#he is earnestly giving this some thought

[ekleipsi]

" az! i'm hungry. when can we go out t' hunt? " the akhlut complained loudly, kicking his feet absentmindedly as he sat on the back of the couch, rather than on the cushions like a normal person.

--- He turns from position near the shelf he was leveling out, placing a couple new bleached bones upon it while spider companions crawled across his shoulders and over his neck. ' Mm? Noah, didn't you eat recently? ' he inquired, though tone was curious and not accusatory- time tended to slip away from him, so he often lost days at a time.

--- Eventually he turned abyssal gaze upon the shorter and tapped at his chin in thought. ' Well if you're hungry again, we can go out now. I can guide you towards those that are closer to death- wantonly taking life that has many years left will upset the delicate balance. ' he insisted, words instructional as he brushed his hands. ' What are you in the mood for? ' a thoughtful tilt, having taken quite quickly to the akhlut, death touched as he was and without any parental figure.

[rafescvntyclubgf]

"𝐘𝐨𝐮" - 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚎𝚛𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚛!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚂𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: 𝐀𝐠𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐩 | 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰 | 𝐒𝐞𝐱 𝐢𝐧 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜 | 𝐒𝐞𝐱 𝐓𝐨𝐲𝐬

*Rafe is in his 40s

𝖈𝖔-𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖓 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍: @nadvs

𝓇𝒶𝒻𝑒𝓎𝓈𝒸𝓊𝓇𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒷𝒶𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓉𝑜𝒷𝑒𝓇 - 𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓀 𝓉𝓌𝑜

𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙/𝖘𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖉𝖚𝖑𝖊

⚠️warnings contain spoilers ⚠️

Stalker!Rafe, Perv!Rafe, reader is Rafe’s friend’s sister, swearing, Rafe is a perv, age gap, public masterbation, fantasies about the reader, blood, mentions of murder, mentions of gun violence, mentions of general violence, suicide attempt, Rafe goes through her phone, peeping Tom, steals nude pictures, watches the reader masterbate, praise, Rafe’s POV

📖 College Professor Rafe Cameron has been dating you for months. You just don’t know it yet.💋

🔪 I smile when you look over your shoulder, the light pouring in from outside the lecture shining on you like a beacon. A fuckin’ angel on earth. My girl. 🔪

🔪Hello, You.🔪

6.8 K

Rafe’s POV:

“Oh, shit.” I look out on the lecture hall, crammed wall to wall—mostly old birds and a few young professors sprinkled amongst the AARP members. Jesus Christ. I match the eyes of one of my old lecturers from my time here. She gives me a little smile, and I nod, making a blush creep across her wrinkled cheeks before the lights fall low.

Do I deserve my name on a plaque on an office door at this fine university? Absolutely fucking not. But I paid for the building after all… American History; all first-years. You can’t mess that shit up.

I relax into the wall a bit, accepting my fate, lifting my coffee to my lips, taking a sip. “R.” I hear a familiar voice. A couple of heads turn toward me, leading me to a familiar face. I smile and chuckle as I shuffle toward the aisle, scooching through the crowd.

“Hey, man,” I greet him, shaking his hand before slipping my leather bag off my shoulders, taking a seat.

“R.C.,” he breathes, surprised to see me here, happy nonetheless.

“Zachary.”

“Guess they're hiring anyone these days,” he taunts, jabbing me in the side playfully, making me snort out a lazy laugh. I can’t lie; I’m happy to see him here. One friend is plenty. The guy is a fuckin’ nerd, but he’s a good person. “Pretty sure we both had class in this lecture hall,” he sighs blissfully, recalling a simpler time.

“Yeah, man. I think we did… How long have you been workin’ here for?” I ask between sips of coffee.

“Ten years.”

“Jesus, man,” I huff. We've been outta school for that long, huh?

“Nah, buddy,” he groans. “Longer. Started working here right after graduation. Been workin’ my way up the ladder ever since.”

“That’s great,” I nod, watching our Dean of Students strut across the hall's main floor. “You like it here?”

“Love it,” he smiles. “Why are you here?” Zach furrows his brows, asking the question he wanted to ask from the beginning. It’s no secret I got money to spare. There’s gotta be some reason I’m here. I’m sure he’s curious.

“I got bored. Thought I’d go back to school; just did it casually. N’here I am.”

“Here you are,” he echos through a weak laugh. “I mean, you own the place at this point. Huh?” Zach wiggles his eyebrows teasingly.

“Almost,” I chuckle, fully aware that the Cameron Library and The Cameron School of Business makes this current faculty position a little absurd.

“Glad to have you here. Truly,” he adds earnestly.

“Good to be here, man,” I smile as I relax into my seat a little more, getting ready for a day of gettin’ talked at, I’m sure. Zach adjusts in his seat, pulling his phone out of his slacks, thumbing over his messages.

Sis: Did you want anything to eat?

Zach: Nah. I’m fine.

Sis: Sounds good. Black coffee, two creams, two sugars?

Zach: Please and thank you.

“So…” I ask, my curiosity piqued. “Do you have any family here? You married or what-” I question, trying to be as calm as possible.

“Nah… Not really the marriage type. Family, yeah, my sister goes here now.”

”No shit?” I ask, trying not to be too interested, but I can’t help but catch his lock screen. Him and an absolutely stunning woman posed next to each other in front of the Golden Pavilion in Kyoto. They weren’t cuddled up with each other, just smiling… That smile. I run my hands down my shirt, smoothing out any wrinkles, raking my fingers through my hair, pushing it back slightly. Please be her.

“She’s a Kappa Girl.”

“Not a Kappa Girl,” I taunt through an exaggerated groan. He scoffs and rolls his eyes away. If it was anything like it was back in the day that house in nothin’ short of a brothel.

“She isn’t like that, Cameron,” he drones. “She doesn’t even live at the house. She’s got good grades. Like good good. Fuckin’ great actually—above a 4.0. They recruited her. The Kappas took some heat after gettin’ in trouble a few too many times. They were gonna lose their charter, so they switched from a social sorority to one based in education. Fuckin’ nerds,” he adds, making me chuckle, dissing her just like I had dissed him just a few short minutes before.

“Runs in the family. Huh?”

“Fuck off,” he snickers. Zach hangs his head low, pitching the bridge of his nose as he lets out an exhausted sigh.

“You good?”

He nods and yawns, eyes set on the speaker up front. “These old bitches can go fuckin’ hard. We went to Lord Fletcher’s last night. Janice over there can drink you under the table… Six advils today already. Y/n is comin’ over with a coffee for me. Thank god. I’m hurtin’ over here,” he groans, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

Zach’s eyes brighten as he looks toward the lecture steps. I feel my heart racing in my chest, my palms sweating, almost too nervous to look. I mean, that could have been his ex-girlfriend. But what if it’s the best-case scenario? What if it’s her? What if she’s you, princess? I turn my attention to the end of the aisle, watching that same girl shuffle along the line of people, clutching coffees, doing her best not to spill.

Fuck me.

My eyes travel up your body, your bare legs on full display, making my stomach fill with butterflies. You lean in, your sweet perfume amplified by the warmth of your flawless body from the late August heat. The second the coffee leaves your hand, I’m trying to get your attention on me. “I’m Rafe,” I smile, extending my hand toward you.

You juggle your books and your own coffee in your hands clumsily, extending a hand as well, making me instantly feel bad for putting you through the hassle, but the contact is worth it— soft and smooth, a firm grip on mine. You bat your long lashes at me. I can’t tell if you’re just trying to get a better look in the dim light or if you like what you see, but my heart is racing regardless.

“It’s nice to meet you, Rafe,” you reply, talking directly to me… “See you at home,” you whisper to Zach, who gives you a little wave as he swipes through his phone again. I smile when you look over your shoulder, the light pouring in from outside the lecture shining on you like a beacon. A fuckin’ angel on earth. My girl.

Hello, you.

It’s been sixty-seven days since we met—sixty-seven beautiful days of studying my favorite subject. You’re lovely, princess. Everything about you is. Even the little things you do out of habit. The way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re stressed, lips pursed, eyes wide. I know every look, every smile, taking each beautiful change of your face into memory. I can read you like a book.

I wanted it to be natural. How blatantly obvious would it be if I rushed into rekindling a friendship with your brother just to rush into a relationship with you? I had to ease in. Infiltrate the family; make myself a staple in your home so I could learn more about you.

There’s no one else better suited for you than me, baby. There is no one that will anticipate your needs like I can. Take care of you like I will. I’m going to make my move… I just need a little more time. I don’t want to lose the part of you that I get to see when you don’t know I’m watching.

I tilt back, relaxing into the doorframe of Zach’s office as I wait for you to stop by with his lunch. You’re so sweet. I know you’re cuttin’ it close with you’re next class. Fuck, my girl’s thoughtful. I smile to myself, lowering my head to not bring too much attention to myself.

“Who’s got you smilin’ like that, buddy?”

Shit. I look down at the phone, thumbing out of your Instagram, moving to Tinder. “Uh, I just matched with that bartender at Lord Fletchers. I think,” I mumble, giving him a slight smile.

“Juliette?” He asks surprisedly. “Isn’t she datin’ the head football coach?”

My stomach sinks, caught in a simple, stupid lie. “Nah, not her. A different one. I don’t know,” I brush him off, furthering my disinterest by pretending to swipe through some more.

Oh, shit. Here you come. I lift my eyes, matching yours. Your smile doubles as I catch your attention. “Hi, Rafe,” you sing. My name rolling off your lips so sweetly. Oh my god.

“Hi, y/n,” I respond warmly. Your hand snakes around my waist, squeezing me. “You ready for that test tomorrow?”

You sucks your teeth and shake your head. “Not ready enough to go on a date tonight, I don’t think. But I haven’t gone out in so long… I think it would be good for me to give my brain a rest the night before, don’t you?” You ask as your stunning eyes soften on mine, looking up at me for approval as I try my best not to fall apart in front of you or, at the very least, lose my shit. How did I miss this?

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” I press the words past my lips. You smile and nod before setting the food down on the desk. “Well, I gotta run-”

”See you tonight?” I add hastily, trying to get more info about your plans just in case.

“We got that intramural basketball game tonight,” Zach reminds me, making my palms sweat just knowing that if the date is early enough, I won’t be able to tag along or intervene.

“Chett said 9 PM at Little Angie’s.”

“Chett? As in Chett Ryan?” I ask in disbelief as you mention the star quarterback. A good-looking dude, but he’s a fucking idiot and a Grade-A asshole. You’re way too good for him. He doesn’t deserve you. Doesn’t even deserve to breathe your air-

“Yeah,” you answer through a smile, yanking me out of my thoughts.

“Well, I’m goin’ to Lexi’s house, so you and Chett will have the place to yourselves if you wanna come back after the bar,” Zach chimes in. My body trembles with rage, holding back every urge to crawl over the top of his desk and choke him out for even suggesting it.

“It’s our first date, so I don’t know if that’ll happen but thank you,” you smiles giddily, making me physically ill. ”Shit,” you hiss, your attention pulled to your watch, clocking the time. “I’m gonna be late. I’ll see you tomorrow, Rafe, for the test,” you add breathlessly as you race away, fleeing for class.

“You proctoring tests now?” Zach laughs lightly, furrowing his brows.

“Ah, yeah,” I whirr, scratching at my 5 o’clock shadow, trying to find an excuse while also trying to gather my emotions as my whole world crumbles around me. “I-I owed Steve a favor for covering my class last week,” I stutter, confessing half the truth. Sure, Steve subbed for me, but only so I could follow y/n on her trip to Georgia Tech for the football game to ensure she was safe… Zach should be thanking me, honestly. Fuck off. The football game… I bite at the skin on my lip, putting together the pieces of why you had even gone in the first place. For him. For Chett… No, baby. Why?

“Cameron?” Zach chimes in. “You’re a little more dazed than usual, friend. You good?” He asks through a mouthful of food.

“Yeah, man. I’m good,” I nod. “It’s only a few hours.”

“What?” Zach asks confusedly.

“Proctoring…”

”Yeah…” He nods, his face laced with concern for me; I don’t even know how long I was drowning in my thoughts of her. I’m sure he’s wondering what’s going through my mind— why I’m acting weird. “You sure you're good? You seem upset.”

”Nah, man. I’m good. Just have some shit goin’ on I need to take care of,” I smile softly. “See you tonight?”

“Yeah… See you tonight, brother.”

“These are nice,” I breathe as I run my fingers along the pink petals with a smile, the spray of roses sitting pretty amongst the rest. “These, thanks.” I pull them out, handing them to the attendant, finishing into my back pocket for my wallet.

I head out the door, walking out onto the street; the busy college town teaming with students, pouring in and out of the bars. Cigarette smoke wafts all around, competing with the aroma of the late-night food trucks. I look ahead, catching the Little Angie’s neon boot sign kicking ahead. My excitement builds as I get closer and closer. You’re here. I look down at my phone, catching your location in the heart of the bar—my girl.

Shit. I look down at my other hand, tossing the wildflowers Chett had gotten you. He doesn’t know you at all… He doesn't know what you like. He doesn't deserve you. No one does. No one but me.

I push through the front door, heading back toward the bar as I match your pin to my surroundings. My eyes pull taunt as I try to spot you through the thick crowd. I take a seat, ordering a beer before turning my attention back to the search. My eyes work across the low-lit room, scouring for you. I can’t believe you’re still here after he stood you up. It’s almost like you knew I’d come and save you, princess.

There you are. Fuck, are you even real?

When I’m around you I swear I forget how to breathe. I find myself having to tear myself away—telling myself that staring too hard will do nothing but bring attention to the obvious, but I am so in love. How do I even look away? You’re perfect.

You looks sad. I know that’s my fault, pretty girl, but I promise I’ll make it all better. You rest your cheek in your hand, slumped over in your seat, swirling your vodka cranberry defeatedly. Your beautiful eyes glisten. I can’t tell if it’s just sheer beauty or if they might be glossed with tears. Your eyes shut heavily, shoulders relaxing a little more as you submit to your drunken state.

Oh, sweetheart. You need me.

“Can I close out my tab?” I ask the bartender, who gives me a little nod and a smile. I turn my attention back to you, watching as you sway ever so slightly with the music pouring from the speakers.

“Here you are, sir,” the bartender calls. I turn fast, scribbling a tip and a total. My stomach falls as I pull my hand away, leaving behind a red thumbprint, remnants of my run-in with Chett lingering. Fuck. I grab the slip of paper off the bar top, brushing my hand along my dark-wash jeans, thumbing through my wallet to grab some cash instead, tossing a tip on the counter in exchange. I push off the bar, walking toward my girl, checking myself as best as I can in the darkness to make sure that I don’t miss anything else, catching a few specks of blood on my white shirt. Shit. I grab the zipper of my quilted jacket, hiding the mess.

What was I thinking? I was so excited about gettin’ to you that I didn’t even think about cleanin’ up. I look down at my right hand: split knuckles, bloodied and bruised. I tug down my sleeve, just praying there isn’t any more I can’t see. “Y/n?”

Your eyes lift to mine, softening and welling with tears. “Rafey,” you slur out a whimper, eyes pinching shut. Your tears tumble down your cheeks as you try to get out your next few words to no avail.

”What’s goin’ on, princess?” I ask gently as I sit beside you, rubbing soft circles on your back.

“Ugh…” You humpfs. “I got stood up.” You hiccup before rolling your eyes in annoyance with Chett and your own emotions. “I can’t believe I’m even cryin’ over him, Rafey. I know he’s an asshole.” You cry, making my heart melt as you use that little nickname not once but twice.

“He is,” I laugh lightly, making you nod and sigh.

“Are you… M’shit. I’m sorry,” you mumble. “M’kinda drunk.”

“Hey. Hey. It’s alright,” I coo.

“Are you meeting a date?” You ask, and I swear I can see a new sort of sadness in your eyes at the idea of it. I follow your gaze, eyeing the arrangement of roses in my hand.

“Oh, me?” I stall. “Uh… No. I-uh… I came in here after our game. I saw you hangin’ out here for a while. Kinda put two-and-two together. N’when I went outside to have a cig, I bought them off some guy on the street.” I look back to you, my whole story all for not as you practically fall asleep at the table, your beautiful face propped up and smushed in your hand. “Bought them for you, honey,” I sigh blissfully as I use a pet name I've always wanted to use knowing tomorrow it wouldn't matter.

“Thank you, Rafey,” you whisper. Three times… “So - So… So good to me.”

“Let’s get you outta here. Huh?” I ask as I reach into my wallet, pulling out a hundred, tossing it on the table. You close your eyes and nod your heavy head.

“Thank you.”

“Anything for you,” I breathe as I scoop my hand around your waist, lifting you to your feet. You melt into me, resting your head on my chest, snuggling in. I can’t help but lean down, pressing a kiss on your hair. I breathe you in, relishing this simple moment with you. “I love you, princess…” You look up at me, smiling sweetly. I hold my breath, even if you heard me say that there’s no way you’ll remember tomorrow. But still…

“Can we get pizza?” You ask, making me laugh.

“Anything you want you get, sweetheart.”

I know there’s nothing more to worry about, but I can’t help but get a little jealous knowing you dressed this way for Chett. You sway to the music on your record player, drunkenly singing along to the track between bites of pizza. You’re happier than when you were at the bar; your sadness before I came is long gone. You flash me a smile, setting my heart ablaze, pointing at me playfully as you circle your hips to the beat, dropping it to the floor, showing me the perfect glimpse of your plump ass. Fuck me. I bare with the pain, not wanting to make it blatantly obvious that my cock is strained in my pants.

“Help me?” You pout as you walk to me, lifting your hands in the air.

”With what…” My voice trails away as you step even closer. Your tits line up with my eyes from my seated position on the foot of your bed. My hands instinctively reach up, resting on your hips, testing the waters.

“Pajamas.”

“Oh - Oh. Of course,” I stammer as I lift your shift dress over your head. I hold back a moan, my head and mind racing out of control as I stand this close to you, the girl of my dreams in nothing but your bra and panties. And not just any panties, the panties I had taken from you last week. The panties I had wrapped around my cock that I had cum all over more times than I could count. Of course, I washed them and put them back, but what luck. It’s fate. Just stay calm.

You lets out a sleepy little yawn, stretching slightly, your back arching. Your cleavage pops a little more against the dainty lace; my eyes strain as I refuse to blink. I run my hand down your side, watching as goosebumps spread across your bare skin at my touch. Your nipples peak, teasing me under the barely-there fabric.

Help her, Rafe. I swallow hard, focusing on the task at hand, fighting back everything that I want to do. You move a little closer, slotting yourself between my thighs. I know it will be over if I look up and match your eyes. You’ll be too embarrassed in the morning if I do anything more—if I do what I need. I can feel your eyes on me. Your hand moves higher and higher, your soft touch cupping my chin, guiding my eyes to yours.

Holy shit. You smile down at me, your eyes hazed with lust and liquor. You run your thumb along my bottom lip, biting your own. I’m dreaming. I have to be. “Thank you,” you smile, your voice coming out so crisp and clear. This is no dream… This is just heaven on earth. Deep breath. Help her get into her pajamas and let her sleep it off. Tomorrow. If she genuinely wants me now, she’ll want me tomorrow. She needs me. Her trust is in me. I can’t mess this up. I need her too badly.

“Of course, sweetheart,” I whisper, allowing myself to drink you in a little more. I mean, I don’t want you to think I am not thoroughly enjoying this… This is the best moment of my life. Of course, after meeting her, that is.

