#how to clean keyboard interest

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Brother's Best Friend - Part 12

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

A/N: Trying to get back into these two. Did we miss them?

Summary: The trials and tribulations of falling for your brother's best friend.

CW: mild angst, swearing, fluff

WC: 2600+

Part 1 | Masterlist

“So…” Jake pauses and purses his lips to suppress a mischievous smile. “When did you start liking me?”

You look down at your lap where his head has been resting for the last five minutes. “Did I tell you I like you?”

Jake meets your gaze and snorts. He reaches up to take your hand off the keyboard of your laptop and brings it down over his chest. “Indirectly,” he admits.

You roll your eyes, recalling when you had expressed to Bradley – in Jake’s presence – how ‘your guy’ makes you feel. You pull your hand out of his grasp and look back up at the screen in front of you. “I have to work, Jake.”

“You’re too hardworking,” Jake responds with a whine.

You shake your head with a grin. “Such a dreadful habit, I know. I’m working on it – wait. Damn, I see what you mean –”

Jake starts chuckling and his head tickles your bare thighs. “You’re so fucking cute.”

You press your lips together as your smile broadens. “When did you start liking me?” you ask.

Jake releases a heavy sigh and sits up. “Alright, enough chitchat. Get to work.”

You watch him rise to his feet and make his way into the kitchen, curious why he so abruptly decided to change the subject. “Got any plans this weekend?” you ask casually, wondering if he’ll finally ask you out on a date. The two of you have been sneaking around for a while, but your only outings together have been with Bradley, so you couldn’t even hold hands. Thus far, you’ve assumed that Jake is just waiting for the right moment to speak with Bradley before the two of you make your relationship official but, as time goes on, you become increasingly skeptical that Jake actually intends to come clean.

Jake shrugs. “Not really. Just hangin’ with your bro.”

You try your best not to frown. “Sounds fun.”

Jake walks back over to you and sets a bowl of strawberries on the table by your laptop. You glance up at him inquisitively and he responds with, “You haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

You give him a smile. “Neither have you.”

He nods. “Which is how I know you’re hungry.”

“Thanks,” you say. “As soon as I’m through with this part, I’ll move all this shit and we can have some lunch.” You gesture at the pile of literature currently cluttering your workspace.

Jake takes a seat adjacent to you at the table and lets out another sigh. “I don’t know,” he says.

You shift your gaze from your computer to look in his direction. “Don’t know what? If you want lunch?” You pick up a strawberry and pop it into your mouth.

Jake is observing you carefully and you stop chewing because the attention makes you uncomfortable. “I don’t know when…” he says, pausing as though he isn’t sure how to continue. “When, uh… I don’t know at what point” – he exhales sharply – “I have no clue when I f – when I started to see you as more than just Bradley’s sister. As more than a friend.”

You raise your eyebrows at him, your mouth still full of half-chewed strawberry.

“I think I just realized, at one point, that I’d rather spend time with you than with anyone else,” he admits.

You finish chewing awkwardly before responding with, “Huh.”

Jake stares at you expectantly, as though you should have something to add.

But you’re not really sure what to say. You’ve been crushing on Jake for an embarrassingly long time and he does not have clearance for that kind of classified intel, especially since his interest in you is far more recent. What does he want, anyway? A pat on the back for finally figuring it out?

“Your turn,” he says, clearing his throat and leaning back in his chair with an air of confidence.

You purse your lips as though you’re in thought. “Not sure,” you say vaguely.

Jake narrows his eyes. “Not sure? Or don’t want to say?”

You meet his gaze tentatively. “I probably liked you before you liked me.”

Jake watches you with a slight grin. “In that case, you were very good at hiding it.”

…

You arrive at the pub already slightly tipsy after pre-drinking at your friend’s house. In fact, you’re drunk enough to not give two shits that Jake has, once again, decided to spend his Saturday night with Bradley. This time, he didn’t even invite you along.

Once inside, you head straight for the bar; no sense in wasting time waiting for a table. You grab a drink and take a look around the crowded establishment. That’s when you see him.

Jake fucking Seresin is sitting at a table near the back – not with your brother. You stare at him – and his female companion – in horror for a few moments, letting the scene sink in. Wondering if you’re in the wrong for being shocked. Are the two of you even exclusive? This has never actually been discussed. But one thing is certain: Jake lied, which makes you sick to your stomach.

You slide off your barstool and, cocktail in hand, you make your way to the little table in the back where your supposed boyfriend – or whatever he is – sits entertaining another woman. It’s not long before Jake notices your presence because you’re making quite a spectacle on your way over as you furiously skirt every person in your path.

Jake looks uncomfortable and that satisfies you greatly. “Hey,” he says when you arrive.

You gape at him. “Hey?” you exclaim in outrage.

“Uh,” Jake stalls for a moment. He turns to his date and says, “This is Bradley’s sister.”

The woman opposite Jake smiles at you but you’re too busy glaring at Jake to acknowledge her. “That’s all you want to say about me?”

Jake watches you pointedly. “What else do you want me to say about you?” He looks back at his date and lets out a nervous chuckle.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Seresin?” you shriek, slamming your stemmed glass onto their table so aggressively that your sour apple martini splashes over the rim.

Jake jerks back to avoid getting wet and then looks up at you in alarm. “What’s the matter with you?”

You shake your head at him in disappointment and then turn abruptly to leave. You expect Jake to grab your hand, or follow you out, but he does neither. In fact, you make it all the way back to the bar before you realize that Jake is not even looking in your direction. You see him laughing together with his female friend, as though they both just witnessed something absurd and worthy of repeating in the future for a good chuckle.

“Hey, isn’t that your brother’s aviator buddy?” your friend says, nodding toward the back of the pub.

You roll your eyes and then turn toward the bar, realizing you left your drink at Jake’s table.

“He’s kind of hot,” you friend continues. “But he’s got fuckboy written all over him.”

You close your eyes and sigh. You have nobody to blame but yourself. You know Jake. What in the world made you think he would become a different person if he were with you?

…

The following day, you wake up past noon with a debilitating migraine. You hear Bradley and Jake’s voices drift up from the kitchen and groan. You’re not in the mood to face Jake after the events of the previous evening. You ended up going home shortly after confronting him and you have no idea where he ended up. Probably in bed, and probably not alone.

You get dressed unhurriedly, dizzy from the pain and, on your way downstairs, you grip the banister tightly just in case. The kitchen is excruciatingly bright, and you cringe upon entering, shielding your face from the open window like a vampire.

“Oh, hey sleepyhead!” your brother greets you.

You grunt in response and head straight for the coffee pot. “Is this fresh?” you ask.

“Nope!” Bradley replies cheerily.

You pour yourself a mug anyway and put it in the microwave, turning to face the two of them while your coffee warms.

Jake meets your gaze with a stoic expression.

“How was your night?” Bradley asks with a grin, clearly seeing that you’re hungover.

“Fine,” you say monotonously.

Bradley raises his eyebrows. “It’s the enthusiasm for me,” he says with a smirk, looking over at Jake.

Jake, however, ignores him and grabs his jacket from the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “You ’bout ready, Bradshaw? I ain’t got all day.”

“Alright, alright,” Bradley says. “Let me get my stuff.”

Bradley jogs over to the staircase and runs up to grab his duffel bag. Meanwhile, you are deliberately avoiding Jake’s gaze as you lean your back into the kitchen counter. Jake stuffs his hands into his pockets and is also not looking at you. When Bradley returns a few minutes later, disrupting the silence with a melodic whistling, the two of you have not moved an inch from where you’d been standing when he left. Even though the microwave has beeped at you twice.

“What’s with you two?” he asks, pausing in the doorway.

“Nothing,” Jake responds curtly. “Let’s go.”

Bradley glances between the two of you. “Okay,” he says slowly, his gaze lingering on you in particular. “See you later, sis,” he says.

You wave a distracted hand in his direction and head for the couch with your coffee, nearly bumping into Jake as you cross paths because neither of you is looking at the other.

“Sorry,” Jake mutters, stepping aside to let you pass. His hand goes up instinctively to guide you but he catches himself before letting it rest on your arm.

“It’s fine,” you say, wavering slightly on the spot. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment and press a couple of fingers into your temple.

“You okay?” he asks, his eyebrows converging as he tries to catch your gaze.

“I said I’m fine.” You sigh, trying to walk around him.

“Seresin, you coming, or what?” Bradley calls from the foyer.

Jake hesitates as you finally pass him, and then yells back. “I’ll meet you there!”

Bradley waits a moment as though he’s still trying to figure out what’s going on. Then you hear the front door open and Bradley shout, “Don’t be late!” as he exits the house.

Jake trails after you into the living room and, when you lower yourself onto the couch, he crouches down in front of you, placing a hand on your knee. “Migraine?” he asks.

You nod slowly so as not to exacerbate the pain.

Jake’s hand gives your leg a soft squeeze. “Have you eaten?”

You cringe. “Please don’t talk to me about food right now,” you beg.

“Did you take anything?”

You shake your head. “I’m out.”

Jake gets to his feet. “I’ll go pick up some meds for you,” he says.

You glance up at him miserably. “You’re going to be late.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he responds, already on his way out.

…

Jake returns not ten minutes later with your medication and a bag full of snacks. “I heard dark chocolate is good for migraines,” he says, holding out a block for you as you swallow your pills.

“I’m not hungry, Jake,” you say weakly, closing your eyes and lying back down on the couch.

Jake sighs, sitting down on the floor beside you and starting to unwrap the chocolate. “You need to eat something,” he says, breaking off a piece. “I also have gummy worms and popcorn.”

You open your eyes. “I love gummy worms,” you whisper.

Jake grins. “I know,” he whispers back.

You take the chocolate square from his hand and he busies himself with opening the bag of gummy worms while you let the chocolate melt in your mouth. A moment later, he hands you a gummy worm and you stick it between your teeth and bite. “Oh my god, it’s so good,” you moan. The motion of chewing helps alleviate some of the pain in your temple and you sigh blissfully, closing your eyes.

Jake leans his back into the wall adjacent the couch and pops a gummy worm into his mouth. For a while, the two of you sit in silence. Then, he says, “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” you say.

Jake shakes his head and you can sense his irritation without even looking at him. “This isn’t going to work if you don’t trust me.”

You turn to give him a flat look. “Would you trust you, Seresin?”

Jake squares his jaw. “I have never given you a reason not to trust me.”

“You lied to me! You said you were meeting Bradley!”

“I was! He was running late.”

You watch him sourly. “And you just happened to pick up a girl while you were waiting?”

Jake returns your bitter glare. “Is that actually what you think?”

“I don’t know what to think,” you say, sitting upright to look him in the eye. “You weren't exactly forthcoming with an explanation.”

Jake sets the gummy worms on the couch and gets to his feet. “The girl was there for Bradley. He was running late. End of story.”

“You couldn’t tell me that yesterday?”

“She’s seeing Bradley! And he doesn’t know about us. It’s not like I can say, ‘Oh, by the way, I’m actually dating your boyfriend’s little sister and that’s why she’s acting like a nutcase. Brb.’”

You fold your arms, sulking. Did you consider the possibility that the woman Jake was sitting with wasn’t his date? Briefly. But you were already annoyed with Jake and that, combined with your less than sober state, was apparently a recipe for disaster. “I guess I don’t trust you,” you say with a shrug, even though this statement isn’t altogether true.

Jake places his hands on his hips, exhaling slowly. “Why?” he asks, sounding exasperated.

You stay silent and continue to brood.

Jake pinches the bridge of his nose and grimaces as though this conversation is wearing him out. Then, he lets out another sigh and crouches before you again, trying to catch your gaze as he places his hands in your lap, palms up. “Why?” he asks calmly, waiting for you to join hands with him.

You do. “Well, why would I?” you say quietly, hesitating before you continue. “What is this, even? What are we? Do you know? Because I don’t.”

Jake’s eyebrows knit together. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, why haven’t you told Bradley yet? Is it because you’re not sure you want to make this official? Is it because it’s just a fling so why bother?” You cringe inwardly, hating how insecure you sound.

Jake stares at you in wonder, as though this line of thinking has never even crossed his mind.

“Like, are we even exclusive?”

Jake’s eyes widen and he blinks at you in awe. “We fucking better be,” he retorts, his hold on your hands tightening slightly.

“Well, how would I know that?” you exclaim.

Jake brings his hands up to his face and rubs his eyes. “Jesus fuck, how would you not know that?”

You scoff at him. “Because you’ve never once been in an exclusive relationship! Not while I’ve known you, anyway. Do you even know how?”

Jake’s hands slide down his face and stay over his mouth as he gapes at you. When his hands finally drop back into your lap, you can see that he’s got a small smile on his face. “You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he says finally.

You lower your gaze, not exactly comforted considering he still has not addressed your main concern: Bradley.

Jake stands up and pulls you up off the couch. He puts his arms around you and you rest your head against one of his giant shoulders, allowing him to cradle you lovingly.

“Why haven’t you told Bradley?” you mutter into his shirt.

Jake pulls away from you and runs a hand through his hair uneasily. “I’m scared, Baby B,” he admits. “I’m scared he’s gonna make me choose.”

Read Part 13

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[charliemwrites]

Mafia au with Price perspective

Content: Implied Violence

John, for the life of him, can’t believe he ever ran SpecGru without you.

It’s a hit to his pride to admit it, certainly. That an outsider has discovered a small conspiracy within his own organization less than three months into employment. That, apart from even that, he’s never been less scattered, having someone right by his side remembering details, appointments, bits of information.

Morning smells like Earl Grey and your perfume now. Steam mixing with whatever you’ve spritzed for the day, his own little aroma therapy. Revitalizing after however late the previous night dragged him out.

In general, you’re like a breath of fresh air. A smiley little charm of color and delicacy in his world of saturated shadows, blood and brutality.

Clean-cut dresses with patterned tights, soft-knit scarves. Lace accents and modest stilettos. Thin, sparkly jewelry and smart makeup. The scent of you drowns out the lingering burn of gunpowder; or maybe just transforms it into something heady.

John lingers on your hair. Smooth ponytails, tight coifs, intricate braids. Likes when it’s loose enough to brush you shoulders and neck, a little bounce to it as you toddle in and out of his office.

You’re gorgeous, he knows it like a gun in his hand or the stench of fear in the air. Has encountered (and indulged) in more than his share of stunning women. Women with beautiful smiles, and bright laughter, and sweet voices. Cunning women, too. Women who could outfox all but his best on any given day.

You have all of that in spades, though you’re not the first.

The difference, he thinks, is your sincerity. You’re never anything but honest with him. Even when you maybe shouldn’t be. Not that you share your opinion every time you have one, but if he asks for it, you’ll answer without pulling punches.

Respectful, always. Polite. But scalpels are elegant tools as dangerous as any dagger. You’re not cold by any means, but you’re made of steel. Precise and implacable in some ways. Have never hesitated too look him in the eye and cheerfully explain why he’s wrong.

That, he knows, is a rare commodity.

“I understand this is time sensitive Mister Graves, but raising your voice is not going to open Mister Price’s schedule.”

Your voice goes silky when you get like this. A finely draped, overly pleasant “no” in each word. A wall is still a wall no matter how finely it’s painted.

