. He breathes you in, and you feel his hips grind against yours, the open zipper and undone belt cold on your skin.

“You’re just-” He marks your throat, soothing the burning skin with his tongue as his hips rock unevenly into you again. “ -so pretty.” He makes his way to the crook of your neck while his fingers tease and toy with your nipple. He latches onto your skin when you mewl and arch your back, repeating it to himself, like he’s not even talking to you anymore. “ So fucking pretty. ” 

You gasp when he hardens against you, and you turn your head to press your lips against his shoulders and neck. He angles his head for you, murmuring ‘ fuck ’ when you nibble lightly on his throat.

“ Want you ,” You whisper, sliding a hand between you and pushing at his jeans, palming him while you leave marks on his skin. “ Please .”

“ Fuck- Okay,” He stutters, pulling your hand away and kicking his clothes off. He shuffles down your body, pausing to bury his face between your breasts and groan loudly. “ Fuck! ” He yells, voice desperate and muffled against you and just a little bit unhinged. 

 You laugh breathily, shaking him, and feel him smile against your skin. 

“ Okay, ” He murmurs. “ I got this. I can do this. ” His voice is unsteady and breathy, and you’re a little worried.

“What do you mean?” You tilt your head up, staring at him. He just kisses his way down to your navel, hooking his fingers into your panties and pulling you free of them, talking to himself the whole time.

“ You can do this, Suna, you got it- ” His eyes catch on the mess in your panties and he furrows a brow, staring. “What-” He glances down at your core, and you flush, knowing he’s seeing what’s left of his own cum, spread all over your skin.

You watch his eyes go wide, and he looks up at you. “I forgot about this.”

“I didn’t ,” You laugh, incredibly embarrassed. You start to cover your face, your ears ringing a bit, but Suna’s groaning and throwing his head back as he drops your panties to the floor.

“ Christ, I can’t do this-” He whines, looking down at your core again – he looks stressed, eyebrows furrowed and gaze tense. “I can’t do it–” 

“Can’t do what ?” You ask, starting to feel extremely vulnerable.

He just meets your eyes, shaking his head. “I’m don’t think I’m gonna last. This is gonna be over in five minutes.” 

Whatever fear had been building in your chest, unsure what he’s saying and worried it’s about you, melts away as you stare up at him.

You laugh in disbelief. “Sorry?”

“You fucking should be-” He shakes his head, gripping the undersides of your thighs and prying them apart in front of him so he can stand between them. You tense, the most exposed you’ve ever been, but he’s just sighing down at the mess he’d made on you at the party. “This is going to be the most disappointing performance of my life,” He complains, shaking his head. “I think it’s about to be me that gets fucked stupid-”

“Oh, my God , Suna, just fuck me already!” You laugh, digging your heel into his lower back. “Stop being a fucking idiot-”

“Can we just do this tomorrow?” He says. “I need time to mentally prepare, I feel like a teenager-”

“ Suna! ” You yell, slapping your hands on the bed. 

“I’m sorry ,” He laughs, leaning on the edge of the bed. “You’re just-” He sighs wistfully, shaking his head as he stares down at your core. When he shifts, you feel the head of his cock brush against your thigh. It makes you squirm, and he groans at the sight. “- so fucking pretty ,” He breathes, more to himself than anything. “Just my type.” 

When you laugh, he glances at your face, a brow raised. “Somethin’ funny?” 

“Yeah, you,” You smile easily, like you’re not lying spread-eagle on Suna Rintarou’s bed, both of you completely naked. “You’re funny.”

He stares for a moment, and then his confusion changes to something else. He grins down at you slowly. Yet again, you feel like you’re missing something. “You didn’t know, did you?” A laugh of disbelief slips past his lips. “Back at the party, you didn’t know-”

“Know what ?” You say, exasperated.

“That you’re my type-”

“Oh, come on – I met all your exes,” You laugh, positively tickled as you prop yourself up on your elbows. “They were perfect-”

“No-” He shakes his head, pulling your thighs around him as he kneels on the mattress again. He climbs over you and knocks you back down, smiling like he can’t believe what’s happening. “They weren’t perfect. Not for me.” He cages you in, grinning down at you. “And I ended things with my last ex almost two years ago. I’ve had quite a few one-night stands since then. You know that.”

“ Yeah ,” You roll your eyes, finding it strange that you’re growing comfortable in this continued nudity with him. You’re still nervous and a bit unhappy being so exposed, but Suna’s near-tantrum of groaning and swearing had been soothing, in its own way. Familiar. “And you would always rant and rave afterward about perfect they were.”

You remember each one with stunning clarity, Suna slumping low on your couch and groaning about how ‘ She was everything. She was perfect- I think I fell in love a little bit ’. You’d always laughed it off, imagining beautiful blondes and foreign girls with crazy figures.

“Yeah-” Suna cuts your thoughts short, and you’re glad for it. Your insecurity’s flaring up again. “I did . I did say that, didn’t I?” He starts to smile, staring down at you like he’s saying something incredibly obvious.

It clicks suddenly, that he’d never actually told you what those girls had looked like. 

“Wait-” You blink, meeting his eyes with confusion. 

His smile grows fond, and he shakes his head, his tone almost amazed when he whispers to you.

“You really didn’t know?”

“They were…They looked like-?”

“Mm-hm,” He nods, shifting his weight. “They were sweet and pretty, just like you, now that I think about it. But you -” He straightens, sitting back on his heels and letting out a long breath as he trails his hands down your sides and settles them at your hips. “ You look like one of my college fantasies.”

Your jaw drops, face warming. “Then why the hell did you only date those model types?”

“Because girls that look like you -” He says appreciatively, gaze drawing over your body hungrily. You really need him to stop talking to you like that – you’re barely holding on as it is. “-never seem to want to come up to guys like me.”

“Can’t imagine why,” You laugh shakily at the irony. “Not like you’re perfect or anything.”

“Funny. That’s what I was gonna say about you,” He mumbles, shaking his head as he stares down at your body. You see his cock twitch, and you bite down on your lip when it brushes against you again.

“ Suna… ” You whine, shifting your hips under his hands. He shakes his head, squeezing you and running his thumb over a nearby stretch mark. 

“What’d I tell you about that?” His eyes are dark when they meet yours, and you get the distinct feeling that your casual moment of naked conversation is coming to an end. 

You laugh nervously. “You really want me to call you Rin?”

You’ve only ever said his given name in conjunction with his last, or when you’re angry with him. It would be new, but so is everything else about this.

“What I want-” He starts, leaning over you, lips brushing against yours. One hand curls into the comforter by your head, the other pressing against your core, fingers sliding through your folds. You inhale sharply, arching your back and pushing your mouth to his briefly. He kisses you lazily, pushing the tips of his fingers through the mess at your entrance, dipping in quickly and then smearing his cum all over your clit while he circles it. You whine, spreading your legs wider. He smiles into the kiss before pulling away to look at you. 

“-is my name in your mouth,” He finishes, grinning wickedly when you look up at him longingly, your nerves swooping low in your stomach. “Can you do that for me?”

“ Yes, ” You breathe. “I can do that.”

“Good.” He presses his cock to your core, sliding through your folds a few times and groaning. He rocks his hips, breath shaky. “I’ll try to last long enough to make you stupid.” 

You laugh, nervous and almost vibrating with anticipation, and Suna lines himself up at your entrance.

He hangs his head over you when he slides in, easier this time with the extra lubrication. He groans, bottoming out.

“ Fuck, ” You whisper to yourself, the breath knocked out of you.

“Yeah,” He agrees, nodding. He’s completely still, but you think his arms might be trembling when he holds himself above you. “ Fuck .” 

He keeps his eyes trained on where he’s sliding slowly out of you, and you cling to his biceps as he rocks forward. When he sighs, it’s full of relief. “God, you feel good,” He mumbles to himself, and then he laughs, because you’re clenching tight around him. 

“I like that you do that,” He admits, lifting his head to meet your gaze. “That you react like that when I talk to you.”

You flush, feeling that that’s an incredibly intimate thing to be saying while looking you straight in the eye. You shift, whining low and squeezing his arms.

“Is it okay if I kiss you?” You ask, a little nervous.

Suna looks like he’s in the middle of thinking of something teasing to say, but your question cuts him short. His little half-smile drops and his brow furrows, his eyes searching yours.

“What kind of question’s that?” When you just swallow and stare up at him, he squints. “We’ve been kissing this whole time.”

“Yeah, but…” You trail off, unsure how to explain that a couple guys in college and even one of your previous Osaka boyfriends had a strong preference not to kiss you during sex. The other guys had always gone ahead and kissed you first, and you hadn’t needed to ask.

But you really want to be the one to kiss Suna – something about him makes you want to do things first, which is a new feeling all on its own – and you hadn’t considered that he wouldn’t understand your question.

He stares down at you now, his eyes taking on a cold glint while you decide how to respond.

He mumbles your name in warning. “Why would you need to ask me?”

“I just-” You try. “-want to check that it’s okay.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” He presses.

“Because for some guys…” You trail off. Suna’s eyes empty of emotion.

“I see.”

You purse your lips uncomfortably. Had you ruined the mood? “We can just keep going, if you want,” You mumble, looking away from him. “Or we can stop-”

You inhale sharply when Suna moves one of his hands to grip your face, the way he had before. He turns your face back to his, his eyes sharp.

“I appreciate that you’re so considerate of what I might want or not want ,” It’s a kind sentence, and he’s smiling, but his voice is so cold that all you can do is blink. “But I’d appreciate it more if you didn’t think about the guys before me while I’m fucking you.”

You pale, realizing that you’ve really gone and pissed him off. He smiles in irritation and lifts a brow, expectant.

“You gonna kiss me or not?”

You clench around him, entirely unconsciously.

His annoyance drops into exasperation, and his smile softens.

“There you go again, reacting when I talk to you.”

You card your fingers through his hair and drag him down to you without a word.

He sighs heatedly against your mouth and starts to rock into you again. “ Don’t ever fucking ask me that question again ,” He murmurs, pushing his lips roughly to yours. “ You hear me? ”

“ Yes ,” You breathe, brain going fuzzy at the stretch. “I hear you.”

He smiles. “Love it when you listen. You’re so good at it.” He lifts his head away from yours just as you’re whispering his name. 

“ Rin, ” You try, nails scratching against his scalp. He shivers under your touch. 

“I like that, too,” He says with a strained voice, his hips shifting as he thrusts into you. “My name in your mouth.” 

You breathe shakily at the continued praise, his name coming out in a moan this time. He laughs and shakes his head, pushing his hips flush against yours.

“Shit,” He grunts through his teeth. “I’m really not gonna last long.”

You pull him down so you can kiss him again. He clamps a hand onto your hip while he tilts his head to slot himself against you better, and his hips start to move faster. When you moan his name into his mouth, it comes in the single breath of time between each slam of his cock into you, his rhythm vicious and perfect.

“ Yes ,” You angle your head back, eyes fluttering shut as you sigh at the relief he’s giving you. 

Suna attaches his mouth to your throat, sucking harshly and marking you without hesitation. Making it clear what he thinks of the guys before him that didn’t want to claim or be claimed by you. 

He drops his head beside yours, breathing uneven when his hips stutter briefly. The hand on your waist reaches up to where you’re clinging to his shoulders, and he pulls one of your hands down to the mattress so he can lace his fingers with yours.

It’s so out of place with how hard he’s fucking you, and that in itself is so deeply Suna . 

Unexpected and surprising, just as he’s always been.

Your stomach swoops sharply, and you clench tight around him. 

When he groans in your ear, a shudder runs through your body and pushes you right to the edge.

“Rin,” You gasp, all the air miraculously missing from your lungs. You’re not sure how to warn him that-

“Did I prove it?” He pants, voice low and vibrating through your skin. “That I think you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen?”

You’re standing with one foot off the edge of the cliff, high and with no visible end to the drop you’re about to feel.

You nod frantically, unsure if you want to throw yourself off or hold on for dear life to drag this moment out as long as possible.

Suna grips your hand tight enough that it hurts, and when his hips slam into yours, you’re distinctly aware that you’ll be sore in the morning.

“Then prove to me-” He sucks another mark into your throat, and when you spread your legs impossibly wider, drawing him in, he twitches inside of you. “-that you’re going to keep listening to me.”

Your free hand flies to the back of his head, pulling his hair taut so you can drag him back up to your mouth. When you push your lips urgently against his, he hums in approval.

“ Good ,” He breathes. “ So good for me .”

You should have known that it would be his praise that pushes you off that cliff.

You draw in a loud gasp, his name stuttered and moaned on your exhale.

He follows you over the edge, his hand squeezing yours tight as he stills his hips and fills you for the second time tonight. He moans into your mouth when you push your hips up against his, searching for more.

You kiss him while you come down, slipping your teeth over his lip ring and tugging mindlessly, because your head is filled with your heartbeat and a white noise you’ve only ever heard once before, in Atsumu’s spare room not even a couple hours ago.

After a moment, Suna lifts his head, breathing hard. Your eyes flutter as you fight the urge to close them, and you sigh happily up at him, because he’s starting to smile.

“Good?”

You giggle, a bit delirious. “Good. Stupid.”

He drops his head to your shoulder, laughing. “Good. Me, too.”

“Yeah?” You ask, pride filling you at the idea that you’ve made Suna Rintarou stupid.

“Incredibly,” He confirms, mumbling nonsensically at you. “Irreparably. Infinitely.”

You snort, your voice exhausted and pleased. “Just you wait, Suna Rintarou. When I do the fucking, you’re done for.”

He lifts his head so fast that it startles you briefly out of your stupor, and you’re surprised to find his eyes wide and excited.

“Oh?” He asks, latching onto what you’d said. “When am I gonna get to experience that?”

You laugh, a bit embarrassed that he’d reacted so strongly to your silly ramblings. “Be quiet-”

“I’m free tomorrow morning-No-” He shakes his head. “Give me, like, ten minutes. I can’t wait ‘til tomorrow.”

You smack his arm, your limbs jelly. “Isn’t twice in one night enough for you?”

“Is it enough for you ?” He asks, brows lifted.

No, not even a little bit. Not with him.

Still, someone has to be reasonable here. “I’m tired now,” You complain. “You took everything out of me.”

“Aw,” He coos, pretending to be disappointed. “Tomorrow morning it is, then.”

“God-” You laugh, pushing at his chest. “I need a shower and about 12 hours of sleep. And maybe some food.”

He rolls his eyes good-naturedly and pulls away, sighing when he slips out of you. You sit up, quickly, trying not to spill anything on his blankets.

“Let me just go clean up, and then I’ll head out,” You say, scooting past him and reaching for your panties on the floor. You slip them on and stand, wrapping your arms around your breasts, because the post-sex realizations are starting to set in.

So many post-sex realizations. Most of them starting with ‘ What the fuck- ’.

“Head out?” He repeats, sitting dumbly on his bed. You toss him his boxers and head for the bathroom, hearing as he stumbles into them and follows you into the hall.

“Yeah, it’s late,” You glance back toward the kitchen, seeing on the stove clock that it’s well past 2am now. “Do you mind calling me an Uber, or-”

He wraps a hand around your bicep, spinning you around in the hallway and pressing you against the wall.