I reach over on the bed, grabbing your satin pajama top. You take a little breath, going to say something, holding back, settling on a smile instead. I bet you were gonna ask for something from me. Probably wanting me to take off that pretty little bra of yours instead of giving her clothes to put on. I want to be your knight in shining armor tonight. I want to protect you; I want to keep you safe.

Tomorrow night, princess. I promise.

I’m addicted. I’m down bad. I’m in way, way too deep, but I can’t stop. I’ll never stop. You have no clue what you do to me. You have no idea how much time I have invested in you— in us. I have never been more fulfilled, princess. This is my destiny. You are mine; you just don’t know it yet…

You smile at me sheepishly, tucking some hair behind your ear before putting pen to paper and checking in for your test. You're hungover. I can tell—dark circles painted under your beautiful eyes, and the usual soft glow of your skin dimmed. You’re smart… You’ll have no problem taking this test, and if you do, it’s nothing I can’t fix for you.

You walk over to a locker, stripping off your purse and jacket, checking your phone before stuffing it inside as well. Holy shit… You shut the door, forgoing the lock altogether. Fuck, you’re too good to me, sweetheart. I’m sure you want me to take a peek. Don’t you? A smirk tugs on my lips, arms crossing over my chest as I stare you down.

You stride toward me, shoulders slumped. I’m sure you’re gonna apologize. I smile at you, wordlessly telling you I know what you’ll will say. You laugh weakly, letting out a deep, self-deprecating sigh. “Sorry about last night, Rafe. Thank you,” you smile sweetly, your voice just above a hush, not wanting anyone else to hear.

“You’re alright, Y/n. Glad I could get you home. Are you feelin’ alright?” I ask as I step a little closer.

“M’a little hungover,” you sigh. “I—I never get like that, I swear-”

“I know you don’t,” I stop you. Your brows rumple, my tone a little more knowing than you expected. ”Your brother mentioned you don’t really drink like that,” I correct myself, and you smile.

“Well, I’ll see you later, Rafe. Thank you.” You reach out, giving my bicep a squeeze that has my eyes darting to your hand on me. Oh fuck. You're walking toward the testing room before I can look up at you again. The door fans shut behind you, leaving me alone with the equivalent of your fuckin’ teenage diary. Everything I could want to know about you that I don’t know yet is on here. Please be unlocked.

“Shit,” I hiss, slamming my fist against the locker, eyes darting around fast as the sharp sting of regret pierces through me at my outburst. Pull it together, Cameron. I close my eyes, doing my best to compose myself as I tuck your phone at my side, walking back toward the desk. I look at you through the privacy glass. My girl is none the wiser—I smile as you answer the next question. Her birthday. Keep it simple. That's gotta be it. It’s not like she's got shit to hide.

I type in the six-digit code, my tension melting away; shoulders relaxing as I crack the code without any effort at all. Gotta hit the big four: messages, search history, pictures, Instagram. Don't get too greedy. I feel my cock twitch at the thought of this being in your hand. My mind instantly sails away to the shit you looks at that you’d probably delete your search history for. Hopefully, I caught you on an off day. Focus. Focus. Focus. I look over my shoulder as you breeze past the next question.

Messages, first.

Nothing crazy. A few to her friends, her brother, and a lab partner. My blood turns cold as I see Chett’s name. I click into your messages, teeth grinding, fist clenching as I read through the exchange.

Chett: you free tonight?

Y/n: I have a huge test tomorrow I'm sorry! Friday?

Chett: yeah we can do something on Friday too

Chett: cmon pretty. I owe you a beer

Y/n: just a beer? 😉

Chett: fuck… that's a yes?? Lets go to dinner then I owe you so so much

Y/n: I can't be out late tho

Chett: I know. I got you. I'm lucky ok. I know how you are.

Y/n: what does that mean?? 😂

Chett: your a good girl

Chett: i’ll meet you a little angies at 8. I've got workouts late ok??

Y/n: okay 💕

Chett: you better not stand me up

Y/n: never ☺️

Chett: on my way

Y/n: I'm at the bar

Y/n: found a table. We still on for 8?

Y/n: ???

Y/n: are you okay?

Y/n: just ran into your buddies. They said you ran into Kenzie on the street. Just fuck off alright? Why would you ask me out if you two were still a thing?

Y/n: I knew you were an asshole

Okay. Okay. Shit. My hands tremble as I read and reread your words. Just a clusterfuck of feelings seeing you this excited, this angry; this upset over that asshole. He ran into Kenzie? I'm sure they caught up. I'm sure he had second thoughts about your date. About you? How could someone have second thoughts about you? I knew I did you a favor.

I click into the search history. Cleared. God damnit. That leaves two more pieces to the puzzle. Instagram and pictures. I pull up your socials, thumbing to the shit only I get to see. The DMs are the same as your texts; it's nothing crazy. Search bar… I click into it, seeing your recent searches. Chett… You motherfucker. Haunting me, you goddamn dick- Oh…

Rafe Cameron

I blink a few times, pinching my eyes closed before fluttering them open as I see MY name on YOUR screen. “No fucking way,” my voice comes out needy and hoarse, cracking with all the want I feel for you. I gasp for a breath, filling my lungs with needed air. How is this happening? I rub my hand across my mouth, snuffing out my smile. Jesus Christ. Best day of my fuckin’ life.

I look over my shoulder, praying I have enough time to browse your hidden folder in your camera roll. Five questions left. I open the folder, my hand instantly reaching for the edge of the desk, my rock-hard cock finally giving way as I cum in my slacks at the sight of you in lingerie. My heart pounds in my ears and chest as I thumb through the rest, watching in horror as a wet, warm spot forms on my khakis. Fuck. There’s five more pictures… My goddess. My fuckin’ princess… Look at you, baby. Two more questions left. Put the fuckin’ phone back, Rafe. The phone trembles as I unhide all five, moving quickly to your messages before typing in my number, sending them to myself, deleting everything fast. I swear I could’ve cum again just feeling my phone vibrate in my pocket, knowing what I have saved for myself.

I swipe everything closed as I walk back to the locker bay, stuffing the phone inside your purse, slamming the door shut before the testing door swings open. I turn my body away, walking toward the exit, checking on a knock that never happened; turning my body in the opposite direction before matching your eyes. “So, how did it go?” I smile, positioning myself so you can’t see the absolute mess you caused.

“Good, actually,” you sighs, relief laced in your tone and demeanor as you pop open your locker. I step behind the desk, leaning into the counter just enough to ensure that my little secret is safe.

Good girl.

I swear I can’t go to bed without my nightly ritual; I stand outside your window, hidden just out of view, cloaked in the darkness of the hedges gathered around the perimeter of your apartment. Some nights I have the pleasure of being in your space; other nights, I settle for the next best thing, but honestly, even here is paradise.

Some nights, you stay up late, the apples of your cheeks glowing in the dim of your room as you browse your phone; other nights, you moves through your apartment chatting on the phone with your friends, smiling and laughing, every fiber of my being just wishing it was me on the other line. But on special nights, nights like this, your hand slips into your night stand pulling out your favorite vibrator, playing with your pussy like I could only dream of doing.

I never get to see what goes on underneath the covers or hear the sweet noises you make, but I get to see the pleasure painted all over your face. I can’t help but pull my cock out of my pants, stroke my dick while you work on yourself. Are you thinking about me? I always dreamed you were, but after seeing your search history, it’s not out of the realm of possibility. What if you're saying my name? My beautiful girl.

“Fuck, baby,” I pant as you grab the covers, throwing them off your body, my precum mixing with my sweaty palm as I take in the sight before me. I watch as the silicon cock glistens with your slick, making me spit on my dick to mirror the sight. My fist works over my dick, whimpering and moaning your name as I keep your pace. My thigh muscles tremble as I fixate on your every movement.

I know I should walk away, but there’s no force on this earth strong enough to pull me away from this. I bite my lip as you throw your head back into your pillow, back arching off the mattress.

And just like that, I fall deeper and deeper into my mind. “Where are we fuckin’ tonight, princess?” I mumble, envisioning us in the same room. “My office? Fuck, you’re bad, sweetheart? You sure? Sure you can’t wait until we get home? God damn, angel. You need it that bad? Need daddy’s dick right here, right now?” I moan as my muscles clench tight.

I swear I draw blood, pinching my bottom lip between my teeth as you drag your hand up, pulling your shirt with it, exposing your perfect breasts. You squeeze and twist your nipple, circling softly just like I would. “My lips will be on you, I swear to Christ,” I moan, picturing my parted lips sucking down on your tits; catching your breasts in my mouth as they bounce.

“Stop hidin’, honey,” I grunt as your legs draw closer, and I swear you heard me because your thighs widen on the mattress, splaying out for me and only me. What I wouldn't pay to bury myself in your cunt, princess. I’ve sucked on your panties more times than I can count; memorized your taste. I need the real thing. I wanna feel the warmth of your body against me, tongue pumping in and out of that tight little hole of yours.

Your mouth falls open, chest heaving, muffled cries heard through the glass. Just a whisper, but my ears have never been more blessed. I look down at my cock for a split second, just enough time to run some spit down on my throbbing head, making me hiss out a breath. I make a tight fist, imagining myself sinking into your slick pussy as you lay on a pile of my class papers, a little pleated skirt riding up around your waist, your wet cunt just begging for me to fill it, sucking me in.

“Such a sloppy cunt. Fuck… Perfect for me,” I mutter, returning my eyes to you, watching as your arousal leaks out of your pussy as you continue to stroke, dirtying the sheets below. I run my hand across my sweaty forehead, slicking back my bangs in the process, switching my hold to my balls to play with them, trying desperately to cum with you for your second time. “Slow down, Y/n… Shittt. Pussy’s too good. You wanna come with daddy. Don't you? Yeah you do. Atta baby.”

Another muffled moan bleeds through the glass. I need to hear you. Fuck, I need to know what you sound like. I release my cock with a panting gasp, fumbling for the glass, resting my clammy palms against it as I hold my breath, cracking it ever so slightly. There we go. I move even closer, resting a hand on the brick wall, eyes rolling back in my skull as I wrap my fingers around my girthy dick again.

“Rafe…” She pants, and my eyes double, stomach falling, breath fleeing my chest, drowning in my own pleasure as my name leaves your lips. Say it again. Fucking say it, baby. Tears of joy fill my eyes as warmth spreads from my head to my toes.

I listen closely, catching the sounds of your sopping core squelching through your room, cries and sighs of pleasure coming back to back as I bite my shirt, holding back my own. “Just like that, Rafey. Fuckkk, daddy. I’m cumming,” you cry in a throaty, fucked-out voice that has me cumming harder than I ever have in my life, ropes, and ropes of cum painting the brick wall of your apartment building as I watch your finish.

I look down in exhaustion as my cum rolls down the wall, before closing my eyes in utter bliss, just imagining it leaking out of your cunt. My goddamn pussy. “Tomorrow-” I pant as I lift my trembling hand, pointing my cum-coated finger against the glass with a smug smile that I wish you could see. “M’taking you out and then we’re comin’ back here and I’m going to make every one of your fantasies come true, honey. M’gonna be all you need. I swear,” I coo.

I watch you as you lay there, hands trailing your beautiful body, calming yourself down with touch. You're lonely, baby. You don't need to be… Let me take care of you. You let out a sleepy yawn, stretching out on the mattress.

“Fuck,” I grumble, post-nut clarity setting in as I realize what the fuck I just did, regretting none of it, just hoping that someone didn’t see me. The street is empty. Just perfect. I grab my boxers, pulling them up as you tuck your toy into your nightstand, fastening my pants as you snuggle into your sheets.

No.

Your eyes lock with mine, and with that, time stands still. My heart hammers in my chest as your expression changes from confusion to terror. You let out a blood-curdling scream as I try to pull myself away, but I’m frozen with fear. Run. Fuck! You fumble for your phone as I walk away from the window, my eyes never leaving you until I’m falling back on the curb, struggling to my feet, sprinting as fast as my feet will take me.

“I’ve ruined everything. What the hell have I done?” My heart shatters into a million pieces as I run down the block, charging toward my car as I fight my keys out of my pocket. Tears and snot wet my face, my whole body sheened with sweat, shivering with adrenaline. ”Not only am I going to lose her, but I’m gonna lose everything else. My job. My reputation. Everything. Fucking everything.” I slam my finger against the keyless start; engine roaring as I peel out onto the street, trying to put distance between me and you.

What the hell can I say to make this better? No one will understand. I can’t fucking help it. I can’t help who I am. I can’t help that I love you. That I want to keep you safe. Is that a crime? I’m obsessed with you. It’s like— I think about you all the time. Every second of my fucking life. But isn’t that what love should be like?

I let out a shaky breath, catching my reflection in the rearview mirror, my cheeks soaked with tears, eyes glassy with emotion. If I can’t have you, I don’t want to live. I don’t… I-I can’t. My foot slams on the gas, barreling down the freeway toward the bridge, watching as the needle on the speedometer climbs higher and higher as cars swerve and dart out of my path.

What is the point if I can’t have you?

I’m nothing without you.

My knuckles ghost white, as I blink the tears out of my eyes, sobbing like a child as the speedometer blasts past 100. I feel the dismare in my heaving chest plaguing me like a virus, the only warmth in my heart gone now that I’ve lost you. Just fucking empty—goddamn hollow. The only thing I’ve ever truly wanted is gone. You were the best thing that has ever been mine and I didn’t even get to tell you… I lift my hand to wipe away the tears as the road blurs before me.

Days of watching you, not one moment forgotten. I was almost a part of your world. Why did I wait so long? Why did I wait until it was too late? You were saying my name? You wanted me just as bad as I wanted you…

The world around me gets a little brighter as I pull onto the bridge, illuminated with streetlamps, before the world dives off into the dark waters below.

What if she feels guilt? What if she blames herself? What if this ruins hers too?

I thread through the gap of cars, vehicles slamming on their breaks around me, unable to swerve on the bridge like they were on the road before making every move sharper; more erratic—the line thinning, between life and death.

Maybe she’ll forgive me after I’m dead…

RING. RING. RING.

I look down at my phone, seeing your brother's name light up the screen. “Hello?” I choke the word out, biting my lips to hold back my sniffles and sobs as I speed closer and closer to the edge, waiting for him to blow out my speakers. ‘ASSHOLE. PERV. STALKER. PSYCHOPATH-’

“Hey, Rafe. You good, man?” He asks worriedly, his gentle voice pulling me out of the pit. My foot pulls off the glass as I’m hit with a sliver of hope, before slamming on the breaks. My tires screech as my car skids across the bridge, stomach falling as I get so close to the edge that the grille of my Cadillac kisses the guardrail, nothing but blackness and open water before me.

“M’Yeah. Yeah. I’m good.”

You dive into my arms, hands wrapped tightly around my waist as you bury your head in my chest. Your warm, wet tears soak through my shirt, blessing my skin as I hold you close. “Thank you so much for coming, Rafe,” you sniffle.

“Of course, Y/n,” I whisper as you tremble in my arms like a leaf. “Did you get a good look at him?”

You shake your head, letting out a frail little sigh. “No…”

“Go inside. Aight? You’ve been through enough. Let me check it out. I’ll be in in a second. Okay?” You nod, looking up at me with doe-eyes and a trembling lip. I cup your tear stained cheek in my hand, brushing your skin nice and soft. You tilt into me, needing me closer. “I’m sorry you went through this… But, it’s just some creep. I’m not gonna leave you tonight. I swear.”

“Thank you,” you whimper.

“‘Course, sweetheart.”

“Now, you, get inside and try to relax. Huh? It’ll only take me a second.” You nod and step inside, holding my hand until the last moment.

I walk down the stairs, strolling through the landscaping to your window. I suck my teeth, looking down at the stained brick before lifting my hand, running my thumb along my tongue, scrubbing the little cum mark I left with my finger. “All clear,” I whisper, smiling to myself as my night takes a turn for the better.

I walk up your steps, stepping into the apartment as you pour a glass of wine for you and I. “Thank you, Rafe. I’m so glad you’re here,” you smile, your voice weak as you walk toward me in your satin pajamas, passing me a glass.

“Call me anytime you need me. Okay?” I smile as I reach my hand out for you. You tangle your fingers in mine, moving a little closer, rising on your tippy toes, pressing a soft kiss on my cheek.

The two of us walk over to the couch, taking a seat. You snuggle into my chest just like you did at the bar. Your body relaxes in mine. The adrenaline and excitement of the night wears off fast, and it’s not long before your eyes start to beat closed. I don’t think I can sleep. I don’t want to. Truthfully, I could stay this way forever with you. Your soft sounds fill my ears as I focus on your breathing and the shape of your body in mine. I couldn’t dream of a more perfect moment with you, sweetheart. My girl. Mine. A satisfied smile plays on my lips as I reach over, flicking on the evening news.

“Hello, my name is Belle Lee, reporting live from the downtown district. An investigation is underway after a University student was found dead with multiple gunshot wounds. College officials have identified the victim as 22-year-old Chett Lee from Tampa Bay, Florida. This is an active investigation. Any tips or other information can be directed to the local authorities. Currently, there are no known suspects in this gruesome murder.”

A smirk pulls on my lips as I flick off the TV, darkness falling all around us. I lift you into my arms, holding you close, walking you to your room before setting you down on the mattress. I rub my thumb across you pillowy lips, not wanting to push it too far by kissing you goodnight. My belly stirs as I think about the cum I had just cleaned off the glass, any reminents now hanging on your perfect lips.

I’ll just have to settle for that tonight.

I stroke your hair gently, brushing it off your beautiful face. Just leave, Rafe… Just—I succumb to my urges, kissing your forehead instead, lingering as long as I possibly can before pulling away. Your eyes match mine, staring up at me.

“Stay.”

@nadvs it was so amazing brainstorming with you. I am such a fan of your work and you are such an amazing person 💕 thank you babe 😭.

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

ephemeral

Pairing: Batfam x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k words

Summary: You were forgetting something. However the most frustrating part was you couldn't seem to remember what exactly it was that you were forgetting.

A/N: This was inspired by this post by @bonefanatic! I know that it's Yandere!Batfam in the OG post but as soon as I read it this is just what it inspired. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

You were renowned for forgetting things.

You'd always forget to bring your keys the day when your mother happened to be running late. You'd forget your pencil case on the day of exams and forget your bus pass on the rare days that your father didn't give you a ride.

On sunny days you'd forget to wear your sunscreen. On rainy days, much like today, you'd forget your umbrella. Now, when you were a young girl, running back home through the rain wouldn't matter. In fact, you had vague memories of your feet splashing through puddles, hands shielding your face from the pelting rain while you and an old lover got soaked to the bone.

You could hardly even remember those days; just the sound of splashing puddles and the deep petrichor, the cold of the rain mixed with the warmth of someone's laughter...

A coo brought you out of your thoughts and your eyes met those of bright blue. The baby strapped to your chest gave you a semblance of a toothy smile, his teeth only beginning to come out and you returned it, leaning in to rub your nose against his, revelling in the giggles it brought out.

The sweet boy, who only ever saw you, was the reason you couldn't let yourself get wet, standing in the shade of an apartment building and choosing to wait out the rain.

You gave your baby a once over, making sure that he didn't get wet in your effort to reach the building. He looked fine and his clothing wasn't wet, although he did seem a little cold. You held his tiny hands in between your palms, repeating the process with his feet until you were satisfied.

The door of the building swung open and you immediately covered Thomas' ears to protect him from the cold breeze, letting him burrow his face into your chest.