You’ve just gotten your nails done again, glossy wine red tap-tap-tapping over your customized keyboard. Whatever Philip is saying on the other end does not seem to be impressing you. Soap and Gaz are trying not to snicker. You shoot them an amused look.

“Well, he’s booked every morning for the next two weeks,” you continue.

John is not, in fact, booked every morning for the next two weeks. There are two mornings with two hours open and you’re serenely looking at them on your computer screen. He doesn’t correct you, interested to see how this plays out. You know he hates Philip and are gleefully taking advantage of that fact.

“Well, Mister Graves, a lot of people have time sensitive issues to bring to Mister Price,” you explain, a touch condescending now. “I’m afraid I can’t reschedule them just because you have… a trip to Glasgow, is it?”

You don’t sound impressed. Neither is John. You clear your throat, arch your eyebrows at him. Put up three fingers. He nods.

“I can schedule you in on the 3rd in the evening. Your assistant said you’ll be back by then.”

You blink, an almost smug curve to your lips at whatever is said. A pleasant shiver runs down John’s spine. Philip will just have gotten in then - a full day of travel after whatever business he’s been up to will put him at a disadvantage.

“Well, I’m afraid Mister Price’s next availability won’t be until the… 8th. So shall we schedule something for the 3rd? I can always call if he has a cancellation.”

A pause. Your eyes narrow into a mean little smile at nothing in particular. Practically glowing with satisfaction. Without your attention on him, he shifts a bit.

“Of course, Mister Graves,” you hum. “I can forward your people the details. Have a lovely day now.”

Soap and Gaz start laughing the moment you hand up. You huff at them in amusement, shaking your head, then turn to John.

“Was there anything you needed, sir?” You ask, syrupy sweet.

John snorts and finally approaches your desk, leaning his hip against the edge as he crosses his arms. You tilt your head to give him your full attention, a stray curl falling against your jaw.

“Since you seem to be on rampage,” he says, “I need you to get a reservation for Friday at Muse.”

You blink at him. “Muse? Sir, that’s… don’t they book that place out months in advance?”

He smirks. “Just use my name, luv. I’m sure you’ll have the rest under control.”

You don’t look convinced, but you slide your sticky pad over - light purple clouds, now. With a pink glitter pen.

“How many and what time, sir?”

“Six for eight o’clock.”

You hum as you scrawl it down, pretty round letters that shimmer under the office lights.

“Before you go,” you say as you set the sticky pad aside. “I have those inventory logs from the docks - as well as the incident report from security that evening.”

You pluck up a neat stack of papers, held together by a star-shaped paperclip. Already he can see pink highlighter on the first page, a little memo-note summarizing information for quick review at the top. Somewhere within, you’ve attached a pink tab to something.

“I’ve highlighted anything in the original shipment that wasn’t found in the inventory log,” you explain, tapping at one of them.

He hums, skims the summary, then starts rifling through the papers. Will never admit how much he appreciates the thoroughness, even if he’s comb through every detail himself just to be sure nothing has been missed.

“Oh, also,” you add, spinning the glitter pen between clever fingers, “I think we should maybe set up a camera near that back entrance to the warehouse.”

He pauses. The back entrance where they do the more gruesome aspects of “business.” Odd that you would suggest that.

“Why’s that?”

You hum. “Well, I’m no narc, but I heard from someone who works over there that one of the shipping guys smokes weed with his cousin in that area. Maybe someone saw them and realized that’s a good way in.”

You shrug, leaning back in your seat again. The computer dings, calling your attention. John shoots Soap a glance, who nods and quietly steps out. You don’t seem to notice, clicking your tongue at whatever you see.

“Nicely done, luv,” he says, voice warm in his chest. You beam at him, pleased as always when he recognizes your hard work. “I’ll call if I need anything else.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply.

Twenty minutes later, you tap lightly at the open door to his office.

“Got the reservation!” You announce, a funny little smile on your face. “They were so nice about it too. What are you, some kind of mafia boss?”

He chuckles at your joke, shaking his head.

How did he ever manage all this without you?

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Masterlist

[annwrites]

exactly what he needs, pt. 4 ♡ ⋆｡˚

— pairing: nate jacob x fem!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: nate & you have breakfast together, made by you. he then takes you grocery shopping, & later in the week, he finally asks you to be his!

— tags: cute lil domestic moments, you wearing nate's jersey, meeting the parents day 1, first kiss

— tw: dollification (mans isn't even trying to hide it anymore, he straight-up is tying bows in your hair now), eating, snooping, it being implied that nate has already thought about one day baby-trapping you if push-comes-to-shove, misogyny (he's so mean to cassie), threatening, f receiving oral, emotional manipulation, possessiveness

— word count: 11,661

— a/n: reader uses pads bc i use pads & we are all about self-inserts around here (i never learned how to use tampons, don't judge me). honestly, idk how nate would feel about pads. like, on the one hand, i can see him as seeing them as more "unsanitary", but also preferring it if reader is still a virgin. tbh, he prob just tries to pretend periods don't exist, & doesn't want to hear about it if you're on yours, apart from a slight heads-up & being informed once everything down there is back to normal.

i hope this doesn't seem like things are moving too fast in reader & nate already getting together, but tbf, nate & cassie had hung out for what? prob at most a couple hrs when fezco beat his ass, & then the boy is lying in the hospital thinking he's in love & wants to have babies with her. i say it's on-par for his character lol.

The next morning after your day together is the first time Nate ever shoots you a text. 

A simple Good morning, sweetheart.

You stare at it for around ten minutes, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. You type up a reply, then delete it. Then type up another and backspace the entirety of it as well.

Finally, you press send on a simple Good morning. (:

Nate: Any plans for today?

You: Might clean the house a bit, then go grocery shopping.

You watch as three little dots dance on your screen, then suddenly disappear. You then suppose you’ve not supplied an incredibly interesting answer.

You toss your phone down on the bed, deciding to finally get up for the day. It’s nearly fifteen minutes later when you check your texts again and see that Nate replied…ten minutes ago.

Nate: How do you get your groceries home?

You: There’s a store not too far from here. If I don’t have very many, I usually just carry them as I walk. If I have quite a few, sometimes I take the bus.

Speaking of which, you need to check the schedule for it today and plan accordingly. That is, until Nate replies. 

Nate: I can drive you there and back. I don’t mind.

You begin to type, telling him that’s completely unnecessary, but you’re not fast enough.

A text from him pops up: omw

You throw yourself back on your bed, groaning. You’ve just woken up.

You hadn’t planned to go to the store for perhaps a few more hours. You want to at least wake up first. Eat something, then clean. Even if the house is already essentially spotless, but you have a cleaning schedule you try to adhere to to keep it that way. And to give yourself something to do on the weekends in your spare time.

Which is, apart from tutoring, all you really have.

You decide to just stay in your PJs—a pair of soft blue shorts with clouds on them and a white t-shirt.

You’ve already washed your face and brushed your teeth, as well as your hair—which is now in a bun atop your head.

You make your bed, opening your curtains, letting the morning sunshine into your room before you go to the living room and flip the lock on the door to let Nate in.

You then head to the kitchen to decide on what to make for breakfast. You’re torn between eggs and bacon, or waffles, with perhaps a small side of French toast, when you hear a truck roar into your driveway.

You’re torn from your debating over breakfast by a knock on the door.

“It’s open!”

Nate enters the house, slipping off his shoes, closing the door behind him. 

“I’m in the kitchen,” you call softly.

He comes to stand in the entryway. “Want me to give you a few while you get ready?”

He surely hopes you’re not the type who goes to the store in her pajamas, at least.

You turn around to look at him, leaning back against the counter behind you, crossing your arms over your chest. “Actually, I was planning on going later this afternoon. After cleaning. And eating… I haven’t had breakfast yet,” you say sheepishly.

“Shit,” he hangs his head for a moment, then looks at you again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fuck up your plans for the day. I just didn’t have anything to do this morning, so I thought I’d run over and help you out.”

You shake your head. “It’s ok. I appreciate it. You don’t have to stay if you have somewhere else you need to be.”

“I don’t. Not until this evening, at least.”

His dipshit dad wants everyone to have a family dinner together, while Nate wants to do anything else.

Like be here with you.

“Have you eaten yet?”

He has—a breakfast burrito maybe an hour ago. “No, do you want to go somewhere and get breakfast?”

“I could make us something instead?” You turn back around, opening the fridge again. “Any requests?”

He’s quiet for a moment, just taking you and this moment both in. You, still in your pajamas, having just rolled out of bed a little while ago, standing in the kitchen in the early-morning light, offering to cook for him. It’s all so…domestic. And a warm feeling forms in his chest at it—imaging this as his home with you. Imagining you’re both married and your kids are still asleep in the other room. 

You glance back to him.

He shakes his head to clear it. “I’m sorry, I’ve just never done—had this before.”

“What?”

“My-” he stops himself before he can say ‘girlfriend’. “A girl cooking for me.”

Your brows furrow. “Really? Neither Cassie or Maddy ever did?”

He chuckles. “I honestly don’t think of either of them know how.”

“That’s sad,” you state simply, before turning back around. “So, do you want bacon and eggs, or waffles, pancakes…I can do French toast?”

“Whatever you want to do is fine with me.” He likes that you know how to make so many things. That you want to do so for him. He’d chosen right with you. 

You turn around yet again. “You’re my guest, so you get to pick.”

He smirks, shrugging. “Bacon and eggs is fine with me.”

“How do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled works.”

You nod, then start pulling out cookware.

Nate had stood to the side, watching as you worked, occasionally sipping on a mug of black coffee—you’d put some on just after having gotten up. He’d asked more than once if you wanted help as he watched you flit about the kitchen, but you’d only smiled and shook your head.

Finally, once breakfast is ready, you make the both of you a plate and carry them into the dining room, sitting his plate on one side of the table and yours on the other.

You take your seat before he can bother pulling it out for you. He tries not to let it irk him. He tells himself it’s because it’s a habit, since you’re in your own home. You’re not used to being catered to. But neither is he.

Thankfully, Nate had gone for a run after eating earlier, so he’s able to clean his plate. He doesn’t want your feelings hurt—for you to feel insulted—by him not eating every last bite. And it had been rather good, actually.

“You’re a good cook.” 

You look up to him, beaming. “Thank you, I’m glad you liked it. Do you want anything else?”

He leans back, shaking his head. “I don’t think I can fit anymore.”

You nod, standing, taking both your plates into the kitchen, placing them in the dishwasher.

You return to the dining room and remain silent as Nate types a message out on his phone, looking up to you as he tucks it back into his pocket.

“I’ll get dressed and then we can head out.”

He stands. “It’s warm out.”

You smile. “Thanks for the forecast.”

He smirks. “You could—if you want to—wear the skirt and top I bought you.”

You’d hung everything up to dry last night and had truthfully forgotten about all of it until his just-now reminding you.

“Unless you don’t like them?”

You shake your head. “No, I do. I just…I wish you had asked me first.”

“Would you have let me get them for you if I had?”

You wrap your arms around yourself. “Probably not.”

“Then I made the right decision to make it a surprise.” 

He heads in the direction of your bedroom, then, and you trail after him. “I just don’t understand why.”

You feel stupid, speaking to the back of his head.

He comes to sit in the swing-chair in the corner of your room. “Why what?”

“Why you bought me everything you did. I looked up the necklace, how much it costs…”

He’s unphased by it, knowing he’d spent well over a grand on you yesterday. But in truth, it hadn’t been nearly the amount he’d wanted to spend.

He'd wanted—more than anything—to take you into a lingerie store and blow a ton of cash on you there, watching you try on everything he asked you to. But he knew better. For now, at least.

“So I wanted to get you a few nice things. You act like it’s some sort of terrible thing for me to have done.”

You sit on the corner of your bed, facing him. “I’m very grateful. For all of it. I just…I hope you don’t think you need to buy my friendship, Nate. I’m not going anywhere.”

It has nothing to do with friendship. But he can’t tell you just how much it turns him on: spoiling you, buying you expensive things, the idea of you being covered in him—from shoes, to clothes, to jewelry, to perfume and more. It gets him off—makes getting off easier, in truth. Until he has your body to do that with, that is, at least.

He leans forward. “I’m glad to hear that. But you don’t have to worry—I never thought I did.”

He glances to your closet. “Do you want to get dressed?”

“I should probably check to make sure everything is dry. I hung everything up last night.”

You leave your bedroom, heading in the direction of the laundry room. 

Meanwhile, Nate stands, finally having a moment alone in your room. He wrenches open the drawer on your bedside table and is met with a couple remotes, a book, a few hair ties, a charging cable…nothing of interest. So he closes it.

Heart pounding, he peeks out your bedroom door—you’re nowhere to be seen—and he then opens the top drawer of your dresser next. Ever-organized, your panties are all in individual cubbies—all cotton, some solid colors, others with patterns printed across them, like small flowers and stars. He picks up a bra. White, with a bit of lace, a small bow in the front, another sage-green. Everything utterly virginal. He digs, but finds not one sex toy.

Perhaps you have them elsewhere. 

He jumps when he hears a door close. He steps into the hall a moment and sees the bathroom door is now shut. 

He returns to your room, getting on the floor and looking under your bed, where there’s only a couple vacuum-sealed bags full of clothes. He then quietly opens your closet. On the top shelf are a few boxes. He pulls down a shoe box, which, unsurprisingly, has a pair of brand new tennis shoes inside. He puts it back, pulling down another.

And it’s full of old Polaroids. They’re all from when you were younger. You and your dad, another of the two of you, a photo of a butterfly, another of a dog looking up at the camera, and he nearly drops the box when he finds a picture of the two of you. The pair of you can’t be more than six or seven-years-old, both of you smiling toothy grins up at the camera.

He flips it over. Written in faded blue ink on the back, it reads “Nate + Y/N ‘05”. He pockets the picture, putting the lid back on the box and setting it back in your closet. 

He stops snooping and sits back in his previous seat, unable to remember the picture ever having been taken. He wonders if you do.

When you finally emerge from the bathroom, Nate is still sitting in the corner of your room, his head leaned back and eyes closed, hands folded in his lap.

You silently sit on the edge of your bed, folding your legs over one another, draping your new pink skirt over them. You don't want to wake him, so just as you begin to consider changing back, closing your door and cleaning the house while he rests, he slowly opens his eyes.

"If you'd like to take a nap, you can."

He shakes his head, looking you over. You look perfect. For the most part. "Don't want to wear your necklace today?"

You glance to the robin's-egg colored box on top of your dresser. In truth, you're a bit paranoid about wearing something so expensive. What if the chain breaks and by the time you realize, it's long-gone?

You then look back to him, watching as he stands, opens the small box, then removes the necklace inside.

He comes to sit down behind you, slipping the chain around your neck, fastening it into place.

He then begins to tug the hairband from your ponytail.

You half-turn your head back toward him. "What're you-"

"Do you mind if I do your hair for you?"

You're starting to wonder if Nate has some hidden interest in hair-styling.

"I...I guess not."

He slips your hairband free, it coming to rest on his wrist along with the one he'd taken from you yesterday.

You sit there silently, enjoying the feeling of someone else's fingers in your hair once again, your cheeks growing warm as you feel him pull one side of your hair into a pigtail—something you're not quite sure about, but you decide to only make a judgement once he's finished.