“What are you doing?” He asks, dipping his head low to meet your eyes. “Why are you running?”

“Running?” You blink, taken aback. “I thought that-”

You know well enough that Suna Rintarou doesn’t let his one-night stands spend the night.

You know even better that your own one-night stands never wanted you to spend the night, either.

“I’m not calling you an Uber at 2:30 in the morning, Y/n,” Suna shakes his head, smiling as though even the idea is funny. “You’re staying.”

You just stare. “But isn’t better if I-”

“I thought you just said you were tired,” He cuts you short, lifting a brow.

You are. You’re exhausted.

“I am,” You nod slowly, entirely unsure how to handle this situation. “But I can leave if-”

When he grips your face, cheeks squeezed between his fingers for the millionth time tonight, he says nothing. He just shuts you up with a hand on your face and his eyes unyielding on yours.

It had taken a single hour of your life to learn how Suna Rintarou deals with you when he’s frustrated.

How had he done it before? When you’d annoyed him, how had he managed? Would he just roll his eyes and move on? Yes, that feels right.

Had he wanted to react this way instead the entire time?

You think of how to proceed, your eyes flicking between his.

“Uhm-” You mumble, and he loosens his grip so you can speak, but his thumb taps a warning into the corner of your mouth. “Okay, can I just… clean up, then?”

He eyes you for a moment, and then he lets you go, watching you step carefully into his bathroom. You close the door while keeping your eyes on his, and you think you see him head back to the room as you’re shutting the door between you.

You spend the better half of five minutes staring at yourself in the mirror. At the marks he’d left on your neck and chest, already bruising. At the state of your nudity, somehow forgotten in the last few moments with him. At the panties you’re wearing, hiding the mess Suna Rintarou had left there not once, but twice tonight. Buried between your legs – not once, but twice . 

Ten years of friendship, changed in a matter of hours.

What are you going to do? Was this worth it? Was risking everything worth a single chance to sleep with your best friend? Would things be terribly awkward now-

“ Stop catastrophizing.”  

His voice pulls you from the pit you’re heading into, quick and painless and effortlessly him.

You glance over your shoulder through the mirror, seeing his shadow under the door.

“ Use the bathroom or open the door – no third option. ”

You wonder if you’d always been prone to following his lead without question.

Yes, you think, as you do exactly as he says and move to the toilet. You have been.

At Inarizaki, when he would hand you his spare volleyball jersey and tell you to sit front row at their games, ignoring the horde of girls glaring from across the room.

In college, when you’d almost decided against the Culinary major, and he’d steered you firmly away from the Econ booth at the recruitment fair and walked you straight over to where Osamu was waiting expectantly, already chatting it up with the upperclassmen wearing chef hats.

Even with your past boyfriends, you’d only become most aware of their flaws and what they really thought of you once you’d introduce them to Suna. Only then – when green eyes would stare at outstretched hands before flicking to yours, unimpressed – would you see their inadequacies. 

Suna Rintarou had always known how to keep you in check, always forcing you to put yourself first.

You stare at your reflection while you wash your hands.

Do you want to stay the night? If he gave you the choice – if you weren’t worried about him wanting you to leave – would you stay?

You crack the door open after another moment, poking your head out. Suna’s leaning on the wall, holding one of his t-shirts and a pair of boxers. He eyes you quietly, offering them to you.

Yes , you decide, taking them from him carefully. 

You would stay.

You back away and change quickly, leaving the door cracked. Seeing that the shirt’s bordering on snug around the tummy, you grimace and turn this way and that, wondering how to make it look better.

You don’t notice Suna nudging the door open, but you can sense that he’s watching you in the mirror, so you glance up.

He’s got his eyes trained on how the shirt fits you, eyes dark as he leans against the door frame. His mouth quirks up briefly, and then he’s pulling his lip ring between his teeth.

“I’ll admit-” He clicks his teeth with his tongue. “-that this was a selfish choice on my part.”

You flush. “I look silly.”

“That’s not the word I would have used,” He says, meeting your eyes now. “Still want me to take you home?”

It’s a test, that much is clear. His gaze is guarded, and the slight angle of his eyebrow tells you that, if you say yes, he might be disappointed.

Not in you, you realize. But disappointed all the same.

You turn toward him, facing him head-on as you take a step in his direction. You take a deep breath, reaching out and toying with the band on his shorts, and then look up at him.

“Can I stay?”

You’ve never seen that look in his eye before, the one that’s tinted with pride and warmth. 

You wonder what you could possibly do to see it again.

“Yes,” He all but laughs. “You can stay. Tonight and tomorrow and the day after, too.”

You smile, looking down at your feet. “I’ll take you up on that if you’re not careful.”

“I hate being careful. I’m opposed to it, really,” He grins when you give him a deadpan look. “Stay all week. And next week, too.”

“Shut up-” You smack his arm, following him back to the bedroom.

It’s only when you’re climbing into bed with him – climbing into Suna Rintarou’s bed with the intention of spending the night with him, after you’ve just slept with him – that your nerves return.

“Sunarin,” You start, kneeling beside him on the mattress. “What are we-”

He latches onto the front of your – his – shirt and pulls you down next to him. “Tomorrow,” He mumbles, dragging you close and trapping you under him. His head lands on your chest, and he slings an arm around your waist, a knee lodged between yours. “Tomorrow.”

You still for a moment, and then you slide an arm over his back and card your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly. 

“Tomorrow,” You repeat into his hair.

It’s concerningly easy to fall asleep like that.

–

When you wake the next morning, Suna’s gone.

You have a brief moment of panic at the thought that he’d realized his mistake and run, but then you remember that you’re in his apartment. 

And, apart from that very convincing point, it smells like his house is burning in bacon grease.

You climb out of bed, pausing briefly to be utterly shocked at how sore you are, and then you pad quietly into the hall. 

He’s in the kitchen, running around in a silent panic and waving a dish towel over the smoky mess coming out of his oven.

“I have so many questions,” You say, announcing yourself.

“Fuck!” He jumps, turning. “Fucking fuck, you scared me.”

You smile at his eloquence, rounding the corner of the bar and staring down at the open oven. Several strips of what should be bacon are sitting on a sheet pan, shriveled up and charred to all hell. 

“How long have those been in there?” You smile when you ask, because you can tell by the look of them exactly how long they’ve been there.

“I set the 20-minute timer…” He glances at the clock. “55 minutes ago?” He tilts his head, and you can’t help but think it’s quite endearing. “That’s not right.”

“No, that’s definitely right,” You laugh, plucking the dish towel from him and pulling the pan out easily. You toss the bacon straight in the trash and then put the pan on the stove, pointing at the nearby window as you go. He opens it, and then does the same with the other two in the living room. 

“Well, I think we both know I’ll never be as good at this as you are,” He says, sticking his head out and breathing in fresh air.

You just open his fridge and duck inside, finding half a pack of bacon and a carton of eggs. You pull both out, along with some vegetables to throw into a scramble. “Why are you making breakfast?” You know well enough that he doesn’t eat in the morning, and he’d always hated cooking for himself.

“Because-” His voice is close again, and you find him peering pathetically at the bacon in the trash. “-you’re always on my ass about eating three square meals a day. I didn’t want to get yelled at.”

You chop an onion quickly, rolling your eyes at the appreciative noises he makes at your quick knifework. 

“So professional,” He teases, whistling.

“It’s an onion, Suna,” You laugh. “If you can’t dice an onion at your grown age, we have bigger problems to address.”

“See, this is the shit I was trying to avoid-” He whines, moving around you. “Coffee?”

You glance back, seeing that he’s at his coffee maker. He smirks down at you.

“I don’t have an industrial grade espresso machine, unfortunately. But drip coffee does the job, I would assume.”

You roll your eyes again. “I’m not some stuck-up coffee bitch-”

“Don’t tell your customers that,” He jokes, and you watch as he scoops tablespoons of ground coffee straight from a bag of your own shop’s brand. You smile, somehow not having realized that he gets his coffee from you. “They’re relying on your stuck-up coffee bitch tendencies to tell them what’s good.”

“Noted,” You respond, moving to his stove. He brushes a hand on your waist as he reaches over you to get two mugs from the cabinet, and you lean back to let him open the cabinet door, finding yourself pressed warmly against his chest.

It’s all terribly domestic, in a way that things have never been between the two of you.

When he presses his mouth lazily against the side of your head in something that’s not quite a kiss but certainly can’t be deemed platonic, the nerves from last night set in again.

You glance up as he moves away, finding that he’s eyeing you for a reaction.

You bow your head, shifting chopped bacon around the pan and focusing hard on making a decent egg scramble. He chuckles to himself, preparing your coffee the way he knows you like it, and your stomach swoops with a fluttery feeling you’d never thought to associate with Suna Rintarou.

You serve breakfast quickly and take the plates quickly to the couch, feeling his presence behind you.

You start to eat in relative silence, but he only lasts a matter of two minutes.

“Stop thinking so hard. It’s ruining my appetite.”

You sigh, the dam broken now, and set your plate down on the table.

“Can we talk about it?”

“Obviously,” He responds with ease, setting his plate next to yours. “That’s why I made you stay.”

You blink. “What?”

“You think I was gonna just let you go home and avoid me for a week until I would have to corner you at work?” He rolls his eyes. “I don’t have the energy to be that dramatic, and neither do you.”

You work through that slowly. “You knew that taking me home would make me anxious…?”

“Dude,” He laughs, digging the heel of his hand into his eye. “How long have we known each other?”

You don’t know if you’re offended or relieved that he’d called you Dude after fucking you twice in one night.

“How many times in our friendship have you tried avoiding me?” He continues, eyeing you knowingly.

You think right away of that very first time, when he’d started walking you home after school and then picking you up in the morning. When you’d felt a bit wary of him and opted to stay away, only for him to stop you in your tracks and reel you back in after a couple weeks.

And then again, in college, when his then-girlfriend had asked you to stay away from him. They’d been together a while, and he’d seemed happy, so you had tried it. He’d shown up at your door after exactly 6 of his messages had gone unanswered, demanding an explanation. It had been a day and a half.

Just one other time, a few months after moving to Osaka, when he’d come over and found one of your vibrators on the couch. You’d promptly disappeared into your room, determined to wait him out, but he had picked your lock after an hour and then proceeded to chase you around your apartment with the toy, scolding you for your avoidant tendencies.

And now, this. Not even ten minutes into the beginning of your panicked spiral, he’d yanked you out of it and gotten you to stay with him. Mere minutes to settle your nerves.

“Oh,” You mumble, understanding now that he had never let you stray for too long, even back then.

“Yeah. Oh ,” He laughs. “So stop panicking internally and start panicking externally so I can fix it.”

You pick at a stray piece of lint on the t-shirt he’d given you. “I’m worried things will be ruined between us.”

“Not happening. Next.” He says it with such certainty that you need a moment to recover.

“That’s it? Not happening?” You laugh wryly, shaking your head. “You kissed the side of my head while getting a cup from the cabinet.”

He just shrugs. “You got a kissable head. Not my fault.”

“Suna!” You smack your hands on the couch cushion, frustrated. “I am worried about this!”

“And I-” He starts, turning toward you now. “-am not.” He looks you straight in the eye. “I am not worried about this. At all.”

“Why not?” You plead, voice a bit whiny. “Why are you so unconcerned about this?”

“Because I trust you, and you trust me,” He says simply. “At the end of the day, that’s all that matters. We deal with things together, and we trust each other.”

“I don’t know how you can feel so settled about something this complicated,” You sigh.

“There’s nothing complicated about it, Y/n,” He shakes his head. “You wanted to get laid, and I offered.”

You frown. He lifts a brow, asking a pointed question.

“Did you have fun?”

You think about every moment that made you tremble last night, about the soreness between your legs. Your face warms, and you find him smiling knowingly down at you. He tilts his head.

“Yeah. I did, too,” He admits, smile widening when you flush harder. “Why would I want that to stop? We had fun.”

You stare, nerves frozen. You hadn’t mentioned anything about continuing with this little arrangement. 

He lifts a brow. “You thought we were done?”

Your stomach swoops with anticipation. “I mean… We… I got what I… And you…”

He shakes his head. “Nope. There’s a lot of shit we gotta fix.”

“Fix?” You repeat, scoffing. “About me?”

“Not you . The shit you’ve internalized,” He says, giving you a look. “Asking if you can kiss me ? Really ? That’s fucked up.”

You warm again, embarrassed. “Well, I’ve made the mistake of assuming before that-”

“The only mistake you’ve made-” He cuts you off. “-is letting unworthy guys into your bed. Everything else is on them.”

You swallow. “And you think you’re worthy?”

He watches you carefully. “I think that’s up to you to decide.”

When you don’t respond, only staring at him dumbly, he scoots closer, eyes dropping to your mouth.

“Will you let me show you that everyone before me was wrong?” He swallows, the mood heavier than before. “Because I think I could – I think I should.”

You breathe out a shaky sigh, eyes catching on the glint of his lip ring. “You don’t have to do me any favors-”

You watch as that lip ring moves with the curve of his smile, slow and laughing at some joke you don’t realize you’ve told.

“Favors,” He echoes, shaking his head and leaning close. Your lungs fill with the scent of him, and his eyes are dark when you finally look up at them. “You must think very highly of me if you think that’s what this is.”

You’re leaning close, head dipping toward his before you can think too hard about it. 

“I really don’t think I should use you for sex, Suna,” You protest weakly.

His lips brush against yours when he whispers to you.

“But I really want you to.”

When you curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, he presses his mouth to yours. It comes with a fuzzy feeling in your head, a fog that makes it hard to say no. He tilts his head and leans forward, and you find yourself half-trapped under him, heading in a direction that’s terrifyingly familiar.

“Is that a yes, then?” He murmurs, fingers sliding up past the hem of your shirt and kneading at your waist.

You nod after a moment, trying to focus on putting yourself first. He’s suggesting this, and he’s made it clear this is for him, too. The memory of how he’d looked down at you last night, hungry and needy, sends a tingle through your body.

What’s the harm in a little fun between two consenting adults?

“If you’re sure,” You breathe into his mouth, offering your consent and giving him the final say. 

You find yourself pressed up against corner of the couch after that, Suna caging you in and slotting his hips between your thighs.

“ Thank fuck ,” He whispers, tangling his fingers in your hair and molding his mouth to yours. He presses his hips very gently between yours, seeking silent permission. You sigh into his mouth at the feel of him against your core, already half-hard, but then you wince, because he’s pushing up against a rather sore spot.

He pulls away, eyes searching your face. You grin sheepishly. 

“Just a little sore.”

His brows lift, and he’s glancing down between you. “Shit, I didn’t realize-”

“It’s fine,” You laugh, shaking your head. “I wasn’t really expecting it, either. Guess it’s just been a while.”

He has positively no need for the inflated ego that would come with telling him you’ve never been with someone of his… physique. 

Still, you can’t help but rather cryptically mumble to yourself, “ Just gotta get used to it .”

You feel his pleased grin in the silence that follows.

“I can, uh-” His voice is so smug, you want to smack him. He hooks a finger into the band of the boxers he’d lent you, tugging suggestively. “-think of something that might help with that.”

The room becomes suddenly quite a bit warm.