In came a man that had to be larger than anyone you had ever seen in your life. Clearly, he had been caught in the rain, his boots were soaked and so was his leather jacket. He donned a motorcycle helmet, and your stomach lurched at the thought of him driving that out in this weather. Without realizing it, your eyes glanced over his figure, wondering if he had possibly gotten hurt.

When you brought your eyes back up from his muddy boots to his face you were slightly startled. When had he taken off his helmet? His blue eyes stared back at you, shock apparent on his features before he had schooled them back to monotony.

"Are you lost? I don't think you live here." His voice was low and gravelly, but it found a familiar place in the back of your head.

You gave him a small smile, "No, I'm just trying to wait out the rain. I forgot to bring an umbrella, and I really don't want my son to get sick."

His eyes glanced down to your son and you curiously watched as something swirled in his eyes. Longing perhaps? Maybe he had some baby fever? It didn't quite seem like that though...you just couldn't put your finger on it.

"Would you like me to call you a cab?"

"I already tried. The streets here are too narrow for a cab to drive through so I'd have to walk a bit before I'd reach the road."

He nodded, taking a beat before he responded, "Wait here."

And then he took off for the stairs and even though he looked relaxed, you saw him taking multiples stairs in a single step, resisting the curious urge to tell him to be careful and not to slip because of his wet shoes.

He didn't make you wait long, reappearing in less than 5 minutes with an umbrella and something else in his hands.

"Oh, I couldn't."

"Please, I insist. I don't think the rain is going to stop anytime soon and there isn't anywhere for you to sit down," He said earnestly, placing the umbrella in your hands, "I already called a cab. It should be waiting for you at the corner."

"Thank you, young man." You watched him run his fingers through the cute little tuft of white hair bashfully before he handed you something else—a fuzzy blanket patterned with bats.

You looked curiously up at him, "For the little guy. He looks cold."

You really wanted to refuse, but Thomas' nose and ears had begun to turn red from the chill and with the blanket he'd be better protected as you walked to the cab. So, you bundled up the baby in the cozy blanket and thanked the man again who said goodbye with a melancholic smile.

While taking the cab home, your fingers traced over the embroidered monogram in the corner of the blanket that looked like it was brand new.

T.W.

***

You don't know what it was about the travelling circus that had you so enraptured. There was just something about watching the acrobats soar through the sky like birds, as though they were weightless, that made you feel equal parts worried and in awe.

It was unusual. You didn't enjoy watching gymnasts while you grew up and you had certainly never visited a circus, and yet while sitting in the seats for the performance of Haly's travelling circus for the 4th time since they had arrived at Gotham, you couldn't help but wait in anticipation for the show to begin.

Thomas was clutched to your lap, every bit as excited as you were, when a man with dark hair and blue eyes—a common feature here in Gotham, it seemed—sat next to you.

You spared him a glance, only to find him staring back at you with a small smile and a cone of roasted chestnuts in his hand. He handed you a pair of ear protectors.

"They're handing it outside the tent—wouldn't want the little guy to hurt his ears."

You thanked him with a smile, placing them over Thomas' ears and giggling when he laughed at you pointing at the man who returned his toothy grin with one of his own.

"Would you like one?" He offered, holding out the warm chestnuts for you to take and you obliged, thanking him and relishing in the taste and the immediate warmth that spread through your body.

"So, what brings you to the circus?"

Your arms tightened around Thomas, resting your cheek on the top of his head as you contemplated the answer, "I don't know. I just like the acrobats. Every time I watch them, I feel comfortable, like I've been watching them my entire life. Which is weird because I've never seen acrobats before Haly's circus came to Gotham."

You looked back at him, "What about you?"

"My mom used to be an acrobat here. After I lost her, I like to visit, so I don't forget her." He explained, eyes scrolling across the bright colours of the circus, taking everything in. You placed a gentle hand on his arm, trying to comfort him.

He looked down at Thomas, watching as the baby gave him an innocent grin that had returned with a sad smile and giving a delicate little pinch to his pudgy thigh before looking back up at you.

"I really don't want to lose my mom a second time."

***

One thing you really couldn't appreciate enough before having children was the freedom to shop for groceries all alone. Now, after having an infant, something as simple as stocking the fridge turned into a long and arduous feat.

You’d have to get Thomas dressed, make sure his nappy was changed, and time it just right—long enough since he’d eaten that you wouldn’t need to change him again, but not so long that he’d get hungry and need you to breastfeed him in the middle of the store.

Not only that, you'd also be stuck pushing a cart around with him strapped to your chest because he was still too young for the shopping cart.

And finally, the most torturous part of this whole excursion—the car loading. Most of your bags were heavy and packed full, and you couldn’t load them into the trunk with Thomas strapped to you.

So, you’d carefully place him in the car seat, turning on the engine and air conditioning to cool the car after its time baking in the parking lot. Then, you’d haul the heavy groceries into the trunk, turn off the car, take Thomas back out, return the trolley to its rightful place, and—once again—secure him in his car seat before finally heading home.

You stared at the cart full of groceries—enough to last you at least 3 weeks so you wouldn't have to make another trip for a while—trying to summon the energy to load the heavy items in the blasted vehicle.

"Mo—Ma'am?"

A young man approached you, a half-drunk coffee in his hand and your brows twitched. Just how many coffees had this boy had today? You shook your head of the thought. Why would you even care?

"Do you need some help?"

Giving him a polite smile, you shook your head, "I'm okay. Thank you, sweetie."

He gave you a sad smile, and it made you immediately want to take your words back and to give him the world instead. The feeling confused you even more. Why were you so concerned about him? And why did he look so sad after you refused his request? If anything, he should’ve been relieved that he wouldn’t have to do any work.

"Are you sure? I really don't mind." He tried again, this time placing his hand on the handle of the trolley, his hand just a hair away from yours. It was peculiar—your instinct for stranger-danger urged you to pull your hand away, and yet, you felt an equally strong urge to place your hand over his.

You smiled again, "I guess I'll take you up on your offer."

He was stronger than he looked. Despite his scrawny frame, he easily lifted your bags into the trunk, loading everything and shutting it in record time. Dusting off his hands with a proud smile, he turned to you as if expecting praise—only to deflate when he caught you watching him with a small, lingering smile.

It was as though he grew sadder with each passing second, his expression dimming as he gave you one last longing look before turning that same gaze to Thomas, "I’ll return the cart for you. Why don’t you strap him in?"

You nodded, thanking him again, "Thank you so much for your help."

Using Thomas’ little fist, you waved goodbye to the boy. He returned it with an expression far too tired for his young face. You resisted the urge to tell him to get a good night’s rest, instead watching him push the trolley away through your rearview mirror. A pang hit your chest at the sight of his slumped shoulders.

***

A figure collided with your back and you would have been knocked over if he had been any taller, however when you looked down, a young boy with dark hair and beautiful green eyes looked back up at you.

"Ummi..." He murmured, before he even had a chance to stop himself and you frowned in concern for this child who couldn't have been more than 9 years old who all of a sudden looked so small and unsure and something in your soul reached out for him.

You leaned down, well, as much as you could with a baby strapped to your chest, "Did you lose your mom, sweetheart?"

He flinched, eyes going wide and his bottom lip began to tremble in a way that made you want to hold him to your heart and soothe him, "Yes...I have lost my ummi...and I wish she'd come back....I miss her very much."

You reached out a hand before you could stop yourself, almost reaching for him to run your fingers through his hair and scratch your nails lightly against his scalp—

"Damian!"

Your hand froze an inch away as a man, slightly older than you, ran up to him. When your eyes met his, a rush of something surged through you—so intense and so sudden that there wasn’t even time for an epiphany.

All you knew was, you had met this man before.

Only, you couldn't remember when.

"I'm sorry about him. You know how kids are." The man with familiar blue eyes told you, flashing you a charming smile that had done an incredibly good job of hiding the misery underneath. And yet, you still saw past the mask. And still… you chose to look away.

You smiled up at him before glancing down at Thomas, now realizing why this curious stranger's eyes felt so familiar—your son looked up at you with almost identical ones, "I do know."

The man followed your gaze to the happy baby in your arms and you watched as the corner of his lips had dropped from the calculated smile he had worn. It was like he had frozen in time and the more you watched him, the more despondent his expression became.

His son—Damian. Why did that name sound so familiar?— looked up at him with concern, now grabbing his hand and tugging him away.

"Baba." He said softly, finally managing to knock the man out of his stupor.

"Oh," He finally spoke, looking down at his distressed son, "I'm sorry, miss. I hope my son didn't hurt you or the baby. If you need any medical bills covered, you can contact this number."

He handed you a business card and walked away before you could even argue about how absurd it was that you would ask for him to pay your medical bills over his adorable son bumping into you. It was an honest mistake!

You could only watch them walk away before your eyes looked down at the Wayne Enterprises business card.

"Bruce Wayne, CEO."

'Bruce'

You swore you had heard that name before.

And yet... you'd forgotten.

***

Forever Taglist:

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[baeshijima]

thoughts on being engaged to duke!sunday, the head of the oak family, an incredibly influential figurehead within society, the close subordinate of emperor gopher wood who brought him and his sister in and raised him like his own, and the villain who faces a tragic ending in a novel you recently finished — the very same one you just so happen to find yourself transmigrated into. he is as cunning as he is blinded, a trait which brought ruin to many in the empire, and one which ultimately brought ruin to himself at the hands of the protagonists.

as luck would have it, you became a barely mentioned side character from a marquis family, whose role was to be the villain's wife stuck in a one-sided love who, too, would get caught up in the tragedy alongside him. however, now that it's you who is stuck in this position, you're determined to try any means necessary to deter him from going down that path, all in an effort to escape your predestined doomed fate!

of course, you didn't expect it to be easy. the day of your arrival in this world was already the night before your wedding, so you had little time to prepare yourself for the nonchalance of your supposed family, how they viewed you as but a means — a tool — to boost their influence and prosperity, the dismissive mannerisms of the household servants, and the absolute beauty of a man you will be married to.

(seriously. the novel descriptions did not do him justice. he was like... like... like he was handcrafted by god himself! and not to mention his sister, robin, was the very epitome of an angel! perhaps you're destined to perish by the god-tier visuals instead...)

to say the least, the wedding ceremony went by quickly. safe to say you didn't spend the night; he was cordial and gentlemanly upon letting you know that he won't do anything until you're ready, that you can take this relationship slow, but somehow you ended up feeling a tad insulted. like, who leaves their newly wedded alone in a big cold bed as they walk out on their own? a sick bastard that's who!

well, whatever. it's not like you need nor want to consummate with him! besides, you have bigger things to worry about — things such as your impending death. and, of course, the only way to stop sunday that you can imagine working is by chipping away at his resolve bit by bit, and opening his eyes to reality.

he is a tragic character, one who cares more about the well-being of penacony and its people than anyone else, but was manipulated into getting his hands dirty in the emperor's stead. you knew this. you sobbed over his story, cursed out the protagonists, and even fought internet randos on novel forums about sunday's motivation and how,

no, he is not just a stupid villain. he is a complex character with flaws and humanity and was cruelly taken advantage of by someone he considered family. he was deceived through the suffering the emperor wanted him to see to make him easily manipulated, creating a rift between him and robin to have that prominent separation. you know what? maybe you're just a !%#@ who can't even #@?"% read properly!

and yet you still find yourself at a loss when faced with the walls he has in place. your initial efforts went as well as it possibly could have; you trying to earnestly help him, while he "kindly" dismisses your offers! well, "kindly" being more condescending since you could read between the lines of his mannerisms and amiable demeanour, but that's fine! you expected this! that just means you have to double down on your sincerity, get through to his heart (somehow), and help him realise humanity isn't as weak as he's led to believe!

you have three years until the novel's plot officially starts, and another year after that until your demise. that's plenty of time to get him to warm up to you!

it was easier said than done, but after your valiant effort and abundance of time put into this relationship, which admittedly you could do with some of that lost time back, you could give yourself a pat on the back with the progress you made! while you definitely could have done without a lot of the headaches, it's safe to say sunday has significantly warmed up to you in comparison to your wedding day. he now willingly eats all his meals with you with some real conversation, takes garden strolls with you in the early evenings, invites you out for dinner at a restaurant at least four times a week, hell he's even joked and laughed with you more frequently! but most importantly, he has begun asking for your opinion before finalising any decisions he is required to make. and he actually listens and considers your side! now, that certainly is the best outcome you could hope for after all this time, and it most definitely will help in your endeavour to save you both from the protagonists!

however, you've noticed he's been more... affectionate? well, at the very least he now willingly holds your hand when in private (not just in moments when you're in the public eye and he has to make sure the family's reputation is spotless), sometimes he will hug you out of the blue ("i just need to... recharge. you have a way of calming me down. i hope you don't mind." ...how could you say no to his supreme god-tier face card? that's just a losing battle you won't even bother fighting against.), oftentimes he opts to just gaze wordlessly at you (robin had mentioned over one of your tea times how it almost appears as though there is no one but you in the world when sunday gazes at you with, in her words, "the eyes of a man so deeply in love!" ...whatever that's supposed to mean...), but a more recent development has been his sudden interest in kissing you; well, more specifically giving you a kiss to the back of your hand or on your forehead — certainly not anywhere near the lips! (besides, he's probably just gotten comfortable with you, enough where he can freely act without judgement. nothing more, nothing less.)

well, either way, development is development! soon enough, the time for the main plot to start has arrived. it of course follows what you remember, from the organised balls to the protagonists meeting to the political aspects of it all. the only difference is sunday's less active involvement in all the schemes and the emperor's ploy. rather, he seems more focused on you and the future of your marriage and even displayed a sudden interest in your practically non-existent relationship with one of the foreign diplomats, aventurine— wait...

"[name]," he calls your name out so sweetly you nearly disregarded it as someone else he was talking to. well, perhaps you would have done had he not suddenly appeared before you, a tight-lipped smile tugging the corners of his lips as he steadily approaches you.

oh. he doesn't seem very happy, if his tense figure is anything to go by. you wonder if one of the nobles grated his nerves a little too much this time?

sunday comes to a halt a step away from you. "i don't like that... gambler being so close to you. it... it brings me a rather unpleasant feeling." there's a slight, trembling pause. not a moment later does he close the gap between you, one knee on the ground as he matches your seated height on the fountain rim, your hands gently enclosed in both of his.

you idly wonder if this is what robin meant by the so-called "eyes of a man so deeply in love" she constantly gushed about, for the way in which he gazes up at you is enough to render you breathless.

"tell me, [name]," he begins once more. there is an underlying desperation woven within his tone, one which has your head spinning and heart thumping wildly as his trembling gaze holds you in place. "tell me, what am i to do with this fervent love and overwhelming adoration i hold for you?"

oh.

...oh.

perhaps your impending doom should be the least of your concerns when you now find yourself in the arms of a clingy husband...

(though, it's safe to say you did, in fact, manage to prevent him from succumbing to his tragic fate! you just gained a loving, yet slight slightly emotionally challenged husband along the way.

well, you can help him work through it; you have the rest of your lives now to figure it out, after all.)

[ghostaholics]

𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn medic!Reader (same reader from here, but this is a stand-alone) ➸ SUMMARY: You kiss Simon's very minor injuries. And then some. (Or, alternatively: He's not actually wounded. He just wants to see you.) ➸ WARNING(S): some graphic descriptions of old injuries ➸ A/N: Need to preface that this isn't smut despite how the title and summary sound. Anyways, Jo knows I listened to Hozier's Other Voices 2020 version of "Work Song" for a week straight while writing this. ➸ WC: 2k

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃, ❞ he admits, low-timbered. It feels intimate, especially coming from him. Simon's sitting on the cot; it sags under his weight. He curls his hands over the edge of it as he leans forward. No casualties post-mission means he's got free rein to pick wherever he wants in the medical tent.

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"That I should probably do my best to avoid injuries so I don’t keep pestering you. Can always just tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“You’re gonna break my heart if you stop coming around.

“Mm,” he says in agreement. “Can’t have that can we?”

You nod your head earnestly. “I like your company.”

“Tryin’ to say that you’ll miss me?”

“I would.” More than he knows.

It’s routine now. He gives you just enough room, adjusting his position. You step into the space made between Simon’s splayed knees, his massive legs nearly bracketing yours with how close they are. He’s bigger than you. Well, considerably more mammoth-like in his proportions compared to an overwhelming majority of the soldiers that you’ve encountered, to be quite honest.

Simon acts as though he’s acutely aware of his size. You suspect that he purposefully makes himself smaller in your presence. Like now, how his shoulders are rounded forward, the column of his spine not as straight-arrow in that standard, militaristic posture most servicemen have adopted. As if he doesn’t want to appear too intimidating. Not that Simon could, to you. Hours doing his stitches and idle chitchat on your part have taught you that he’s much less ruthless than people seem to paint him as. But you appreciate the thought anyway.

You conduct the assessment – a typical evaluation normal for combat casualty care, more in-depth than the one you’d done when he initially stopped by and you did a quick once-over for any obvious injuries. Though given the complete vacancy in the medical tent, you find it hard to believe that you’ll come across anything on him since the mission went that smoothly.

The first thing you notice this time: he doesn't smell like spilled blood. It's different. Not that sweet, rusted iron of wet tackiness – the one that reminds you of a generous stack of two pence coins held between a pair of hands cupped together. He comes in that way a lot. Reeks, because war means that he's no stranger to charging through a shower of copper and lead-forged bullets out on the field. Everything else is still there, though. Maybe a dying campfire – crackling logs and blackened earth. Soft dirt excavated from a foxhole for cover while under enemy fire. All gunpowder and Marlboro Lights and diesel-fuel smoke. Fresh rain and a blue-violet sky after a storm. Victory without consequence.

You'd breathe it in if you could, pull the collar of his jacket up to your face. At this proximity, it’d be easy.

He drops the act when he’s in front of you. Lieutenant. Ghost. Battle-hardened, gruff. A natural-born leader. The kind of person to rip this world apart brick by brick – scraped up palms clutching onto broken pieces – to make sure that the plan is executed accordingly, no matter the cost. It’s hard for him to shed that layer. A drop in the bucket of information that you’ve gathered about this man.

You’ve seen him at his best. But you know him at his worst.

The laundry list of injuries over the years: blows to his torso and his back and his limbs that were brighter than technicolor – purples and reds and sickly yellow-green shades – deep, blotchy medals of violence decorating his skin like some kind of fucked-up kaleidoscope that was nothing to be proud of; when some bastard drove a knife right into his upper thigh, that dirty blade wedged through tissue and muscle which was sure as hell going to induce the nastiest infection without serious TLC and a tetanus shot; rib fractures 7-9 because he aborted an exploding heli, seconds to spare before landing on his side wrong from a height that was equivalent to three stories tall; old GSWs dotting his body the same way you’d shove push pins into a paper-flimsy map to mark the places you’ve been to.

And then there’s no contest for the top contender. 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 #𝟏: when he was rushed in on a stretcher, barely clinging to life. Lower abdomen shredded by exploding shrapnel. He was outside of the window of opportunity. Too far beyond that golden hour, so his chances of surviving plummeted to a single-digit percent.

He’s more than just a patchwork of scars. There’s a complex person underneath the surface. A miracle in the flesh to have toughed it out through all of that. Resilient. Perpetual. His callsign makes sense. Ghosts really do live forever.