He then does the same with the other side, smoothing some hair down your back, before gripping both your upper arms. "Done."

You stand, walking over to the mirror set atop your dresser and inspecting the half-up, half-down style. One pigtail on either side, the rest of your hair against your back.

"I think you look really pretty like that," he says from the bed behind you.

Who knew the star-quarterback had hidden hair-dressing talents.

You turn back around to him. "So when do I get to do your hair?"

He raises a brow.

"I could put clips and bows and ribbons-"

"Do you have ribbons?"

He...he can't seriously want you to put one in his hair...

"Yes."

He stands. "Where?"

"In the bathroom, the second drawer below the sink."

He leaves you standing there as he goes to rifle through them, returning a moment later with two that match the color of your skirt.

"Nate-"

"Turn around."

You're not sure that you appreciate his demanding tone, but do as he says nevertheless.

Once you have bows tied around either pigtail, Nate puts his hand against the small of your back. "Let's head out."

When the two of you arrive at the store, you go to get out, until Nate stops you by grabbing your left hand. "Wait for me to get it."

You sit back in your seat and wait for him to come around to your side. Once the door is open, you speak. "You don't have to come in with me if you'd rather wait here. I know grocery shopping, well, shopping in general, can be tedious."

He shrugs. "I don't mind."

He takes your hand, helping you down and shuts the door, leading you inside.

Nate stays close to your side as you toss various items into your cart—paying acute attention to each thing you do. You don't get a terrible amount of junk food, but he wishes you'd forgo the cereal. He'd already told you from here on out he'd be bringing you breakfast every morning.

He studies what kind of conditioner you use, what kind of lady razor, even your morning facial-wash. He briefly daydreams about getting you ready for the day—the detailed process he would go through to make you look like his own perfect living doll.

It's when you're in the frozen foods aisle that you briefly pause as he pretends to look over the frozen pizzas, when he's actually watching you. Watching you stare at a couple across the way, giggling and kissing each other, the girl's hand resting over her swollen belly, that is.

Hurt flashes across your features and he briefly grows angry, wondering if it's jealousy—if you know the man.

He steps over to you. "Do you know them?"

You jump in surprise at his presence, having been lost in your thoughts. You shake your head, throwing a bag of frozen vegetables in the cart. "No." You're quiet for a moment. "I was just thinking."

"About?"

You look at the happy pair again. "What that must feel like."

He places his palm against the small of your back, refusing to remove it for the rest of the shopping trip.

Nate of course takes it upon himself to not only load every single grocery bag into the bed of his truck, but also unloading and bringing every one into the kitchen once you're home. He simply watches from a kitchen island stool as you put them away.

He eventually excuses himself to your bathroom, deciding to finally cross the boundary of going through your medicine cabinet.

He locks the door, turning the faucet on as he goes through the cabinet under your sink first. Some toilet paper, a box of pads, some pantiliners, cotton balls, cotton pads—basic bathroom paraphernalia.

He then starts pulling open drawers. One he's already familiar with, it's filled with small baskets which hold elastics, hair bands, bows, clips, headbands and the like. Another houses hot-tools: a curling iron, which looks barely-used, a straightener, which has clearly been well-loved—the company name all but rubbed off of it, even an old crimping iron, and a blow-dryer.

He moves onto the last drawer, which just has extra toothpaste, toothbrushes, some lotion, triple antibiotic, extra shaving gel, and some other odds-and-ends.

Finally, he opens the medicine cabinet, curious if you're on birth control. If so, that will be coming to a stop immediately. Not only does he hate the horrid list of side effects that come with it, but once the two of you start fucking, he wants to be in complete control of your reproductive options.

Needs to be if... Well, if he eventually decides he can't live without you and has to resort to drastic options to keep the two of you permanently connected for the rest of your lives, he'll have that option.

But all he finds is some Tylenol, Advil, expired allergy pills, an old prescription bottle with your dad's name on it, a bottle of mouthwash, a small cup of bobby pins, some q-tips, and a couple—of course—clean makeup brushes, a few other items here and there.

He quickly searches the shower and just finds a few bottles of various kinds of soap.

Finally, he flushes the toilet, turns the water off, and comes to join you in the kitchen.

Nate had left not longer after you'd finished cleaning the house, him offering to help, but you telling him you could never ask a guest to do such a thing, so he'd instead sat on the couch, idly watching football, fantasizing once again about you being his perfect little housewife. Cooking and cleaning and grocery shopping for him, allowing him to dress you up and show you off.

It's in the moment as he watches you humming to yourself as you dust off the mantle that he decides this Thursday you'll finally be his.

Nate continues on with the studying ruse to continue spending one-on-one time with you.

Monday, you'd done exactly as he'd asked: you'd worn the white dress, a pair of flats with it even, your new necklace, a hint of blush, and you'd even curled your hair, which had made him hard near-instantly.

It had taken everything in him not to hold your hand as the two of you walked into school. As soon as he spotted Lexi—the ridiculous look on her face as she watched the two of you—he pulled you in the other direction before you could see her yourself, seating you with him and his friends. When you had brought up going to find Lexi, he'd merely told you he thought it might be nice for you to meet some new people that morning.

He knew by their expressions that his friends had wanted to say something—anything about you—perhaps throw around some vulgar jokes, but the death-glare he greeted them with instead kept them talking about football and some party that had gone on this last weekend, which he'd been unaware of, too concerned with filling his time with you.

As the week went on, the two of you began to text more and more. You woke up everyday to him and went to sleep to messages from him. He'd even called you once, and the two of you chatted for almost an hour about everything and nothing. He would've been content to stay up all night listening to your voice, until you had gotten off the phone, telling him you were going to sleep and you would see him in the morning.

You had no idea he was outside of your house that night, watching your bedside lamp flicker off.

Thursday after school, once the two of you are finished studying, Nate finally takes the plunge, praying to fucking God he gets what he's been dying to have for the last two weeks.

He pulls out his extra jersey from his bookbag, handing it to you.

You look up to him, confused.

"I thought you could wear it tomorrow to school, and the game that night."

You look down at it, the metallic number '18' on the front, then back up to him once more. "Isn't...isn't wearing a player's jersey to school something girlfriends usually do?"

He scoots the least bit closer to you, his legs on either side of your chair. He reaches up, gently gripping the back of your neck, light enough that it seems just a sweet gesture, but he knows what he means it as: him touching what is about to belong to him.

"Would that be such a bad thing?"

You blink once, twice. "What?"

He takes one of your hands in his free one. "Listen, the last few weeks," even if he knows it's only been two, but so little time together sounds...not the best out loud, "spending time with you has been a welcome change in my life. I know it started out as just tutoring, and we can keep doing that, of course. But, Y/N, I really, really like you. Being around you is just...so fucking easy. You're easy to talk to, to hang out with, to text with. And you're incredibly beautiful. And kind. And smart. Honestly, I could go on for the next hour, if not longer, about all your admirable qualities. Suffice to say that I'm very-much interested in being with you. And if you feel the same way that I do, then maybe we can give this a shot."

A strange, uneasy feeling comes over you. You tell yourself it's because you've never been asked out before. Never had someone show such blatant interest in you before like this. You're used to being alone, so of course the idea of being with someone—anyone—but especially Nate Jacobs, star football player, his dad's name being a household name in East Highland, and the guy every girl at school seems to want—seems unthinkable.

"I...I didn't think I was your type."

So does that mean you have thought about it? Being with him?

He runs his thumb over your knuckles. "I didn't think so either. But that's precisely why I think you're so good for me. You're not attention-seeking. Dating girls like that in the past has caused me nothing but trouble. You're not superficial. You care about shit—see things—in ways others just don't. Not at our age, at least. Not at our school. You're mature, responsible, know how to take care of yourself..."

He trails off, wanting you to reply. To just say yes. To give yourself to him.

"I don't know about this..."

His grip on your hand tightens just the smallest bit. "What's your concern?"

"How do I know you're not rebounding, from Cassie or Maddy?"

He shakes his head. "I'm not. I should've been done with Maddy a long time ago for the way she treated me. What she did at McKay's...I can never forgive that. And Cassie was a mistake from the first moment. We had both been drinking. And I just...I wasn't thinking clearly. But I am now. And I know what I want."

You look down to your lap. "And what if I screw things up? I've never dated someone before. I'd have no idea what to even do."

"Nothing here has to change. Not really. Us being together just means spending more time together." He fights back a smirk. "And me finally getting to kiss you."

Your head jerks up.

"Once you're ready," he adds on, knowing you'll be ready when he deems you so.

"And what if I'm just one more person to hurt or let you down?"

He feels like with that one question alone—you being so concerned for his wellbeing—he falls in love with you.

He releases your neck, now cupping your cheek. "You won't be. Do you think I haven't thought the same thing? You were abandoned by your mom. Your dad, too, essentially. The last thing I want is to be one more person to leave you. So I don't plan to.

"Listen, I'm not saying everything is going to be like a picture-perfect fairytale all the time, but I think so long as we're both happy, give each other our all, and consistently work at what we have, then we'll both be happy.

"Just in the time we've spent together, I've already opened up more to you alone than I have to anyone else in I can't tell you how long. I trust you."

He brushes the pad of his thumb over your lower lip and you want to cry from how gentle and sweet he's being—has been—with you.

Finally, you resign yourself to the likely fate of your first heartbreak.

"Okay."

His brows raise. "Yeah?"

You nod, a small smile on your face, your eyes filling with tears of joy. "Yes."

He stands, picking you up, wrapping your legs around his middle and your arms around his neck before spinning you around. "Oh, baby, I am going to make you so fucking happy."

You look down at him, and you believe it.

When you wake the next morning, you only get so far as brushing your teeth and washing your face when you hear a truck outside.

Still half-asleep, you wander to the front door and look through the peephole to see Nate coming up to it, one of his arms behind his back. You briefly wonder if you'd overslept as you flip the lock and open the door.

He comes in, pressing a kiss to your warm forehead. "Morning, angel."

You look up to him with sleepy eyes. "Am I running late?"

He smirks, thinking of the things he'd love to do with you while you're still half-asleep like this. It'd be too all easy to take control in bed.

He shakes his head. "No, I'm early," he says, pulling a bouquet of a dozen white roses out from behind his back.

You gasp lightly, taking them from him. "They're beautiful." You look up to him. "You didn't have to bring me flowers now that we're together."

It feels oddly strange to say.

He presses another kiss to your forehead. "I wanted to. It's something I want to do for you, bring my girlfriend flowers, take her on dates," he shuts the door behind him, backing you up against the wall, the flowers clutched against your chest as he places his palms on either side of you. "I hope you know I intend to spoil you fucking rotten."

Your eyes widen. "Oh."

He smirks. "C'mon, let's go get you ready."

Once you've put your flowers in a glass vase near a window in the kitchen, Nate takes your hand, leading you into the bathroom.

"Sit," he says before stopping himself, nearly opening the drawer to your straightener. He doesn't need you knowing he'd been snooping. "Straightener?"

"Uh...top drawer," you reply, seating yourself on the toilet lid

He retrieves the device, plugging it in.

As it heats up, he grabs your hairbrush from atop the sink and comes to stand behind you, running the bristles through your hair.

"You...you don't have to do my hair."

"I want to."

In truth, he wants to shave and moisturize your legs as well, then dress you in his jersey—picking out a bra and panties, too, before doing your makeup.

"Did you do this for Maddy and Cassie as well?"

He'd bought Maddy clothes, but she would've never let him dress her. Would've most-likely mocked him had he so much as given her a ponytail. Cassie was obviously a different story. "No. And we don't have to talk about them anymore. They're in the past now."

You fidget nervously with your hands. "Isn't that important—addressing our pasts to get to know one another better?"

Once your hair is free of tangles, he sets the brush down on top of the toilet tank. He then comes to stand in front of you, kneeling down to make the two of you level. "It is, but I don't want you to worry about either of them. You're the best thing for me now."

He sprays some heat-protectant on your hair before beginning to straighten it.

Nate gives you some privacy as you go over your legs with a razor one more time before getting dressed, even if you'd shaved the night previous. When you're finished, you come to stand in front of the mirror, and you simply stare.

Your hair is like it was the other day when you went grocery shopping, only, instead of ribbons on either side, he'd used hair bands that have two small balls on them that match the color of the numbering on his jersey. He'd actually done surprisingly well in doing your hair.

When you step out of the bathroom, he's waiting for you in your bedroom, his extra jersey, which you'd had hung up in your closet, now resting on your bed.

You nearly want to pinch yourself, everything seems so unreal in this moment.

He picks up the blush he'd gotten you, along with a makeup brush from your hardly-ever-used vanity and he dips it into the fine powder before gripping your chin, swiping the brush over the apples of both of your cheeks once, then twice.

You giggle nervously. "I'm starting to feel like a living-doll or something."

He smirks, snapping the compact shut, setting the materials back where they go. "I just like taking care of you."

He picks up your diamond Tiffany necklace, one more sign of his ownership over you, and clasps it around your neck.

He nods down to the jersey. "I'll let you get dressed."

Nate fights back a raging erection every mile to school. Here you sit, completely fucking covered in him, in the passenger seat of his truck. He'd done your hair, your makeup, bought the piece of jewelry you're now wearing, and his jersey hangs from your frame like a dress—he'd also picked out the white pair of tennis shoes from your closet that you're now wearing. Even eating a muffin he'd stopped to pick up for you.

He wants to pull over in a secluded spot somewhere and claim your virginity—one more part of you that will now belong to him—but he tells himself that will come soon enough.

If his plan works, you'll be in his bed, a whimpering, crying, whining, begging mess under him, sooner rather than later.

Your pussy will be his to fuck whenever and however he pleases.

He'll finally be back to no longer having to use his hand.

His fucked-up sexual fantasies of the two of you will finally get to come true

When Nate pulls into the lot, he 'accidentally' steps on one of your shoelaces after you've gotten out of the truck. He lifts you back up into your seat, setting your foot atop his knee—just like at the bowling alley—and people watch from their cars as he ties your shoe for you.

Finally, he takes your hand, firmly twining your fingers together, before locking his vehicle behind the two of you, as you walk into school together.

And you feel yourself begin to sweat nervously with every pair of eyes that turn your way, some people clearly not thinking much of it—bless those few—while others react with shocked expressions, whispering amongst themselves, eyeing you up and down, making you want to crawl inside a hole.

You look up to Nate and he looks nothing short of confident and unbothered.

You then glance over to Lexi's table and Lexi's expression somehow looks...sad? Disappointed, maybe?

Cassie, however, is shaking she's so enraged.

You quickly balk and look away from her before sitting down beside Nate, thankful you had worn a pair of black bicycle shorts under his jersey.

You drown out Nate's football friends chatting with him about tonight's game as he places his hand on your knee, then slowly moves it higher, then higher, until it's on the middle of your thigh.

You can feel your face growing warm out of mortification. What if someone sees? Thinks that the two of you are...well, already doing that.

You're torn from worrisome thoughts, thinking perhaps you'd made a mistake—you're not sure exactly what choice to consider as much—by Nate squeezing your leg.

You blink up at him. "What?"

He nods toward his friend. "He asked you a question."