You glance up through your eyelashes, that fuzzy feeling returning when you find him staring back. You lift your hips just enough to help him pull the shorts off, his eyes on yours the entire time. They’re filled with thinly veiled excitement, the kind of excitement he might actually be embarrassed to realize he’s showing.

This Suna is the same as last night, but something’s different. He’s not the Suna that had guaranteed he would focus on you, with no care for securing his own pleasure. 

This Suna is reaching for your hips with hands that want to do things without asking, hands that want to take what they want selfishly. You jump when he drags you up and onto his lap, your bare core pushed down onto his boxers. You gasp in surprise, feeling him so intimately through the fabric, and he does the same, his hips shifting on instinct under you.

“ Fuck, Rin ,” You whisper, chasing the slide of him against you, the fabric of his boxers already wet. When you say his name, his head falls back, and he stares up at you with cloudy eyes. He cups the back of your neck and pulls you down, lips full on yours.

You barely register when he lifts your hips just enough for him to tug his boxers down, but you feel it with haze-inducing certainty when he brings you back down and drags you along the length of him. Your head hangs forward, forehead pressed against his as you copy his motion on your own, his cock wonderfully hard and searing hot against your core.

“ Yes, ” He breathes, fingers gripping your waist. “ Just like that -” He buries a hand in your hair and pulls your lips to his, his hips moving in time with yours while he kisses you. He reaches between you, and you know without being told to lift up just enough that he can line himself up against your entrance.

When you sink down on him, his moan mixes with yours in your mouth. The stretch makes you ache, all those sore spots crying out around him, but, more than anything, it feels so impossibly good . 

You start to move, trying to find a way to lift up off of him, but he slides an arm around your waist, keeping you sitting firmly in his lap. You let out a noise of protest, and he smiles.

“ Getting you used to it ,” He murmurs against your lips. You squirm impatiently, and he holds you tighter. “ Just be patient. I don’t wanna hurt you more ,” He scolds, his voice so low and gentle and vibrating so softly against your lips.

You drop your head to his shoulder, whining quietly. “Want you to move.”

“That’s too bad,” He snickers into your neck. His hand falls between you, and you jump at the cold pad of his thumb on your clit. He circles it carefully, breathing unevenly when you start to clench around him. “You did it just fine last night, didn’t you?” He laughs, cut short when you swirl your hips, shifting around him just enough to make the rest of his comment come out with a moan. “Come on, Y/n, let me help you.”

You give in, slumping against his chest with a sigh. He whispers into your ear, a breathy ‘ Good girl ’ sending a shock of nerves down your spine. His thumb warms on your clit, the only movement shared between you, apart from the constant, unconscious clench of your walls around his cock. He twitches inside you each time, small sighs leaving him.

A particularly hard swipe of his thumb makes you shiver, and Suna’s sigh is more audible than the one before, almost a moan but more of a choke on his breath before a harsh release. You lift your head, eyes hazy as you stare down at his mouth, willing those parted lips to let that sound come again.

He stares back, and you trace the flush of his cheeks, radiating warmth, up to his eyes. He looks just as far away as you feel, the fog in your head reflected in his gaze.

You hold his gaze for a moment, the slide of his thumb on your most sensitive spot electrified when combined with the lock of his eyes on yours. 

When his gaze drops to your mouth and then flicks up again, your nerves twist in your navel, and you let out a soft whine. 

His eyes widen marginally at the sound, and his cock twitches hard against your walls. You both moan, and his hands slide to your waist so he can drag you against him, a moment of brief insanity.

“ Oh, ” You exhale, eyes wide. Suna sighs in response, a quiet ‘ fuck ’ slipping past his lips. Your fingers fall between you, picking up right where he left off.

“Oh, God,” He moans, staring down at how your fingers move. “Look at you.”

You whine and close your eyes, trying to push down the embarrassment that’s flooding your cheeks. You feel his hands pull you down over him, and he holds you tight to his chest.

“ Don’t get nervous ,” He murmurs against your ear, an arm securing you to him. “ You’re doing so good .” 

You bury your face in his shirt, his scent intoxicating in a way you hadn’t noticed before yesterday. The coil in your navel twists hard, the cliff right there where you remember it. “ Is this okay?”

“ More than okay .” His breath is warm on your skin. “ Keep going. Use me – please- ”

You add ‘ begging’ to the list of ways Suna can shove you right over the edge, right under ‘ praise’ .

Your ears ring when you come, your half-sob of his name into his shirt completely unheard. He just slides his hand into your hair and holds you close as you twitch against him, his breath warm and unsteady in your ear.

You heave a breath into the crook of his neck after a moment and then lift your head, your nose brushing against his when you look at him. He smiles lazily at you, eyes flicking to your lips and back when you start to mirror it.

“Still sore?”

You laugh, nodding. “It’s better, though. Not as much of a stretch. Doesn’t hurt to sit like this.”

Suna grimaces. “I wish you woulda told me it hurt.”

“It wasn’t very high on my list of priorities last night.”

His smile has a hint of pride that’s only mildly exasperating. “Well, hopefully next time, it won’t hurt at all.” 

You flush at the anticipation of next time , of the arrangement set for the indefinite future.

You take him in then, realizing that he hadn’t finished. His cheeks are still heated, and there’s a slightly distracted tint to his gaze.

He’s upsettingly pretty.

“What about you?” You ask, sitting up slightly. He purses his lips at the movement, shaking his head.

“It’s fine. I don’t want to make anything worse.”

You frown, looking at him with uncertainty. Never once had you been with a guy that had just stopped before he could benefit from being with you.

Suna smiles back bitterly, reading you. “Weren’t expecting that, huh?” When you say nothing, he sighs to himself. “So much to fix.”

You frown, disliking that word, even now. “I’m not a pet project-”

“ No- ” He cuts you off, lifting his hand to your face, eyes clearly laced with irritation that you’d suggest something like that. 

His fingers hover over your cheeks, and you know he wants to squeeze you, but he slides his fingers through your hair instead, a small sigh steadying him. “You’re not a project. You’re not a charity, either, and I’m not doing you any favors- ” He tightens his grip on your hair, speaking through gritted teeth. 

“You’re my best friend, and I think my newest hobby should be finding every guy you’ve ever had the misfortune of encountering and beating his kneecaps out with my bare hands.” 

You can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of his statement, but he’s not done.

“I’m angry, more than you probably think, that several guys have made you feel like you can’t have everything you want-” He uses his grip to pull your face close, and your smile drops when you have nowhere else to look but at his eyes. They’re dark – cold and annoyed – but there’s something else there that make your nerves twist with a tinge of excitement. A promise to give you something you thought only pretty girls deserved.

“I’m angry that I did not realize just how much I should have hated all those guys you introduced me to-” His heated sigh warms your lips. “-or that I could have been the one in their place all this time, making sure you never got to this point.”

You stare, eyes wide, when you realize what he’s saying. That if he could go back, he would. That he would undo everything – that he will undo everything.

Suna keeps your eyes on his when he speaks. “So I’m going to fix it , and you’re going to let me. ”

You don’t know what to make of the way your nerves flutter, the way your heart pounds for Suna Rintarou.

You swallow, nodding shallowly. “ Okay ,” You whisper, because you don’t know that you can speak any louder than that.

He breathes, echoing back. “Okay.” He blinks, loosening his grip just enough to give you room to pull away. “Now,” He sighs. “Can we finish eating and go to work? Because the way you’re looking at me is making me hard again.”

You only realize he’s still inside you when his cock twitches, and you have to laugh, disbelief flooding you.

“Uh-Yeah-” You stumble, lifting off of him and tensing when he slips out of you. Suna sighs, tucking himself into his shorts and then reaching for his plate.

“Fucking breakfast,” He grumbles, shoveling cold egg scramble into his mouth. “Three square meals a day, my ass.”

This man’s going to give you whiplash, you’re sure of it.

–

When you walk into your shop, freshly showered and wearing one of Suna’s hoodies over the single pair of jeans you’d left at his place months ago, you’re incredibly glad that you hadn’t let him walk you inside. 

Osamu is standing at the door leading to the back hallway, smiling far too happily for your liking. 

“Hi,” You say to him, suspicious of the look on his face. You round the bar of your half of the shop, greeting the barista on shift. Haru’s a college frat boy, but he’s sweet and brings a lively energy to the shop that neither you nor Osamu can manage on your own. The girl standing behind the register on Osamu’s side, a classmate of Haru’s named Mayuri, is often exasperated with him, but their constant bickering only adds to the appeal of your store overall. 

“Hey, Haru,” You grin, patting him on the shoulder as you pass behind him. He just whistles low as he pulls espresso shots. 

“Fun night?” 

When you just blink, he glances back at you and beams, lifting one hand to the side of his neck. “Try a turtleneck next time, Boss.” 

You gasp, slapping your hand over the bruise you’re now aware of. “I-” You turn to Osamu, who’s smiling to himself as he heads back into the small hallway bridging your two shops. 

You turn and rush through the door behind the bar, one that leads into your storage room, and Osamu appears at the doorway on the other end of the room, clearly aware that this conversation can’t happen out in the main room.

“Don’t-” You point at the smug grin on his face. “-look at me like that.”

“How was the rest of your night?” He asks, leaning on one of the counters and crossing his arms over his chest.

“How was yours?” You tease, lifting a brow. “How’s Yachi?”

And then you duck, because he’s throwing a bag of coffee beans at you.

“She’s great, thank you for asking,” He says through gritted teeth and a blush. “We’re getting dinner on Friday.”

You gasp, forgetting all about taunting him. “Really?!” You move to his side, bouncing on your toes excitedly. “How? When? What’d you say? What’d she say? Where are you going-”

“Y/n,” He laughs, throwing his head back. “Deep breaths, please.”

You breathe in and out dramatically before tapping a hand rapidly on his arm. “Details, details!”

He shakes his head. “I asked, she said yes, we’re going to that Italian place you’re always talking about-”

“Yes!” You jump, smacking him hard on the shoulder. “Miya Osamu, everybody!” You smack him again for good measure. “This is the best day of my life.”

“Oh?” He lifts a brow. “Do I need to make sure Suna never hears that?”

Your excited bouncing stops abruptly, and you flush hard, much to the pleasure of your friend. He reaches out in your silence, prodding lightly at the mark on your throat. You just smack his hand away lightly with an embarrassed laugh. “What d’you want me to say, Samu?”

“Everything-” He says right away, clearly dying for information. But then he grimaces. “Well, not everything , please. But, you know-”

You scoff, affronted, and lean on the counter across from him. “I think you know most of it.”

“I highly doubt that,” He shakes his head, staring you down. “There’s a whole night between when I last saw you and right now.”

“Well, obviously, some of that time was spent sleeping,” You try, intentionally being difficult. It doesn’t work, Osamu a wall of patience after a lifetime with his brother.

“Oh, yes, obviously. But that still leaves-” He counts obnoxiously on his fingers. “-a good three or four hours unaccounted for. And-” He flicks his chin in the direction of the main room. “-considering who left you at the door two minutes ago, I’m gonna guess that your bed was very lonely last night.”

You warm to the point of discomfort, crossing and uncrossing your arms over your middle. “There was some bed sharing, yes.”

“Oh, some bed sharing,” Osamu echoes, nodding very seriously, his eyes betraying the mirth he feels. “Yes, some bed sharing – and before that? In the time between damaging a door in one of Tsumu’s spare rooms and sharing Suna’s bed?”

“We didn’t damage a door- ” You hiss, embarrassed, but he just smiles at you. You sigh. “But there may have been some… other bed sharing.”

Osamu hides his face in his hands and laughs loudly. You stomp a foot.

“What!” 

He shakes his head, waving a hand with a sigh. “Nothing. What else?”

“Nothing,” You say stubbornly. “That was it.”

“Bullshit,” He smiles evenly, clearly unconvinced by your performance. “It’s-” He glances at his watch. “-ten in the morning, and you were giving him bedroom eyes when he dropped you off.”

“I was not!” You yell, humiliated.

“Something else happened this morning,” He teases, ignoring your outburst. “So you can either tell me now when it’s just us, or you can tell me later, but Atsumu won’t be as nice when he asks.”

You pale, forgetting about the consequences of sleeping with Suna Rintarou in Miya Atsumu’s apartment.

As though punished by the mere thought of him, you hear the door to the shop slam open, the bell jingling violently.

“ Where y’at, punk! ” 

The consequence in question being Miya Atsumu himself.

You stare up at Osamu, eyes wide, but the man just shrugs and smiles down at you.

“Good luck,” He says, offering no comfort aside from that.

You rush out to the front, finding your worst enemy on the other side. 

Atsumu stares down at you from the counter, eyes wide. Sakusa’s just behind him, eyeing the area behind the bar as though deciding if he wants to order something. The germaphobe meets your eyes, and you see the shape of his mask change as he face rises into a small, polite smile.

“I figured you’d need help,” He says plainly, eyes leaving yours to flick to a jar filled with open straws when Haru comes over and plucks one from inside while making someone else’s drink.

You smile, ignoring Atsumu and stepping up to the register. “What can I get you, Kiyoomi?”

“Mm,” The man hums, glancing up at menu. You feel Atsumu’s eyes boring into the mark on your throat but keep your eyes on his not-boyfriend, watching him glance briefly at the stack of plastic cups and then at the jar of straws again. He clears his throat. “Just an iced latte, please.”

You punch the order into the register and then clear the charge with your authorization code just as he’s reaching into his wallet. He watches the pay screen disappear in confusion, but you just smile up at him innocently and turn to Atsumu while the order prints out on Haru’s side of the bar. 

“Need something, Tsumu? A latte for you, too?”

“Nah, I’m good,” He smiles back, just as innocent but with an icy edge. “Some answers’d be nice, if ya sell those here.”

“Oh, sure, answers,” You grin, matching his cold tone. You feel Haru glance nervously at you while he pulls the shots for Sakusa’s drink, so you shoot him a comforting smile. “Don’t worry, Haru, we’re just chatting.”

“Yeah, just chattin’,” Atsumu grins knowingly down at you. “Caught you just chattin’ in my kitchen last night with a certain someone-”

“Alright-” You interrupt, your smile threatening. “-I think you’ll find your answers in the back, actually,” You say, because Haru doesn’t need all the details of your unexpected night with Suna. 

The frat boy hands you Sakusa’s drink, strawless, and then moves to wipe down the bar. 

While his back is turned, you set the drink down and reach for a pair of latex gloves under the counter and pull them on. Crouching, you pull a fresh cup from stock, one that’s yet to see the light of day. You pour out Sakusa’s drink into the clean cup and cap it, and then, as Sakusa’s taking it with wide eyes and lifted brows, you reach under the counter again and retrieve the box of straws, holding it out to him so he can grab a clean straw for himself. He reaches for it slowly, blinking a few times in quick succession before mumbling a quiet ‘ Thank you ’.

“Any time,” You say with a bright smile. And then you turn, tossing the used cup and gloves and leaving Haru to man the bar again while you lead the boys to where Osamu’s still waiting for you. You hear Sakusa whisper ‘ You told her? ’ to Atsumu as you go, smiling to yourself when the blond just mumbles ‘ I di’nt tell her nothin’ , Omi ’. 

When Atsumu sees his brother waiting, he makes a beeline for him, all but yelling, “What’d she tell ya? Tell me!”