Several seconds pass before you speak again. It’s a silly comment, teasing – poking fun at him. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking on Simon; he’s good about taking these things in stride. Funny, actually. He’s got a dry sense of humor. “I think… you like the idea of someone taking care of you.”

His response isn’t immediate. It’s delayed, said with intention. He doesn’t ever waste words. “Not just anybody.”

You nearly reel back at that. Warmth floods your face. You aren’t quite sure what to say, didn’t expect it. So you let the comment hang in the air between the two of you, busying your hands with slipping off his tac vest, triple-checking for hidden wounds, doing anything to keep yourself occupied while you stand this close to him in the wake of that remark. You’re engrossed in your work, in search of a distraction.

(He’s a distraction, isn’t he?)

And then your eyes stop in their scan. Right there: a small nick on the exposed sliver of skin between his glove and sleeve – open to the direct path of some wayward debris that happened to graze him. So tiny. You’ve seen paper cuts more harrowing than this – wouldn’t have even registered on your radar, especially if it’s being dwarfed by other critical wounds that hold decisive sway over somebody’s fate when it comes to your average life-or-death scenario.

Of course, you take your job very seriously.

You feign a sharp inhale. “Ah,” you say solemnly, guiding his arm up to your face for a closer look. “Found your problem.”

“I’ve got a problem,” he echoes, voice laced with amusement.

“See, you came to the right place. Anybody else would’ve missed it.”

“The verdict, then?”

“So terrible. Earth-shattering, in fact—”

Simon starts pulling away. “Alright, that’s enough of you takin’ the piss outta me,” he gripes.

You chase his arm to recapture it into your grasp. “Wait!” you say, huffing out a laugh. Your mouth sprouts into a wide grin that makes him roll his eyes.

“You gonna treat me or what?”

Your humor bubbles away as you come back to your senses. Those once-loud peals of laughter start to die down when you take his question into consideration. Because there’s really nothing for you to do; he doesn’t need you.

The realization is slow-moving. It washes over you, rolls like waves as you finally begin to sober up.

Simon wants to be here, and he’s looking for any excuse to stay. He just can’t find the courage to own up to it.

“I dunno. Might be unconventional,” you throw out casually, playing along. “Risky, maybe – never been done before.”

But he’s undeterred. “Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”

You pause for a beat, fingers still wrapped around his forearm because you haven’t managed to let go yet. His skin is warm under your palm. You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to do it – emboldened by his encouragement, given complete carte blanche; he’s leaving this to your discretion. So you press your lips to that area where the cut is, right over his pulse point. If you had lingered for longer, you probably would’ve been able to feel it thudding, that solid rhythm and easy strength reminding you he’s alive.

You expected him to withdraw his arm in bewilderment. He should’ve kicked up a fuss about you violating his boundaries, should’ve told you that you overstepped. Something, right?

But he doesn’t do any of that. Simon’s studying you. Dark pupils. So chasm-deep that the ground beneath your feet might slip away. Ocean trenches, midnight-black like the charcoal smudged around his eyes. When they land on you, his gaze goes molasses-soft. He’s fond; there’s little room for doubt. The way he looks at you says everything. None of that usual coldness he harbors during an op. Instead, relaxed and more human than you’re used to seeing – all of his attention focused solely on you.

“Where else, Simon?” you whisper.

He’s thinking – carefully weighing his options – the same expression that he gets when a crossroads lies ahead of him and he knows his make-it-or-break-it decision will invariably affect the outcome of a mission.

After several moments, his hand comes up. Simon’s fingers curl underneath the hem of his mask; he’s been wearing the fabric balaclava more often since you’ve fixed the stitching on it. Then he lifts – not the entire way. Just to reveal the bottom half of his face. There he is. Sandpaper-rough stubble. The sharp cut of his jaw. A mouth that you’re convinced wears a scowl 24/7 behind his mask but is now slightly twitched up.

Even though you’ve seen it before, the sight of him never fails to steal your breath away. Feels like meeting him for the first time again. With how rarely he does this, it might as well be – that slow, heart-melting sensation is steadily filling the cavern of your chest.

And you lean in. Your lips brush against his; it’s a chaste thing – the kiss – if it can be called that. Gentle. Like how you’d stitch up his wounds with a light touch and kind intent. He’s built of sterner stuff, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s capable of breaking just as easily as everyone else. You always handle Simon with care: unequivocal compassion and empathy when there’s so little of those left on this side of war – privileges that he’s never taken for granted.

“Better?” you ask quietly, tipping your head in question.

Simon hums his approval – this pleased, low sound in his throat. His hand slides across your lower back. He tugs you towards him. “Wouldn’t mind some more attention,” he murmurs, before slotting his mouth over yours. And then he kisses you like it might heal him from the outside in.

[asidian]

Edwin is a fascinating character for a lot of reasons, but one I haven't delved into very deeply yet is the juxtaposition between the fact that he is genuinely, earnestly kind while also simultaneously being unsure of how to express that kindness.

He was raised in a time when physical affection and emotional conversations were avoided if not actively discouraged. On top of that, he's had 70 years in hell in survival mode that did not help him hone his people skills at all.

But we see him try, again and again, especially for Charles.

The most memorable instances are, of course, when Edwin offers Charles comfort after his breakdown at the beach, the two separate offers to talk if Charles needs to, the hug, and their meeting in the attic with the lantern.

But there's one small moment that isn't as obvious; I didn't notice it at all on my first few watch-throughs.

It's just after the Devlin house, when Charles has had a truly awful night. Edwin has just started to understand the scope of how upset he is by what happened there, and why.

And then we get this remarkable exchange:

While Charles is lost in his thoughts somewhere behind that thousand-yard stare, Edwin gives Crystal a straightforward, earnest, not at all backhanded compliment. It's the first time he does; compared to the one he offers her in the episode with the sprites, this is practically effusive.

By itself, it's a very sweet moment between the two of them as their relationship develops.

And it is that.

But it's something else, too. Because this is how Edwin follows it up:

Crystal hearing it isn't enough.

He wants Charles to hear it.

In fact, he wants Charles to hear it so badly that he pauses, waits for Charles to react, doesn't get a reaction, and asks again.

Yes, this compliment is meant for Crystal, but it's meant for Charles, too – in a different way.

This is Edwin playing nice, like Charles has been wanting him to do since episode one. This is him giving Charles what he's been making puppy dog eyes over for days now.

This is Edwin pulling out the thing he thinks will make Charles the happiest. This is Edwin, fumbling to figure out what will help.

The hug that Charles needs so desperately isn't for some episodes yet – and these boys do get there eventually.

But I dearly love this first uncertain step on the path to Edwin figuring out what Charles needs from him.

He may not have the best instincts when it comes to handling social situations, but by god, he's so very kind, and he's trying, and there is something unspeakably sweet about that.

[dadsbongos]

giving minimum wage clerk laios sloppy

3.1 k words / warnings - oral sex, hand jobs, public but it isn't focused on, you call laios 'good boy', not proofread