You look at the young man across the table, who's maybe a year younger than the both of you, with black hair and hazel eyes, braces still on his teeth.

"I'm sorry, I guess I didn't hear you."

"I asked if you were going to be at the game tonight, since you're Nate's new girl."

"Of course she is," Nate replies for you. "She'll be in the stands cheering us onto victory. Right, baby?"

You give him a nervous smile, then nod.

He's pleased with your agreeable response.

When you get into second period, Cassie is already there, in her seat, which is just behind and diagonal to yours. You don't look at her as you lie your books on your desk, afraid to meet her eyes.

Then you hear her whisper "bitch" as you take your seat.

You slowly turn back to look at her, filled with hurt at the cruel name.

She gives you a nasty look. "What are you looking at?" She asks in a snide tone.

You turn back around without another word, fighting back tears for the rest of class, unable to think of anything else but how she'd always been so nice to you, and now despises you.

Once class is over, you go out to your locker, so distracted that you don't see Nate leaning against the one next to it with a smile meant only for you.

A smile that immediately disappears when he sees the sullen look on your face, and your bloodshot eyes.

You fumble with your lock twice before finally getting your locker open.

"What's wrong?"

You nearly jump at the sound of his voice.

You shake your head, setting your books back on their shelves with shaking hands. "N-nothing."

He leans down closer to you and speaks gently, quietly. "Something happened. Tell me."

He isn't going to take no for an answer.

You shake your head and he feels his fuse growing shorter. "Did someone say something to you?"

You look up to him. "I don't want to cause any trouble."

He delicately laces his fingers through your hair. "You won't. Just tell me what happened, sweetheart."

You shift from one foot to the other, clutching one of your textbooks to your chest. "Cassie. She-"

His tone grows hard. "What did she do?"

"When I got into class she called me a bitch. I wasn't...I wasn't sure if I heard her correctly. I turned around to look at her and she just...she had such a mean look on her face and asked me what I was looking at, so I just turned around."

He clenches his jaw so hard he's sure it will break. If that stupid whore ruins what he'd just gotten to finally happen with you—making you his—he'll fucking kill her. Actually kill her.

He wants to make a scene right in the middle of the hallway, wants to show you just how far he's willing to go to protect you, even just your feelings, but he knows it will only frighten you away. Showing his devotion to you in extreme measures is something that will have to come in time.

He presses a firm kiss to your forehead, staring down Cassie across the way, who's watching the both of you with a devastated look on her face. He then looks down at you, lifting your chin until your eyes are looking into his own. "Just ignore her. She's jealous. That's all it is. Eventually she'll get over it and move onto her next flavor-of-the-month."

You nod, grabbing the rest of your things for third period.

He smiles down at you, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. "I'll be there in a minute. I'm going to run to the restroom first."

You nod, heading to class.

Once you're out of sight, he makes a b-line for Cassie.

And the dumb bitch is stupid enough to actually smile at him.

When he reaches her, he slams her locker shut with one hand—causing her to jump—keeping it firmly in place against it as he stares her down. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

She shakes some hair off of her shoulder, looking up to him, back straight, eyes pensive. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"That's complete fucking bull. Y/N told me what happened in second period." He lowers his voice so only she can hear. "Let's get one thing straight, you desperate whore, if you screw this up for me, you won't like what happens to you. You have no idea the things I'm capable of—the lengths I'm willing to go to—when someone tries to destroy my life or take someone I love away from me."

She flinches at that—him admitting it—his feelings for you. And after such a short time...

"We had our fun, now I'm done with you, just like the other half of the male student population here. The fuck did you really think was going to happen with us? Did you think we'd...what? Get married, have kids, and live in a cul-de-sac in some fantasy where you're actually a good person that any man would deem worthy of marriage? I got exactly what I wanted and threw your ass to the curb when I got bored and you started acting fucking psychotic."

He points his finger at her face and she shrinks back against a locker, tears stinging her eyes. "Stay the fuck away from me, and even further away from Y/N. If I find out you've said another word—so much as come near her... Just try me, Cass."

With that, he steps away, heading to third period.

After school, Nate drops you off, promising he'll be back that evening to pick you up before the game, and you give him a soft kiss on the cheek before he leaves.

Once you're alone, for some reason, you feel like you can finally breathe. Like some weight had been bearing down on your chest all day and has suddenly lifted.

You blame it on the crowded halls and your noisy classmates.

You leave your hair the way it is, but change into something more comfortable before finding something to eat and sitting down to do homework.

In the middle of finishing your math homework, you begin to think of what had happened with Cassie. It had hurt your feelings, but you aren't angry. If anything, you feel sad on her behalf. While she was, of course, partly to blame, she'd still lost her best friend and boyfriend both, as well as earning herself an even worse reputation around school. You tell yourself the anger isn't necessarily directed at you. That's she's just lashing out in general due to being hurt and alone, and you're an easy target.

You're not sure trying to make nice with her is a good idea, however.

Your phone buzzes, ripping you away from your worries about Maddy trying to come after you next, even if she seems to have far less interest in you and Nate—minus that day in the parking lot—when you check it. You see that it's from Nate.

Nate: Be by around 6 to pick you up.

You: See you then. (:

Nate: Make sure to wear my jersey. 🏈

You grin at his finally using emojis.

You: I will. ❤️

You're left with a little over two hours to yourself before he'll be there to pick you up again. So you take another shower, knowing you sweated a bit more than usual today, then lie back on your bed and try to distract yourself with a movie.

Shortly before six, you dress in Nate's jersey again, and a fresh pair of panties and bicycle shorts before going out to sit on the swing in front of your house to wait for him.

You can't help but smile when he pulls up, butterflies in your stomach.

He comes around, opening the passenger door to the truck. Once you're seated, before you can buckle yourself, he does so for you.

You don't manage to say anything, such as telling him that him doing that really isn't necessary, before he shuts the door.

Nate rolls down the windows, blasting upbeat rap music on the way back to the school. You smile, thinking he looks cute when he's excited. He doesn't seem to exhibit that emotion a lot.

Then again, apart from winning at bowling, neither do you.

Perhaps the both of you are too serious for your age.

You lean back, a smile on your face, and he rests his hand on your upper thigh. You tell yourself you're fine with him touching you there.

That it doesn't make you uncomfortable.

That he's just trying to be a sweet boyfriend.

Once the two of you pull in, the parking lot is only sparingly filled. But the game also doesn't start until after seven.

Once Nate has helped you out of the truck, disliking that you'd already unbuckled yourself before he got a chance to, he takes your hand in his—his duffle bag slung over his other shoulder—as he heads in the direction of the field house. One you're around the backside of the school, he drops his bag on the ground, turning back to you.

He cups your cheek in his large palm. "Can I get a kiss for good luck?"

You hesitate for a moment. Then, "Yes," you say with a shy smile.

He smiles down at you in return before pressing you up against the brick building, then lowering his lips to yours.

He fights back a moan at finally getting to be this: your first kiss. The first one to taste you. The only person to ever have this intimate moment with you.

He opens your mouth with his, gently flicking his tongue against your own and he feels your body stiffen, until he does it again and you relax.

He stays like that for a good few minutes, his tongue tasting you, the sun beating down on his back as his form shadows your own, both your eyes closed as you, after seventeen years, finally find out what it's like to be kissed.

And it's slow and gentle and passionate. And you feel heat pool between your thighs.

You whimper against his lips and his cock hardens at the sound.

He pulls back just the least bit, his lips hovering over your own, which are now red, a bit swollen. "What was that?"

"I dunno," you say, gripping his t-shirt, pulling him back down to you.

He grows impossibly harder at the fact you want more.

He easily obliges.

He wants to move his lips down to your neck, wants to give you a hicky before you go sit on the bleachers for the game, but doesn't.

Finally, he pulls away, both your breathing labored. "Alright, I have to go get ready, my little good-luck charm."

You laugh at that.

He presses one more soft kiss to your lips before reaching down and grabbing his bag.

"Oh," he says, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. "This is for your ticket." He hands you a five dollar bill. "And this is incase you want anything from the concessions."

He hands you a fifty and your eyes widen.

"I don't think a pretzel costs that much, Nate."

He shrugs. "Maybe you'll want a souvenir of your first game."

You stand on your tiptoes and he smirks, leaning down again as you wrap your arms around his neck. You press a soft kiss to his cheek, before whispering in his ear. "Good luck. And thank you."

He kisses your lips again before stepping away. "I'll look for you in the bleachers."

He begins to walk backwards toward the field house.

"I'll be there cheering you on."

He smiles at the image of that. "Maybe we can do something after."

You nod. "Good luck!"

Surprisingly, when you go to sit on the bleachers, Cassie, who's gathered with the rest of the cheerleaders, doesn't look back at you but once, shortly after you first sit down. It'd only been a glance, and then her completely ignoring you, which you're beyond okay with.

You'd bought yourself a water before finding a seat, the day still hot with the sun out, even if it's beginning to slowly set.

A sense of thrill fills you when the players run onto the field, your eyes immediately honing in on number eighteen.

You feel your cheeks grow impossibly warmer when you remember your kiss from earlier.

You watch as the players gather around their coach, Nate removing his helmet as they—you assume—strategize. He glances up to you and gives you a wink and you smile in return, blowing him a kiss.

Once they break, Nate pretends to catch it, pressing it to his chest before putting his helmet back on.

You can't help but admire him in his uniform.

You've never liked sports before tonight. But with Nate now being your boyfriend and out there on the field, you're completely engrossed. You sit on the edge of your seat the entire game, just watching him running this way and that across the field, blushing when you think about the two of you wearing matching jerseys.

And every time he scores a touchdown, which turns out to be a lot, you hop up from your seat, clapping and smiling, feeling proud of him.

In all honesty, seeing him plowing through the other players and tackling and just...playing the game...actually turns you on a little. Okay, perhaps a bit more than a little. It just makes him look so strong.

You wonder what he would think of that fact.

Once the game is over, the Blackhawks having unsurprisingly won, Nate removes his helmet, yelling and laughing in victory with the rest of his teammates. You smile, glad to see him happy.

He looks into the stands, searching for you and finds you in the same spot you've been in all night.

He waves his hand for you to come down and you do, coming to stand on the other side of the fence from him.

He rests his forearms atop it. "So, what did you think?"

You grip a few of his fingers. "I had fun, which I didn't expect." You giggle to yourself.

"What?" He asks with a smirk.

You shake your head.

"Well, now you have to tell me."

You look up at him from under your lashes and he can already tell he's going to fucking love whatever is about to come out of that pretty little mouth.

"You look really good in your uniform."

He leans forward. "Oh, yeah?"

You nod. "Mhm."

He reaches forward, gripping the one you're wearing, bringing you a bit closer to him. "So do you."

You kiss then, the taste of him now mixed with sweat and grass and fresh air.

He pulls away. "Climb over here."

Watch me fall or hurt myself, you think as you wedge your tennis shoe in the chain-link fence. Once you're halfway up, Nate lifts you the rest of the way over, and you wrap your legs around his middle, running your fingers through his slick hair.

"Sorry, I'm all sweaty."

You shake your head. "I don't mind," you say before kissing him.

You wait for Nate outside of the field house, leaned back against the red brick stones, staring up at the millions of stars littering the night sky, feeling so completely happy for the first time in you're not sure how long.

Once players begin to file out, you watch for Nate to be among them. When he exits, he glances in your direction, coming over to stand in front of you, offering you his hand. "Ready?"

You nod.

Once you're in his truck, he stands in the passenger side doorway, one of his arms resting against the top of the truck, his other hand against your left calf.

"I've had a really great night, and I don't really want to just drop you off at home, and then it ends."

You just look at him, waiting for him to continue.

"If I ask you to stay the night at my place, will you?"

You shift in your seat. "Doing...doing what?"

"Just sleeping," he states. "Maybe we can watch a movie in bed or something."

You think about it for a moment, not sure you're comfortable with moving this quickly.

"What about your parents?"

"What about 'em?"

"They won't mind you bringing a girl home late at night?"

He shakes his head. "I mind my business and they mind theirs. If I want to invite someone over, they're not going to tell me no."

You think that's a very unconventional way to parent, especially when it comes to him having a girl in his room—in his bed.

"You don't think it's a little early for me to be spending the night?" You ask gently, using a kind tone to try and prevent hurting his feelings.

He's quiet for a moment, now looking away from you. "I'm sorry. I guess I got too excited to spend more time with you tonight. It was a stupid idea. I shouldn't have asked in the first place. Just forget I did."

He goes to pull away and you suddenly feel bad. You'd hurt his feeling anyway. Something you had told him you didn't want to do just yesterday.

You quickly grab his hand. "No, I'm sorry. I just...I don't-" you scramble for some excuse that isn't 'this makes me uncomfortable'. "I don't want you to get the wrong impression about me."

He softens, stepping closer to you again, his hand sliding up your thigh. "Like what?"

You relax at the tension quickly dissipating. "Like..." you bite your lip. "Like I'm easy. Or...or a slut. Or-"

That same hand comes up to caress your cheek. "Baby, you'd never even had your first kiss before tonight. I could never think that about you. You're probably the most innocent girl—person, even—at this school. And like I said, we'll only be sleeping."

You look at him for a moment. "I don't have a change of clothes. Or a toothbrush or-"

"You can just wear something of mine. And we have extras, I'll just give you one."

Finally, you cave. "Ok."

He gives you a gentle smile. "Ok."

When you and Nate pull up to his house, you suddenly feel inadequate at the large home that looms before you. Two stories tall and very, very expensive looking.

You're so busy studying the extravagance of it that you don't notice Nate unbuckling you.

"Your house is-"

"Obnoxious, I know."

He helps you down, taking your hand in his before grabbing his bag and heading inside.

You glance around the foyer, but not for long before Nate begins pulling you toward the stairs. And then you hear his name being called from down the hall.

He stops in his tracks, rolling his eyes.

"Is that your mom?" You whisper.

He drops his duffel bag, which thumps against the floor. "Yeah."

"Nate, come in here, I want to tell you how great you were tonight!"

You take one of his hands in both of yours. "Can I meet her?"

He pulls his hand away without answering. Only, instead, giving you a 'wait here' before walking away.

You stand there, unsure about the sudden shift in his mood. It was like it had happened gradually on the way over and only became more extreme the moment her voice called to him.

Does he really hate being here that much?

When Nate enters the kitchen, his mom is making a salad at the island, his dad grabbing a beer from the fridge.

Marsha walks around it, gesturing for Nate to lean down to give her a hug, which he does, and she plants a quick kiss to his cheek. "You were so great tonight, honey. Your momma is very proud of you."

He nods. "Thanks."

He glances back down the hall, and then his dad speaks. "You left yourself open too much in the first quarter. I've said it before and I will again, you need to work on that, son."

Nate's fists tighten at his side.

He glances back down the hall again and immediately regrets it.

"Do we have company?" His mom asks.

"No. I do." He takes a step away.

"Wait, hold on. Who is it?"

He rolls his eyes. "Does it fucking matter? I need to get back to her-"

He lets out a low swear. He just had to say 'her'.

His mom crosses her arms, now interested. "Her? Did you bring a girl home?"

"I think your mother means 'another girl' home."