Sakusa stops you at the door, the sleeve of Suna’s hoodie caught between the knuckles of his pointer and middle fingers as he pulls you back. He pushes some cash into your palm, far more than his drink would have actually cost.

“Thank you,” He says again, gaze meaningful.

“Any time,” You repeat, just as meaningfully. You try to push the money back, but he just brushes past you with a hidden smile, leaving you holding his cash as he moves to Atsumu’s side. He stands closer to the blond than he had outside, because it’s safe to do so here. You lift a brow at Atsumu, who flushes briefly before pointing at you.

“Uh-uh, don’t go distractin’ me – Did you fuck ‘im er not?” 

You choke, eyes bugging out at him. “Atsumu-”

Osamu snickers into his hand. “What’d I tell you? He’s brutal.”

Atsumu ignores it. “Answer me, woman! How many times and in which positions?”

“ Atsumu! ” You laugh, aiming a swing in his direction. “Those details are mine and Suna’s alone-”

“Was it twice?” Atsumu starts. “Once at mine and then once when ya got home?”

“Definitely twice,” Osamu confirms before you can say anything. “The question is, what happened this morning ? The bedroom eyes at the door is makin’ me think it was three times, actually-”

“Samu-” You start.

“ Bedroom eyes ?!” Atsumu yells, scandalized. “Three times for sure, then! Maybe four?”

“No, not four!” You hold your hands out to stop him from going any further.

“So, three ,” Osamu says decidedly, smirking down at you.

“Definitely three ,” Atsumu nods, his face just the same. 

You realize your mistake and sigh, exhausted. When you glance up at Sakusa, he just sips at his latte with a blank face.

“A little of that help would be nice right about now,” You whisper to him. He just blinks back.

“I’d like to know more about these bedroom eyes you were giving him, actually.”

You throw your hands out in frustration while Atsumu laughs, Osamu offering Sakusa an elbow to bump in approval.

“Fine,” You say, giving in, and then give them all the answers at once. “Three – two last night and one this morning, after he almost burned the apartment down making breakfast,” You recount in almost detached detail, ignoring when Atsumu mumbles ‘ He made breakfast?’ incredulously. “Then he convinced me that it wouldn’t be a terrible idea to keep sleeping together. He dropped me off here-” You point at Osamu in warning. “-but I did not give him bedroom eyes.”

Your co-owner smiles back. “It was the look Atsumu gives Sakusa after they win a game.”

You grimace, unable to enjoy the lovely pink shade flooding Atsumu’s cheeks or the amused look of interest Sakusa gives him out of the corner of his eye, because you know exactly which look Osamu’s talking about, and it’s horrifically obvious.

“That’s embarrassing,” You say plainly.

“Hey!” Atsumu protests loudly. 

Sakusa just smiles and sips at his drink again. 

“Man,” Osamu says, shaking his head as the thinks. “Three times in under twelve hours is crazy,” He laughs. “You guys were really making up for lost time, huh?”

You flush, remembering that Suna had said the same just before pulling you into Atsumu’s spare room. You’d taken it as him offering a reason to whisk you away from that group of guys, but, now that Osamu’s mentioning it, too-

“What do you mean, lost time?” You ask, eyeing him. He looks at you like you’re insane.

“Please tell me you’re joking.” When you just stare up at him, he balks. “You guys have been all over each other since college.”

“What?!” You laugh. “No, we haven’t-”

“Oh, yes, you have,” Atsumu says, just as bewildered. “I couldn’t get a second alone with ya half the time!”

“That’s not the same!” You argue. “It wasn’t like this back then – I didn’t even know he liked girls like me until last night!” 

“You didn’t ?” The twins say simultaneously. Sakusa joins you in eyeing them in concern.

“I don’t like when they do that,” He says, and you nod.

“Agreed.”

Osamu laughs in disbelief. “Y/n, Suna doesn’t look up from his phone unless there’s a thick girl in the room. You can’t have missed that.”

You think hard about that. Had you ever seen that? You don’t think that’s ever happened.

Then you remember last night, the way he’d only managed about ten minutes of conversation with Bokuto before pulling his phone out to doom scroll. You remember how he’d ignored everyone after that, how guilty you’d felt making him wait for you while you’d tried to meet a guy. 

Is he always like that?

“I never noticed that…” You say, thinking. Atsumu hums.

“Yeah. I wonder why,” He says, smiling like he knows exactly why. You flush, catching his meaning.

“I don’t think I was up for consideration until last night,” You argue weakly. He just shrugs.

“Maybe not consciously,” He offers. “But he sure was quick t’ take over when things weren’t workin’ with that other guy.”

He was, you realize. He was quick to take over.

You truly believe Suna had never looked twice at you until last night. But that only makes your nerves tingle with extra strength when you think about how quickly he’d stepped in in Atsumu’s kitchen. How little time it had taken for things to change between you.

You swallow, suddenly warm. “You don’t think,” You start, fidgeting with the strings on his hoodie. “You don’t think we look a little silly together? Me and him?”

You’d tried so hard to let Suna’s reassurances be enough – you want so badly to just believe him and everything he says to you – but when he’s not here, your anxiety comes back. When he’s not here to distract you, to remind you, to tell you what’s on his mind and exactly what he thinks, it’s easy to fall back in on yourself. To remember what you look like on the outside, what people probably think when they see you next to him.

You had never been self-conscious about standing next to Suna Rintarou before, because there had been nothing between you before. 

Now, you wonder if girls will approach him even with you there, because you’re not a threat to them. 

“Oy,” Atsumu’s voice cuts through your thoughts, and you find him snapping his fingers annoyingly in your face. You realize Sakusa’s got two knuckles on your elbow, tapping lightly. 

“Sorry,” You mumble, blinking up at Atsumu. “What?”

“I said ,” He rolls his eyes. “Yer outta yer mind if you think that.”

“You guys look good together,” Osamu says, nodding. “I’ve always thought so, even in high school.”

“Huh?” You laugh. “In high school?”

He just shrugs. “Even as friends, you look good. You were always a little innocent and sweet, and he was always rude as fuck. I had fun just watching you guys.”

Atsumu sighs heatedly but nods. “Yeah… Even though I was always mad he was takin’ you away from me, you guys were fun together. You were always shy, but not with him. You liked yellin’ at him.” He rolls his eyes. “Still mad about it, though.” 

You laugh, watching Sakusa nudge him with a fond look in his eye. You turn to the man, the only one here that hadn’t known you or Suna before Osaka.

“What about you, Kiyoomi? If you saw me and Suna in the street, would you do a double-take?”

He blinks, sipping while he finds his words. “I think a lot of other people will, but you shouldn’t pay them any attention. People will assume things about you two, because that’s what people do.” 

He meets your eyes. “But I would only look twice at you because Rintarou looks different when he’s around you. Less bored and unapproachable. And I think that’s kind of obvious, even to someone who doesn’t know him.”

You stare up at him, processing that. That a stranger might give the two of you attention not because of you, but because of Suna. That he might be different enough around you that a stranger would be able to see it.

You hadn’t noticed that, either.

What else hadn’t you noticed?

“Oh,” You say dumbly.

Osamu snickers. “Don’t think too hard with him. Suna’s a simple man, you know that.”

“Yeah,” You mumble, smiling to yourself when you remember how he’d refused to make things complicated this morning. “I guess he is.”

Atsumu’s watch beeps, and he jumps when he looks down at it. “Aw, shit! We’re gonna be late, Omi!” He latches onto Sakusa’s jacket and tugs him from the room, shouting back that ‘ this ain’t over!’ while Sakusa waves blankly back at you and Osamu.

You sigh, reaching for your purse where you’d left it on a box of coffee beans when you’d come it. “I better find something to cover this up,” You say, gesturing to your neck. 

Osamu laughs, heading for the door. “Or don’t. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind seeing it after a hard day at work.” 

You flush, staring down into your purse while Osamu leaves you to mull that over.

Working in your office today wouldn’t be so awful. 

–

Around lunch, you get a text from him. 

You’d managed to set most thoughts of him aside in order to take care of your daily administrative tasks, but you hadn’t been able to clear him out of your head entirely. In the middle of writing a promotional email, you remember how he’d said your name in your ear, and you’re stuck staring down at your keyboard in a daze until the nerves settle. And then again, when you’re taking weekly inventory in the storage room, your cheeks tingle with the memory of him grabbing them to shut you up, again and again. You have to clutch your clipboard to your chest then, ears ringing and face warm. 

And now, after a productive hour of pretending Suna Rintarou hasn’t bled into every thought that crosses your mind, your phone buzzes on your desk. You don’t stop to wonder if it might be him, too concentrated on cross-checking your bank account with your ledger to remember that the person who texts you most often at this time is him.

Your eyes flick to the screen, and your pen falls from your fingers entirely on its own.

[1:07 PM]

Sunarin : i wouldnt be mad if you suddenly appeared in my shop in the next 30 minutes

You swallow, nerves buzzing in your veins as you lean back in your chair. 

Be normal , you think. This could mean anything.

You : you just want food.

He responds immediately, like he always does, but it makes your fingers numb to think he’d been waiting for your text. 

Sunarin : it’s the delivery girl more than the delivery that im interested in

Your stomach flips, and an Uber is called before you can really think twice about it. Osamu says nothing when you leave with red ears and your head bent, but you hear Haru and Mayuri giggling together as the door jingles closed behind you. 

You : well you be sure to tell them that

You : they might give you a discount

Sunarin : now why in the world would i want a discount, y/n?

You ride all the way to the onigiri restaurant down the street from his shop with your face in your hands, another text waiting for you while you order. 

[1:22 PM]

Sunarin : this would be a terrible time to find out you’ve been crushed under a really heavy box of coffee beans…

You laugh to yourself, running a hand down your face and feeling a bit delirious. This is all so new and weird, but the swoop in your stomach and the antsy tap of your foot on the floor while you wait for lunch is taking over all sense of reason. 

You type out a response without thinking.

You : your delivery girl expects to be tipped well

And then you press a hand to your forehead, realizing how badly that had come out only after sending it.

Suna’s response is laced with amusement.

Sunarin : oh????????????????

Sunarin : okay??????????????????

Sunarin : i can certainly do that????

You : shut up

You : you shut up, suna rintarou

You : that was an accident

Sunarin : it sure as shit didnt read like one

You : im eating all of this food and leaving you to starve

Sunarin : wait no im actually hungry bro

You : do not BRO me after that, you insufferable idiot

Sunarin : you did that all on your own

You laugh in half-exasperation as you carry the takeout bag up the road and to his shop. When the door jingles, you barely have time to greet his long-time assistant, Suki, before the door to Suna’s office is being wrenched open. He pokes his head out, eyes finding yours.

You try to push down the rush of nerves that fill you when he smiles lazily at you. 

“I see lunch is still uneaten.” 

“Pending review,” You say, smiling at the receptionist. “Hey, Suki.”

“Hey, girl,” She says, spinning in her chair to beam up at you. When her eyes find your hickey, a smirk pulls at her lips. “Good night?”

Your ears warm, but before you can mumble a response, Suna calls out from across the room.

“I’d say it was more than good, but maybe that’s just my ego talking.”

Suki’s eyes bug out of her head, and she’s laughing behind her hand while you stomp across the shop to his office, ignoring the amused glances from his artists.

“Suna, you complete-”

“Yeah, yeah,” He cuts you off, ushering you into the room. “I’m an idiot and you want to kill me.”

You roll your eyes, pushing past him, but you barely have time to set the takeout bag on his desk before you’re being dragged around and pinned to the now-closed door.

“ Hi ,” He breathes, leaning down and pushing his mouth to yours without waiting for a response.

You shiver against him, mumbling into his kiss. “You got a thing for doors or something?”

 He ignores you, clearly preoccupied. “Got plans tonight?” 

Your head spins, but you manage to answer him while kissing him back. “No, why?”

“Good,” He smiles against you. “Can I come over?”

Your stomach flips excitedly. “I guess I can pencil you in.”

“Oh, you guess?” He cards his fingers through your hair, pulling you close. “Thought you just said you didn’t have plans.” 

You shrug, lifting up on your tiptoes to push your lips against his. “Maybe I had plans to sleep. I’m mysteriously exhausted today.”

“I like sleeping,” He says easily, angling your head to kiss you more easily. “I sleep all the time. I’d make a great sleeping buddy.”

Your fingers tremble where they cling to his shirt. “You applying for the position?”

“Yes,” He nods, arm tight around your waist. “Is there an interview process? When can I expect to hear back?”

“You’re so stupid,” You break, laughing as you pull away. “So, so stupid.”

He just smiles and steadies you on your feet before dropping his hands from your waist, his green eyes twinkling with amusement. “So, how was Miya?”

You snort, leaning against the door while he moves to unpack your lunch. “Which one?”

“Oof,” He says, throwing you a sympathetic glance. “That’s brutal.”

“Sakusa told me he was there to help, and then he proceeded to not help .” You smile, following him to a little couch in the corner.

When you take a seat, Suna scoots close, closer than he’s ever sat before. He slides an arm around your waist and draws you in, passing you your food. Your nerves tingle when he presses a kiss to your temple and mumbles ‘ Thanks for lunch ’ before turning to unwrap his onigiri, and you squash it down, doing your best not to read into it. 

“Sakusa, too?” He smiles, taking a bite. “You had the whole council.”

“The twins bullied me into admitting we had sex three times,” You say, trying to fight the warmth in your face as you eat. “And Atsumu tried to extract all the positions out of me, but I have my limits.”

He chokes briefly before clearing his throat. “The positions -” He shakes his head, reaching for his phone. You watch as he pulls up a brand new text thread with Sakusa. The first message he ever sends to the man is-

[1:31 PM]

Suna Rintarou : 50 bucks for the last position you fucked miya in

Your jaw drops, and you can’t help the smack you land on his shoulder. “That’s hyper-private!”

His phone buzzes.

Sakusa Kiyoomi : make it 100 and ill tell you his favorites

Suna throws his head back, laughing, and you can only shake your head with a smile. “Boys are so strange.”

Another text notification lights up his screen only a second later.

Miya 1 : tell that little rat shes disowned

“Oops, I got you in trouble,” Suna says, clearly pleased with the outcome. 

You just roll your eyes, smiling when you imagine how Atsumu’s probably acting right now with Sakusa. “They’re good together, huh?”

“Oh, a hundred percent,” He says, replying to Atsumu quickly. “Sakusa’s the only one who can handle him.”

Your eyes flick away from his phone when he glances at you, because you just watched him type out the words ‘ thats my little rat youre talking about, fucker’ , and you’re not sure he wanted you to see that. 

You catch Atsumu’s immediate ‘ oh????? ’ just before Suna’s turning his phone off and tossing it on the table. There’s a piece of you that’s dying to know how that conversation will go later.

“What else happened?” He asks, as though he hadn’t just outright claimed you to your best friend.

“Uh,” You fumble, trying to remember the events of the morning. “Samu joked that we were making up for lost time, and Tsumu said we’ve been all over each other since college,” You try, watching him carefully for a response.

It’s the only reason you catch the slight tinge that warms his face before he’s turning to reach into the takeout bag for more food. 

“Mm,” He responds noncommittally, and you purse your lips to keep from smiling. 

“Mm? That’s it?” You tease. 