summary - you flirt with your coworker laios and suck him off in an alley outside

~~~

Laios slumps against the bag racks after returning the pharmacy key up front, prompting you to be nosey and ask,

“What’d he need?”

“Condoms.”

“Oh.”

“Right? I don’t get why they’re so shy about it,” Laios yawns, squeezing his eyes shut to revel in the sweet resulting burn, “It's worse to go in unprotected.”

“For sure,” you hadn’t meant oh as in oh, you’d meant oh as in oh because you don’t want Laios to talk about condoms. Him talking about condoms will make you think of him using one, which is only going to fluster you.

“He also wanted Plan B.”

“Crazy.”

He yawns again, then letting his head droop while bracing himself against the end of your lane. Arms pin straight and (mostly) visible, since all he’s wearing is a black Tee. Past the edges of his store apron is red vinyl, crackled from no doubt years of wear and wash. He’d shown up with a hoodie, which is strange because it’s the middle of summer, and no matter how hard you pray: the nighttime provides little relief. Either way, you’re glad to see he hasn’t snuck it on -- his arms look so much better bare.

“You tired?” a stupid question on your part.

Thankfully, Laios is your favorite coworker for a reason. He earnestly answers with a weary nod and quiet, “Yeah.”

“Poor thing,” you sit against the divot to your left, where your own set of bags rests and perch your chin in your hand, “How come? Usually you don’t get the sleepies until ten.”

And again, if it were anyone but Laios, you’d be mortified to have let that tidbit slip.

Laios perks up, scrambling for his phone as he speaks, “I was finishing that red dragon set.”

“Jeez,” you lean forward as he holds up a picture of the completed plastic array of knock off Legos; more affordable and just as dependable, “You did that all last night?”

“Took four hours, but it was worth it.”

“I thought you were gonna complete it on your weekend.”

“I was, but then, look!” he swipes over the screen before shoving it back into your face, “A winged lion!”

“Oh, cool,” when you feel that’s too bland, you add, “Isn’t that the final piece in your Griffin set?”

“Technically,” he grumbles, “I hate how they called it the Griffin set. Only one of them is a Griffin. This is just a hybrid, and the other one’s a Hippogriff. But it still looks super cool, and the instructions are way longer than any of the other ones.”

Laios looks up from where you were supposed to be staring at his screen, finding that you’re instead watching him with a stupid smile on your face. Your cheeks heat up at being caught. Just before you can stutter out an excuse, though, Laios is speaking again,

“Awesome, right?”

“Very,” you confirm with a nod.

“I’ll have to move some stuff so I can display it on my desk properly. I just have no idea where,” he pockets his phone, rolling his head onto his shoulder, “I’d have Marcille or Chil’ help but they’ll probably just tell me to trash it all.”

“Aw, I’m sure they wouldn’t! They're your friends.”

“Right. They just…”

“They tease a little too hard.”

“Exactly.”

“You can say something, you know?”

“It’s easier to just ignore,” he shrugs.

You open your mouth to retort, to encourage him to tell his friends off, but a demon beats you to it.

“Well, don’t you two look bored!” all warm fondness freezes in your chest the minute an approaching middle-aged man says that, “Break time’s over!”

Another reason Laios is your favorite is that he doesn’t find those jabs funny. You even heard that back when he first started, he’d reply to those remarks with stern sincerity. Now in his ancient wisdom, he just lets you blankly stare the man down. With clerks like Doni, you feel a pressure to at least feign a smile lest he overcompensate by actually fake-laughing.

You suffer down the interaction with as few words as you can get away with before bidding the man a goodnight.

“I hope he crashes,” you sneer, flipping open the silver cap of your change dispenser and confirming your coins can go a little longer before being filled.

Laios hums halfheartedly -- long now used to your aggro behavior towards customers you don’t like, and no longer prone to bouts of wide-eyed horror. His head is turned towards the doors, gaze lazily flicking over self-checkout to assess if anyone that way needs assistance.

You take the moment to assess him. Neck stretched and lashes beating his cheeks with every heavy blink. His lips are pressed firm, likely subconscious, and from the quirk in his hip you can tell he’s got a leg crossed over the other.

Breaking you from the study, Laios bellows another exhausted huff.

Before you can cast a cursory glance towards the clock on your screen, your supervisor is chirping from beside you, “Last break!”

So it must be nine.

God, two more hours of this? Laios sounds ready to collapse.

After signing off in order for Kabru to hop onto the register, you slip between the little gap where checkout lanes end and SCO begins. Opening one of the grab-n-go fridges with trepidation.

Does he even like energy drinks?

You’re almost certain you’ve seen him mull over them at least once… before ultimately deciding to not buy one…

He definitely doesn’t like coffee. You recall him telling Kabru the bitter taste was off-putting enough, never mind how it devastated his gut (which was entirely too much information, but it made you laugh).

Gatorade makes him think of his high school gym class, and you take that as a negative considering he nearly shivered upon just remembering the period.

Ugh. He needs the energy and there’s a three for five deal on the Monster anyway. You snatch three of the flavors that look most appealing from a Laios-point-of-view and rush to self-checkout.

“Plan on being up all night?” one of the attendants, Toshiro, warily approaches.

“No, uhm, it’s… It’s three for five! That’s like, 1.50 each!”

Mithrun, the other SCO cashier, is staring down a woman that frequently attempts walking out without paying, “I thought you didn’t like Monster.”

“The fruit punches are okay.”

“You didn’t buy fruit punch.”

“Go fuck yourself, Mithrun.”

He blinks at you slowly, “Okay.”

With an agitated scoff, you strut back to register six and saddle up by Laios, loudly clinking sweaty drinks against the faux wood surface. Kabru hurriedly checks the time, to which you interrupt,

“I’m not going to the break room, I’ll just sit here for ten minutes.”

Visibly restraining himself from pointing out you’re not supposed to do that, Kabru nods and clears his throat to greet a couple pulling in. His eye twitches with the urge to remind them loads of less than five items should go to self-checkout rather than a register. One day, you’re sure, he’ll crack -- and you desperately want to be there when he does.

“So,” you case your hands around the drinks so Laios doesn’t accidentally bag one for the couple, “Do you like Monsters?”

He frowns at you, lips flapping vapidly. Internally struggling between asking if you’re serious or if you’re being mean on purpose.

Picking up his turmoil, you blurt, “The drink! I know you like monsters. Do you like Monsters?”

“The fruit punch ones are good.”

You shouldn’t like his answer as much as you do, “I like them, too. But, uh, I didn’t get it…”

Kabru sighs as both of you go without greeting or thanking the customers before they leave.

“Oh, trying new ones?”

“No, not really. I got them for you? Kind of…”

Kabru’s icy stare pierces you, annoyance replaced with interest. You’re reminded of why he stays at this job despite hating it: drama.

“I thought, maybe, you’d want one since you’re super tired. And they were three for five, so I basically had to buy them.”

Laios silently looks at where your hands cage the cans, when you realize he’s waiting to see the flavors you pull away like you’ve been pinched. He leans on his elbows to better read each can, sleeves on his shirt riding up to expose more skin.

Laios likes orange juice so you got Ultra Sunrise. Laios likes cheesecake so you got Orange Creamsicle because they’re both sweets. And Laios supports his sister’s lesbian relationship, so you got Ultra Violet because that’s basically lavender.

His brows furrow down at the lineup before he reaches out and tips the middle one into his palm: Orange Creamsicle.

“You should have the other ones, I’d feel bad taking them too,” Laios admits, cracking open the drink, “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” when you notice Kabru hasn’t blinked since the interaction started, you jerk your head towards him, “Want one, mister manager?”

“Assistant front end manager,” Kabru sours, judging how your eyes repeatedly fall to Ultra Sunrise before taking Violet, “I don’t even have real power.”

“You’re basically a real manager, I don’t see Yaad or Thistle out here. Like ever. Even Delgal doesn’t come out of the office!”

To avoid accepting flattery, he scrounges around the cabinet beneath your receipt printer for ‘PAID’ stickers to slap on each drink.

Laios, meanwhile, sinks into his own head. The distress he felt when you asked if he liked monsters was downright alarming. He wonders if he would’ve felt that level of despair if it were anyone else asking.

Logically, he knows it’d be more hurtful because you and him are friend-ish and talk often, naturally meaning you hear about his interests quite a bit. Deeper down, past a thudding chest and into his churning gut he can tell it's more than that.

And from how hypnotizing he finds the sight of your throat bobbing around swigs of carbonated caffeine, he’s certain there’s more to his feelings than that.

But in all his years as a trusted courtesy clerk at his local branch of a large corporation grocery store, he’s seen many people fall victim to the allure of workplace incest. Subsequently, he’s seen many people quit over those fallouts.

Laios sips from his drink, trying to distract from such thoughts by taming a cringe at its bubbly stabbing on his tongue.

How could he even assume you felt that way about him? He can’t be sure you’re available for mingling.

“Are you single?” he asks, without much thought. That’s a casual topic, right? Lots of people are concerned with dating at your shared age.

Kabru signs out of the register as your break comes to a close, stubbornly lingering right behind to hear your response.

“Why?” a nervous chuckle bubbles out, you beat yourself for it, “You interested?”

Laios drinks again, shooting Kabru a pointed look.

Kabru can read it perfectly well, it’s a glare that reads: GO AWAY, GO AWAY, GO AWAY. Instead of listening, he cheerfully asks, “Ready for your last break too, Laios?”

“Yeah, I’ll take it right here. You should go away.”

“Oh!”

You snort, fastening a hand over your entire jaw as if to physically repress the sound.

“Oh,” Kabru repeats, quieter, “Someone has to bag, though…”

Laios steps back with a solemn nod, wiping his clammy hands against his uniform apron. Despite picking up on the dejected tone of Kabru’s voice, Laios’ only curiosity is if you thought he looked cool being so blunt, or did he come off as some dickhead tool?

(much less some dickhead tool that speaks harshly with a very polite, very friendly supervisor)

Both you and Kabru watch as Laios snakes through the seasonal aisles toward the break room. Once he’s out of sight, Kabru’s eyes stab into you, lip twitching, “So?”

“So, what?”

Kabru’s beams at you silently.

“Ew, do not look at me like that.”

“How long?”

“You don’t need to know that.”

“I'm a supervisor! I’m supposed to know what’s going on with my fleet.”

Before you can properly lecture him on referring to his coworkers as a ‘fleet’, a pair of potential teenagers slam thirty packs of sour beer onto your conveyor belt. Excitement to card them floods you.

Thankfully, Laios’ break seems to blow by -- he’s soon muttering an apology to Kabru and replacing him at the head of your lane.

“Back already?”

Laios hums, starkly avoiding your eyes. His sudden, almost uncharacteristic, shyness compels you to take forward charge,

“I’m single, by the way.”

“Me too,” he keep looking at you, then away, then at you, then away. Over and over again until eventually you’re craning to be forced in his sight.

“You asked for a reason, right?” you click your tongue and wink in good humor, “You want me to clean your belt, huh?”

Really, you should’ve known better than to try playing coy because all Laios does is shrug with a polite yeah, sure before backing away for you to spray down his smaller conveyor.

Oh. Oh, you can’t just not suck his dick.

“No, Laios, I have a proposition.”

…

Despite no promise of getting the favor returned, you don’t know if you’ve ever been so excited to clock out before. Scurrying out as soon as your legs could carry, barely managing to bid Kabru farewell before rounding the side of the building.

Laios is leaning against the bumpy wall, hands laced at his hips and thumbs circling.

“Hey, pervert,” you coo.

His face flushes, eyes widening, “You’re a pervert, too.”

When it comes to him, you don’t mind being labeled crass. Or even nasty. It’s why you’re so pliant to crash onto your knees while yanking his jeans apart and down his thighs. He hisses, honey gaze sweeping up towards the empty road through the thin line of trees.

Noticing his distraction, you intentionally scrape nails against his flesh when wrangling his boxers.

A soft, warm palm hesitantly cups the side of your head -- his concern somewhere between pulling you to stand and keeping your attention where it is. Though, he remains conflicted on how embarrassed he should be, especially given the way you’re biting your lip.

“Already?” you coo, teasing a finger along the hot underside of his cock, “I haven’t done anything to you yet.”

“You’re just… so pretty,” Laios huffs, praying you can’t make out the glisten of sweat across his forehead.

“Aw, thanks, big guy,” you chastely kiss his flushed tip, giggling quietly when it twitches into your welcoming pucker, “Not so bad yourself.”

He whines, raising a brow at you almost expectantly, though respectfully restraining his hips from jumping towards you. Deciding to put the man out of his suspended misery, you lave him with your tongue in a broad stroke before sucking him in.

Velveteen cheeks clamping around him as you squeeze around him, tongue pressing against smooth skin. He has no particular taste beyond ‘man’, but you hum and slide him deeper as if he’s sugary sweet. Laios lets out a muted moan, biting the hand not leisurely splayed along the side of your face.

Curling fingers beneath the bone of your jaw, he feels out the bulge plumping your cheek -- heart throbbing between his ribs at the recurring thought its his fault.

Obsessively, he mulls that point over and over until he’s unthinkingly bucking into your sodden mouth. A lewd slurp from you makes his head swivel sharply, as if someone would await this point before calling the cops.

Wiry, trimmed though not kempt, flaxen pubes tickle your nose. Laios coaxes you to bury him deeper in the cinch of your throat, and you’re content to comply. Gags and sputters are lulled from you, saliva gushing through the seam on your lips and wetting his pelvis. Drool rolling down your chin and ruining the black shirt and apron you’d thrown on before leaving.

“Aw,” he pants above you, swiping away the slick with his thumb pad, “you’re gonna ruin your shirt. It’s my favorite one, too.”

Liking the way he babbles, you pull back to hawk twah into your hand and playing his balls before slipping off his cock completely,

“Yeah, baby? You like it?”

Rolling your tongue around his tip and teasing him against your cheek, fluttering wet lashes up at him.

“Uhhh…” he whimpers, “Your arms look good in it, and I can see your collar bones…” his breath hitches, adam’s apple springing with desire, “I love when you wear that shirt.”

Laios plops free, smearing spit and pre against your hot skin. Before you can obsess over the admission too long, you’re moving to bite his hips. Fully intent on bruising him. Your hand sweeps up from his nuts to stroke him, fist blurring along his cock with soaking click, click, clicks.

With a hiss, his hand flies to the crown of your head -- not pushing either way, only grasping firm and needy. You bite harder, latching to suck the flesh swollen as you flick your wrist while jerking him off. His hips thrust against your hand, absolutely mewling.

“Good boy,” you grin into his burning pelvis, “Fuck my fist, Laios. You wanna cum for me?” he nods, mouth only capable of leaking choked versions of your name, “Wanna cum in my mouth?”

He cannot hide his gasp, jerking in your grasp.

Your hand slows, much to his pathetic displeasure, “Speak then, Laios. Good boys speak.”

“Please!” he barks, entirely uncaring if anyone around the corner could hear, “I want to cum in your mouth, can I cum in your mouth? I want to bad.”

Resuming your previous speed, you nod (though not without a “Good boy, Laios, very good.”) before flattening your tongue beneath his weeping tip. Laios digs his shoulders against the wall, fervently pistoning his cock through the cramped hole of your first and toward your mouth. Sliding along the buds of your tongue. Pitchy moans and huffs overpower the drone of faraway cars.

With a hushed grunt and “fuck” from overhead, Laios is splattering -- drowning your palette. Warm and thick, you barely scrape the salty taste before shucking it down with an instinctual gulp.

“Ah!” Laios makes a quiet hack of protest, then sighs, “You didn’t have to,” breathlessly adding, “I know some people hate the taste.”

Weirdly, you didn’t. You’re unsure if that’s something you should share, however.

Rather, you stumble onto your feet, wiping the back of your hand over your mouth in case of any… spillage. Then follows the sudden wave of shame -- regardless of Laios being a full consenting adult, and your previously steadfast attitude, you do feel like a pervert. You feel like he’s going to look down on you. You feel like-

You’re nearly startled into the bushes when you look up, Laios’ eyes split open and gleaming in the moonlight with unsettling brightness. Fists clenched at his sides after what you’re sure is the world-record for pulling one’s pants back up.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks simply.

Or maybe he’s just as into you as you are him.

[heich0e]

when sukuna finally (FINALLY) commits and introduces you to his older brother—with only a bit of awkwardness, considering your brief but ill-fated first encounter—he's so quietly... pleased about how seamlessly you blend into the family. he's so smug about it all, in the privacy of his own thoughts.

he sits back and watches you and jin in the kitchen of his brother's apartment, tidying up the remaining mess from the meal you'd all shared together whilst chatting happily between yourselves. it's so easy having you here. so normal in a way that he never expected it to be.

you're the first girl he's ever brought to his brother's house for dinner. the first girl his nephew has ever shyly asked to read him his bedtime story, still rosy-cheeked from his bath and dressed in his little pokemon pyjamas. the first girl he's ever mentioned by name in conversation with his cantankerous old man—who had promptly asked, with a look of wide-eyed horror, "ya didn't go and knock some poor girl up, didja?" which had (to the surprise of no one) devolved into an argument.

but the way you've managed to fit yourself into sukuna's life (every part of it) isn't all that shocking, either.

it's you, after all.

how could anyone dislike you? how could they deny you anything?

you're the person who managed to leash someone like itadori sukuna. to tame him into... whatever the hell it is he's become these days. to bring him to his knees (in ways both proverbial and literal.)

the first. the only.

it's so normal now, having you around. waking up in your bed with you on a weekday morning before work. having a second toothbrush in his tiny, shitty apartment for you to use when you spend the night there. coming to jin's house once a week for dinner. babysitting yuuji with you whenever his brother needs a hand.

yuuji's been besotted with you from your very first meeting, and the adoration hasn't waned a bit since then—if anything, he's more obsessed with you than he's ever been. on the (increasingly rare) occasion that sukuna and yuuji are left to their own devices, the six-year-old talks about you constantly: asking where you are, what you've been up to, when he'll see you next. at the store, yuuji always points out the snacks he knows you like to eat and insists his uncle buy them to give to you. at the park, he makes his uncle take pictures of every dog they meet so that he can send show them to you later. before bed, he insists that his uncle call you so that he can say goodnight (and talk your ear off for at least thirty minutes about everything he did that day.)

frankly, sukuna can't blame the kid for being so obsessed with you—he clearly inherited his uncle's good taste.

but his older brother took to you just as quickly as his son. jin even got a bit weepy the first night you came over for dinner, while you were off reading yuuji his bedtime story and the two itadori brothers were out sipping beer on the apartment balcony. jin looked at his little brother with misty eyes, and earnestly told him how happy he was for him. how great he thinks you are. how lucky his little brother is to have you. sukuna had immediately wanted to pitch himself over the railing in mortification at the disgusting sentimentality of it all, but instead grunted out some unintelligible reply. something close to gratitude, maybe. an agreement even.

and that was that. your fate was sealed. you'd been accepted into this part of his life, the one sukuna'd never even thought to bring another person into.

and sukuna will never admit it, but maybe him and his embarrassing older brother aren't all that different after all—because he's pretty happy about it, too.

[steveseddie]

boy wonder

steddie | rating: t | wc: 999 | cw: none | tags: pre-relationship, steve and eddie recovering at the hospital together, eddie just had surgery, he’s a little high, fluff

for @steddie-spooktober day fourteen, prompt “bats”

read on ao3

“Do you think I’ll turn into Batman?”

Steve looks up from the magazine he’s been skimming through to find Eddie peering at him from his hospital bed. 

The sight of him covered in bandages and hooked to IVs and monitors still sends a shiver down Steve’s spine. But as the days go by and Eddie keeps getting better— looking better, less and less like he’s on the brink of death— it gets easier for Steve to handle it.

He’s surprised that Eddie woke up so soon after his surgery. The doctor said it’d be a while before the drugs wore off so Steve prepared himself to sit here for hours waiting for Eddie to wake up, just like he did after his first and then his second surgery. 

But it’s been less than two hours since they rolled him back into his room and Eddie is already up, eyes half-lidded and words slightly slurred and nonsensical, but awake and alert— and waiting for Steve to reply.

“Um, come again?”

“Do you think I’ll turn into Batman?” Eddie repeats, head lolling to the side to blink at Steve. “You know, ’cause I got bit by bats.”

Normally, Steve wouldn’t argue about superheroes with a nerd like Eddie, but he’s read a few Batman comics in his life and even he knows that’s not right. 

“I’m pretty sure Batman didn’t get bit by bats, Eddie,” he says with an amused chuckle. 

“No, but Spiderman got bit by a spider,” Eddie says, wagging his finger— the one with the pulse oximeter— at Steve like what he’s saying makes perfect sense. 

To him— pumped full of some pretty hardcore drugs— it probably does.  

“Okay,” Steve says, deciding to humor him. He shifts on the chair, leaning forward so that his back isn’t pressed against anything. They cleaned his wounds and changed his bandages before he came to Eddie’s room and by now the numbing cream has started to wear off and it stings. “Well, I also got bit by bats. Does that mean I’ll become Batman too?”

Eddie’s eyebrows knit together in a cute little frown. “There can only be one Batman.”

“And why does it have to be you?”

Eddie thinks it over for a second before propping himself up in his elbows, eyes wide. “I dress in black! And I have bat tattoos!” 

“Well, I have rich parents,” Steve counters with. It’s the one thing he knows he shares with the character. 

“Well, my parents are dead!” Eddie says. It’s probably the drugs’ fault that he sounds so enthusiastic about it. “I win!”

“Fine,” Steve says, rolling his eyes half-heartedly, “I guess you can be Batman.”

Eddie grins, satisfied, flopping back against the bed, his hair fanning out against the pillow. “You can be Robin,” he tells Steve, giving him a lopsided smile. 

“Sure, Eds.”

Eddie perks up and props himself on his elbows again. “Hey, we should dress up as them for Halloween!”

Steve can’t help but make a face. “No way, man.”

“Oh, right,” Eddie says, his smile falling, “we won’t be friends anymore by then.”

Wait— what?

“What are you talking about?” Steve asks, frowning. That makes even less sense than his drug-induced Batman musings. 

“Well, you only hang out with me ’cause we’re both stuck in this hospital,” Eddie says matter-of-factly, “but once we’re out of here, you’ll have no reason to put up with me.”

Steve starts shaking his head even before he’s done talking. He knows Eddie is only saying this out loud because of the drugs but it’s something he must’ve thought about it before. It makes Steve sad to think he’s been feeling this way for the last couple of weeks and Steve didn’t know. 

“Eddie, I don’t ‘put up with you’, okay? We’re friends, I like your company. You’re like, cool and really funny,” Steve says as earnestly as he can. “And we saved the world together! That means you’re stuck with me, man.”

Eddie’s eyes grow wider as Steve talks. He blinks slowly at him as he processes the words before his lips stretch into a big grin. 

“Does that mean we can dress up together?”

Steve’s lips scrunch to the side. “Yeah, no, I’m not wearing a nerdy costume, especially one where I have to wear tights,” he says in a bitchy tone. 

“But you’d look so good in them,” Eddie insists and then leers at Steve, licking his lips before he adds in a low voice— “big boy.”

Steve’s eyes go wide, and just like the first time Eddie called him that, he blushes and forgets how to speak from how flustered he feels.

He’s lucky he’s not the one hooked to a heart monitor right now or the damn thing would’ve started beeping like crazy in time with his stuttering heartbeat. 

He’s saved from having to say anything in response to that by a doctor coming into the room at that moment to check on Eddie, distracting him and breaking the weird tension. It’s a good thing she doesn’t pay any attention to Steve or she might ask why his face is bright red. 

“Hey, Doc,” Eddie says as she checks his vitals. The doctor hums in acknowledgment. “I’m Batman.” 

“Sure you are, Mr. Munson,” she says in a bored tone but Eddie doesn’t seem to care that she acts so dismissively. 