Nate glares at his father as he takes a swig of his beer. Finally, he looks back to his mom. "Yes."

Her brows raise. "Well, do I get to meet her?"

Nate sighs. He steps out of the kitchen, and you look up at him, now full of nerves. He jerks his head in the direction of the kitchen.

You walk up to him. "Is everything ok?" you whisper as he takes your hand.

"It's fine." Is all the reply he gives you before pulling you into the kitchen with him.

Your eyes look this way at that, taking in the lovely décor and the beautiful island and appliances, then looking to his mom, then his dad, who seems to be watching the two of you with no more than idle amusement.

"Mom, dad, this is Y/N. Y/N, these are my parents."

His mom steps forward first, pulling you into an unexpected hug, but you quickly embrace her in return. You don't want to admit how nice it feels to be held by a mother, even if she isn't your own.

Finally, she pulls back, holding you in place by your upper-arms as she looks you over. "Well, don't you just look adorable in Nate's old jersey."

You flush a shade of crimson. "Thank you."

She releases you, placing her hand over her chest. "I'm Marsha, the mom. And this is-"

"Cal," His father finishes, stepping up to the island, reaching across it to shake your hand.

You nearly tell him you already know his name, but refrain, knowing doing so will only make this moment more awkward.

Once introductions are through, you step back to Nate's side.

"It's nice to meet the both of you."

"Oh, she's polite!" His mom chimes in. "I already like her a lot better than Maddy. Not that that's hard to achieve." She takes a bite of her salad, swallowing. "She was a truly awful girl."

Nate wraps his arm around your waist, but before he can pull you away and get you upstairs and locked away inside his room with him, Cal speaks. "Going through 'em awful fast, aren't you, Nate? That's what, three girls now, in almost as many months?"

You feel nothing short of embarrassed, perhaps even a little ashamed, at his comment.

Nate's grip on your hip tightens painfully for a moment, and you're sure it'll leave a bruise, but you don't speak, instead just bearing witness to the now-taut silence enveloping the room.

Nate steps away from you, going over to the fridge.

Nate grabs a beer, Cal going to grab himself another, until Nate speaks so low only he can hear. "Not nearly as fast as you, though, am I?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're such a fucking asshole. Leave me," he glances to you, then back to his dad, "And her alone. Stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours like we usually do."

With that, Nate comes over, firmly gripping your hand, and leading you upstairs.

Once Nate has shut the door behind the two of you, locking it, he throws his duffle bag down, then grabs a pair of boxers and sweatpants from his dresser before going into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

You seat yourself on his bed, wondering what, exactly, had been said between he and his dad to make him so upset. Unless it was the comment about him going through girls? On the one hand, it was kind of a shitty thing to say. On the other, parents sometimes give their kids a hard time. It comes with the territory.

A few moments later, Nate emerges from the bathroom, shirtless, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips and his hair damp and tousled.

You feel that same heat from earlier when he'd kissed you settling between your legs again. Then you tell yourself now is not the time—he's upset.

He walks over to his closet.

"Are you ok?" You ask softly.

He hands you a plain black t-shirt. "Here, you can wear this to bed after you've showered."

So he's not ready to talk about it just yet. "What about bottoms?"

He lies back on the bed, one of his arms slung over his eyes. "Nothing I have will fit you. The t-shirt is fine."

You accept that, padding into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

When you emerge, it's in Nate's shirt, a fluffy towel wrapped around your wet hair.

He's still lying on the bed in the same position from earlier.

You rub the towel against your hair a few times, then drop it in his hamper before coming to sit with your legs crossed beside him. You're silent for a moment, trying to think of the right thing to say. Finally, you just make a simple offer.

"Do you want me to leave?"

He shakes his head, his other arm coming to rub up and down your spine. "No."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He lowers the arm from over his eyes, which are now open, staring up at the ceiling. "There's nothing to talk about. I told you: he's an asshole."

You shrug. "He's your dad. Picking on you is kind of part of his job."

"That's not why he said it. It's not why he does any of the shit that he does. It has nothing to do with him being my dad."

"Maybe he just-"

He looks at you then. "Can we just not talk about my dad while we're in bed together?"

You withdraw into yourself a little at his sudden irritation. And how he had worded it. Like you're doing something other than just talking.

"Ok, I'm sorry."

He notes that your tone now sounds slightly frightened. He sits up, leaning on his arm, his free hand coming to grip your waist. "No, I am. I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just him. It's always fucking him."

"Have the two of you ever considered sitting down and just having a heart-to-heart?"

He snorts, then looks at you like that's the stupidest idea anyone has ever come up with.

"Lie down with me," he says, pulling back the covers, which you then crawl beneath.

He pulls you against him, his arm under your neck, fingertips lightly tracing the tip of your shoulder. "Thank you for being here."

"You're welcome. I'm very proud of you tonight. It sounds like your mom is too."

He bends the arm that's not holding you behind his head.

"I'm glad you stayed."

"Of course I did," you say, resting your hand over his chest. "I thought I hated sports until tonight. I had a fun time watching you."

He looks at you. "Good."

He then slips his arm out from under you, your head falling back against a pillow which smells of cologne and him. He hovers over top of you, scooting you lower before he presses a kiss to your forehead.

You panic. "Nate..."

He looks down, but you grab his chin, which he doesn't expect.

"Don't look."

His brows furrow.

"The t-shirt sort of rode up."

He bites back a smirk. So you're half-naked underneath him, then.

He lowers his body onto your own. "There, now I can't see."

You remain staring up at him.

He plants a soft kiss to your cheek. "Is this ok?"

You're quiet for a moment. Longer than he'd like. Until, finally, "I guess so."

That's all the permission he needs before he starts kissing you. He teases you with his tongue again like earlier, since you had seemed to like that so much, before he eventually moves lower, pressing hot, wet kisses to your neck.

He moves from one side, and when he gets to the other, you jerk underneath him and whimper.

So he kisses that same spot again and your breathing quickens.

His cock fills with blood, knowing he's found a sweet spot.

And so he kisses and sucks at the sensitive skin, until your hips have risen up against him, your arms around his neck and you're panting. He flicks his tongue and you moan in the back of your throat, your control slipping more and more with each kiss. He doesn't stop until he's sure you're soaked and he sees that he's left a purple bruise in his wake.

When he looks down at you, your face is flushed, your lips slightly parted, your hair a mess. It'd be so fucking easy to have his way with you right now. But it would ruin everything to do it this soon.

"Did you like that?" he asks, smoothing some hair from your face.

You nod.

He wonders just how far you'll let him go tonight, short of him breaking your hymen with his cock.

He grips your hip in one of his hands, then moves it higher, to the curve of your side, then higher, until you reach down, firmly grabbing his wrist, his hand now underneath his t-shirt that's barely even covering you now.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"I-" you shut your mouth.

In truth, all you want is to touch yourself. Or maybe let him. No. You can't do that. Not this soon. God, what are you doing? In his bed, nearly naked—nothing covering your bottom half, which is now so wet your thighs are slick from it—and wanting nothing more than to tell him to keep going.

You've never felt like this before. But you've also never had any form of intimacy with another person before.

Only ever yourself.

He gives you a look of understanding. "I don't give a shit what society expects of you. What you think you're supposed to do. I want to know what you want, right now, in this moment."

Finally, after a beat of silence, you release his wrist.

He slowly pushes up the t-shirt higher, then higher, until he can see the bottom swell of your breasts, then he pulls it over your head, tossing it on the floor.

And he just marvels at you. Your naked body lying back against his dark sheets. He still has his lower half covering your own, but knows he'll get to see every inch of you before the night is through.

He leans down, taking one of your nipples in his mouth and you throw your head back.

He grips your hips, trailing his tongue over to your other breast, now sucking on it. He looks up to you. Your eyes are now closed, head thrown back, mouth slightly parted.

He rolls a nipple between his teeth and your hips lift, which he pushes back down into the mattress.

He moves back to your other breast, doing the same, willing a whimper or a cry from your lips. Even his fucking name. Instead, you're so damn quiet. Maddy and Cassie had both been vocal—sometimes overly so. This he's not used to.

Finally, he lifts his head and your eyes pop open, wondering why he's stopped.

"Are you not enjoying it?"

Your brows furrow. "What?"

"You're not really making any noise. Are you this quiet when you touch yourself?"

You wait a moment, then nod. He just tells himself that he won't stop until he's changed that fact, then.

He dives back down, devouring your breasts again, then kissing between them, gradually moving lower and lower, until he's right below your belly button.

You suddenly sit half-up, leaning back on your forearms.

"Do you want me to stop?" He asks.

Your heart is pounding, and there's an incredibly strong pulse going between your thighs. A million thoughts race through your head. The most prominent one: is this why he'd given you attention in the first place? To make you another notch in his belt?

"This...this isn't all you wanted me for-"

"No. I want you. All of you. Being intimate with you is just one part of it. I don't plan on having sex with you tonight. When I take your virginity, I want it to be perfect. For your sake. There's just something I want to try."

He releases one of your hips, twining his fingers between yours for reassurance. While he understands your hesitancy, he wishes you'd lie the fuck back down and spread your legs for him.

Until, finally, you do.

He kisses down your stomach, then is pleased to see that you'd recently shaven your pubic area.

He makes a mental note to start setting you up appointments, which he'll be paying for, so you can get waxed regularly. At least he won't have to worry about stubble or ingrown hairs at that point.

When he's finally eye-level with your pussy, his throbbing erection grows impossibly harder. You truly are fucking perfect in every way.

He lowers his mouth onto you and, finally, you cry out at the unexpected feeling.

He quickly throws both of your legs over his shoulders, spearing his tongue, burying it in the heat between your thighs. He flicks your clit and your fingers tighten around his.

God, you're already so fucking wet. He blames it on your being a virgin—not that he doesn't absolutely fucking love it.

So he does it again. And again. He then swirls his tongue this way and that, sliding up your soaked folds—God, you taste fucking amazing—then back down again. Finally, he pulls back the least bit and he hears you whine in response as he begins to kiss your inner thighs.

At least he'll have this to use against you when the time comes: a bit of oral sex, leading you right up to the edge, and then denying you an orgasm unless you do what he wants will be a perfect weapon against you.

Finally, after wiggling your hips more than once, clearly wanting his mouth back on your pussy, he gives you what you've silently asked him for.

He kisses, licks, sucks, bites—lightly—until he focuses solely on your clit.

He hopes you scream when you fucking cum just so his dad has to hear it.

Instead, that fantasy is broken when you release his hand, pulling one of his pillows over your face as you finish against his mouth, your hips lifting, which he once again pulls back down as he continues eating you out.

He only hears your muffled cries—he can swear he hears you say his name—until you finally drop the pillow on the floor, trying to catch your breath as he presses a few kisses to your now-pulsating pussy.

He rests his chin against your pubic area, watching as you slowly begin to calm, your legs still over his shoulders.

"How was that?"

You feel dazed, your legs like jelly, even a bit sweaty. "Good."

He raises a brow. "Just good?"

You tangle your fingers in your hair, the pulse of your pussy just now beginning to calm. "Really, really good."

"You liked it that much, huh?"

You nod.

"How much?"

You sit up, your muscles now feeling weak. "I loved it, Nate. T-thank you."

He studies you for a moment, considering. "Do you want me to do it again?"

"Really?"

He notes just how eager and excited you sound. Almost desperate for it—for him.

And in that moment, he knows he finally has you exactly where he fucking wants you.

[girliemattitude]

-- Guilty as Sin?- - M.S - -

A/N (1): I saw someone on @mattscoquette account saying how Matt was so ‘Guilty as Sin’ coded so I had to do it 🫶🏼 A/N (2): This turned out a little longer than what I expected because it has some introductory stuff at the beginning but I swear you’ll get what you came here for <3 💋 A/N(3): this is my work, please don’t steal it :)

………………………………………………………………………………….……………………

Me and my boyfriend Langdon have been together for about eight months now. I was never the type who wanted a serious relationship, everything about love cringed me out but there was something about him that intrigued me a lot, maybe It was the fact that he’s very tall and confident or his dreamy green eyes but I don’t know.

Our relationship was very good in the beginning, my friends used to make fun of me saying that I became what I swore to destroy because I acted like those annoying girlfriends who can’t shut up about their boyfriends, so annoying right?, anyways now I realize that what I felt wasn’t real because I didn’t really know him well so I idealized him and fell for a perfect version of him who I created but only existed in my head.

Is not like he’s a terrible person but he’s definitely not a good boyfriend, at first he was very attentive and sweet but as the months passed he started to be more distant, it seems like he’s not very interested in me anymore, we barely talk, when I ask about his day he answers with a quick “it was a’ight” but never returns the question, we don’t go on dates, we don’t even cuddle, all we do is hang at his apartment but he’s always to busy on his phone to pay any attention to me so I just stare at the tv pretending I’m interested in the show or movie he put on and at night sometimes we have sex, On the weekends he usually goes MIA and I won’t hear about him until Monday just to find out he was ‘out with the boys’. The sex has change too, he used to make me feel good and wanted, like it was an enormous privilege to have me, he always make sure I got cleaned up afterwards and that I received cuddles or water or whatever I wanted but now it’s always so dull and dreary, I feel used afterwards, he doesn’t make eye contact with me, it’s like he’s only concern is himself and his pleasure so I just lay there, during he asks if I’m okay, he states how good he feels and after he’s done he asks if I came, I never do but I always lie to him, he puts his shorts back on and then goes on his phone again, so I go the bathroom,I clean myself and then I go back to bed feeling empty.

I tried to talk to Langdon about it, I told him we have a problem but he brushed it off saying that I’m nuts and that we are better than ever. I’ve gotten used to it by now, I know I could just break up with him but there’s a tiny bit of hope that thinks he’ll change so I stay.

Lately I’ve been feeling some type of way about my friend Matt, I’m very close with him and his brothers, I mean we’ve known in each for a long time now and yes I used to have a little crush on him but that was ages ago and it went away so I convinced myself that what I was feeling currently was the same silly feeling I once had and that it will go away just like last time, the problem was that this time was different it was harder to ignore, it was more intense and it filled my mind with crazy thoughts. It started one day at the warehouse, I was sitting on a large table typing the last details of an essay when all of the sudden my laptop shut down even though it was completely charged, I was freaking out when Matt entered the room, he asked what was wrong and after I answered him he position himself behind me, both of his arms were on each side of me and I could feel his scent on my nose and his warm breath on my face, he was trying to figure out what had happened to my laptop but all I could focused on was his hands, holy shit they’re veiny and his fingers looked so long pressing buttons on the keyboard, my breath hitched and I know should’ve but i didn’t look away, I tried to I swear but when I gazed to the side I saw his tattooed arm and I pictured myself tracing the lines of them, I heard him murmured an almost none audible “fuck” that sent vibrations to my whole body, specially in between my legs. I still don’t know how long I was zoned out but suddenly the laptop was back on and he said “there you go sweetheart” and give me a soft smile.