He passes you another rice ball, that tinge spreading gradually. “Not the first time I’ve heard that, is all.”

You lift a brow, surprised. “Oh, really?” You stare, holding your rice ball out in front of you with no sign of digging into it. Suna gives you a look out of the corner of his eye, one you can’t name. 

“I apparently had a bit of a staring habit in college.” He blinks a few times before looking away, busying himself with unwrapping his rice ball and then reaching for yours to do the same. He meets your eyes briefly while you watch him. “Yeah, like that,” He jokes, gesturing at how your eyes track his every movement.

Your head is empty of everything, every intelligent thought you’ve ever had long gone. “Staring at what?” You watch his mouth quirk up in a smirk that knows far too much as he’s turning away from you. “At me ?”

“I didn’t realize it, either,” He says easily, taking a bite of his rice ball. “But I distinctly remember being yelled at by a girl at a party that I spent an hour chatting up before completely abandoning when you got there.” 

You balk, remembering the exact moment he’s talking about. You’d thought that she had just misunderstood your relationship.

“But… why?”

He swallows, and you notice the color filling the tips of his ears. “I was, uh-” He clears his throat. You’ve never seen him so shy before. “-learning a lot about myself in college.” 

It feels like the world is dropping out from under you, and the weighted flick of Suna’s green eyes to yours is the only thing anchoring you to him. 

You’re not sure when you set the untouched onigiri down, but, while his gaze is flitting to the table before coming back to you, you’re reaching to ball up the front of his shirt and drag him to you.

When you kiss him, you realize you can feel his heart beating against your fist.

You make Suna Rintarou nervous.

Trying to recover – trying to steer clear of the reality that’s threatening to smack you in the face – you make a breathless argument, Suna’s lips warm on yours. 

“Just a general realization, though, right?” You try, feeling his teeth dig lightly into your bottom lip. “Not about me specifically?”

He pushes his tongue against yours, lunch abandoned while he threads his fingers into your hair carefully and angles your head. “ Sure ,” He breathes. “We can say that.”

“ Suna ,” You chastise, feeling your resolve starting to melt away when he slips past the edge of his hoodie and slides his palm against your skin, fingers hot.

Suna hadn’t looked twice at you until last night. You’re functioning under that assumption. You can’t risk believing otherwise, and it’s not fair for him to lead you to another conclusion if it’s not true.

If you allow yourself to believe otherwise, then you might just let it ruin your friendship.

It can’t be true.

“I told you last night,” He sighs into your mouth, and you feel it fill your lungs with something you have tried all day to ignore. “You look like-”

-one of my college fantasies .

Your stomach flips and your fingers go numb against his chest. 

He doesn’t mean what you think he means.

He can’t mean that.

Right?

“You… Uhm-” You swallow, feeling his mouth go still over yours. “You don’t mean that you would think about me when you…”

His breath is warm on your lips while he thinks of what to say.

“I didn’t want you to be upset,” He admits, his words a whisper against your skin. 

There’s no way.

A memory passes, one of him laughing into your chest last night, complaining that he would only last five minutes, a giddy kind of excitement passing between you. How he’d jokingly offered to let you stay the night all week, his smile bordering on something real.

“I felt so bad for thinking of you like that.”

That excitement again this morning, when he’d whispered that he would undo everything and make it right, that he wants you to use him. How he’d pushed you up against the couch the moment you’d agreed to keep sleeping together.

You can only stare at his lips while he talks, eyes wide and heart pounding. 

How quick he’d been to find you at the party, how you’d been quietly pleased that he would have been that quick even if he hadn’t given you a second thought before.

But he had. He had given you a second thought.

“I’m sorry,” He tries, searching your face. “It was only a few times, and I tried so hard not to,” He’s whispering his apologies quickly, mistaking your silence for anger that he’d kept that from you, when really, you’re trying to remember how to use your mouth to say something entirely different. “I was so ashamed of being disrespectful, and I didn’t want you to hate me,” He swallows, your empty stare heavy between you. 

God, you wish so badly that you could go back in time and notice all the things you’re only noticing now. All the times he’d looked at you differently or maybe even considered making a move. 

You wish so badly that it hadn’t taken this long for things to change.

You really want to ruin this friendship. 

“But you were so pretty, even back then, and- the first time was an accident, I swear- you texted me while I was–” He flushes hard, and you almost feel the heat of it wash over you. “-and then all I could think about was your sweet little smile, and before I could stop it, I was-”

“Suna,” You breathe, cutting him off. Your heart is beating in your ears, and your skin burns where his hand sits on your waist. Your head is filled with a funny little buzzing, one that makes it impossible to think or see anything except for how he’s looking at you, his lip ring pulled nervously between his teeth. “You better be very careful.”

He blinks, brows furrowed as he stares down at you. 

Your heart is so loud in your ears.

“I might fall for you if you’re not, Rin.”

You feel when he stops breathing, his chest unmoving against your hand.

His eyes flick down to your lips, and you feel when the breath he’s holding leaves his lungs in a single, quick laugh. 

“Y/n-” 

There’s a knock at the door, one that shakes you enough to make you jump.

Suki peeks into the room, finding Suna half-draped over you, both of you red-faced and wide-eyed. She grins mischievously. 

“Your 2 o’clock’s here, Boss.”

You’re painfully aware in that moment of being in Suna’s place of business. 

You push him off of you, gathering the trash from your lunch quickly before rushing to the door. You laugh nervously at Suki as you go. 

“I should call an Uber, huh? I didn’t realize how much time had passed. I gotta get back to work.” You barely notice her knowing grin while you throw the trash out and make a beeline for the door. 

Suna catches up to you, following you out to the street after throwing a quick ‘ I’ll be back in just a second- ’ to his client.

“Y/n-” He pulls you back to him, breathless. “Man, you really love to run, don’t you?”

You laugh, feeling delirious as you rub at your brow. “Well, you just admitted that you used to jerk off while thinking of me in college, and then your assistant caught us in a compromising position, so-”

He laughs back, the tone of it matching how insane you feel. “Christ-”

He shakes his head before pulling you in the direction of his car where it’s parked on the street a few feet away. He fishes in his front pocket and then presses his key into your palm. “Take it. Don’t waste money on an Uber.”

You stare down at the key and then up at him. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll come get you later, then, if you still want to stay the night.” He blinks then, clearly surprised by that. “Okay.”

You stare a moment longer and then nod, turning toward his car and walking away. “Okay. See you.”

“Okay.”

You hear the door jingle when he heads inside.

You sit in his car for the ten minutes it takes your fingers to regain feeling. 

Your phone buzzes in the middle console, and, when you glance at it, your fingers go numb once more.

[2:13 PM]

Sunarin : i was being careful before

Sunarin : but now i dont want to

You let your forehead fall against the steering wheel, every nerve ending in your body malfunctioning.

“ Fuck ,” You whisper.

Fuck.

[blainesebastian]

safe

words: 7,823 ship: austin butler x female reader rating: R (for violence) summary: obviously inspo is coming from seeing bikeriders and this image and my extensive knowledge of sons of anarchy. you don't have to watch that show to read this, but it takes place in that sort of universe, with inspo from the show *u* just wanted biker austin x you notes: feel free to visit my austin masterlist warnings: none, but check the rating.

Every time Austin thinks he knows exactly who you are, you throw him through a wash cycle on steroids. You came back to Charming, a place you said you’d never step foot in again, for what? It’s certainly not for fucking him, that’s for damn sure. As much as he loves you, still after all this time, Austin knows you have to be running away from something…because running towards what you want with full abandon has never been your strong suit.

And you’re certainly not returning to St. Thomas for the great fucking medical plan.

“I just needed a change of scenery.” You tell him in those mint green scrubs that always highlight the perfect swell of your ass.

Austin rolls his eyes but doesn’t tell you that he thinks you’re full of shit.

Chicago’s too fast paced, maybe you’ll try New York—there’s a beautiful, hopeful smile on your face—like you don’t know that the minute you stepped foot back in Charming that you’d never leave. You’ll get sucked back into the black hole of this place and you’ll never be able to find your way out. Will probably die here.

Whatever—it’s really not Austin’s problem anymore, is it? You are not his girlfriend, he’s not responsible for your happiness or your decisions. That ship sailed a long time ago when you left straight out of high school—went to a fancy college, got your medical degree, and began a new life.

Without him.

And yet Austin also understands the utter pull of you, consistently keeping him directly in your orbit, your wants and needs incredibly important because they always have been. Which is why Austin doesn’t believe you when you say that you didn’t come back for any sort of reason.

He doesn’t believe this ‘change of scenery’ nonsense.

You patch up a split knuckle, dig out glass—Austin doesn’t even flinch, just watches you the whole time like he doesn’t have blood on his face. You have no idea what he’s gotten into lately—and you don’t want to know.

“Think I’m gonna make it doc?” He asks, a small smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

You hum lightly, “Barely.” And pour the antiseptic without warning him.

You hate that you came back here, back home—but Austin’s always been your safe place.

--

“I think you’re scared.” Austin says one evening while dropping you off at your dad’s house, empty now, a living and breathing reminder of all the shit you went through in high school.

You never wanted to live here, in your drunken father’s home, always more satisfied with the concept of burning the thing down. Yet here you are, taking off Austin’s motorcycle helmet and handing it back to him, looking for your keys to get inside. You’re living here, attempting to reorganize and rebuild the place to make it your own.

“I think you don’t know me as well as you used to.” You throw back and there’s a hint of teasing there, like you don’t want to turn this conversation into something serious.

Austin rubs one of his eyebrows, itching for a cigarette but now’s not the time, he’s not staying long. “I think…I’m the only person who does know you.” He’s not afraid to admit that. You’ve done this dance so many times that you practically own the rights to the choreography.

You’ve proven time and time again that you’ve got nails and teeth sunk into one another, so wrapped up that you can’t unravel it as hard as you try. No matter how much time or distance passes between you two. It’s so beyond anything that Austin can put into words—he doesn’t really believe in soulmates or fate but, if he did, he thinks him and you could put a definition to that.

That’s why Austin knows that you’re never going to leave Charming, not really anyways.

You’ll be in love until it kills both of you, figuratively or quite literally.

“That’s the real reason you came back, isn’t it?”

You sigh softly—after a long day, your hair is a little unruly on the top of your head. You’re ready for a long hot shower and to get out of these scrubs. Austin only wishes he could assist with that. He lets his eyes travel over your form, purposely checking you out when you look at him. But you both know it’s more than just a sexual attraction here, that Austin defaults to that because it’s easier for him to work out in his head. While it’s very clear that there’s only one face he sees when he’s inside of someone, no one will ever know or understand him as you do.

That line of deeply knowing goes both ways.

“I told you why I came back here.”

Austin smiles a little and starts his bike. Fine, if you wants to play this game, he’s got nothing but time.

“Right,” He puts his helmet on, making sure it’s fastened. “I just don’t believe you.”

And he backs the bike out of the driveway and goes home.

--

Austin doesn’t figure out what’s going on until you ask for a ride home in the middle of the day. It’s a little weird, to say the least, he’s in the midst of things with the club, his club leader riding his ass about certain decisions he needs to uphold as Vice President. But literally, he couldn’t be bothered less, not having one iota of a regret driving his bike to the hospital to pick up you instead.

You seem a bit frazzled when you climb on the back of Austin’s bike, your arms squeezing around his waist just a little too tightly. Austin frowns, looking over his shoulder as he hands you the helmet to put on,

“You alright?” He asks.

You nod quickly, forcing a soft smile, “Yeah, just a long shift. M’tired.”

“You didn’t drive today?” Austin starts his bike—not that he’s complaining.

“Oh I did but the…it’s making a weird noise when I use the break.”

Austin raises his eyebrows, putting a pair of sunglasses on. “You know I work at a garage, right?”

You let out a soft laugh, the sound fluttering Austin’s stomach even after all this time. “Just take me home.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He does a fake salute before pulling out of the hospital parking lot.

--

Austin’s got this wicked sense of observation mixed with paranoia—and he’s convinced this is why it makes him a decent V.P., being able to notice when things are off, when things appear altered than how they should. Sometimes catching tiny mistakes and misnomers are the difference between a good deal going sour, life and death.

So he instantly picks up on the fact that there’s a car following you both, all the way from the hospital to your house. Even though the vehicle doesn’t stop, it passes and parks a little further down, but it’s there, nonetheless.

You get off the bike, handing the helmet back to him, a soft coy smile on your face that makes Austin want to kiss you. Your hair is wild, cheeks a bit pink from the wind blowing, beautiful and stunning all at once.

“Thanks.” You say, adjusting your satchel from sitting on your back to your hip, “Think I’m finally getting used to this thing again.”

Austin hums a bit, parking it before he slips off the bike. He runs his hands through his hair, removing his riding gloves and pocketing them, before adjusting the leather cut that sits easily on his shoulders.

Easy and yet heavy sometimes, all at once.

“Yeah I never understood why you hated ridin’ it, I’m an excellent driver.” Which, alright, he’s a decent driver—he goes through turns too fast but he tries not to if you’re on with him.

You’re distracted though, not picking up the bait, glancing around your driveway as if you’re…looking for something, or someone. Austin licks his lips, putting the helmet on the back of the seat.

“Hey, this uneasiness that I’m sensin’ right now—have anythin’ to do with that car that followed us from the hospital?” He motions with his chin to the car he’s referring to idling down a few houses.

Your entire body suddenly goes rigid, eyes widening over Austin’s words. You follow Austin’s direction down the street and you look sick when your eyes land on the car. There’s this instinctual step back, like you’re afraid, and Austin moves closer to touch your arm.

He steadies you, squeezing gently, thumb running along the inside of your wrist, “Hey, what’s going on? Who is that?”

You sigh, running a shaking hand over your face. You swallow and finally bring your eyes to meet Austin’s, “His name is Rick—when I was in Chicago, I—I met him at a conference and we went out a few times. When I tried to end it, it got violent and he started stalking me,” You shake your head, embarrassment clear on your choked voice even though you have nothing to be ashamed for. “I tried getting a restraining order but you can see how well that worked out.”

Austin feels himself go cold, which is never a good sign. That’s how his rage works, like a slow ticking clock, never heated, never like an explosion of emotion. It sits on him calmly, like a wave lapping the shore of a beach. He straightens his shoulders, shaking his head as he goes to turn and address this fucking asshole who can’t take no for an answer.

“Austin, no,” You reach for him, managing to tug his arm to stop him from walking, “Rick’s—he’s an ATF agent and dangerous.”

Austin almost scoffs because so am I, but he knows what you mean. You know exactly what kind of business his club does and getting involved with an ATF agent will only bring trouble down upon everyone.

But Austin’s so fucking angry that he doesn’t care, he’s always felt like he’s had the uncanny ability to think in steps ahead, consider his future, but if you’re here? You’re a part of that future now. And he’s not going to let this Rick guy think he can just follow you here all the way from Chicago and threaten you.

“Go inside, Y/N.” Austin motions to the house, not looking back as he walks towards the car in question.

Rick, who has fucking binoculars, drops them quickly when he realizes Austin is approaching the car and not stopping. He also seems to get the point when Austin pulls his weapon of choice, a hunting knife, from the holster on his jeans and sticks right through the grill of Rick’s car.