His head lolls to the side and he gives Steve a dimpled grin. “And that’s my Boy Wonder,” he says, eyes warm and molten as they stare at him.

Steve doesn’t know why that makes his heart skip a beat or why it makes his lungs feel like they can’t draw any air in.

Or why he wants Eddie to look at him like that again so desperately that he’s genuinely considering wearing those tights on Halloween after all.

Maybe he should ask the doctor for a check-up after she’s done with Eddie, just to be safe. He thinks he might be coming down with something.

[k9wa]

⟁ 7:14 PM ft BOOTHILL.

⠀ — braiding his hair bc my brain is rotting and i miss him.

⚠︎ fluff, thats really it, mechanic!reader but its not really relevant, suggestive if you squint and cover one eye and hang upside down. gn reader, wc 860.

boothill's head was lulled back between a pair of soft, comfy thighs, eyes a content and lazy half lidded as he felt some familiar calloused and precise fingers detangling little pieces of his hair. the sun was almost down past the horizon, and the last few warm rays peeking out left the room hued a gentle orange colour, its two inhabitants bathing in it.. 

he felt a slight tug here and there as you worked your magic, taking the knots out of those long white locks with patient fingers.

“you have such pretty hair.”

you mused quietly, combing out another strand with your nails. boothill's lips tugged up lightly in a gentle smirk— a hint of pride washing over him. he was a bigger sucker for praise than he’d ever admit.

“well, it’s gotta look good if it’s gonna match th’rest of me.” he drawled, voice a low rumble filled with a certain ease that rarely surfaced— well, rarely with others, anyway. he received a playful tug of his hair in response.boothill leaned back a bit more, trying to catch a glimpse of your endearing focussed expression.

he was slowly melting against your deft fingertips, silently whirring internals mimicking the quiet purr of a cat as you twirled a piece around your finger. 

“can i braid it?” you asked simply, already sectioning out a few strands at the top. 

“do whatever you want, sugar.” he granted with a little shrug, smirk still playing on his lips. “reckon a braid’ll help keep it from flyin’ into my eyes so much.”

he felt the rhythmic crossing of each strand as you began to braid, every brush of your nails against his scalp sending a pleasant shiver right through his wires.

“y’know,” he opened, voice still that gravely tone you could never get enough of. “ain’t nobody else i’d sit still for like this.” he admitted, brashness taking a backseat to give way to a tenderness reserved for one person only.

“yeah?” you smiled a bit, continuing to braid. “just for me, huh?”

boothill couldn’t help but let out a scruff, throaty chuckle, vibrations running through his chest.“just for you, darlin’.” he echoed.

 “you’ve got a magic touch, i s’ppose,” his eyes shut briefly. “could get used to this.”

the melodic and methodic movements of your fingers were earnestly making him drowsy, a soothing lullaby that laced and weaved around him in the same patterns as his hair. 

“like being pampered?” you teased playfully, earning a chuckle from him.

“you just got a way of makin’ a man feel real special. that’s all.”

your fingers kept slowly crossing and twisting strands.

“you should let me curl it some day,” you suggested, amusing yourself with the thought of him dawning a bunch of puffy ringlets. “you’d look like ‘genti.”

boothill's low laughter echoed quietly in the room, a deep sound that harmonised with your own. 

“now that’d be somethin’ to see,” he admitted with a playful scoff. “ol’ boothill with curls bouncin’ around like some dandy.”

he shook his head as he pictured it, and you had to flick his cheek to remind him to look straight.

“i'd sport some curls if it meant i get to see you smilin’.”

you smiled fondly at that, taking a small hair tie and wrapping it around the tail of his braid.

“you’re sweeter than you let on.” you reached around to fix his bangs a little bit. 

“there.” you tilted his head up a bit to look at him, feigning shock. “well, ain’t you pretty?”

hearing his own southern drawl echoed back to him made the cowboy snort. “ain’t i just the belle of the ball now?”

boothill's hand instinctively reached back to feel your handiwork, prosthetic fingers tracing along the weaves of his hair.

“mighty fine job, sugar plum.” he commended, turning around to face you on his knees, hands sliding up your thighs until they met behind your back in a careful hug around your waist. he looked up at you— really looked at you, that mushy softness in him pushing out through the cracks you always left in his defences. 

“thanks, darlin’.” he said quietly, those red cruciform pupils locked in on your own. “means more’en you might know, you spendin’ your time fussin’ over me like this.”

the cyborg’s head fell comfortably down in your lsp, nuzzling into you.

“i think fussing over you is a full time job,” you teased lightly, a smile evident in your voice. “not that i mind.”

one of your hands traced the mechanical connections of his arm, all the way up until your fingers gave a gentle brush to his cheek.

boothill let out a breathy chuckle, some air fanning across your tummy. his fingers, a soothing and smooth cool metal, traced little shapes along your lower back.

“well, i reckon i oughta start payin’ you overtime for such dedication.” he quipped quietly, demeanour playful yet earnest as always.

“paying me to start might be better.” you gave a playful pinch to his cheek.  

“i got a few ideas for how i can pay ya,” he teased back, giving a little nip to your thigh.

⠀ MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

[genderless-naper]

candle shopping

trafalgar law x strawhat!reader

smut! a lil ooc rough law hehe

nsfw, wc: 3.4k, lowercase intended !

a boring day on the sunny draws law to go ‘candle shopping’ from your personal collection. it accidentally escalates to something deeper than meant to be

being stuck on a ship in the middle of the ocean with the strawhats was not the most ideal for law. they were loud, obnoxious, and have no concept of personal space. law would often find himself locked away in rooms to find some peace and quite from the hectic crew.

the only strawhat he could bear being around was you. you had the personality to match with the others humors, but he would discover a completely different side whenever he found himself on the deck at night starring at you while you rambled about how endless the sea was. he could have spent the time lost away in books, but in reality he didnt mind exchanging his time with you. that was more than he could say about any of the strawhats.

law knew something was wrong with him when he looked forward to seeing you during breakfast. the way you appeared in his view made made his mind generate hundreds of thoughts at once. sometimes he would curse himself and avoid looking at you all together. this tactic didnt last long since you were always asking him something.

“hey law do you need any sugar for your coffee?” you held out the small container with sugar cubes

he never added sugar in his coffee, but how could he resist when you asked him so earnestly? how could he say no when you made the effort to think about him?

he took two and added them to his cup as he watched you make jokes with luffy about eating sea monsters for lunch. he was starring at you again before he realized it.

you on the other hand were no stranger to how the surgeon was the slightest bit friendlier to you. he didnt immediately leave when you approached him like when others did. hell, he actually made an effort to converse with you when you said something.

during one uneventful afternoon laying on the lawn you decided to check on your friends to see if they were doing anything interesting. you found luffy, usopp, and chopper fishing at the side of the sunny. their activity seemed more boredom-inducing than yours. you found zoro doing his usual 2000 pushups which were apart of his training routine. you found sanji prepping vegetables for his next meal. you saw nami and robin enjoying the weather laying on chairs on the deck. you found brook cleaning his violin while being told an ailen story by franky. everyones activities just seemed uneventful. you thought of your next stop on your checking-in-with-friends train.

knowing where to find the last subject, you headed to the library of the sunny. you found law nose-deep in some mundane book.

“he’s probably the most uninteresting person to check up on.” you thought to yourself. law heard the door open. he simply didn’t care enough to look up to know who entered, or give a thought of acknowledgment when the unknown person approached him. he only withdraws from his book when you sit next to him asking how his day was. you rambled on about how bored you were and how the crew had nothing fun to do.

at this point law would usually get up and go somewhere else secluded to finish his book. he wanted to, but something was holding him back. maybe it was the way you talked, or the way your hair fell perfectly over your shoulders, or how your confidence radiated when you held his eye contact. he would never admit how he would give anything just to hear you say his name on a loop. it made him feel special.

and yet he pushed those feelings deep into his abyss when he replied, trying to sound as cold as possible, “i honestly dont care. im busy so leave me alone” law was expecting you to be offended or leave. the last thing he thought he would hear was you bursting into laughter.

‘did i say something embarrassing?’ he thought to himself trying to retrace his words exactly.

you shook your head and tossed his book to the side while replying,

“all this reading has made you become the most boring person on this ship! who cares about some variant-strand of a virus whose last infection was recorded 200 years ago?” he kept a cool expression on his face.

you were desperate to find something entertaining to do. realizing how dimly lit the library could be you thought back to your candle stash you kept which had varieties of scents.

“hey, do you like candles?” you asked the raven haired man.

law raised an eyebrow suspiciously, “candles? why would you ask that?”

you lit up finally finding an activity to pass the time with. you grabbed his hand and pulled him to the girls cabin, “lets take you candle shopping!”

this was laws first time entering the girls cabin of the ship. he never had a reason to. he was quite surprised to see how much more spacious, cleaner, and taken care of it was compared to the boys. your bed was made, and it looked like heaven to the heavily sleepy-induced doctor who constantly disregarded his insomniac habits.

you rummaged under your bed and pulled out a bag with different colors and sizes of candles. you put the bag on your bed and pulled out candles one by one.

law stared in an utter state of confusion. you popped the top off of one and handed it to him, “smell this and see if you like it”

at first the doctor quietly refused, trying to hand the candle back so he could go back to reading. you huffed and dragged him to sit on your bed, “if youre gonna coop yourself in that library all day like a chicken you might as well take a candle with you. its so dimly lit i dont get how you can read at night. now find one that you like! dont worry i wont charge you.” you winked playfully at the doctor

law fought the blood threatening to rise to his cheeks. he gave up and started ‘candle shopping’ through your pile. he smelt some that were vanilla heavy, fruit heavy, lavender heavy, tobacco heavy (he hated that one specifically), and more. they all left him feeling unimpressed.

you thought for what the man sitting next to you would enjoy. you grabbed another candle that was a shade of deep green. you read the label and handed it to him. “this one has notes of deep forest, sandalwood, and fresh spring water.” law smelt it not expecting much.

he was pleasantly surprised to find how he actually liked this scent. you were excited to see if he found a candle that fit his interests, “do you like that one? should i light it for you??”

he saw at your excitement radiating off of you. how could he say no when you went to the extent to find him something he liked? how could he say no when you cared this much about him? he silently handed the candle back.

you cleared away the other rejected candles and got off your bed. you ordered law to lay down as you lit the candle carefully, “you need to relax to be able to fully enjoy the energy it offers! try to get comfortable.”

he was astonished at your directness, “you want me to.. lay down on your bed? it’s made and ill just get it messy.”

you shook your head and pushed him to lay down. you carefully placed the candle on the floor right next to the bed, “close your eyes and really try to relax trafalgar”

he felt a warm sensation spread in his stomach when you said his name. he was left with no choice but to close his eyes. the scent of the wax filled the room gradually. it wasn’t a scent that was overpowering. he could still smell you on your sheets with the candle’s notes lingering in the background.

you stay quite as you watched the once stoic man fade into a state of relaxation. you were feeling proud of your succession.

law heard footsteps starting to approach the door of the cabin followed by laughter of the other two female members. his once relaxed state quickly washed away not wanting to be caught. he wasn’t just in the girls cabin. he was in your bed. who knows what the strawhats would think of him? he gave you a look of alarm.

as the cabin knob twisted you quickly jumped into bed and pulled the covers up. you were on your side with your back facing the door trying your best to conceal the tattooed man. your legs were practically tangled with each other. mere centimeters was the distance between your faces. you shushed him quietly and pushed him slightly lower while hiding his hat under your bed.

the door opened as the two females walked in. nami saw you in bed and wondered what was wrong, “hey y/n is everything okay?”

nico robin hummed, “its not like you to be in bed in the middle of the day”

you faked a cough trying to convince them of you feeling unwell, “i just wanted to lay down for a bit.”

nami replies, “if you want me to ask sanji to make you some soup then let me know”

you okay’d a response back to her.

law wished he activated his powers before becoming stuck in this predicament. he wished he never got sucked into your side quest. he wish he could be able to say no to you. maybe then he wouldn’t have been stuck hiding in bed with you. his hand was naturally placed on your waist as you had left your hand in his hair after trying to push him down. the position was dangerous for him. he looked up at you while you flashed apologetic looks.

you finally noticed your hand slightly tangled in his hair. you tried to move it to make the position less awkward. moving it a few centimeters before opting to return it to its original position to avoid attention being drawn to you. the feeling of your fingers trying to move yet returning back to him made his mind blank out. his eyes turned half lidded as the forestry scent was of the candle made him slightly sink into you. dangerously closer than ever.

you took in every feature of the man right before you. you quietly moved your thumb from the roots of his hair to trace his facial features softly. you dont know what came over you. you ran your thumb lightly across his eyebrow, his nose bridge, then cheek bone, and finally to his lip. you hesitate, resting your thumb on his lower lip, not daring to move it any further.

laws gaze had changed from its previous cold appearance. he looked different from before, as if he wanted you to continue. he needed you to admire his features just like how he admired yours every moment he saw you. both your desperations climbed in attempt to keep quiet. his hold on your waist pulled you ever so slightly closer to him. enough hoping you wouldn’t notice. you continued to slowly trace his lower lip, pulling down on it slightly to see how far he would really let you take it.

he shot you a dangerously possessive gaze. it was his turn to return the act. he slowly ran his once resting hand down your waist and down your thigh. your curves fitting perfectly in his hand. he gripped your thigh slightly, which earned a surprised gasp from you.

nami looked back over, completely oblivious to the unsuspecting man in bed with you, “are you sure you’re okay y/n..?”

you responded quicker than you liked to admit, trying to hide the panic in your voice, “im fine really! just a bit of a headache i guess. ill be fine once i take a nap.” you glanced back down at the raven-haired man who pressed a ghosting kiss against your thumb.

you felt your heart skip a beat as your body’s heat started to rise. you couldn’t believe how daring he’s trying to show you he could be. any moment other than now would’ve been better to see.

you try to move your legs to untangle them from the man in front of you. you bit your lip as you felt your thigh brush harshly against law in between his legs. you freeze while you feel him harden slightly; member pressing back onto your thigh.

law tried his best for fight these sensations, but it was difficult when all you did was light his body on fire every time you moved. the warm sensation in his stomach from earlier growing into a blaze. he mouthed words at you carefully quiet, ‘don’t move’

you smirk once you realize the position you were in. you were towering over law as he looks at you with eyes which showed slight desperation. you kept tracing his lower lip as you continued to push your thigh against his growing member. you wanted to be the sole reason he fought to make any noise in that moment.

law cursed you silently in his head. he gripped your thigh while digging his fingertips into your skin. he shot you a now threatening look. knowing what you were doing and how you deliberately were doing it to get a kick out of him drove him insane.

he could easily take control of the power dynamic now in place if it hadn’t been for the women still in the room. he knew you were taking advantage of the situation. he fought a growl as you trailed your hand from his lip to the collar of his shirt. playing with it innocently while devilishly tormenting the man with your thigh drove you to feel your stomach blaze as well.

the two women bid their farewells as they left the cabin shutting the door behind them. you felt a sense of relief wash over you, but were pulled back into reality when law grabs your ass while slightly grinding himself on your thigh to feel some relief.

he spoke words of venom to you, “you’re gonna regret this y/n..”

you tilt his chin up to you, reminding him of the power dynamic still in place, “who says i don’t want this?” your words sweet like honey.

law looks back at the door to make sure no more disturbances would bother his current moment with you. he flipped you onto your back and towered over you. hands between your head to support himself.

he leaned down to your ear and spoke while smirking, “now its my turn to see how quiet you can be”

your eyes widen once you see the position you were in. the blaze in your body abandoned any rational thinking you had at that moment. you pulled the man down into a sloppy kiss as you tug up on his shirt desperately trying to expose his body.

he pulled the shirt off mid kiss then worked on taking this belt off. you whined for him to hurry while the desperate between your legs painstakingly grew with each passing second. you both pushed the rest of your clothes off in an attempt to not waste anymore time.

law grabbed his member with a slight groan, “look at what you did to me y/n..”

you couldnt help but feel proud of being able to draw this side of law out. not too long ago he was a mysterious identity on the ship. now he was just mere seconds away from fucking your mind out of you.

he opened pushed open your legs and ripped your panties to the side to give himself more accessibility. you pulled him closer in a desperate attempt to get his member in you. he chuckled deeply at your failed attempt.

he flashed his golden eyes up and down your body, “i should make you wait for being such a tease..”

you shook your head fast. ecstasy completely taking over all your sense, “i didn’t mean to do all tha-“

“you still did it y/n” he shot back lowly, “i want you to beg for me” he smiled sadistically down at you.

desperation on your mind left you no other choice, “please law..”

he raised a brow unimpressed, “thats it? i know you can give me more than y/n” he slowly moved the head of his member up and down your wet folds to tease you.

you shut your eyes as you spewed a line of noncomprehensive begs. you didn’t even understand what you were saying at that point.

once satisfied with your obvious desperation on display law slowly pushed himself into you. the way he disappeared into you made his stomach do flips. your warmth completely captivating him.

you let out a quiet moan as you grip his tattooed biceps. you begged him for more.

every whine and beg drove law further off the edge. granting your wish he started his pace. it was a slow motion which picked up into a faster, harsher rhythm.

law was fascinated with how well your body took him in. every time he pulls to almost abandon your hole you take him back in fully. your moans starting to pick up as the man above you tries to fuck sense back into you, “you think you can pull stunts like that and get away with it?” he grunts in your ear, trying to suppress his own moans.

the slapping of skin becoming louder with every snap of laws hips hitting you. his rhythm, once steady and strong, starts to falter and get sloppy. your own blaze turning into a burning fire reaching the depths of your stomach. you slapped a hand over your mouth to mask the loud moans escaping your lips. law pushes your hand away and pulls you into a messy kiss while taking in every moan you gave to him. you dig your nails into his shoulders indicating you were climbing fast to your high.

the man above you fucks into you with a rough pace. he made the mistake of looking down at your eyes. the way they glossed over with ecstasy and your eyebrows taking shape of desperation made law lose his rhythm completely. he just vigorously pushed into you chasing his own high. he wanted to take a picture of your sight before him. he knew the way you looked at him would burn into his memory forever. you moaned his name while repeating how close you were. unable to suppress his own moans he started to repeat your name back to you. both your names rolling off each others tongues so effortlessly.

the knot in your stomach pulled so tightly. you felt the harsh waves of ecstasy hit you as your orgasm forces itself onto you. you dig your nails into law while he covers your mouth with his hand. the sight of you moaning mindlessly because of him was enough for his knot to pull. he knew he was dangerously close as well. he continued to fuck into you to chase his high. the overstimulation causing your eyes to roll back slightly.

the sight caused laws own orgasm to hit him faster than he imagined. he pulled out quickly and released himself onto your stomach. he collapsed next to you as you both pant to regain your breaths. he stares at your messy hair, plump lips, and how your chest rises and falls. he’d be lying to himself he if he didn’t want to experience seeing you like this all the time. with sweat glistening both your tired bodies he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close to him.

he mumbles to you tiredly, “you dont know how long ive been wanting to do that..”

you giggle as you ease into him, “then you should’ve done it earlier”

the crackling of the candle returns you to your senses, “its good we lit a candle before hand..” you laugh tiredly at the ironic situation.

he rolls his eyes while the corner of his lips tug up slightly. he grabbed your chin and kissed you passionately to make up for all the sloppy kisses he gave earlier(he just wants your lips on his any way possible). you cup his cheek and deepen the kiss while smiling. law feels you smiling into the kiss, and it causes him to smile a bit more than he usually would.

even he’d admit that ‘candle shopping’ maybe wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

you can find pt.2 here!

[clxja16]

Not Actually Together

Charles Leclerc X Reader

Genre: faking dating au!

Warnings: none atm

Word Count: 1.4K

Author's Note: I have not written a part two for this, so idk when or if a part two will ever come out. other than that enjoy ;) <3 I also feel like this really stupid, please give any feedback

part 2

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

“Hey, can I speak to you?” Charles questioned from across the room as he made his way towards you through the motorhome, “privately please.” 

“Of course,” you answered, following after Charles, going to his private suite.  After the two of you entered the room, shutting the door on the rest of the world, “what would you like to talk about?”  You smile sweetly as you ask Charles.  

Charles forgets for a moment what he wanted to ask, you smiled and he forgot how to breathe, let alone speak.  “What do you think of her?” Charles asked, still looking at you but, pushing his phone forward.  Showing you a picture of some girl, “her name is Alexandra.” 

“She’s pretty,” you answered, still smiling so sweetly at Charles, “Did she make a move on you?” 

 Charles looks back at the photo on his phone.  “Yeah she did,” Charles spoke hesitantly, cautiously looking back at you.  Looking for any sign of  ire.  

“Are you asking for my permission to go after her?” You question with a small chuckle, Charles was quite cute when he was nervous.   

“I…” Charles sighed, “I just wanted to know what your thoughts were.”  Charles looks at the picture of Alexandra on his phone in front of him.  She was certainly quite beautiful, she was most definitely his type.  Why does he have such an uneasy feeling though? 

“Charles, this is only for the public.  We’re not actually together, if you wanna go date her, then go, do it.  I’m not holding you to this fake relationship.” You said, with a bit of a laugh, trying to mask the tiny bit of heartbreak you were feeling.  Charles was never yours to begin with, there is no reason to pretend he is. 

“Are you sure?” Charles wanted you to stop him.  He wanted you to hold him to this relationship.  He wanted you to disapprove.  He wanted you to tell him no.  But he knew you wouldn’t do that to him.  You’re only going to do what you think makes him happy.  

“Charles, we’re only in this predicament because you don’t have the best track record when picking girls.  So the team picked me for you, that way your fans will actually like your girlfriend.  This is simply because the team wants it. This isn’t real, go ask Alex out.” You say it so casually, Charles loathes the way you push him towards Alexandra.  He wants you to fight, he wants you to be jealous, he wants you to want him.  