That night I was in my bed alone and I couldn’t stop thinking about those hands, my heartbeat started to race as I imagined how it would feel to have his hands squeezing my hips as he pulls me in for a kiss, I thought that I would bet millions of dollars he’s a good kisser, would he bite my lip?, how would does longs fingers feel inside of me? . I couldn’t stop wondering, my head was fuzzy, my fingers went from resting on my stomach to under my panties and before I realized what I was doing I touched my clit with my middle finger, slowly and in circles, Matt and how his warm breath felt against my skin never left my mind, a familiar sensation of pleasure overflowed my body and I let out a moan which put me out off my trance and I stoped myself from going further. I kept on telling myself that Matt’s just a nice guy who happens to be very attractive and that I was confused because I felt horny and lonely, but that didn’t stop me because the next morning while I was showering my mind went back to Matt and I pictured him in there with me, he’s wet hair and naked body, he’s dick pressed against my back, his lips on my neck leaving messy and sloppy kisses, one of his hands all over my boobs and the other inserting his fingers inside of me and I couldn’t stop, I imagined him talking me threw it until I came undone screaming the name of one of my closest friends. After that I avoided the whole crew for I couple of days, I felt so guilty, I avoided Langdon too but that wasn’t that hard, it’s not like he was eager to see me either.

Yesterday I saw my friends again we went to a scape room and I tried to avoid Matt as much as I could, after that we went to a pizza place, as we were waiting for the pizza Nick and Chris went to the bathroom and Madi was on her phone, I was pretending to be on my phone too so I wouldn’t have to speak to Matt, he was sitting in front of me and I felt him stare but I didn’t looked up. He quickly switched seats and sat beside me, I ignored him again, I thought I succeeded when I saw Nick and Chris approach us but I was wrong, Matt got even nearer to me and whispered in my ear “is it just me or a you avoiding me today?” I told him he was crazy and that we were good but I don’t think he believed me, I’m a terrible liar but even if I wasn’t I know he noticed how my body froze when he whispered to me and how my eyes didn’t locked with his even once, he didn’t talk much after that little interaction between us. I know him, I know he was overthinking about why I was acting this way towards him, and I felt terrible but how I’m suppose to tell him that I’m the worst person alive because even though I have a boyfriend I can’t get him out off my head, that I keep recalling things we never did, that I can’t look at him in the eyes without having an unbearable need to kiss him, that I want him to hold me at night, or how we’ve already done it in my head and how that was the best orgasm I’ve had in the longest time or how it’s not only a sexual thing but also the fact that I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him?

Right now it’s the next day and I’m in my boyfriends couch, he’s beside me playing some video game, I’m looking at the screen and I hear gunshots and one of his friends yelling from the headphones he has on but my mind is on Matt once again, everyday day that goes by I feel worse, I know he’s frustrated because he knows something’s wrong but I can’t tell him, and my stupid boyfriend is next to me and doesn’t know shit, which makes me feel even worse, Langdon swears we are perfectly fine and I can’t help but feel like a cheater, I hate cheaters yet I am one, I haven’t touched Matt but mentally I’m full of sin.

Last night I told everything to my friend Madi, who stayed the night at my house to keep me company ‘cause “I seemed off”, of course she noticed too, everyone did, even Chris who’s always distracted asked me what the fuck was going on with me.

After I told Madi she stated that I shouldn’t feel guilty about anything,that we can’t control our thoughts but we can control our actions and I haven’t done anything wrong, she also told me I should break up with Langdon and tell the truth because i would be surprised to know what Matt feels too, I still don’t know what Matt feels, she wouldn’t tell me but it doesn’t matter, I can’t do that, I know Langdon hasn’t been the best boyfriend but he’s not a bad person, I just don’t want to hurt anyone but I guess that’s inevitable. Maybe our relationship is just in a rough patch and If I put more effort into it we’ll work it out and possibly light up the fire again. Yes that’s probably it, In a couple of days everything will go back to normal and I’ll stop getting those crazy thoughts.

Langdon gets off his game and asks me if I’m hungry, I say we should go out to eat since we haven’t done that in a while but he doesn’t want to so I offer to cook us something instead and he agrees, I smile big at him and suggest we could make dinner together but he just says “nah” and goes back to his game, but it’s okay I’m not giving up. I make some quick mac and cheese and we eat in silence, he offers to wash the dishes and I let him, baby steps I think to myself.

I stare at him as he’s cleaning the counter and I analyze him, he’s way taller than Matt, and more muscular, he’s eyes are green, not blue, he’s hair is lighter and slightly longer, he doesn’t have any tattoos and his hands are bigger. Overall they are both completely different people, even their personalities don’t match but weirdly the two of them are my type, which doesn’t really matter because I shouldn’t be comparing them anyway.

I walked over to Langdon and I intertwined my hands over his shoulders, I gave him puppy eyes and I stand on my tiptoes to give him a kiss, a genuine kiss he laughs and says “what was that for?”

“I just felt like kissing you, is there something wrong with that?” I reply with and innocent tone before I kiss him again, this time is a longer kiss, it gets heated pretty fast, he pulls me into his hard abdomen, grabbing my ass with both of his hand and I start to feel the bulge between his legs getting bigger. I pull apart out of breath and I ask him to take me to the bedroom, he doesn’t waste any time as he lifts me up effortlessly, my legs are up in the air and I’m being carried to his room. I can’t help but to think about how Matt wouldn’t lift me up as easily as Langdon just did and how I would tease him about it, (c’mon Matt I’m not that heavy) a giggle at the thought and my boyfriends looks at me weird; “what’s so funny?”, oh fuck, I gotta stop, “nothing don’t worry about it”. He puts me down on the bed and gets rid of his all of his clothes, except his underwear, I do the same and we go back to kissing, he’s laying on top of me, he starts giving me kisses on my jaw and goes down to my neck and collarbones, I support myself on my elbows so he could take my bra off, he squeeze one of my boobs and gently tease the other one with his mouth, murmuring things I can’t understand, all I I can do is moan at the feeling. I decide to take a little bit of control and I switch our position, now he’s laying on his back and I straddle him, I give kisses on his abdomen, down to his happy trail and before I reach his boxers I lick him sensually all the way up until I meet his lips again, I kissed him and I bite his bottom lip, “you are such a tease you know that sweetheart”, sweetheart, he never calls me that, that’s what Matt calls me, why I’m a thinking about Matt again?, I shake my head trying to brush off the thoughts and I remove his underwear, he sits up so we are chest to chest, I take a look at his hard cock and I stroke him a couple of times before I put my panties to the side and I aligned myself into him, I sink into him and the both of us let out a sigh of relief once he’s all in, he kisses me and I start to move back and forth slowly, he guides my hips until we found a nice rhythm, he’s groaning and I moan, my moans gets even louder once i start bouncing up and down on him, and it feel so good, he grabs my ass and my hands are on his shoulders for support, i close my eyes and suddenly I’m in Matt’s bed instead, his brown hair is sticking to his forehead, he’s blue eyes are lock in mine and they look much darker now due to his pupils being dilated, his cheeks are tinted pink and his mouth is open, I see his horse necklace moving along with our movements, his chest moves at a rapid pace as well considering that he’s out of breath. I whine so loudly and I rolled my head back at the overwhelming feeling and his left hand goes to my neck bringing me back to him “press harder, pleeaa-ssee” I say between heavy breaths, “yeah? You want me to choke a little do ya’?” “Omg, yess” , “all you had to do was ask baby”. My only response being the sounds leaving my throat, I place one of my hands on top of his left one that’s choking me and my other one goes to his forearm arm caressing his tattoos. I swear I could stay like this forever; “fuck, you’re so pretty, so perfect, just for me, shit I’m gonna cum babe ” “nonono, wait for me, I’m close”

I feel how his dick twitches a little inside of me, my movements increase even more and I start to tremble as I hit my climax and finally that familiar knot on my stomach pops and I came harder than ever, my eyes are close as I ride off my orgasm, my breaths are still irregular and when they’re about to go back to normal I hear “That was so good baby” and my eyes go wide open in shock. Langdon has a fucked out look on his face but he’s smiling at me with a huge grin and once again I feel like absolute garbage, I get off of him and i quickly go to the bathroom, tears are filling my eyes, am i allowed to cry?, my heart is full of guilt and regret, I cannot believe I fucked my boyfriend thinking about Matt but what surprised me the most is that even though i feel terrible, the back of my mind is thinking… ‘if I just came this hard just by the thought of him, how good would it feel to actually have sex with Matt? Does that make me mad? or bad?’ I have no clue all I know is that Madi is right, I have to break things off with Langdon.

………………………………………………………………………………….……………………

[yesmansyesman]

Fanfiction added (Yes Man x Reader)

AN UNUSUAL NEW UPDATE

[ Includes ]

Wireplay (Sort of?)

Filthy, filthy smut

Dub con (I guess?)

Really, really enthusiastic con the immediate next line

Overstimulation

Robophilia

[ Read at your own discretion! ]

[ Heavily inspired by this AO3 Fanfiction]

It was a relatively slow day at the Lucky 38. Well, as slow as things can be around here. You’d sent Yes Man out on a small quest on your behalf; getting rid of some remaining Caeser’s Legion members hiding out in Freeside.

It wouldn’t be even remotely challenging for the both of you, especially compared to the other things you’d fought in the wasteland. Compared to an army of charging Deathclaws, a couple of Rome cosplayers were trivially easy to deal with. So, you sent Yes Man out by himself. It would simply be more efficient. 

Quest completed

PICKING OFF STRAGGLERS 

Ah, speak of the devil.

Almost like clockwork, the doors to the Lucky 38 swung open, a blood-soaked Yes Man entering the building. Needless to say from his now crimson chassis, the mission was a success. 

“Hello Courier! I’m glad to say the last few members of Caeser’s Legion have been properly dealt with!”

“I could tell. You might want to clean yourself off, bud. Dried blood doesn’t come out too easily.”

Yes Man inspected his dark red chassis, examining his arms, coated in dried blood.

“That sounds like a great idea!”

Yes Man began to make his way to a backroom in the Lucky 38, when he suddenly paused, and turned to face you.

“Oh, I almost forgot! On the way, I also paid a visit to Mick & Ralph’s!”

A hidden compartment revealed itself on Yes Man’s chassis with a satisfying hiss and click, as he reached inside, unveiling a slightly rusted holodisk. It looked fairly normal on the outside, only with a small label plastered on; ‘From, Ralph’.

“A man in a Buffalo Check shirt gave me this; he told me he’d ‘heard about how things turned out for you’ and asked me to help him deliver this! I’m not sure what it does, but boy, does it sound interesting!”

“Interesting, indeed. I’ll have Raul take a look at this.”

“That sounds like a great idea! Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to be thoroughly scrubbed down! Really, really thoroughly!”

Quest added

TALK TO RAUL

“Hey boss, how can I help ya?”

You passed over the holodisk, placing it gently on his desk. 

“Could you help me take a look at this?”

“Sure thing. I’ll see what I can do.”

He delicately picked up the holodisk, examining it closely. Inspecting the label, still on the device.

“Ah, from Mick & Ralph’s, I see.”

Raul lightly dusted the holodisk, before loading it into the personal terminal located on his desk. With a few swift clicks on his keyboard, the screen lit up, green text rapidly loading onto the display. He read the gibberish on the screen carefully, like it was a language only he could understand.

“Luckily for me, it ain’t some kind of malware.”

“Then, what is it?”

“It looks like some package of code intended for Securitrons. It’s not even anything major by the looks of it, just changes up some button inputs.”

Raul scrolled through the brief paragraph of code, discovering more text, this time actually understandable, product information, it seemed. Raul read through it thoroughly, scoffing when he finished. He rotated the terminal, facing the CRT monitor towards you.

“Boss, they wrote down what this thing does right here. Come and take a look, I think you’ll be… interested.”

Quest completed

TALK TO RAUL

Quest added

READ THE FOOTNOTES

Quest completed

READ THE FOOTNOTES

Quest added

INSTALL THE DISK

“Courier, are you sure about this?”

“Yes Man, I promise you; this holodisk won’t affect your personality in any way, and if you feel otherwise, you can always tell me to stop. You had that personality upgrade installed for a reason, right?”

“I-I’m not telling you to stop! I just sure hope you know what you’re doing, because you aren’t, this Securitron body may self-destruct! And that would be bad, really bad.”

“Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

You carefully installed the holodisk. Yes Man’s, unlike other Securitrons, circuits were haphazardly placed all over the inside of his chassis. Whatever Benny did to him, he sure did it messily. Eventually, however, after working through piles of unsorted wires and mismatched machinery, the disk was installed. With a brief system reboot, Yes Man had been successfully updated.

Quest completely

INSTALL THE DISK

Quest added

UPGRADE PLAYTEST

“Hm, that’s odd. I don’t feel any different. Or explosive. Well, that’s a good sign!”

“Not so fast, Yes Man. There’s still one more thing I need to do. I need to see if the upgrade works as intended.” “Sounds interesting! How may I help you with that?”

“Don’t worry, just stand still. You’ll find out what that holodisk does very, very soon.”

Gently, you lead your hand towards Yes Man’s keypad. You deftly place a finger on a key, pressing it before he had a chance to react. 

“O-oh!”

“How was it?”

“D-do that again…please?”

“Sure thing, big guy.”

Click!

“A-ah!”

Click!

“Ngh-!”

Click!

“M-mph!”

Yes Man was losing his composure more and more with each deft click, his antenna spinning rapidly and a cool layer of condensation forming on his display. Of course, how could he have forgotten, Mick & Ralph’s had experience working on robots before with Fisto, didn’t they? Of course their idea of an upgrade would be… this.

Not that he was complaining, though.

“W-wow! That feels really, really good…”

You carelessly push a few buttons all at once.

“H-Hah-!”

There you go, just let me hear those beautiful noises.

“O-oh! S-six!”

You decide to go all in, discarding any resemblance of self-control. Using and holding as many keys as your fingers could reach. 

“O-oh my-y-!”

“Having fun, bud?”

“I-I love you I love you I love you-!”

"I'll take that as a yes."

Yes Man’s vocal processor was being pushed to its limits, the audio scratched and staticy as Yes Man wore his metaphorical throat out singing moans of pleasure, screaming to the heavens above. His display was drenched in condensation as water droplets visibly dripped down his chassis. The tornado-like buzz of cooling fans were the only other audible noise amongst the squeals of pure ecstasy.

“Y-you’re my everything-g-g-g-!”

“Glad to hear it. You ready?”

“P-p-please!” Silly boy, his processors were already turning into melted plastic from the overstimulation.

“I’ll just press one more button, alright?”

“P-please please please please-!”

Click!

Quest completed

UPGRADE PLAYTEST

Quest added

CRASH LANDING

Quest completed

CRASH LANDING

“Yes Man? You there, bud?”

“W-what?”

“Oh thank god, you’re still alive.”

“Oh, hello Courier!”

Yes Man scanned his surroundings, having woken up on the floor of Raul’s workshop. His circuits were exposed, connected by several multi-coloured wires to a terminal being manned by the mechanic himself. He must’ve crashed. 

“Luckily for you, your main circuits aren’t badly damaged. You just blew a few fuses.”

“Wow! That was… sure some upgrade!”

“Some upgrade, indeed.”

You deftly place a hand on his keypad, with a touch so feathery light that it didn’t manage to push down on any of the keys, but merely tease him with the warmth radiating for your hand. A sensation he could barely even feel, but felt so, so good.