Rick quickly gets out, his face red with pinched anger as the car begins to smoke. “Vandalism, deadly weapon.” He snaps and slams the car door closed. He’s shorter than Austin and a lot angrier, which is amusing to him, “That's six months in County, asshole.”

Austin can see what you maybe thought about this guy. He’s handsome with his strong jaw and cropped hair, eyes intense. Any member of law enforcement gives off a false aura of calm because they’re supposed to be people anyone can trust. It’s almost ironic that you feel safer with a criminal. Almost.

He throws shit right back at Rick as he takes his knife out of the grill, putting it back in the holster, “Violating a restraining order? You'll be in the cell next to mine.” He grins then, licking his lips as his eyes skitter over Rick’s body, “They reach how to suck dick in ATF school?”

Rick laughs, not even looking remotely interested but Austin doesn’t care. He’s trying to make him uncomfortable because clearly he doesn’t give a shit about doing the same to you. Besides, Austin knows that he’s not really angry about the car, or even about Austin approaching him per say, he’s pissed off that someone is getting in the way of him fucking around with you.

“Badass biker.” Rick tuts, shaking his head as he looks over Austin, like it would be a pleasure of his to ruin his life.

Austin is not fucking scared of this piece of shit, “You harassing Y/N? That ends here.” He tells him, “Or the next time it won't be this car that I'm drainin’ fluid from.” He goes to take a step back because regardless of the stance Rick is pulling, he can tell that he’s rattled him just a little bit.

All of this is probably a terrible idea given the situation that the club is in right now but he refuses to let you take the brunt of dealing with this asshole alone.

“You threatening a federal agent?” Rick snaps out, pissed off that he’s been made to look like an idiot. Which, Austin doesn’t think that’s too far of a stretch, really.

He turns, giving Rick a good once over before taking a few steps into his space. He purposely uses his height difference to look down at him when he speaks, “I'm threaten’ you. Go away—it's my last warning.”

As Austin walks away, he just hopes it’s enough.

--

Things slightly escalate from there. Rick does not fuck off like Austin hoped or intended but he supposes he shouldn’t exactly be surprised, either. He suspects that he might hang around, maybe show up at your work, but what he doesn’t expect is when Rick surprises him when Austin is attempting to run errands. And not just any type of errand, though most don’t know that, but he’s not really just visiting this deli because he enjoys the chipped ham.

Rick wanders in as Austin talks to the butcher, their conversation shifting to something safer because of the company.

One thing happens after another, Rick gets in his face and Austin can’t control his temper even though he knows he should—that this is one giant trap to catch him off guard. And yet he falls right into it because the minute Rick opens his mouth about you, Austin’s fist is flying through the air.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Rick smirks, sticking his hands in his pockets as he stands by one of the display cases with meat inside, pretending to look interested. “Y/N and I have unfinished business…and I intend on talking that out with her, in bed, with her spread out beneath me.” It’s very much a whether you like it or not attitude and Austin hits Rick so fucking hard that he sails through the glass window of the deli.

Not his finest moment.

And yet he has zero regrets as he sits in a police interview room, icing his right fist as another ATF agent graces him with his presence. Greg Thornson with his bony-ass frame, closing the door with his foot because he’s knee-deep in a file that no doubt has every wrongdoing he’s ever committed since high school.

The usual dog and pony show that any of these police agents try to shake them up with.

Austin’s so used to this, he knows his expression screams ‘boredom’ and that for some reason makes Greg smile, putting the file down on the table. He sits across from him, regarding Austin for a moment and he bites his tongue on saying anything he might regret.

The point in all this is to get back to you, not to end up in a holding cell for the night. So he straightens his shoulders and looks right back at Greg, a challenging look to his eye.

The shorter smiles, “So, we’re not going to hold you—even though you assaulted a federal agent.”

Austin purses his lips and lightly shrugs his shoulders, not saying a goddamn word. He knows exactly what story Ronnie Peterson, the deli owner, gave to the police.

“Mr. Peterson corroborates your story that Rick Clarington came at you first.” Greg sounds not moved at the slightest by that but Austin doesn’t care.

He smiles, “Can I go now?”

Greg hums but before Austin can stand and leave, “Why does Clarington have a hard-on for you?”

“Who doesn't?” The corners of Austin’s mouth twitch up but then sighs—Thornson might enjoy a little game of distractions but Austin’s goal is to keep himself as much under the radar as possible. So he shifts gears, giving him a long look, “You know why.”

Greg smiles, closing the file in front of him. Austin obviously doesn’t know Greg very well, other than the briefest of introductions when he first walked in (just what he needs, another ATF agent up his ass), but he can tell that he’s in this job title for the ‘cat and mouse’ game of it all. Austin’s not a typical criminal, he doesn’t squirm, especially when he knows that that’s the goal Greg has with this conversation.

He’s digging, pulling at straws, anything to give him the upper hand.

“You're right, I do.” Greg taps the table with his fingertips, “Y/N L/N, the charming ingenue. High school sweethearts, right?”

Austin’s face gives nothing away but he does nod softly in confirmation, “Yeah.”

He can literally see the wheels turning in Greg’s head, the shorter making an impressed noise as he glances down at Austin’s bloody knuckles, “She fears for her life so she comes back home to the only man she knows loves her enough to protect her.”

His expression matches stone, unsure of what Greg wants out of this other than to just catch him off guard, but he’s literally got nothing to say as far as he and you are concerned. There’s also not that much to tell—he and you were dating in high school; it was one of the strongest connections he’s ever had to anyone. And that hasn’t changed—Austin doesn’t think it ever will.

“A guy…” Greg trails off for a moment, “who would have no problem punching a federal agent through a glass window.”

“The glass window part was an accident.”

Greg lets out a soft laugh, nodding, “So Ronnie the butcher says. Rick apparently pulled a weapon on you—made threats, you had no choice.” There’s practically disbelief hanging on every syllable.

Austin shrugs again, flexing his sore fingers against the ice pack, “Well, if that’s what Ronnie said.”

Greg licks his lips, glancing over his shoulder as the door opens up, another officer with paperwork to detail the statement Austin gave. He nods his head, knowing he’ll have to let him go soon, despite the sparring conversation.

“Beautiful, really, it is. I wish I had that kind of pull over for someone. You're a lucky man.”

Austin feels something ugly dig under his skin at the sentiment because he knows it’s not a compliment by any means. He refuses to give Greg the satisfaction that he obviously craves but a few thoughts do worm their way in the back of Austin’s mind: did you come back to Charming because of him? Because you knew what he’d do the moment Austin learned about Rick threatening you? Because you felt safe? Wanted? Loved here? Does any of that really matter since you’re back? Austin may feel slightly manipulated given the situation but…even if you only came back for this very reason, you’re still here, aren’t you?

Somehow, that’s all Austin cares about.

“You done?” Austin asks, a little steel to his voice.

Greg smiles and nods lightly, Austin getting up from the table and leaving the ice pack behind.

--

Austin leans against the back of your couch, watching the you pace for a few moments. He’s not trying to pressure you into talking or anything, he’s practically got the CliffsNotes of what’s happening anyways. In general, he’d just like to touch base with you because it’s been a week since Austin’s made threats at Rick and nothing has really happened (other than that lovely conversation with Thornson, time he’ll never get back, but he supposes that’s his fault for throwing a punch at a federal agent).

Austin suspects anything else is only a matter of time. Rick doesn’t seem like the type to respond to warnings well or go away quietly.

“I’m confused, what else did you want me to do?”

You stop pacing, looking up at Austin with an almost startled expression as you’re drawn out of your thoughts. You’re in a pair of blue jeans and a nice button-down sheer blouse—so different than the scrubs you usually wear but just as beautiful.

“I didn’t want you to do anything.”

Austin narrows his eyes, “Right, really?”

You give him a look as you slowly cross your arms over your chest. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He lets out a slow breath, leaning up from the couch. He doesn’t want to argue with you at any rate and maybe he is letting the conversation with Thornson get to him, but the longer Austin thinks about it, the more it starts to make sense.

Austin rubs the back of his neck, “I think you know exactly what it means.” He raises his eyebrows, taking a long look at you, someone he’s always known like the back of his hand and yet feels so distant to him within this conversation.

“Did you come here because you knew what I’d do to Rick?”

Your mouth opens and closes, “Know…what’d you do?” You scoff, “You—you haven’t done anything.” And there’s the slightest hesitancy in saying that, like there might be something you don’t know.

Austin shakes his head, confirming with a single, “No,” Then, “I haven’t. But push comes to shove, you know I would.”

It doesn’t take much for Austin to figure out how you feel, you practically wear all of your emotions directly on your face. And okay, given this reaction, maybe that’s not why you came home but are you really going to act like that’s not some sort of benefit?

“I didn’t come back for you.” You state and it’s not supposed to sound cruel—that’s not who you are. Meanwhile, Austin on the other hand makes it his mission to dig underneath people’s skin, to read them and know them to understand how to hurt them.

“I didn’t even know if you’d still be here.” You sigh, taking a step towards where Austin is standing, “But if you’re asking if I came back to the last place I felt…put together? Safe? Then yes. That’s why I came back.”

Austin smiles ever so softly, picking his hand up to cup the side of your head. There seems to be a distinct moment where you close your eyes, a rush of relief, a breath you didn’t realize you were holding being released from your chest. “And none of that has to do with me?”

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head but you don’t pull away, even when Austin slips one of your loose strands of hair around your ear. You turn your head to press a kiss to Austin’s palm, his other hand moving to bracket the other side of your face. His fingers eventually slip down to hold the sides of your neck, rubbing along the skin soothingly.

“Maybe just a little bit to do with you.” You smile.

Austin licks his lips, smirking, pressing your foreheads together and leaving them to rest for a few long moments. There’s a familiarity there that pulls him in, keeps him treading water, keeping them connected in such a way where it’s hard to tell where you end and Austin begins. He’s never been so much a part of someone and vice versa.

“Regardless of what happens,” Austin says after a moment, “I’m not gonna let anythin’ happen to you, okay?”

You swallow and nod, your noses grazing as he tips your chin.

And that kiss you share feels like home.

--

It’s a pretty regular night at the clubhouse, another party in half swing where everyone is either piss drunk or on their way to being it. Some other members are playing pool or taking shots directly off of women’s chests, some practically fucking croweaters on the commune couches. Austin is so used to seeing this shit that, at this point, it’s just another Thursday night.

Sam, one of his club leader’s right-hand men, leans against the bar with a boyish grin that deflects from all the terrible things he’s done. The blood Austin has seen in that long blonde hair, the way his hands close around another man’s throat, the bullets he’s fired, the knives he’s cut with. It’s so ironic because you’d never think any of that just by looking at him,

“You don’t want to get in on this?” He asks, motioning to the intoxicating chaos.

Austin takes a brief look around, lifting his beer and taking a sip. “Even if there were half naked women practically throwing themselves at me? Nah,” He pauses, “Just not in the mood tonight.”

Austin’s known Sam nearly his whole life—they grew up together, been through all possible scenarios of the term ‘thick and thin’. Sam sticks around because he knows Austin will take this crown someday, will lead this club, take the reins, or whatever the fuck all this means. He didn’t know his father, not really, only through all the observations and stories and photographs from others.

How is he supposed to figure that shit out?

He doesn’t want it, inherited club royalty or not. Austin would be more satisfied with running away, with taking you out of this fucking place, far away from Charming where no one knows either of you. Starting over like a brand-new book, writing their own chapters.

Even though he knows how unrealistic that is. Doesn’t mean he wants it any less.

“Is this about Y/N?” Sam asks, breaking his concentration.

Austin blinks, considering the question as he takes a long sip of beer. Isn’t it always? Sam can read him far too well and of course knows all about you, what you mean to him—what you’ll always mean to him. He was there when you both first met, when this whole thing started, when you both clutched onto one another tight and refused to let go.

You coming back has just thrown him through an impossible loop.

“No,” He straightens his shoulders, putting a wall up between him and Sam with a grin that masks his face, “Just can’t find anyone who sucks dick as well as you do.”

Sam snorts out a laugh and grabs a bottle from behind the bar to pour shots, “It’s the lips.” He teases.

Austin takes a shot with his friend when he pours it and then decides he’s gotta get out of there before he ends up spending the night with a faceless nobody and a wave of regrets. It’s funny how he hasn’t really thought like that in a while and that definitely has to do with your influence in being back.

He takes a step outside and breathes in the cool Californian air, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. Austin lights a cigarette, taking a long drag that puffs like fog into the atmosphere—he and you have not decided anything about one another. But he knows you, you and him can pick up right where you left off.

It’s hard not to.

His burner cell starts buzzing in his pocket and there’s a half smile on his lips as he sees your number—case in point.

Austin barely gets through a greeting when you are choking out I need you. He has no idea what’s going on and part of him doesn’t want to ask but the sound of your voice causes a sheet of ice to cover the entire inside of his chest as he throws down the cigarette and walks quickly to his bike.

“What happened?”

You sniffle over the line and sigh out syllables that make Austin’s blood run cold, “Rick. Please, can you just—”

“I’m on my way.” Austin hangs up the call, starting his motorcycle and pulling out of the garage parking lot with barely a second thought.

--

Austin has no idea what’s going on, no clue what he’s walking into but he doesn’t care either (which he may or may not regret later). He didn’t have you elaborate over the phone, wanting to concentrate on getting here faster instead. He parks his bike and rushes off the thing, nearly knocking it over as he goes to the front door of your father’s home and knocks.

You throw open the door, half dressed—bra, underwear, a long sweater barely over top, face with tear tracks on them and—and a gun hanging loosely in your fingertips.

“Jesus Christ,” Austin mumbles, eyes wide and confused as he takes a look at you and slowly closes the front door, “What the fuck happened?”

Though…based off the way you are dressed and the time of night—Austin swallows down a bout of anger as heavy as a cinder block to take care of what’s right in front of him.

“I couldn't stop him.” You shake your head, your entire face pinching. Austin sighs and wraps a strong arm around your shoulders, drawing you into your chest. He squeezes you, his hand working firm circles along your spine, “He came in-in through my back door and just—”

Austin shakes his head, holding you even tighter against him, his jaw working as he puts two and two together. You must have been getting ready for bed or something close to it and Rick put the drop on you.

“Did he—”

A whimpered noise leaves your lips and you press your face further into Austin’s neck. His one hand comes up and laces his fingers through your hair, shushing you gently. He pulls back after a moment—you both need to get ahead of this disaster, whatever is awaiting him, Austin will take care of it.

“Where is he?” He asks, cupping your cheek. He removes a tear track with his thumb.

You sniffle, “The bedroom—”

A short breath leaves Austin’s lips, glancing down at the gun that’s still in your hand. It must be your father’s because you never have been interested in weapons before, not even for means of protection. Whatever happened, it must have been bad enough that you needed to defend yourself.

“Give me that.” Austin takes the gun from you, walking down the long hallway that leads to the bedroom.

Nothing really prepares him for what he sees—the bedroom is a mess, sheets disheveled and Austin really fucking tries to not picture you struggling on top of them to push Rick off. A chair is overturned, broken glass from picture frames falling off the nightstand, and Rick on the ground in the corner—his pants are undone and he’s got his shirt off.