“Thank you…” Charles says looking back at the photo displayed on his phone.  He looks at Alexandra, and he thinks maybe it’s time to move on.  “For your permission, thank you,” Charles says grateful, he pulls you into a hug, kissing you on the temple.  

When you finally pull away from his embrace you say, “just don’t make me look like a fool.”  

Charles chuckles at the request, “what do you mean?” 

“Don’t be flaunting Alex all around,” you say, in a very serious tone.  You look at Charles squarely this time, you want him to understand you completely.   “I don’t mean to be cocky or egotistical, but I play a fucking good girlfriend to you for the public.  So don’t be flaunting Alex all around, making me look like the stupid little naive girl that everyone knows is getting cheated on.” 

Charles nods along, “I wouldn’t do that to you.”  He can’t imagine anyone wanting to cheat if they were with you, “I promise I won’t do that to you.” 

“Thank you,” you say earnestly.  Even if the intimate relationship wasn’t real, the respect and the friendship you and Charles have built, is authentic.  

“Why don’t you go out with someone too?” Charles asks, curious as to why in these past six months of faking a relationship you never brought up anyone.  

“Well there is this guy that I have a thing for,” you say honestly. 

“Why don’t we go on a double date, that way fans won’t get suspicious?” 

“No no,” you laugh at the request, “this guy has no feelings for me whatsoever.” 

“And how do you know that?” 

“We talked about it before,” you half-lie, you weren’t exactly fully truthful when you ‘talked about it.’ 

“Well, let’s look for someone, for you,” Charles says, completely serious about the notion.  Maybe if you’re with someone too, it would be easier to let you go. 

“No,” you laugh more, you don’t think you’ve ever heard such a ridiculous idea, “no way.” 

Charles laughs at your dismissiveness of the situation, “what about Pierre?” 

“I’m sure Pierre is very serious about Kika,” you say, with a bit of a chuckle at how serious Charles is acting about finding someone to set you up with.  

“Well I’m gonna find you someone, I can assure you,” Charles declares, almost like it was an official notion.  “I have to go down for a briefing, then I'll be back and we can go out to dinner tonight.” 

“Put on a show for the fans tonight?” you question, watching Charles. 

“Of course, my dear,” Charles says overdramatically with a wink, before walking out.  

After Charles leaves, you feel your smile fall.  You want to laugh at yourself for thinking Charles could have wanted you.  The tears start to brim your eyes and you can’t help but thinking you did this to yourself.  You allowed yourself to be in this predicament, so now you must live with it. Just until the season ends, that’s what you tell yourself.  Six more months, give or take.  

-

“Hey,” Carlos said, trying to get his teammates' attention, “why so…” Carlos makes an over exaggerated frowny face at Charles.  

“I don’t know,” Charles said, still replaying his earlier conversation with you.  He tries to find any sign of anything from you.  He dissects every word you utter, he questions every thought spoken, he searches for any inclination that you might’ve lied. 

“Did you speak to y/n about Alex?” 

“I did,” Charles answers, not expounding on his response.  

“She said no?” 

“No,” Charles says with a certain level of surprise, “She said okay.” 

“Great, that’s what you wanted,” Carlos says, “right?  That is what you wanted?”  Carlos has a feeling that this isn’t what Charles wanted, but it’s really not his place to say. 

“It is,” Charles sighs, “but I don’t know something about y/n being so okay with it, it bothers me.” Charles got up and started to pace, while Carlos decided to take a seat, watching his teammate work through this.  “Did you know there’s someone that she's interested in?”

“Y/n?” Carlos questions just to be sure, “don’t tell me that’s bothering you.” 

“No, it’s not,” Charles says, half trying to convince Carlos, the other half trying to convince himself.  “It’s just, y/n said that he’s not interested in her.  I mean how can someone not be interested in y/n, she's crazy smart.  She’s so kind. Did you know at this past Monaco grand prix, she helped collect gifts from the fans to give to me?  She knows how to cook, and not to mention she’s bloody beautiful.” Charles says with a full grin, as he thinks about you.  He can picture you clearly, he has memorized every little detail of your face, down to the way you scrunch your nose when you don’t want to laugh at his horrible jokes.  

Carlos laughs at his blind teammate, “clearly, you’re not really interested in Alex.” 

Charles sighs again, “I thought if I had brought up Alex to y/n, she would give me some type of sign that she was into me, like i’m into her,” he confesses to Carlos.  “I thought maybe, I could get a reaction or something,” Charles shakes his head at himself, he can hear how stupid he sounds without Carlos pointing it out for him.  

Carlos has never wanted to slap someone, as much as he wants to slap Charles.  Carlos runs his hands across his face, “that is the most singularly stupidest idea I have ever heard, and I have heard our race strategies before.  Why didn’t you just outright ask y/n if she liked you?” 

“I didn’t want to be so obvious about it,” Charles shrugs, “Plus it's better this way, she already said she’s interested in someone else.  Not to mention I have tried for the past six months to turn this into a real relationship, this is just me finally moving on.  I deserve to move on don’t I?” 

“Of course you deserve to move on Charles,” Carlos sighs, “but do you even want to move on, or do you think you have to?” 

Charles doesn’t respond, he doesn’t know how to respond even if he wanted to.

[jzprncess]

love language by sza

“help me understand how you speak your love language ”

pairing: Max Verstappen x Y/N reader

part 1/2 next part

word count: 2,823

summary: a girlfriend of a successful f1 driver decides to learn Dutch to better understand her boyfriends world—his culture, his emotions, and the language he speaks—hoping to connect more deeply and navigate the complexities of their high-speed, high-pressure relationship.

note: first time writing a fan fiction so be nice please! i don’t know how to work tumblr to the fullest so if you want to requests anything, message it to me! this will be in two parts! please leave comments so i know im doing something right!!

　　　　　　 ❛ ━━･♡❪ ❁ ❫♡･━━ ❜

Out of all the unexpected turns her life had taken, learning another language was never on Y/N's radar. Yet, here she was, grappling with the complexities of Dutch, staring at her laptop screen during a Zoom call with her tutor, Anne. They had been chatting frequently, especially while Max was off competing in a grueling triple-header race weekend.

Before he left, Y/N had noticed the shadow of frustration in Max's eyes, a rare shift from his usually upbeat demeanor. It wasn’t lost on her—or anyone, really. The weight of the season’s challenges had begun to press down on him, making his once confident posture seem a little more hunched, his usual optimism now clouded by self-doubt. Everyone could see it. With the way the season had started, Max had envisioned triumph. But now, in October, his hopes felt distant. He hadn’t clinched a victory since June, and every reminder of that fact only seemed to add to his frustration. Y/N wished she could lift that burden, even if just for a moment.

In an attempt to brighten his spirits, she decided to do something special for him—a gesture that would help him escape the pressure he was under. The very day he departed, Y/N found herself scouring the internet, searching for someone who could teach her some basic Dutch. Max, ever the romantic, had always whispered sweet phrases in his native tongue—whether it was giving her a compliment or simply wishing her a good morning. And though she often required translations, Y/N thought, Why not learn the language myself? It couldn’t be that difficult, right?

And so, here she was, earnestly trying to master the phrase “I love you, handsome” in Dutch, yet somehow fumbling over the words.

“Y/N, your pronunciation is getting better, but you need to keep practicing,” Anne encouraged from the other side of the screen, her fingers dancing over her keyboard. The rhythmic sound of her typing seemed to fill the space between them, as if punctuating her words with gentle encouragement. “Have you taken my advice and started watching shows in Dutch? Immersing yourself in the language will really help you improve, especially with those tricky pronunciations.”

Y/N leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms, and stared at the screen, her lips pressing together as she tried to hold back the exhaustion creeping in. She had been working hard at this—between the classes, the practice, the late nights watching Dutch shows, and the constant racing schedule with Max, it was all starting to feel like a lot. “Yeah, I’ve been talking to the TV like it’s my best friend,” she said with a small, self-deprecating chuckle, her voice sounding a bit weary. “The characters probably think I’m crazy by now. But, you know, I think I’m making progress? Or at least I hope I am.”

Anne’s eyebrows raised in an encouraging way. “Well, that’s the spirit! The more you immerse yourself, the more natural it will feel. Dutch can be tricky, especially with its sounds, but you’re not giving up, and that’s what matters.”

Y/N exhaled slowly, rubbing her temples. It had been one of those days—between working on the language and managing the quiet space Max left behind when he was away, the weight of it all was starting to wear on her. “I don’t know... I keep stumbling over the same words, Anne. Like, I feel like I’m so close to getting it, but then I hear myself speak Dutch, and it just sounds... off. I’m trying, but it’s hard to know if I’m really improving.”

Anne smiled gently from the screen, as though she understood exactly where Y/N was coming from. “That’s completely normal. Language learning isn’t a straight path. There are ups and downs, but the key is to be patient with yourself. Remember, it’s not about perfection—it’s about progress. You’re already doing so much more than most people would.”

“I guess so.” Y/N’s voice softened, her eyes drifting away for a moment, lost in thought. “I just wish I could see it, you know? Max always speaks so fluently, and when he says something sweet in Dutch, it sounds so effortless. I want to understand it all, to be able to speak with him like that without stumbling or needing translations.”

Anne nodded, her face sympathetic. “I get that. You want to connect with him in the language that’s so familiar to him, and that’s a beautiful thing. But don’t forget, language is just one part of communication. Max will appreciate your effort no matter where you are in your learning. It’s about the intention, the heart behind it. And besides, if you’re working hard at it, he’ll see that.”

Y/N let out a small sigh, leaning forward in her chair and running a hand through her hair. “I just want him to know how much I’m trying. I know it’s hard for him when the season gets tough, and I want to be able to understand him better, not just the words, but how he’s feeling... especially when he gets frustrated. I want to be able to share those moments with him in his language.” She looked back up at Anne, a mixture of fatigue and determination in her eyes. "But it's like I'm still learning a whole new world, Anne. It's a lot to take in."

Anne’s expression softened even more. “Learning a language is like learning a new way to see the world. And you’re doing it for the right reasons. Max will notice that. Even if you don’t think you’re where you want to be yet, he’s going to appreciate your effort, your commitment to him and to his language. And you’re already showing him that you care in ways most people wouldn’t.”

Y/N gave a faint smile, feeling the weight of Anne’s words settle into her. She took another deep breath, her gaze flickering back to the screen. “I hope so. I’m doing this for him, and... for me, too. It’s just hard to see the progress sometimes when you’re so deep in it.”

“Well, keep at it, Y/N,” Anne encouraged again, her voice gentle but firm. “The progress is there, even when you can’t see it. And remember, when Max comes back, you’ll have a whole new way of connecting. That’s something special. Now, how about we wrap up for today, and next time, we focus on a few of those tricky sounds you’ve been stumbling over?”

Y/N nodded, the exhaustion beginning to fade as she felt a renewed sense of determination wash over her. "Yeah, let’s do that. Thanks, Anne. Really."

Anne smiled warmly, her tone softening. “Good night, Y/N. You’re doing great. Keep going, and keep believing in yourself.”

With that, the call ended, leaving Y/N in the quiet of her room. As the screen went dark, she sat still for a moment, letting Anne’s words settle into her. She still had a long way to go with Dutch, but now, she felt a little less weighed down by it all. She stood up from the desk, stretched, and with a deep breath, made her way to the kitchen. There was more to learn, yes, but she could do it. For Max. And for herself

This had become her routine for the past few weeks—immersing herself in a new language while navigating the emotional ups and downs of Max's racing career. Each night flowed into the next, filled with lessons and the hope that her efforts would spark joy in him when he returned. In a way, she couldn’t help but feel that this small adventure might not only help her connect with him in a deeper way but also serve as a reminder that even in tough times, he had someone in his corner—someone ready to support him and learn alongside him.

Time passed, and soon enough, the hectic three-race weekend was behind them.

Y/N wasn’t exactly sure when Max would be home. The unpredictable nature of his F1 schedule made it hard to keep track of his exact arrival time. As the hours stretched on, she decided to make the most of the quiet afternoon. She started by tidying up the house, picking up scattered race memorabilia and smoothing out the couch cushions, which always seemed to get tossed around after a long weekend of travel. The kitchen was next—dishes stacked in the sink, a few crumbs left from breakfast, and the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air. She cleaned with a kind of absent-minded rhythm, her thoughts drifting between the tasks at hand and the excitement of his return.

Not wanting to spend the whole day indoors, Y/N grabbed her coat, slipped into her shoes, and decided to run a few errands to break the monotony. She mentally made a list of things she needed—a trip to the grocery store for fresh produce, perhaps a quick stop at the florist to pick up some flowers for the dining table. The gentle hum of the city as she walked outside felt like a welcome distraction. As she moved through the familiar streets, her mind kept drifting to Max—imagining his arrival later that evening and wondering how he would feel after the intense race weekend. With a small smile, she pushed the thought aside. There were errands to run, and time had a way of slipping by faster when you were busy.

After a while, Y/N decided it was time to head back home, the errands and quiet city stroll leaving her feeling a bit more tired than usual. The exhaustion crept up slowly, settling into her bones in the best way—a peaceful kind of tiredness that made the thought of being home all the more appealing. Once she stepped inside, she kicked off her shoes by the door and shrugged off her jacket, instantly feeling the comfort of her own space wrap around her.

She sank onto the couch, letting the weight of the day melt away, but it wasn’t long before she found herself wanting to do something—something simple and familiar to bring a sense of warmth and routine to the day. The kitchen seemed like the perfect place. She stepped into the kitchen, the warmth of the space a comforting contrast to the quiet of the house. Her mind immediately wandered to dessert—something sweet to fill the silence. Pulling out her phone, she swiped through a few recipe sites, curiosity leading her fingers. After a moment, she typed "Dutch desserts" into the search bar. Her eyes quickly landed on appeltaart, the iconic Dutch apple pie. The thought of the rich, spiced apples wrapped in buttery crust made her stomach rumble. It was exactly what the moment called for.

With a smile, she set the phone down and rolled up her sleeves. The comforting hum of her favorite playlist began to fill the room, chasing away the silence and replacing it with familiar tunes. As the music flowed through the speakers, she started pulling ingredients from the pantry—flour, sugar, butter, and cinnamon. She paused for a moment, letting the soft beat of the song take over as she laid everything out on the counter. The scent of cinnamon already began to stir a feeling of warmth and anticipation.

With a deep breath, she moved into the rhythm of the recipe, the steady motion of measuring, mixing, and prepping grounding her. She could already picture the golden crust and warm, sweet filling that would soon fill the kitchen, and her heart swelled with a sense of simple joy.

As she hummed softly to the tune playing in the background, completely engrossed in the rhythm of her mixing and the warmth of the kitchen, she remained oblivious to Max stepping through the front door, his footsteps barely audible on the hardwood floor. Max paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the room before he crept quietly toward the kitchen, careful not to make a sound. He peeked around the corner, his gaze falling on you as you worked your magic, your movements fluid and focused. A smile tugged at his lips as the sweet scent of apple pie hit him, and he inhaled deeply, savoring the warm, comforting aroma that filled the air.

Max moved silently behind her, his steps light as he closed the distance between them. With a smile, he slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her close against him. He rested his chin on her shoulder for a moment, savoring the warmth of her presence, before pressing a tender kiss to her soft skin. As he inhaled the sweet scent of the kitchen, his lips brushed her shoulder, and he murmured in a low, appreciative voice, "Smells amazing."

The unexpected touch causes her to flinch, a small gasp escaping her as she instinctively tenses, but her body quickly relaxes when she turns to find Max standing there. A soft smile tugs at her lips as she meets his gaze. "I didn't hear you come in," she murmurs, her voice gentle and warm as she leans slightly into his embrace, feeling the comforting weight of his presence. She glances toward the counter, her hands still lightly dusted with flour, and then looks back at him, her eyes sparkling with a mix of affection and pride. "I made apple—" Her words falter for a brief moment, and she pauses, taking a breath before finishing with a playful smile, "Ik heb appeltaart gemaakt." (i made apple pie) She lets the Dutch phrase roll off her tongue with a touch of pride, her eyes lighting up as she anticipates his reaction to the homemade treat and at the sudden Dutch.

Max chuckles, the sound warm and teasing. "Oh, dus je spreekt nu Nederlands?" (Oh, so you speak Dutch now?) His eyes narrow playfully as he takes her in, studying her with a hint of disbelief, almost as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd just heard. It takes a moment for her to process his words, the surprise registering on her face before a grin tugs at her lips. She lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head slightly as she meets his gaze. “Leren voor jou,” she responds with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, her voice light and teasing as she repeats the phrase—"Learning for you."

Max hums contentedly into her skin, his voice soft but filled with affection. "What did I ever do to deserve you?" His words are a gentle murmur, as though he's savoring the moment. She chuckles, the sound warm and light, as she wipes her hands on a nearby towel. Without missing a beat, she spins around, her eyes sparkling, and wraps her arms around him in a tight embrace. "I've missed you," she whispers into his chest, her voice filled with sincerity, as if the distance between them had only made her feelings stronger.

He gently pulls away, his hands lingering at her waist as he looks down at her, his eyes soft with affection. There’s a quiet warmth in his gaze, a tenderness that makes his heart swell with emotion. "I've missed you too," he murmurs, his voice low and sincere, the words wrapped in a quiet vulnerability. He smiles, a soft, almost teasing glint in his eyes as he adds, "Mijntje," (my little one), his tone filled with both love and playfulness. With a tender sigh, he leans down, his face drawing closer to hers. As he lowers himself, he brushes his lips gently against hers, the kiss soft and lingering, a promise of everything he feels for her in that quiet, intimate moment. 

She pulls back just enough to look into his eyes, her breath catching in the space between them. Her heart races, each beat carrying the weight of everything she feels for him. Her hands rest gently on his chest as she searches his gaze, finding warmth, safety, and a quiet promise there. With a soft sigh, she leans in just a little closer, her lips barely brushing his as she whispers, her voice trembling with sincerity, "Ik hou van jou."

The words, though soft, are heavy with all the emotions she can't quite put into words—years of trust, laughter, passion, and quiet moments, all wrapped in those simple yet profound syllables. His breath hitches, and a smile plays on his lips as he leans in, closing the small space between them with a kiss that feels like both a promise and a beginning. There’s a warmth radiating between them, an unspoken yearning that lingers in the air, electrifying yet restrained. The kiss deepens, lingering just a moment longer, igniting a flutter of anticipation in her chest—a taste of what could be. As they pull away, their eyes lock, and in that shared gaze lies a world of possibilities, a silent acknowledgment of the passion that awaits them.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

tag list : @heluvsjappie

[hazelira]

morning with baby rolls

The soft creak of the door opening gently stirred Jake from his thoughts as he stepped into the main bedroom. His tie had already been loosened, his usual crisp demeanour unwinding as the early morning light seeped through the curtains. It was 6 a.m., and despite his long night of case preparations, all he could think about was the warmth of home—you—and the tiny bundle of joy that had reshaped his life completely.

He was careful with his steps, making sure not to wake you. But his breath caught as soon as he neared the crib on the far side of the room.

There she was, his ten-month-old baby girl, all chubby cheeks and rolls, her little fingers stretching up and making grabby hands toward the bed where you slept soundly. Her round face looked even more irresistible in the dim morning light, the plumpness of her baby rolls catching the faintest of shadows, giving the illusion of tiny tan lines along her chunky arms and legs.

Jake’s lips curved into a soft smile, though his heart clenched seeing how earnestly she reached for you. Her wide eyes blinked sleepily, a slight whine escaping her as if calling, “Mama…”

He knew how exhausted you were from the night before, barely managing to drift asleep after tending to your little one’s every need. He couldn’t bear the thought of waking you, not when you finally had a moment of rest.

“Hey, princess,” Jake whispered, leaning over the crib with the gentlest smile. His large hand stroked her soft baby hair, careful not to disturb her too much. She cooed, her grabby hands reaching toward his face now, her little legs kicking excitedly in her onesie.

“Let’s not wake Mama, okay?” he murmured, scooping her into his arms. The moment her head rested against his shoulder, she giggled softly, her tiny body feeling heavy and warm against him. Jake couldn’t resist kissing her chubby cheek, inhaling the baby scent he had come to love more than anything.

Her weight was a comforting reminder of everything he had now—how much life had changed for the better, even if it meant juggling sleepless nights and court hearings. But for now, it was just him and his baby girl.

“We’ll get you some milk, sweetie,” he whispered, swaying gently as he headed toward the door. She wriggled in his arms, her fingers tugging at his shirt as she babbled incoherently, her baby rolls squishing into his chest. Jake chuckled softly. It was impossible not to feel his heart melt at how adorable she looked—her soft skin making her little arms and legs look even chunkier.

Once downstairs, Jake balanced her in one arm while reaching for the bottle from the fridge with the other. She stared at him with wide, curious eyes, her tiny mouth open in fascination. As he warmed her milk, she made grabby hands at the bottle, her pudgy fingers clenching and unclenching in impatience.

“Just a minute, baby girl,” Jake said, his voice a gentle tease as he bounced her lightly. She kicked her legs in response, her soft rolls squishing further, and Jake had to resist the urge to pinch them. She was just too precious, the tan lines from the dim morning light making her skin look even more kissable.

As soon as the bottle was ready, he settled into the living room couch, cradling her in his arms as he fed her. Her little hands clung to the bottle, and her eyes slowly fluttered shut as she drank, completely at ease in her father’s arms.

Jake’s eyes softened, watching her drift off to sleep with the faintest smile on her lips. He couldn’t help but think about how lucky he was, how much he loved both of you. The demanding cases and the long nights at the office faded away in these quiet moments with his family.

For now, he’d let you rest just a little longer. You deserved it. And as for him? He’d happily take every early morning with his baby girl, savouring these tiny, tender moments that made life much sweeter.

[willowsnook]

Let me in

Hi! Love your idea for a prompt list. Can I order: A turkey swiss on wheat bread, maybe mike’s way if you feel like it’s fitting for the sandwich?

Joe burrow x bsf!reader

Please don’t leave

—-----------------------------------------

Fall in Cincinnati was something that you loved. The trees changed colors, you could start leaving your windows open, and, of course, Bengals football. Now, you’d never claim that you were a die-hard fan, that was still reserved for your beloved Green Bay Packers, but after 5 years in the city, they were a solid 2nd favorite. Plus, being good friends with the starting quarterback meant you had to root for them. 

You met Joe at a charity event a year after you moved to Ohio. Working for a Cincinnati-specific lifestyle magazine, your recommendations and reviews had made you quite well known in the city. Your strategy was always finding small, hidden gem places, usually family-owned, to review and elevate. This fulfilled your need to make a difference and also get paid to eat food. 