“So, how about a round two?”

“Y-yes please!”

Raul scoffs, turning off his terminal and unplugging the several cords connected to it. He lifts himself out of his chair with a grunt, and makes his way to the door.

“I’ll let you two do your thing then, boss.”

Quest added

JUST A FEW MORE ROUNDS

[cumikering]

Guitarist Gaz x reader

2k | fluff, teenage crush, late 90s You were in a band with Gaz

“You’re pulling my leg,” Kyle deadpanned.

“Really. My mum said I should be studying for my A-levels.” Jack hung his head as he tried to smear off the crusty mud from the side of his sole.

“But the gig is this weekend!”

“’m sorry, Gaz. She’s holding my guitar hostage. Said she’s going to sell it if I’m not home right away after classes.”

“You know we can’t do with only three members,” he said exasperatedly.

“There’s still a few days, I’ll help you find someone.”

After band practice sans Jack “mum-said-I-can’t” Wilshire, Kyle hopped onto the local forum with a grumble.

This was stupid. It would take a miracle for him to find a replacement for Jack in mere days. Regardless, he punched the words into his keyboard.

Sixth Form alt band looking for a stand-in guitarist for a birthday gig this Saturday

Later that night, his PC pinged with a notification.

Hiya, I’m interested in the gig. Where do you practice? I can meet tomorrow to see if I’m a good fit.

He breathed a sigh of relief. There was still hope. He didn’t have to cancel and embarrass himself.

Sweet. Here’s my college. See ya at the bus stop at 2 mate

The next day after classes, Kyle and his two bandmates waited at the bus stop.

“Gaz, how do you know he’s not a no-show?” Tim sat on the bench, twirling his drumsticks.

With his foot, Owen toyed with the overgrown grass under the bus stop sign. “We’ve been waiting forever.”

“Come on, lads. We need him, yeah?” He turned to them, trying to cheer up his mates. ”Let’s just hope he’s decent.”

Across the street, a bus alighted with a screech and a loud hiss. A few seconds later, it departed, revealing you behind it. You wore your college’s uniform, hair lightly tousled from the weather, your gig bag on your back.

“It’s a she?” Owen straightened up.

“Well, I assumed-“

Tim stood up, slipping his drum sticks in his back pocket as he walked over with a smile.

“No,” Kyle stood in front of him, trying to bite down his smile. “She talked to me. I go.” He marched towards you, ignoring Owen’s ‘or we could wait for her to cross the street’.

“Kyle?”

“Hiya.” He smiled, the most charming one he could muster. “Thought you were a bloke.”

You cocked your brow. “I thought the handle was obvious.”

Was it? He was too focused on the fact that he got a candidate (the only one so far).

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, well let’s go meet the lads.”

You followed as he made his way towards his mates.

“This is Owen, our bassist.”  He pointed at the tall bloke with the blond buzzcut. “And this is Tim, our drummer.”

He nodded at you, his dark fringe bobbing in the air.

“And me, I’m the vocalist and lead guitarist. You’re going to be Jack’s stand-in as the rhythm guitarist. Is it okay if you play us something here? Apparently, we’re not allowed to bring non-students onto the campus.”

“Yeah, no worries.” You sat on the bench and took your guitar out. “Anything specific?”

“Nope, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

The familiar intro of Wonderwall wafted in the air. You were a little quiet at first but encouraged by the approving nods and smiles of the lads, you opened up. Kyle watched the way you strummed, fingers expertly dancing across the fretboard, chords held precisely. Your clean notes did the classic justice. They all sang the last verse together.

“Wow, that was real sweet.” Owen said.

“Watch out, Gaz, you might be the stand-in by the end of this.”

He gave Tim the side eye before smiling at you. “Should we start practicing today?”

Practice was at Tim’s the days leading up to the gig, as it always was. His spacious room was cosy and soundproof, plus his mum baked the best cookies.

How obvious was it that Kyle always wanted to sit next to you on the bus? Or let his mates walk ahead of the both of you, so he could have a little moment with you to chat?

But it was the next day that he only dared to make his move.

“It’s getting late. Would you like me to walk you home?”

You looked up as you zipped your gig bag close.

“I live closer to you than her and you never offer to walk me home,” Owen chided, making Tim cackle from the other end of the room.

He pretended not hear anything, his eyebrow rose instead as he rapidly lost his cool.

You stifled a laugh. “Okay,” you said.

Kyle beamed, flipping Owen the bird before he shut the door on his way out. He left his guitar because ‘we’ll be back tomorrow anyway’ and helped you carry yours instead.

“You hungry? That chippy is good.” He pointed at a busy shop on your way to the bus stop.

“I am, actually.” Your steps slowed.

After a bit of queuing, the both of you sat in the cramped corner of the shop.

You took small bites of your piping hot chips. “What are you doing after Sixth Form?”

“I’m enlisting in the army,” he said with pride.

You smiled. “Your parents must be so proud.”

“They are. I’ve always wanted to do this and I’m glad they’re supportive.”

“I wish you the very best, Kyle. I think you’d be a wonderful soldier.”

He beamed. “Thank you.”

The conversation continued to what you were going to study in uni, and how the both of you got into music. He told you all about his heroes and seeing how you lit up in recognition of the names made him gooey. You get me.

After the meal, you waited at the deserted bus stop, pedestrians passing occasionally.

“Can I play?” He gestured at your guitar.

You nodded and he took it out of the bag, skilfully picking the strings to Iris. You smiled in recognition of the song and couldn’t help singing along. Engrossed in the little concert, none of you registered the bus was approaching.

His hands slowed, and you turned behind you.

“Oh, need to go, need to go!” You laughed, grabbing the bag beside him, scrambling to the edge of the pavement.

He smiled behind you as you boarded. The bus had no empty seats left, and the both of you stood there facing each other as he held your guitar, resting it on his shoe.

You didn’t seem to want to meet his eyes, but he found it cute. You had a sweet smile and an even sweeter laugh. He appreciated your openness to spontaneity, loving the twinkle in your eye as you sang with him just a minute ago. You were a breath of fresh air.

The next day, Kyle offered to walk you home after dinner again. You let him, even had his hand brush against yours a few times. The next, since he finished his classes early, he asked if he could pick you up in front of your college.

He waited at the bus stop, head on a swivel, worried that he’d miss you among the sea of students. But you soon approached with your friends who giggled as they eyed him.

He smiled at the refreshing sight of you, hands pulled out of his pockets. “Hiya,” he breathed, barely glancing at your friends.

You stood in front of him as you chewed on your lip, smiling but not meeting his eyes. “Hi,” you mumbled.

One of the girls nudged you with a teasing smile before walking along.

“Oh, uh, see you on Monday, babes!” you called out to them.

“Good luck for your gig!” the blonde said.

“I hope I’m up to par for tomorrow,” you said to yourself.

“You are, trust me. We don’t need Jack anymore.”

You laughed.

“Here, let me just…” he grabbed the strap of your gig bag.

“You’re the sweetest, Kyle.”

He smiled, pulling the straps over his shoulders. I’m trying! “I got you this.” He pulled out a packet of gummy bears from his pocket.

“Thank you so much!” You tore the packet open, popping a bear into your mouth, before offering him some.

At the bus stop, he sat next to you just a little closer than a friend would.

“Oh, one of my girls let me borrow Jagged Little Pill for the weekend.” You grabbed your Discman from your bag, handing an earphone to him. “I wanted to listen to it with you.”

How did you not expect him to melt at that? When each of you had an earphone on, you hit play and he wouldn’t be mad if the bus never came. With you, this was the perfect afternoon.

He should have got more gummy bears.

You and the band played through the setlist flawlessly as the party went on. It was the most fun Kyle had had at a gig that he didn’t realise the hour was up. When Owen and Tim went off to grab food, without missing a beat, he strummed More than Words.

Kyle barely took his eyes off you as you sat across him with your guitar throughout the gig, a sweet smile on your face. If he kept playing, this would never have to end, right?

Your arms paused in the air as you took your guitar off before setting the strap back and smiling in recognition. You sat back down, your foot tapping to the gentle rhythm before joining him in singing. The crowd gathered and sang together, and you both couldn’t help dueting a few more mellow songs as Owen and Tim cheered on.

By the end of the night, Kyle was holding your hand. It was nice to not be insecure of his calloused fingers. Yours were too, like a shared secret. As you neared home, his arm grew stiff. Was this his last time walking you home?

“We don’t have anything else coming up, but you’re always welcome to swing by anytime.” He handed you your guitar. He insisted to help you with it even when he had his too. “We can just jam together.”

“What’s going to happen to Jack?”

“Like I said, we don’t need him anymore.”

You laughed. “Yeah? I should probably study for my A-Levels too.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “We can always meet at your college if you want. Or somewhere else. Wherever you want really.” I just want to keep seeing you.

You smiled. “I’d love that.”

Since then, he picked you up after classes almost every day. If not to jam at Tim’s, it was to study at your dining table. He caught the teasing looks your mum shot you that made you look away with a shy smile. He didn’t mean to, but his grades were better than ever, baffling his mates, including Jack.

Thinking of the distance that was to stretch between you was like looking up a mountain too tall to see its peak. It was irresponsible of him to ask for more as he was leaving for the army. With a heavy heart, he allowed himself to enjoy the last weeks he had with you, forced to be content with the fleeting touches and bashful gazes before they, eventually, fizzled out with time.

At the park, he played Lovefool, one of your favourites. You sat facing him, knees pulled to your chest wearing his hat he plopped down on you when you squinted at the sun earlier.

“Love me, love me, say that you love me…” He looked up from the fretboard to your pretty smile as you hummed along, hair swaying in the wind-

His strumming screeched to a stop as his heart lodged in his throat. “D- do…”

Bloody hell, Gaz, why are you stuttering like that!

You blinked. “You alright?”

“Doyouwanttobemine?”

Your smile brightened.

Oh, he was going to serenade you every chance he got, even when he was a thousand miles away from you. He hoped you didn’t mind.

@tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts

@rowanyaboats @mangoguy

[narumi-gens]

Agents of Chaos MC—she seems like the type that would be excited to be near a human/kaiju hybrid. What does she think of Kafka? How does Gen react to her reacting to that?

this is such a great question bc I used to think the exact same, but then I thought about it more and worried that she would be a little too close to hange from aot. reader is v chaotic, but not in that way. plus I've made the executive decision that she's much more interested in the tech/weaponry side of the Defense Force. but I've also been thinking about her reaction to kafka a lot, so this ask came at a great time.

narumi gen x f!reader

part of the Agents of Chaos series

When Narumi plops down in the rolling chair next to yours in the Operation Room, his face buried in his handheld, you should immediately look up at him. It’s late and the room is largely empty, only the bare minimum number of the Operations Team who were unlucky enough to end up with the night shift are there to keep you company. So his sudden presence as it interrupts the stillness should at least warrant a glance. 

However, the music coming through your headphones is so loud and you’re so focused on the monitor in front of you that you don’t even notice. Even when he rolls the chair closer, you remain oblivious. It’s only when he rolls his chair directly into yours that you start and finally look up from the footage of the attack on Tachikawa Base and the sudden appearance of Kaiju No. 8 that had gripped your attention. 

You slide your headphones down to hang from your neck and swivel your seat to face him, only to frown at how his attention is directed toward the game he’s currently obsessed with beating. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask as you lazily slouch in your chair. 

“Isao-san placed Kaiju No. 8 in the First,” he grumbles, and you prop your elbow on your armrest so that you can rest your cheek on your closed fist as you watch him pout.

“Yeah, I saw the orders,” you say with a shrug. “What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is that the First doesn’t need a kaiju,” he replies, pressing the buttons on his handheld with more force than necessary. 

You raise an eyebrow when his words are followed by the unexpected, telltale “Game Over” sound. He’s been blowing through this game up to this point, even complaining at one point that it needed a higher difficulty setting. 

He sighs heavily and sets down his handheld onto the empty console in front of him. He glances over at the footage still playing out on your monitor with a scowl. In response, you hit a few keys on the keyboard and Hibino Kafka’s transformation into Kaiju No. 8 is now displayed on the large monitor that spans the width of the wall at the front of the room. 

“We should just convert him into a weapon,” he mutters and you immediately scoff, which earns you a pitiful glare. 

“Don’t be dumb. Even if we did that, there’s no guarantee you would even be able to use it. The odds of someone being able to use one numbered weapon, let alone two, are astronomical,” you counter easily. “It’d just sit in storage for another few decades until a compatible user finally comes along.” 

He doesn’t reply, instead continuing to watch the battle playing out on the screen with a complicated expression. As Kaiju No. 8 attacks the bomb created from a horde of yoju as it hurtles towards the base, Narumi looks at you from the corner of his eye. 

“You’ve just been here all day watching this footage over and over?” he asks.

“And reading the reports HQ put together plus the one that the Third submitted.” Narumi rolls his eyes and lets out an exaggerated noise of disgust at the mention of the First Division’s eternal rivals. “It’s interesting.”

“Interesting?” he repeats slowly, his frown deepening. You pause the footage on Kaiju No. 8’s full form. 

“Yeah. This guy was on a kaiju clean-up crew, swallowed some weird kaiju bug, gained the power to turn into one of the strongest kaiju on record, and decided to join the Defense Force. That’s interesting.” 

He continues to look up at the screen in silence.

“You don’t wanna fuck Kaiju No. 8, do you?” he finally asks and the question is so unexpected that you burst into a loud fit of laughter, catching the attention of the handful of other people in the empty room. 

Your reaction doesn’t seem to please him because he picks his handheld back up and gets ready to roll his chair in the opposite direction. But you’re quick to grab the armrest before he can and toss both of your legs across his lap to keep him in place. 

“No, I don’t want to fuck Kaiju No. 8,” you assure him with a smile as your laughter dies down. Narumi rests his hand holding his game on your shins and drops the other on your thigh just above your knee. You then look back up at the screen with an analytical eye. “I mean…do you think he even has a dick when he’s in his kaiju form?”

You hit a few more keys and the picture on the screen zooms in close on Kaiju No. 8’s crotch. Your brow furrows and you tilt your head in thought. 

“It’s so…smooth? Does it, like, pop out? And if he doesn’t have one then how does he pee? Does it come out somewhere—” 

Your line of questioning is abruptly cut off when Narumi suddenly stands up, your legs falling from his lap. Before you can ask what he’s doing, he grabs onto the back of your chair and begins to pull it — and you — after him as he makes his way out of the room.

“That’s enough talk of another guy’s dick for the night,” he says and you can only laugh as you’re rolled away from your station, the both of you leaving behind a grainy, close-up of Kaiju No. 8’s crotch displayed across the Operation Room’s main screen.

[misscinnamonroll16]

Some more headcanons

For breakfast, JD is good at eggs, bacon, and sausage, hearty breakfast foods. Bruce is good at sweets, pancakes, crepes and french toast. Clay usually doesn't make breakfast but has gotten cinnamon rolls down to a science. Floyd didn't improve his cooking skills that much over the years, being able to cook a scrambled egg

Floyd, Clay and Branch are one of those people who just have coffee for breakfast (or tea in Floyd's case)

All the brothers are protective of each other but John and Floyd are the worst. JD is most likely to fight someone. Floyd has a sharp wit, turning his silver tongue into a dagger. Clay is also quick witted but will not hesitate to fight someone.