He’s currently holding onto his gut to keep his insides from pouring out, panting, face a sheet white and sweaty. And then he makes eye contact with Austin, a struggled laugh leaving his lips like, you’ve got to be kidding me.

“Oh you stupid bitch.” Rick spits, referring to you, “You called him?”

Austin does his best to assess the situation, figuring out what’s best for you with all of this. He’s used to putting himself in the line of fire at this point, at burying himself so deep that there’s not a way out. He could give a shit about Rick surviving or not—there’s only one person that needs to end up on the other side.

You are kind and good and leading a decent life beyond all of this and if Austin has one goal? It’s to make sure none of this pain, blood, or filth, sticks to you.

You tug on Austin’s sleeve, yanking him back into the hallway and away from the scene, “I didn’t know what to do, I shot him, Austin.” You try to explain, your hands shaking so bad as you run them through your hair. Austin shakes his head, wanting to tell you that he doesn’t have to clarify anything, “I had to. What do I—what do I do? What do we do?”

Austin runs his hand along your shoulder, squeezing, glancing back in to Rick because…there’s really only one of two things you could do. And he’ll give you the other option just in case you want to entertain it.

“Okay, okay,” Austin soothes, getting you to breathe for a moment before he continues, “We call this in—you're not going to get charged, he is.” There’s a choked laugh from Rick—the only saving grace is that you have that restraining order in place. Austin takes a long look at you, cupping your one cheek. He waits until your eyes meet his, wanting to make sure you understand what he’s saying.

“They're gonna patch him up, he'll do a few years for assault. But then he's gonna be out—free to do this again.”

He barely gets the last word out before there’s a visceral reaction from you, a choking sob where you grab Austin’s leather jacket and dig your fingers into it, “No,” You snap out, nearly pushing him away despite the fact that Austin only pulls you closer, “No, he can't do this again, Austin. Please.”

Austin rests his lips along your forehead, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as he takes a steadying breath into his lungs. There’s only one thing to do then—because clearly, Rick is beyond reason or idle threats.

Not to mention that bullet wound in his side really complicates things. 

“Butler’s your solution?” Rick spits from the other room, making you hold onto Austin tighter.

“I can't do this.” You whisper against Austin’s neck, breath hot along his skin, “Please.”

If Austin was going to approach this with a cool head, all of that goes out the window when Rick opens his mouth again. The combination of you shaking against him, the heat of your body pressed along his own, the way your hands are pulling at his clothes in an attempt to ground yourself—and then Rick’s fucking mouth, spouting disgusting language towards you that he can’t accept in a levelheaded manner.

“You pathetic whore—”

Austin takes two long strides, aiming the gun right at Rick’s head and fires.

The blowback spatters blood all over the wallpaper in the bedroom and there’s a soft curl of smoke leaving the gun, metal hot to the touch. He can hear you yelling over the slight ringing in his ears. Austin lets out a sharp breath—this is not the first time he’s murdered someone in cold blood and it certainly won’t be the last.

At least this time it actually feels like it’s been paired with a purpose.

Austin stares at the blood for a long moment, watching it roll down the ugly wallpaper before backing up slowly. He puts the gun on the dresser and turns to where you are standing in the hallway, wide eyed like a deer in headlights, hands over your mouth.

Austin gently tugs you away, forces your sight off it and takes you back into the living room.

--

Austin takes a shallow breath and hands you a short glass of scotch, which you take with trembling fingers. You tip it back into your mouth quickly and almost choke on the swallow, coughing, but Austin figures you might need to take it like that. He motions to hold the glass out and when you do, he fills it up again.

You sniffle, shaking your head as you run a hand over your face. Austin knows how you’re feeling without you even needing to say anything. While this might have been the only choice, the right choice, you didn’t want Rick to meet an end like this. You continue to be a better person than him—Austin thinks he got exactly what he deserved.

And he regrets none of his actions here tonight, especially if this means you are safe.

Austin runs a hand along his jawline—it’s still dark out, if he’s going to clean this up, he needs to get started.

You glance up at him, wide eyes somehow a shade darker than he’s ever seen them. Austin tries to offer you the smallest of smiles, something comforting, even though it feels a bit strange on his face.

“I’ll take care of this.” He assures you.

You scoff out a choked noise— “What does that mean?”

Austin shakes his head, not giving you a verbal answer. Honestly, it’s better if you don’t know, just in case, so you can claim some kind of ignorance with all this. You seem to catch on within that moment, making a soft noise of discontent as you cover your face with both of your hands. There are so many things that Austin wants to say, to be able to tell you, but he doesn’t know where to start.

This nightmare is over though—it may not seem like it, but it is.

Austin turns to walk out of the kitchen and check your garage for supplies when he feels fingers wrap around his wrist. He stops, looking down at your hand, following it up your arm until he looks at you again. Austin watches you stand, taking a soft breath in, grounding yourself in the touch of his skin and your proximity.

This can’t be easy for you; Austin knows this is why you ran away from Charming in the first place—so you wouldn’t have to wonder what kind of terrible shit he was getting himself into with the club and Austin finding a way to apologize for it. Though, this ironically has nothing to do with the motorcycle club.

He moves his thumb to brush over the inside of your wrist, his high school sweetheart, the girl he’s loved since he was sixteen, his soulmate regardless of tragedy that most likely follows.

“Thank you,” You whisper and step into Austin’s space, “I love you.”

Austin hums softly and nods, leaning his head down to press your foreheads together. “I know.” He teases lightly and despite everything that’s happened, he can feel the hint of a smile on your lips as you kiss.

--

A week passes, and then two, and eventually Austin feels like he can draw oxygen into his lungs without looking over his shoulder. At this point, he knows how dispose of a body—an unfortunate byproduct of the work he does. The goal is to make it look like Rick’s just left, disappeared, with the threat of violating his restraining order, he decided it was best to fuck off out of Charming and you for good.

That should be a story that’s easily passible, since no one from Charming P.D. or that aggravating ATF agent have kicked down any doors demanding questioning of any sort.

Austin’s limited exposure about the whole thing, just him and you know, that way there can be no blowback on the club. Even then, Austin’s the only one who has details about the murder weapon (and where it is) and what truly happened to Rick (as in, where his body is buried). And it’s going to stay like that.

The man is exactly where he belongs.

Austin pauses in front of a freezer in the grocery store looking down at a set of steaks. He knows that it’s not exactly your favorite thing to eat but…he’s feeling weirdly celebratory and he can cook it in a way that you will enjoy it. Lots of pepper, garlic, onions—grilling it outside (maybe at his house instead of your father’s place), beer, mashed potatoes. You both can turn that into a good night, maybe even get back on a track that makes sense.

As long as you both avoid any more capital murder, should be just fine.

“Huh, never pictured you as a fillet kind of guy.”

Austin’s eyes roll back into his head as he turns to see Greg Thornson hovering nearby. Spoke too soon.

He doesn’t see any other agents milling around to make a grand arrest, or sirens and SWAT cars pulling up outside the grocery store windows. So he supposes that’s a bonus. And yet—

“Shouldn’t have to pound meat out for it to be tender.” He says wryly, dropping two steaks into his basket. Austin moves out and around Greg, who doesn’t even appear to be shopping—what, did he just track him down for a not-so-friendly chat?

Austin’s assuming that this isn’t an interrogation but Greg very much seems like the kind of agent that tries to catch you off guard and unaware. He’s probing just by being in his space, nonchalantly following him around the store, pretending to look at things he has no intention in buying.

“Putting a nice dinner together for Y/N?” Greg asks curiously, picking up a can of lima beans.

Austin sighs evenly, slowly making his way towards the front of the store. The quicker he cashes out, the faster he can leave this disaster behind. He glances over his shoulder at the indifferent question,

“Yeah—I know this might be a foreign concept to you, goin’ on dates.” Austin says with a smile to his face but it’s anything but kind. Greg’s eyes dart to Austin’s, fire burning along his irises, and then Austin adds a cushion to the blow – “Cause you know, you’re married to your work and all.”

Greg hums but his smile is all pinched, “I’m surprised Y/N’s even staying put.”

Austin moves to set his basket down near the conveyor belt, unpacking his groceries so that the cashier can ring him out. He offers a small smile at the girl, despite his annoyance with the ATF agent behind him. He slips his wallet out of his back pocket, glancing at Greg as he comes up into his line of vision,

“She’s a runner. Isn’t that why Y/N found herself in Chicago in the first place? Wanted to get out—find things this little pissant town couldn’t offer? Bigger dreams than what you’ve got here, Butler. Smart, beautiful women like Y/N? They get bored. They want more.”

Austin swallows, his hand that’s out of Greg’s line of sight is clenching his fingers into a fist. He refuses to give away that Greg’s words are hitting a particularly raw nerve. You did run away—because that’s what you do. When something gets too hard or real or intense, you make a run for it, that last time landing you in Chicago. And yeah, you ended up with a medical degree to show for it, but you also trailed back to Charming with a psycho ex.

He watches the cashier scan in his items, the muscle in Austin’s working. Despite the fact that Y/N’s seemingly tied to this place for the foreseeable future, Greg unfortunately has a point. And that digs under his skin more than anything else.

Austin pays the cashier and picks up his grocery bag, “Why don’t you let me worry about Y/N, yeah?” He throws back at Greg, moving to leave the store. He then pauses, a sudden thought occurring to him as he turns to look back at the ATF agent.

Greg’s decided to buy a pack of chips near the checkout aisle, pulling out a few ones from his wallet. 

“Hey,” Austin says, gaining Greg’s attention. The smile he gives him is slow and patient, somehow innocent on the edges like he’s about to talk about the weather. “You ever hear from Rick?”

It takes a moment for the question to settle on Greg’s face, the light somehow disappearing from his eyes, the silent conversation passing between the two men as Greg realizes Austin is asking this question for a very specific, deadly reason.

Austin licks his lips, shrugging his one shoulder, his gaze hardening, “Dangerous being a Fed.”

He slowly backs up, getting ready to turn out of the grocery store. He’s delivered more direct threats before but he is in public, and the look on Greg’s face still registers the same. Realization masking fear—makes it completely worth it. Austin clutches the grocery bag in his hand and puts his sunglasses on as he leaves the store to walk back to his truck.

They understand one another now.

--

Austin looks at you over his shoulder as he cooks dinner in the backyard of his home, in comfortable clothes that look a lot like jeans and a t-shirt, minus the leather cut. You’re leaning against the patio door, in a yellow sundress, watching Austin with a soft, fond expression, sipping on your beer.

Austin’s struck with the sudden thought that it could always be like this—warm, and safe, and comfortable, cooking dinner with beers and pretending his business doesn’t get him involved with unsavory people or situations.

Sometimes it feels like they can survive in that version of themselves, even though it’s all a lie.

You move into the yard and set your beer down, pressing into Austin’s side as he looks at the grill.

“You’re overcooking the steak.”

Austin crinkles his nose, peeking under the grill hood just a little, “No I’m not.” He opens it up all the way and while he doesn’t cook steak very often, they look perfectly fine. You use that opportunity to reach for the tongs and Austin playfully taps your wrist,

“I got it, they’re fine.”

“Oh you know how to handle meat, do you?” You tease, your hand resting on Austin’s waist instead.

Austin bites down on his lower lip as he grins, cupping your cheek to lean down and kiss you. “Class act, Y/N.” He pulls back after a moment, closing the grill lid after flipping the steaks once.

He moves to grab his own beer, taking a long sip. Despite everything you’ve been through, you seem to be doing okay. You don’t really bring up Rick at all and Austin doesn’t ask—maybe that’s a good thing, finally moving past that chapter in your life.

And even though Greg’s commentary in the grocery store rattled him a little bit, it does feel like you’re on solid ground now. That you’re not going anywhere—that they’re a team, no matter what might come their way.

Austin lets out a soft sigh, taking a step towards you. He rests his hand on your hip, angling you towards his body so he can look down at you. He waits until that gaze falls upon his own,

“No more running.”

You nod softly and press yourself on your toes to kiss the corner of Austin’s mouth, “No more running,” You agree. Austin leans down to press their foreheads together. “I’m here.”

And for better, or for worse, Austin believes you.

[tboybreedingden]

I keep thinking about how hot it would be as a trans man for me to give birth publicly.

Planning extensively for a home birth but just spending as much time as possible out and about as my due date gets closer.

Not only would it be hot to have everyone staring at me, whispering, "is that guy.... Pregnant?" But also the constant walking around would help the baby settle lower in my pelvis and would help induce labor.

I'd obviously feel and notice when the contractions start, but I'd just keep walking to the next place on my errands list, leaning against buildings when they get so intense that my legs buckle.

I'd walk into a store, ignoring the burning in my cunt as my cervix starts dilating. I'd try my best to act normal, waddling and stopping to catch my breath as people around me stop and stare. I'd pick up the few items I need, having to lean heavily on the self checkout.

Someone would ask me if I was okay on my way out but I'd lie that I'm just having Braxton Hicks and I'm fine, and I'd keep going to the next stop. I would slowly waddle down the sidewalk, stopping to moan as I feel my body trying to stretch and make room for the baby that's threatening to push its way out on Main Street.

I keep going, stopping by a park to sit and gather my bearings. An intense contraction hits me and I feel the baby's head starting to breech my cervix. I cry and try to not push, but my body betrays me, eliciting a scream and forcing my head back as I feel my cunt stretching open.

I quickly try to unbuckle my belt and unzip my jeans as another contraction rips through my body, forcing me to push again. My ass slides forward on the bench and I slide my jeans off, bracing my right foot against the bench and my left against the ground. I watch as bystanders stare and pull their phones out, some to call an ambulance, and some to record videos.

I breathe heavily and dig my nails into the bench, pushing hard as another contraction rips through me. I feel my cunt lips thin and stretch under my boxers as the baby's head gets closer to its destination. I put my hand down my boxers, rubbing my tdick to relieve the pressure as I prepare to push again.

Another strong contraction hits me and I bear down hard, feeling as my baby's head pops out, bulging in my blood soaked boxers. I try to cup my other hand around the baby as I jack off and push the shoulders out, and with a final push I'm able to pull the baby out and up through the waist of my boxers.

I look up at everyone watching as EMTs approach, embarrassed but satisfied. They tie and cut the cord and take my baby to be examined in the ambulance. I take my boxers off and let the EMTs examine my swollen and broken cunt out in the open as they deliver the placenta, strangers still staring at my gaping boycunt. I moan in pleasure as the EMT rubs my open cervix and explores my cunt, making him blush and smile.

I eventually get in the ambulance, proud of myself for my public display, and wondering how fast I can get pregnant and try it again.

[inkformyblood]

because you are there (CWFKB25)

Canon Era, Dip Kiss. @codywanfirstkissbingo Thank you for reading, and thank you to the mods for running this event! Happy Valentines!

Obi-Wan knows the exact moment that Cody picks up his lightsaber. 

He had lost it several minutes ago, a necessary distraction due to more than a few flaws in the droids’ programming, categorising the saber as more of a danger than Obi-Wan himself. A mistake that had been quickly capitalised on but left Obi-Wan in his current state: weaponless but not defenceless behind enemy lines, one set of outer robes scorched and discarded and the main singed at the edges. 