While your job was so public and in the spotlight, you were pretty introverted, which surprised a lot of people. You didn’t necessarily enjoy being the center of attention, focusing more on making those around you shine. This meant that while you were appreciative of being recognized by the community, you hated going to big events; you’d much rather just be writing about them. 

So when the introverted star of Cincinnati joined you in the shadows of an event, the two of you hit it off. Knowing who you were, his PR team had noticed and pitched a content series involving Joe. You spent a whole day with him, going to places he recommended and giving instant reviews. Initially, you were worried about it being awkward because you didn’t know him well, but you both had a blast. Joe was easy to talk to, and he liked that you treated him like anyone else. 

After that, he’d invited you to hang out with his friends several times, and Ja’marr really liked you, insisting that you be added to the friend group. Since then, you’d spent the last couple of years being forced to go to every home Bengals game, but you could also easily force one of them to help you with some kind of content for work. A mutually beneficial friendship you thought. 

Midway through the week, you were back at your apartment, taking pictures of some cookies someone sent you to be considered for an upcoming article you were writing. You snapped the perfect picture just as your phone rang, and you looked over to see it was Joe calling. 

“What’s up?” You said, putting the phone on speaker. 

“I’m bored. Can I come hang?” He asked. 

“Yeah, I’m doing some work, but I’ll be done soon.”

“Okay, I’m on my way.” 

You were used to Joe calling you randomly to hang out, especially when the season was going poorly. One thing you learned in your years of friendship with him was that he didn’t like to be alone, mostly so he didn’t spiral thinking about everything. You were happy to be a friend he could lean on. 

15 minutes later, you heard your front door open and smiled as Joe wandered into the kitchen. He gave you a small squeeze from behind as you leaned over your laptop. 

“Are you doing anything with these?” He asked, and you looked over at the cookies. 

“No, I just got done. Have at it,” you replied, amused as he shoveled one into his mouth. 

“These are pretty good,” he said, swallowing. “But I’ve had better.”

“Hmm,” you thought. “What don’t you like about them?”

“Too grainy,” he said, and you agreed, unable to think of what you were feeling. 

“That’s a good point; I’m using that,” you said, typing it down in your notes. 

“Watch out, I’m going to steal your job,” he joked, and you smirked. 

“Does that mean I get yours?”

“You’d probably do a better job than me right now,” he said, and you frowned, shutting your laptop. 

“You are still a superstar, even when you lose,” you told him earnestly, getting a small smile from him. 

“I think I need you with a headset on to tell me that during the games,” he said, and you laughed. 

“Yeah yeah,” you replied, blushing. “Want to take a walk or something? I need to get out of the house.” 

“Yeah, let’s go.”

The two of you walked down the street and ventured towards the water, chatting about upcoming events and his family coming to visit. You started to get chilly and held your arms briefly before Joe noticed. He pulled his hoodie off with one hand and handed it to you, not even stopping what he was saying. You pulled it on, inhaled the lingering cologne, and sighed. 

“Will you come to dinner with us tomorrow night?” he asked, jolting you back to reality.

“With your parents?” you asked, and he nodded. “Would that not be a little weird?”

“Why would it be weird?” 

“I don't know. I just wouldn’t want them to think we were dating or anything,” you said, confused. Joe frowned at that, but you didn’t have time to analyze it. 

“Ja’marr is coming too,” he said. “You are both my best friends, so I’d like you to meet them.” 

“Okay, if it’s important to you,” you agreed, giving in. Dinner with Joe’s parents. Huh. Sometimes you really didn’t understand why he chose you as a best friend when many people were fighting over it. If only people knew how clingy Mr. Cool was. 

—---------------------------------------------------

Ja’Marr picked you up from your place the next night and the two of you headed to dinner. 

“You look nice,” he commented, and you smiled. You and Ja’Marr had a flirty relationship, but nothing had ever come of it. One time, when you were both very drunk in the offseason, you had made out but it didn’t last long with him backing out, saying that Joe was going to kill him. You had just assumed that Joe didn’t want anyone in the friend group dating in case it got messy, which was understandable. With Ja’marr, you were mostly just attracted to him vs. wanting something more. 

“I still feel weird about this whole thing,” you admitted to him and he gave you a lazy smirk. 

“Please, they’ll love you,” he assured you. 

“That’s not what I’m worried about; I’m amazing,” you said, causing him to laugh. “I just think it’s weird and intimate. Like if my parents were in town, yeah, maybe I wouldn’t mind them meeting you guys at the game or to celebrate in a group after. But I wouldn’t invite you for a small dinner.” 

Ja’Marr gave you a look you couldn’t decipher before laughing to himself. 

“I’ll try not to take offense to that,” he said and you rolled your eyes. 

The restaurant was a nicer one that you had been to before for work. Joe’s parents stood up as you approached the table and warmly greeted you. His mom pulled you into a tight hug, laughing about how excited she was to meet you finally. You shot Ja’Marr a look and found him trying not to laugh. You could tell Joe was embarrassed, which made the situation a little amusing. 

Sitting down beside him, he gave you an easy smile while handing you the drink menu. Joe’s dad jumped into conversation with Ja’Marr about the season while Robin asked you a ton of questions about your job and basically your whole life. You ended up loving his parents; they were the sweetest people. While you might have missed the way that Joe was looking at you the whole dinner, his parents definitely did not. 

“It was so good to meet you y/n,” Robin gushed. “I’m sure we’ll see much more of you in the future.” 

You smiled, confused, while Ja’Marr couldn’t hold back his laugh. Joe’s face turned bright red and his dad chuckled. 

—------------------------------------------------

If you had thought the season was going poorly before it was a million times worse now. It seemed like each week, your two friends were putting up superstar numbers but still losing. After watching them lose by just a point to the Ravens, you clicked the TV off and sighed. Reaching for your phone you texted him a white heart and watched him read it and not reply. He usually would, even after a loss, but this one was tough so you didn’t pay much mind to it. 

As the week went on, you started to feel Joe’s tension about the team bleed into your friendship. He wasn’t answering your calls and had replied to any text you had sent him with just one word. What had really pissed you off though, was that he was supposed to shoot a Thanksgiving promo with you about places that provided free food for those who needed it and he didn’t show. 

“I get that you’re having a tough time right now and while I can live with you being a bad friend I can’t live with you 1. making me look bad professionally and 2. disappointing people making a difference. So give me a call when you figure your shit out,” you ranted to his voicemail. 

You were supposed to fly out for the game this weekend but weren’t sure if you still should. Calling Ja’Marr, you complained about Joe being a dick and that you didn’t know what to do. He assured you that you should still come and that Joe was just hurting because of the season. The best thing you could do was be there for him, even in the shadows. 

The game started out horribly with it being 24-6 leading into halftime. But a different team came out in the third quarter, and you went crazy as the Bengals got ahead. But like the week before, no matter what Joe did, even throwing for over 350 yards, they still lost in the end. You lingered by the locker room after the game and smiled sadly as you saw Ja’Marr first. He wrapped you in a hug, and he was happy to have you there. Joe on the other hand, did not look happy to see you. 

“What are you doing here?” he said coldly, and both you and Ja’Marr flinched. His teammate gave him a weird look, but Joe was just staring at you blankly. 

“I’ve had these tickets since before the season, you know that,” you replied. 

“I didn’t want you to come,” he said and you tried to ignore the hurt you felt. “Did you not get the hint from me ignoring you all week?” 

“Oh, so is that why you stood up the charity?” You bit back. “So that I would ‘get the hint’?”

Joe didn’t say anything, clenching his jaw and Ja’Marr tried to step in. 

“I wanted her to come man,” he said and Joe snapped his head towards his friend. 

“Well just fuck her then and get over it,” he replied and your jaw dropped. Ja”Marr shoved him backward, yelling at him before security intervened. You recovered from your shock and turned around, abruptly leaving the stadium. You called an Uber to take you back to the hotel, and the massive traffic gave you a lot of time to process what had just happened. 

You could understand him being upset over the game, especially since it was so fresh in his mind. But it’s not like you went up to him; he came up to you. This man was supposed to be your best friend, and he basically just called you a whore to your face. This shit was ridiculous. 

30 minutes later, you were walking into the hotel. Ja’Marr had tried calling, but you declined. You called the airline you were flying with to see if there was any chance of flying out early, and you were lucky to snag a seat on the last flight out. You quickly packed up your stuff after changing into a comfier outfit and headed down to the lobby to check out and call a car. 

Turning to head out the door you stopped as you saw Joe walking in, his eyes trained on you. He looked miserable and he made his way towards you slowly. 

“Y/n..” he started, his eyes filling up with tears, but you stopped him from saying anything else. 

“I’m leaving,” you said emotionlessly. He tried to reach out to you, but you flinched back and pain flashed across his face. 

“I need to talk to you y/n,” he begged. “Please don’t leave.” 

“Why would I stay?” You asked softly. “Goodbye, Joe.” 

You left him standing there wondering why it felt like your own heart was breaking into two. 

—-----------------------------------------------

It had been two weeks since then, and you had successfully avoided Joe at all costs. He blew up your phone of course but you have yet to answer. Luckily he hadn’t tried coming to your apartment because he knew you well enough to know that it’d piss you off. 

You were on your way to hang out with Ja’Marr for a group movie night which he promised you that Joe would not be at. You don’t know why you even believed him; Joe’s car was parked in the front driveway and you almost reversed until you saw Ja’Marr waving his arms at you. Stepping out, you crossed your arms, waiting for him. 

“I knew you wouldn’t come if you knew he was here,” he started and you scoffed. 

“You were right.”

“I am miserable because he is y/n,” he pleaded. “I’m sorry but I will be selfish for a minute. He is being a dick at practice to everyone and isn’t throwing me good balls. He’s moody, won’t say a word to me, and won’t leave his house unless necessary. So please let him make it up to you. You two belong together.”

“He called me a whore Ja’Marr!” You exclaimed frustrated and gave you a sympathetic look. 

“I know he did, and that was terrible. I tried to fight him on your behalf,” he said, earning a small smile from you. “God I shouldn’t tell you this but he’s so in love with you it’s insane. He’s hurting and you’re hurting. Please just talk to him.”

“He’s not in love with me,” you said and he just rolled his eyes. 

“Believe what you want but get in there,” he said steering you towards the door. 

The good thing was that there were a few other people here from your friend group, so technically, you didn’t even have to talk to him. He was the first person you saw when you walked in so clearly, this was a coordinated effort between the two friends. 

Joe did look sad, and you wanted to be happy about it, but you couldn’t find it in yourself. He was dressed down in grey sweats and a black T-shirt, his hair looking like he had run his hands through it over and over. His eyes were puffy, and that made your heart clench. 

“Are we ready to start?” One of your other friends called from the living room and you started to walk towards the room but Joe gently grabbed you, pulling you closer to him and letting Ja’Marr pass. 

“Can we talk?” He mumbled quietly to you and you nodded, letting him pull you into the study. You stood with your arms crossed as you looked at him, waiting. 

“I’m sorry y/n. I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “I was hurting so bad and I took it out on you. The one person who has always been there for me.” 

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it Joe,” you said, frustrated. “It’s not like it was just the comment; it was the week leading up to it, missing the event. I can’t be there for you when you don’t let me in.”

You had imagined how this conversation would go multiple times over the past few weeks. You expected an apology and another apology, but you did not expect Joe Burrow to start sobbing in front of you. 

He sunk against the wall and had his head in his hands while he was crying. Your shock wore off, and you knelt down in front of him, moving in between his legs. He looked up and your heart broke at his tear-stained face. 

“What is going on, Joe?” You asked softly, wiping some of his tears with your thumb. 

“I just don’t know what to do,” he whispered. “Everything is going wrong, and I don’t feel like I’m in control. I do everything I can, and it’s still not enough.” 

“Oh Joey,” you murmured, pulling his head into your shoulders. He held on to you tightly as he cried and you ran your hand through his hair gently. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I’m sorry I hurt you; I hated myself the second I said it.” 

“I forgive you Joe,” you told him, looking into his teary eyes. 

“I don’t deserve you; I’m not good enough for you,” he said. “I want to be enough for you.”

You cupped his face gently, making him look at you. Your own eyes started to water at the vulnerability he was showing.

"Joe, you’ve always been enough for me," you whispered. "You don’t have to prove anything. Not to me, not to anyone. I’m here for you, not for what you do or don’t achieve."

His brows furrowed, and he shook his head slightly, his hands moving to hold yours. "You don’t understand, y/n. I don’t just want to be your best friend—I want to be everything to you. And I’ve been so afraid of ruining our relationship that I pushed you away instead."

Your breath caught in your throat. "Joe..."

"I love you," he said, his voice breaking, but his gaze held steady. "I’ve been in love with you for so long, and I didn’t know how to tell you. But pushing you away hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt on the field. I can’t lose you."

For a moment, the weight of his words left you speechless. You searched his face, finding nothing but raw sincerity. Your heart ached, but in the best way, as if it were piecing itself together after being fractured.

"I love you too, Joe," you admitted to him and yourself, a soft smile breaking through the tears on your face. "But you have to let me in. No more shutting me out, no matter how hard things get. We figure it out together, okay?"

His hands tightened around yours, and he nodded, relief washing over his features. "Together. I promise."

You leaned forward, gently kissing his forehead before resting your own against it. The two of you walked out of the study and into the living room, where everyone else was already engrossed in the movie. Ja’Marr looked between the two of you and at your connected hands and gave you a wide smirk. Joe moved to the big armchair and pulled you down with him, and you snuggled into his lap. His arms wrapped around you, and you finally felt content. 

[awearywritersworld]

tell me you don't want me

gojo satoru x reader summary: gojo adds falling in love with his dead best friend's little sister to the list of things that keep him up at night w/c: 1.8k tags/warnings: angst to fluff. gojo takes care of reader when they have a migraine. they watch shark week together, so shark haters beware. arguing, but nothing super harsh. protective!gojo. reader is referred to as a sister but there are no pronouns. gojo is around 27, reader 23. curse words. no out right smut, but a heavily suggestive ending so lets say 18+ a/n: i've been writing purely fluff for gojo, so it seems about time to return to my angst/fluff roots. today's epi made me had me feeling some type of way. may write a part two to this? idk lemme know what you think! masterlist check out my latest work for gojo here

after you arrived at jujutsu high as a first year, everyone wore the same expression when they looked at you, their eyes full of pity and apprehension. you really couldn't blame them though. after what happened with suguru, you were left a shell of yourself, paranoid that you were destined to the same fate as your older brother.

however, the boy that suguru called his best friend held something different in his gaze whenever his eyes fell on you. understanding, maybe? gojo knew that if there was anyone in the world who missed suguru as much as he did, it had to be you.

for most of the year, the two of you really only talked in passing, dancing around a discussion neither of you were brave enough to initiate. then your brother's birthday rolled around and you found yourself drenched in rain, sneaking into the boys' dormitory to knock on gojo satoru's door.

he wasn't surprised to find you standing there.

"that idiot always refused to let me celebrate his birthday," you blurted out, damp hair sticking to your forehead.

he laughed. it was just a breath, but it was still genuine. "right? he couldn't stand being fussed over for one day."

and as you both stood there, rain pattering against the window, you felt months of unspoken tension melt away. "well, come in. i bought cake."

after that day, gojo took on the roll of your older brother and he really leaned into it. flicking your forehead to annoy you, threatening anyone he thought had a crush on you, giving you advice whenever he deemed you needed it.

you weren't sure if he was aware, even after all these years, that he'd saved you— pulled you away from the brink. you became like the little sister he never had, while he tried his best to fill the hole suguru had left in your heart.

gojo spends more time in your apartment than his own, so it's no surprise when he barges in one afternoon, singing out your name (rather terribly, one might add).

"i have a migraine, 'toru," you groan from the couch, pulling the blanket up over your head as the bright light from behind his figure worsens your discomfort. all of your blinds are shut, the curtains pulled together. "can you please close the door?"

he hums, stepping inside and pulling the door shut quietly. "you seem to be getting them a lot lately."

"probably because i spend so much time with you," you whine facetiously.

he gasps, hand clutching at his heart. "i come all the way here to visit you, only to be ridiculed. my devastation is untellable."

after grabbing a washcloth from the linen closet, he pads over to the kitchen sink. you peer at him from under the blanket as he runs it under cold water, noting how the veins in his forearms become more prominent once he wrings it out.

you're laying across the entirety of the couch, but you scoot away from the edge and he situates himself in the space beside your hip, his body facing you. the corner of his mouth is turned down, evidence of the worry swirling in his chest. he presses the back of his fingers to your forehead before folding the cloth neatly and laying it there.

"you should mention the migraines to shoko," he suggests earnestly.

"they just flare up sometimes, you know that. it's really not a big deal."

"yeah, maybe.. but i still worry about you."

you can't help but notice how close he is and while it feels casual, it also feels... intimate? the cold cloth does bring some relief to your head, though you'd have preferred it if his hand had remained there instead.

"have you eaten?" he questions after a moment, pulling you from your thoughts.

"not yet."

"then i'll go pick up some food," he offers, rising to his feet. "do you need anything else-"

"no," you say a little too quickly, your fingers wrapping around his wrist. "i mean.. can you just stay?"

he suddenly looks very smug. "oh, what's this? are you sure spending more time with me won't make your head feel worse?"

you attempt to roll your eyes but the movement sends a sharp pain through your skull, causing you to grumble. "don't make me hurt you satoru. i was joking."

"i know," he smirks, decently self satisfied. "but you do have to eat, so-"

"there's leftover egg drop in the fridge, can you just warm that up for me please?"

"'course! anything for you, (y/n)-chan!"

his tone makes it sound as if he's teasing you, but he knows it's the truth. he's painfully aware that there isn't a thing you could ask of him that he'd deny. he tries not to think about that though, because he can't bring himself to admit what it all means.

once your soup is ready, he joins you on the couch. you move to sit up and while that makes plenty of room for him, he still lifts your legs, sitting so that they lay across his lap. one of his hands is resting on your shin, the other on your knee.

"shark week?" he suggests as you reach for the remote.

you nod eagerly. "yes."

the two of you have never fought before.

well, maybe that's not entirely true. it isn't uncommon for the both of you to argue over video games, the latest chapter of a manga, or other things of that nature. but you and gojo have never had a genuine disagreement.

that is, until you mention wanting to challenge a decision made by the higher ups. he's well aware of how they deal with people they deem troublesome, so he can't help the vexation that bubbles up in his chest at your words.

"absolutely not," he tells you. his voice is low, not one hint of amusement to be found.

the tone leaves you narrowing your eyes, and you sound a bit misbelieving when you ask, "what do you mean 'absolutely not'?"

after everything that happened with geto, the higher ups have been wary of you. honestly, they're probably just looking for an excuse to pull another stunt like the detention center and he can't risk that. he can't risk losing you.

rather than express any part of that sentiment, however, he just goes all stone faced and vague. it's weird, so naturally it's followed by a bit of back and forth that goes nowhere, the conversation growing unreasonably volatile with each passing second.

why can't you just listen to him? why can't you give him the benefit of the doubt? he's earned that by now, hasn't he?

"i don't understand!" you hiss, your chest heaving with indignation. "why are you acting like this?"

because i love you. because i need you. because you mean more to me than everything else in this world put together.

he can't possibly say that though.. can't lay his shame bare for you to see.. can't bring himself to admit the feelings he has for you.

he's in love with dead best friend's little sister and it's wrong. it keeps him up at night. claws away at his self respect.

"i'll take care of it," he promises, sounding a bit defeated. "just please stay out of it."

"quit treating me like i'm a child, satoru. you're not my father."

your assertion makes the air in the room shift, and the feeling that forms in the pit of gojo's stomach is not unlike a cord being pulled too taut before snapping.

"so what am i then, huh? what am i to you?" he interrogates, taking a step toward you.

his eyes burn with intensity and the conviction in his voice is dizzying, especially since it's meant only for you. he immediately notices the way you stiffen, suddenly unable to meet his eye.

he swallows thickly, any restraint he has left ebbing away once he hears your small, nervous voice. "'toru, w... what do you-"

you're cut off when he takes another step in your direction, your back meeting with the wall after you attempt to maintain the space between the both of you.

one of his palms presses to the wall beside your head, though the other remains at his side. he doesn't want to trap you there, not when he still doesn't have a clear idea of how you're feeling.

his breath fans across your face, your mind struggling to process what was happening. you whisper his name, unsure of how else to respond.

"i want you." he nearly chokes on the words, the pain of admitting them evident in his voice. "want you more than anything."

and he does. he wants you more than the sleep he never gets. more than he wants to honor suguru. more than he wants to be a good man.

his head dips down, your breath catching in your throat when his lips find the spot on your jaw just below your ear.

"please, tell me to stop," he begs, sending a shiver down your spine.

your hands move to his chest, the rise and fall of it uneven and sporadic. god, you make him so fucking weak it's almost pathetic.

his lips shift to your cheek, closer to your mouth, and his hand reaches up to cradle the other side of your face. he sounds irrevocably desperate now, "tell me you don't want me."

your heart's beating so loudly in your ear drums, you can hardly hear yourself speak. "satoru, please."

"please what?" he asks, and for a moment you're unsure of the answer.

you try to open your mouth once more, but the words are lodged in your throat. confusion and frustration rattle around in your head, making it difficult to string together your thoughts. finally you just give in, grabbing his face between your hands and pulling his lips against your own.

he let's out a strangled noise, some unknowable mix of pleasure and relief. his hands land on your hips at once, greedily pulling your body against his own.

his lips are chapped, but they're perfect in the way they move against yours. the kiss isn't clumsy, nor is it unsure. it's ardent and comfortable, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

you pull away first, each of you holding the other's gaze. you're both hazy eyed, your mouths curved into giddy, lovesick grins.

gojo doesn't hesitate when you glance down at his lips, your words easing that bitter self loathing he'd been enduring for longer than he cares to admit. "if you want me... then make me yours."

taglist: @torusmochi @moonmalice