It isn’t a sensation commonly put into words, the aching devotion of another person cradling the extension of your soul, a relaxation in the grief stricken hollow between Obi-Wan’s ribs because everything would be okay. Cody is there. 

His comm chimes with an incoming transmission a moment later and Obi-Wan fumbles with the controls for a moment, his fingertips splintered, warm with his blood and mechanical oil. It would be easier with the Force but it feels like a disservice to Cody for Obi-Wan to bend the universe to his will over something so trivial, something that should be worth the effort.

“Hello, Commander,” Obi-Wan says. He turns in a slow circle as he speaks, his steps even amongst the twisted remains of the droids. There’s a halo of space around him, perfectly circular before he stretches out one foot to pull a forearm towards himself and crouches down to inspect it. He hadn’t survived being Anakin’s master for the majority of his life without polishing some instincts to a sharp point and anything that would keep the other man occupied and out of the trooper’s moonshine would only be a benefit. “It is always a delight to hear from you.”

“General,” Cody answers, his grin entirely evident in his voice. Obi-Wan’s saber spins across the back of one familiar hand, across the flick of Cody’s fingers before it settles in his palm. If ignited, it would be a thing of deadly beauty, but even without, it’s a wonderful display. “I see you’re feeling well.”

“All the better for hearing from you, my dear.” Obi-Wan crouches down, working the pitted edge of his nails beneath the plating on the droid’s arm. There’s a nodule just beneath it, a twisting something in the Force that desperately doesn’t want to be noticed, and it chews on the scraps of his thoughts as he works, trying to dive back down beneath his attention. “How are the kids?”

“Behaving themselves.” It would be mostly true, after all, aided by nothing more than a raised eyebrow and a flat glare. Cody’s ship isn’t just neatly run, it is exact. 

Obi-Wan hides his grin behind his sleeve, the scent of burnt fabric filling his nose as he flicks his arm away with a grimace. He shrugs his shoulders out of the robe, maintaining the tie around his waist and knots the empty sleeves over the top. It’s a quick fix, a chill already prickling down his bare arms, the high collar providing scant cover from the wind. 

Cody continues speaking, Obi-Wan’s saber tapping against the centre of his chest as he walks. He’s moving closer, step by step, a thread drawn taut between them. Obi-Wan could be half a universe away and, step by step, Cody would move closer to him. “Are you missing anything, General?”

“I’m missing the airing of ‘Mid-Centaxday Murders.” The casing gives way with a screech, Obi-Wan baring his teeth against the sound. It doesn’t just catch at his ears, the soft flesh of his gums, but the space behind his eyes, the base of his skull. Whatever it is, it wants to be left alone and forgotten about. “And I think I dropped my outer robe somewhere by a rather lovely crater a few klicks back.”

“I’m aware, sir. Wooley has collected the robe and Waxer is dispersing the holovid amongst the men. For morale, you understand.”

“Of course.” It is exactly the kind of move that Obi-Wan tries to discourage in the impressionable Padawans that hang onto every snippet of media filtering through the holonet about him, flashy and showy with an unnecessary backflip that would have added a few new grey hairs to Qui-Gon’s collection if Obi-Wan had still been a Padawan himself. As it stands, Obi-Wan taps out two proxy messages to the betting pools he knows of, one ran by the Temple, the other maintained by the troopers, wagering on an uptick in muscle strain and mild concussion. Waxer, he notes, has already placed a bet. Cody is noticeably absent, likely having weighed in in the Commander betting pool Obi-Wan is only technically not aware of. “Have you any thoughts on it, my Commander?”

“It was satisfactory, sir.” 

Obi-Wan grins wide enough to ache, his chest flooded with enough joy that he could survive from the memory for weeks, rationing it out into bite-sized recollections. 

“Anything else you may have dropped, sir?”

“Nothing that I can recall, Commander.”

“Sir.”

“Cody.” 

Drawing the nodule free from the droid is more difficult than it should be for untangling one series of scorched wires and a half-broken fastening. Obi-Wan wipes his hand over the tied sleeves of his robe and draws a section of the fabric over his stinging fingers to try again. It gives slowly, a tearing of flesh from flesh that snaps as it breaks for the final time, lying inert in a pool of Obi-Wan’s robes. He slips it into his inner pocket to give to Anakin once they were all back on the ship but his hand lingers, tracing over the embossed text on its marred surface. ‘-oper proto-’ It’s important, but he doesn’t know how or why; it simply is. 

“Ready for extraction, sir? With only the items on your person as per protocol?” Cody’s closer now, a slight hitch in his breath as he slides down the freshly created mountain of droids off to Obi-Wan’s left. If he turns his head, Obi-Wan would be able to see him, a dashing figure cut in white and orange and so wondrous it is breathtaking. 

Obi-Wan stands, interlacing his fingers and stretches his arms over his head. He is restless already, the momentary lull between fights sparking in his joints, because they’re needed, always needed somewhere else. Today had been a good day and also the worst day in the world.

“I’ll head to you, Cody.” Obi-Wan steps towards the edge of the pile of droids, Cody already lined up beneath him like he knew Obi-Wan’s plan before he had thought of it, hours before he had put it into words. 

Obi-Wan falls.

His descent is halted by a smooth fracturing of the universe, a cosmic power brought to the forefront and burning through his blood, entirely so he lands gently in the expectant cradle of Cody’s arms. 

Obi-Wan cups Cody’s face, running his thumbs over the soft swell of his cheeks and wiping away a smudge of ash high over the indentation of a dimple. “Hello, my dear.”

“Good to see you, General.” Cody carefully lowers Obi-Wan to his feet, his gaze never dipping lower than the exposed hollow of Obi-Wan’s collarbones. On his belt sits Obi-Wan’s saber, the custom made clip intended for entirely that purpose. Obi-Wan pretends to not notice it, smoothing his rumpled robe flat and leaning closer to Cody, keeping his arms looped around his neck.

Cody runs warm, a flush of heat against Obi-Wan’s bare skin. 

“Anything to report?” Obi-Wan murmurs, twining his fingers around the twist of curls at the nape of Cody’s neck. 

“Completed the directive, seppies are either broken or off-planet by our reckoning and sir—“ Cody’s effect is controlled, they’re well-matched in that regard, but there’s a note of devotional wonder threaded through his words, his pupils wide and dark as he stares up at Obi-Wan. “No casualties.”

Obi-Wan straightens, the world beneath his feet only balanced in place. He can’t have heard Cody correctly, it must be a mistake. “Cody?”

“No casualties. Not one. Only injuries.”

Obi-Wan tips himself forward into Cody, drawing the other man into a tight hug. He buries his face into Cody’s hair, breathing in the sterile scent of his shampoo, the smoke from the blaster fire. “That’s, Cody, that’s—”

Cody tips his head back as he grins, the sunlight blooming over his features as they sway, in step, in time, together. “It’s amazing, Obi-Wan.”

The moment doesn’t last. They never do. Beneath Obi-Wan’s feet, one of the tattered droid parts shifts and he moves with it, tipping backwards and nearly out of Cody’s hold, before Cody catches him once more. They halt, Obi-Wan cradled to Cody’s chest sideways, his hands locked behind Cody’s neck, their faces close. 

“Just kiss already, sirs!” There’s a smattering of plastoid knocking against plastoid as the troopers on the ridge above him jostle each other, smacking fists against the chest of the man who spoke.

Cody’s flush is beautiful, his eyes wide as he stares down at Obi-Wan, not moving, barely breathing. Obi-Wan relaxes his grip, testing Cody’s hold before he relaxes back into it, moving to cup Cody’s cheeks once more. “Our audience may have a point, my dear.”

“Our audience will be running laps until they drop.” Cody pauses, his gaze never wavering from Obi-Wan’s as his jaw works, tension bleeding through the taut line of his neck, the unwavering heft of his thighs. “But I would like to kiss you.”

Obi-Wan grins and leans up to kiss Cody and it may only last for a moment, but everything is right and they are together.

[multifandomimagin3s]

Them as Dads - 141 + König

Requested by Anon

Fluff, hints of angst

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon's childhood was, to say the least, horrific.

No child should have had to experience when he went through.

Those experiences have stuck with him all his days, emotions buried deep down to a point where he doesn't feel them anymore.

There's a distinct divide between Ghost and Simon - and since he's considered legally dead, he has no reason to drop his mask anymore.

Needless to say, when he found out he was going to be a Dad, he short-circuited.

Didn't even say a word, and just left.

Of course he felt guilty for it, and he knew that what he did was wrong, but he needed to think.

The last time he had even been around a child was his little nephew...

And that tragic part of his past truly was the final nail in the coffin for him.

He was terrified of being like his own Father.

He did eventually come back but for the duration of the pregnancy, a cocktail of emotions swirled in his stomach.

The day he held his child for the first time, he was stunned.

This tiny little human, with their little button nose and - his eyes.

He grew angry - angry at his Father, and by extension the World.

How could anyone bring something so small, so fragile, so perfect any harm?

Needless to say, he's a very protective Father.

If any of the Team were to meet the baby, he probably wouldn't even let any of his comrades hold them.

Maybe Johnny - but that's at a push, and he'd be hovering around him the whole time like a shadow.

He'd be soft for his child - but he'd try to be the strict parent, teaching them to be ready for whatever the world may throw their way.

If he had a daughter, would let her paint his nails - would sit there still as a statue, watching with soft eyes at how her tongue stuck out of the side of her mouth in concentration.

Speaking of, regardless of the child's gender - boyfriends / girlfriends / significant others would absolutely be interrogated before they even step a foot through the door.

"Who the fuck are you?" "You're 16?? Cunt, you look 30!"

It would essentially be like that scene from Bad Boys 2 - Soap would definitely be Will Smith in that scenario, accepting no criticism~

Would try to be there for every life event and would feel a deep seated guilt if he couldn't because he'd been deployed.

Overall, from day one, he'd made a promise to himself that he wouldn't let history repeat itself - he'd give his child everything he ever wanted growing up and more.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

I can see him as a chill Dad.

He wouldn't let his child get away with murder, but he would be good cop 99% of the time.

Would absolutely spoil them rotten - they would have to so much as look at something they liked and he'd get it for them.

It would be his Mother that would have to try and get him to reign in the spending a bit.

Also carries the baby around in one of those baby carriers across his chest.

I think he has a big, close-knit family so the child would have a ball playing with all their cousins of mixed ages.

If he had a son, definitely tries to style his baby hairs into a little mohawk with gel.

Lets his kids express themselves however they want.

They want to dye their hair? He's driving them to the shops to get the supplies.

They want a piercing? As long as they're old enough, he's fine with it - and if they want him to go with them for moral support, he's already in the car.

I think the only think he'd be awkward about would be periods.

He'd try to be helpful...but he's not great at handling it.

C/N: Dad, I got my period.

Johnny: Oh - OH! Okay, that's - that's fine...ehh...do you...do you know what to do with it...or?

I can also see him just running into a shop in an absolute panic - asking the store clerk for assistance because he doesn't even know what he's looking for.

Returns home with three massive bags of supplies.

He'd be supportive with whatever they wanted to do in life - if they wanted to go to University, he'd help them with their application; if they wanted to get a job, he'd be helping them look for vacancies, driving them to their interviews; if they wanted to join the military however...he'd be reluctant, but he would never discourage them for pursing anything.

The only thing he'd have an issue with...is if his daughter got a boyfriend.

He'd not be as...hostile as Ghost, but the silent threat is always lingering in the air.

If anyone ever hurt his child, he can switch from fun-loving Johnny to Sergeant in the blink of an eye.

Captain John Price

That child has this man wrapped around their finger from day one.

Would give them the world if he could.

Would never smoke his cigars anywhere in the vicinity of them, and would hide them out of reach - especially during the curious toddler stage.

I can see him cutting up their grapes into smaller pieces, paranoid that they'd choke otherwise.

Has dozens of photos of them wearing his hat - even got them a toddler version of his own because they liked it so much.

Doesn't matter how old they are, they're still that little smiling baby in his eyes.

So needless to say, he's very protective.

Doesn't threaten potential partners - he doesn't need to, he's a Captain in the military, so nobody would be so stupid as to try and hurt his child.

Only brings the child on base when he knows that only people he can trust are there - ie. the 141 taskforce.

Follows the toddler as they waddle around, waving happily as they pass people - Soap ends up joining the little adventure since the little one took his hand and he didn't have the heart to let go.

Speaking of, despite not being given the official title, Soap becomes Uncle Soap the moment he claps eyes on Price's child.

Gaz too - he sent Price the photos he took of them wearing his sunglasses, a beaming smile on their face.

It came as a shock to everyone when they saw the child approach Ghost.

It even shocked Ghost when the child made eye contact with him - and didn't cry. Instead, they smiled, tugging on the leg of his trousers to be picked up. And, even more surprisingly, he did.

Price never has to worry about keeping his child safe - because god help whoever tried to hurt them when they have 4 highly trained SAS soldiers coming for them.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

He’d be one of those young, cool Dads.

Buys himself and the little one matching shoes.

Also matching outfits are the thing, especially during the toddler stage.

His kid would be the drippiest kid in the playground.

FaceTimes and calls home whenever he can when he’s deployed, seeing their little smiley face just makes his day so much brighter.

When he’s home he’s more than happy to spent chill days just watching cartoons with them on the couch, making pillow forts - he probably enjoys it more than the kid to be honest.

I reckon he’d struggle to actually parent the child, and would rather be their best friend than an authoritarian figure - ironic, considering he’s a Sergeant.

So it would probably be up to the child’s Mother to reign him in when he’s being a bit too soft or blasé.

Helps his kid build the best Minecraft house.

Loves being able to bring the child on base, showing them off to the Team.

Price secretly loves having the little one around, and they’re often found chilling together in his office.

Would absolutely spoil them - whether it be new toys, sweets or anything they wanted, he’d get it for them without a doubt.

Uncle Soap once spiked up the little one’s hair to match his own mohawk - Gaz wasn’t mad about it at all, and thought it actually looked cool as fuck.

If he had a daughter he would definitely sit down and learn how to do little braids in her hair.

Would also let her put little clips and bows in his hair, painting his nails to match.

He’d just be so soft for his child.

König

When the child was little, Konig was absolutely terrified that he would end up accidentally hurting them.

They were so small, barely even taller that his knee when he was standing, and all he could think about was what if he accidentally stood on their little foot or walked into them without noticing.

So, most of the time, he carried them around.

Would read books to them at bedtime, teaching them German and English to the best of his ability.

I don't think he'd wear his hood around them often, preferring his child to see his face rather than two eyes surrounded by black cloth.

Was genuinely surprised when they didn't cry after seeing him with it on; their little hand touched the cloth before breaking out into a sunny grin, "Dada!"

He probably cried a little bit after that.

He didn't have the greatest time growing up - so I think if his child ever got bullied, he would struggle to compose himself.

In his eyes, his child was perfect, so for anyone to go and make them feel bad about themselves - or worse yet, make them cry, it makes him see red.

Doesn't go and threaten the child - he'd not cruel. But the sight of a giant, masked man looming over all the other parents at school pick-up is more than enough to put the fear into anyone who had been picking on his kid.

Would probably teach them how to fight and defend themselves from a young age - he wouldn't always be around, due to deployment, so it gave him some peace of mind knowing that they would be able to defend themselves.