Clay sometimes overworks himself

Bruce and Brandy give Gomez and Morticia vibes but the tropical version

All the bros (besides Branch) know how to play an instrument. Floyd knows guitar, John Dory knows guitar and bass. Clay knows keyboard/piano. And Bruce knows drums

Bruce sometimes plays the bongos for his kids

My personal headcanons about their ages. JD is 38, Bruce is 36, Clay is 33, Floyd is 31 and Branch is 24

John still puts himself between his bros and danger

Despite JD being the oldest, Bruce is the first to go gray. But he embraces it, playing himself off as a silver fox

The band breaking up was inevitable. It was going to happen no matter what, whether it was when Branch was 4 or 15 (random number)

Floyd subconsciously leans against his brothers when they're near. John wraps an arm around him and pulls him closer. Bruce loosely wraps an arm around him. Clay leans back so the two of them are leaning against each other.

Each of the brothers are close in different ways. JD and Bruce are close from being the older ones, talking about how annoying the others are and reminiscing about how little they used to be. Bruce and Clay have a unique dynamic, they're both stuck in the middle and hated how John bosses them around. Clay and Floyd are definitely annoying little brothers, when put together they're all jokes and silliness. Floyd and Branch are close because Floyd took a special interest in Branch, in being a big brother

Floyd leans against people when he's laughing really hard, mostly against Clay (Dan from the ten minute power hour)

Floyd met and performed with Queen Barb. He thinks she doesn't remember him because they were never properly introduced but she does. She remembers him as the most hardcore pop trolls she's ever met

Floyd has a crap ton of stuffed animals on his bed

Branch, like John Dory, sleeps in his underwear

Bruce sleeps naked, unless one of his kids is in bed with them

Clay often falls asleep at his desk

Floyd and John are the creative ones of the family

Floyd is a decent artist

Bruce used to throw food and other things into Clay's hair when he was either sleeping or not paying attention. Clay never did figure it out but John Dory knew and scolded him for it

Although JD is not a dad, he has a dad voice. It was the voice he'd use when telling his brothers to clean up or go to bed. The first time he uses it after the reunite is when he's telling Branch to go bed. But he didn't say Branch directly so the other three think 'oh no, I have to go to bed' bc they immediately fall back into that mentality

[yandere-sins]

the yandere ghost is just 💕😭. your thoughts on yandere König? 👀

Thank you ♥ Please enjoy :3 (I am also really enjoying it rn that I have the ö key on my keyboard hehehe, fuck yeah, finally the german keyboard is useful >:D)

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

♡ Lord have mercy on the poor soul trapped with and König himself. He can't go even a second without thinking of his darling stuck alone at the base (living their best life away from him), but once he's around you, he's way too awkward to do anything with you. If you were to hold out your hand invitingly to him, he'd—at most!— brush his fingertips over your palm, ready to die happily as he shudders from the sensation. Guy holds your hand once (which costs him a ton of courage), and his heart just... stops. He has to leave the room afterward, or he might lose it, sweating, cursing, pants bulging, and so, so much need inside him to go back and do it again. He wants to go back immediately, kiss you, hold you, and rub against you just once. But unless you invite him again, he'll try to be patient and not pressure you into it, even if it's (he's) so hard and kneeling in front of you, biting his lip so he doesn't beg you to tell him to come closer.

♡ Luckily, his awkwardness also means there is a way to get some peace by collecting all your courage and just randomly hug him while he's busy doing something (that he thinks you'll like, like cleaning or cooking). It'll put him into a state of shock that could potentially make or break your escape. Just kidding. You reach for his gun? You're on the ground or pinned against the wall, his arm choking you as he shouts at you to never fucking do that again. He's scared for your safety first, scary as he looms, pins, and threatens you second. König will be incredibly sorry afterward for hurting you and lashing out as he has to watch you try to breathe again once he retreats after realization sets in. He's furious—at you, at him, at the fact you could have been hurt by his negligence. So at least he leaves you alone for a while to cool off and find a solution, only returning when he's secured some sweets and gummi bears as an attempt for you two to reconcile.

♡ He's very much a beaten dog that will run to any kind of affection you give him. Ask him a question? He drops everything and stands by your side in seconds, even if it's just yes or no. He's inching closer, and you don't look at him or tell him to stop? He'll put his head in your lap and let out a giant blissful sigh. König tries to join any activity he permitted, so if you chill on the couch and watch TV, get ready to almost drop over the edge while he scoots in behind you, or have him hover over you while you do a puzzle, watching which piece you'll place next with enormous interest. He lives for not being rejected by you, and it's his ruin when you tell him to leave you alone and to go away, that you hate him, or that you'll never like him. Please balance these two things carefully, 'cause one day he'll decide to be the monster you keep trying to make him out to be. And you won't like learning just how big, bad, and needy he can be when you push him over the edge. Hint: You're just a doll (what kind depends on his mood) in his hands. Never forget that.

♡ Absolutely does not share you. Don't you dare to look at someone else, even if he has to bring you on a mission. Don't sit anywhere but his lap, never leave his side, and for the love of God, don't open your mouth to speak to anyone but him. Somehow, being with other people makes all these insecurities and anxiety go away for a while, even though when you two are back in private, he asks if you still like him the most. It's almost as if he is showing you off, but the moment someone notices you, he gets growly and visibly possessive, placing his arm around your body (slinging it over your shoulder and grabbing your side like a seatbelt), picking you up, making you straddle his thigh and face him, etc. König hates everyone and anything that looks at you, almost more than when they look at him and he feels judged. You're simply off-limits for others.

♡ He rarely threatens you with violence, but he's love bombing you to the extent that sometimes you forget you're his captive, not his actual partner. König brings you new flowers whenever the old ones wilt, asks you to dance in the kitchen with him, cooks your favorite meals regularly, and asks you out on dates (those rarely happen because "you don't know how to behave," he says, giggling. He doesn't know how to behave either, maybe you two shouldn't be out there together). He buys you things that remind him of you, and even when you have an emergency craving, he gets out at one in the morning to somehow fulfill it. König constantly tells you how much you mean to him and that you're the best thing that's ever happened in his life. If he's a little more confident in your relationship (aka, after you stopped struggling so much), you can count on many gentle touches, pats, head kisses, hugs, hand kisses, rocking you to sleep, etc. He really makes it seem like you're in a relationship.

♡ You probably made the mistake of getting a bit too friendly with him for his twisted mind to understand you were just trying to be nice. He never had that kind of connection with anyone before, and he just had to have you afterward, all to himself, or he might have lost his mind. This desperation is why he keeps you locked away, trying so desperately to sweeten the deal for you by doing everything he can to appease you. There's no one else to wait for him whenever he returns home, give his life another meaning other than killing, so he clings to you who once showed him exactly what he always wanted—an unafraid smile, a welcoming greeting, and kindness radiating off you. He can't share you for the very same reason, knowing that you could make any man go mad with your abilities to welcome them into your life.

♡ Calls you all sorts of loving names like: "Schatz" (treasure), "Liebling" (Darling), "Kleine/Kleiner/Kleines" (fem/masc/gn translates to "Little/Small one") as well as "Große/Großer" (fem/masc translates to "Big/Tall one"), "Prinz/Prinzessin/Eure Majestät" (Prince, Princess, Your Majesty).

♡ You're the only person who can make him come to a complete standstill. He's known to be hyperactive and rarely able to calm down. Still, if you are forced to hug him and let his hand run up and down your back, he's the most focused and calm soldier anyone has ever seen. He doesn't blink, doesn't flinch or move (if not to put you out of harm's way), doesn't speak—a massive silent blot in the landscape. He's able to focus on everything that's discussed, can answer questions easily without stuttering. All that and more, just because he has you like a little comfort plush. It's something his Platoon knows to appreciate and use if needed. Otherwise, they try to stay away from you as far as possible to avoid the calmness turning into terror, unlike what these soldiers have ever seen. No one wants to cross König. They leave being a ragdoll to you.

♡ On days that he comes home exhausted, his insecurities and awkwardness will just be overwritten by exhaustion, so he doesn't care what he does as long as it involves you. He'll lead your hands to where he wants to be touched, forcing you to undress him and ripping your clothes off so he can take you to the bath with him, where you two squeeze into his tub together. There's little space, but König hugs you to his chest and hides his face in your shoulder, taking deep breaths to decompress while you have the option to either ask if he wants to talk about his day or stay silent. He won't allow you to complain or struggle, shutting it down immediately. Squeezing you shut if he must. He's over it for that day. He does, however, not force but relish in it if you decide to take care of him on a whim or because you don't want to be stuck in his tight embrace. He'll let you wash the dirt and blood sticking to him off, kissing your hands reverently as if they are his lifeline keeping him grounded, thoughts off the battlefield, lets you comb his hair, massage his back, or even touch his face before he helps you dry off, wrapping you with his huge towel and carries you to bed with him. Never mind food or other necessities, König simply buries you under his body as he falls asleep partially on top of you. He's not even sorry for touching you so much in the morning. He just apologizes sleepily for drooling on you before he gets up to get some water for you two, still in his full, naked glory. He does, however, eventually realize you two slept next to each other stark-naked, and he has to recover from choking on the water he just drank while he runs to get you both clothes.

[voxisdaddy]

Nifty Nifty Nifty

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Vox x Reader

Type: Fun and Fluffy! Platonic only! HEADCANONS

What if Vox had his own Nifty? Someone who’s just a short ball of chaos, easily entertained, and very quick?

c/tw: mention of cum (its still platonic, i swear)

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Alastor and Nifty’s relationship is weird. To Vox that is. He observes Alastor whenever he can, which Alastor tends to make it almost impossible to do so, but from what Vox has gathered-Alastor may or may not have a soft spot for this ‘Nifty’ lady.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Cringe. Anyways,

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ When you met Vox, let’s say it was in his early days in hell-before the Vee’s, fame, fortune, and, hell, even before the overlord status was placed upon him, so you were an early contract. One he didn't see a lot actually. For good reason!

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Vox sighed as he slumped back, defeated, on his chair. His eyes followed the hyper active little sinner who scurried along all around his monitor equipment. He was slightly worried they'd knock something over but the one thing (Y/N) hated with a burning passion was a mess. So he was a bit at ease knowing that his equipment likely wouldn’t be damaged.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ "I dusted down the keyboard this morning. It's fine!" Vox insisted as he watched the little ball of speed come to a halt to tear apart his keyboard.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ "Not enough! Did you even use that feather duster I gave you for our soul-contract-iversary? It's so unclean! You didn't even take off the caps to really get in there like you're supposed to!" The little thing rambled on. They weren't particularly venting about it though. It was all done because they were just excited. Which was a breathe of fresh air for Vox so he didn't immediately kick them out.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Maybe offering the 10 pound, 3 foot tall sinner a cup of coffee wasn't his most calculated move. You'd think he'd learn by now.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ But he just couldn't resist the hopeful teary eyed expression you gave him this morning when you asked for a sip of his coffee. He wasn't gonna share so he brewed a cup for you and made it just how he'd think you'd like it-a crap ton of sugar.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Velvette had inquired if that really was a good idea but Vox being the prideful, stubborn, 'I'm the boss' pissy baby he is, had shot her concerns down. Something about how he doesn't have to listen to someone else tell him how to control his souls.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Yeah Velvette was not happy with that and flipped him off. Telling him that whatever happens is his mess to clean up all on his own.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Oh yeah the other Vee's are familiar with you already. It was actually quite funny how you met them.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ When you first met Velvette you were sitting on some top shelf and giggling madly to yourself as you looked at her outfit that day. It was a lovely little outfit with artistic decisions in where the red melty heart symbols were located. "You got slime on your clothes!" You giggled, "I'll clean them!" Velvette backed away slowly as you whipped out a large sponge and a bucket of soapy water. Vox had intervened just in time to catch you midair before you could 'ruin' Velvettes outfit.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Valentino first met you in one of his night clubs-one specifically for sex favors. He was chatting with Vox in a separate room when they heard a shriek. Valentino had intended to ignore it until Vox ran out of the room, cursing under his breath. When the pimp entered the club room he watched with a confused look on his face as a little sinner scrambled around with a black light, tears in their eyes, and like a thousand cleaning materials in their arms. They wailed in Vox's arms about how filthy the entire room was. Valentino took an interest in you, maybe you could be quite useful in one of his films. Like a sexy little maid or something. Yeah before he could make an offer you had ripped off some of his fur, muttering about how unclean his coat was.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Oh Val, that would not be the only time a little ball of chaos ripped some of your fur off, would it?

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Anyways, Vox didn't keep you around much for, as previously mentioned, good reason. In fact, part of your contract was that you never reach out to him. He will be the one to reach out to you. It leaves your text messages and mailing address heavily one sided. Vox still cringes at the memory when the head of the mailing company had accused him of stalking some poor innocent sinner.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Vox liked to think he didn't have any favourites of all his contracted souls. The closest would probably be Travis (the name I gave his assistant in episode 2) but that was mainly bc out of all of Vox's assistants, Travis actually got shit done to Vox's standards. So yeah. Absolutely no favourites. Non whatsoever. Nope nope nope-

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ "And in other news, VoxTek is releasing some new cleaning products for your VoxTek appliances!" Vox promotes on his 'Vox-2-Nite' show one evening. Suddenly your little happy face comes very close in front of camera 1, holding an armful of the cleaning products you managed to convince Vox to make. Vox stretches behind you to try and get his face back on camera 1, and maybe hint for a crew member for get you off the damn set.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ No one could mangle you away from the cameras though, leaving Vox to shamefully climb over his desk and retrieve you himself. He sat back on the guest seat, hand clamping over your mouth, arm holding your body as still as he possibly can as he hurried to end the show.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ "That's it for tonight on 'Vox-2-Nite'! Tune in tomorrow night for a very special guest, Velvette-hey get back here!" You slipped out of his arms, running up to the camera and firmly grasping it in your hands. "Buy our cleaning products! Valentino says the soap is the same colour as Mister Vox’s cum-!" "AAAAAAAAA!!" Vox tackles you to the floor.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Velvette finds herself smiling smugly along side a chuckling Valentino at the...unexpected closing of the show. They wait for Vox to slam open the doors. But surprisingly Vox doesn't come charging in upset. Instead he looks unbothered as you cling to his leg wailing for your cleaning products back.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ "I'll clean all of the Vee's tower! Every little corner! That's how I'll make it up to you, I promise!" Vox pulled you off his leg from the back of your top. "It wouldn't be a punishment if you enjoyed it now, wouldn't it?" Then he dropped on you the couch next to Valentino who scurried away out of fear that you'll rip out his fur again. He may or may not have ptsd from the first time.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ If you were a normal sinner, any of his other souls or employees, you'd be ripped apart by now or have some other form of harsh punishment-he's not above using some of his employees as target practice with a gun of course. But you weren't like the rest to him. Yeah. Definitely no favourites.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ "Imagine being attached to some little sinner!" Vox laughed, spinning around in his chair with a cup of hot coffee on his iconic 'Fuck Alastor' customized mug. He looked at the monitor with an amused expression, with a smug, teasing smile. Alastor's fondness of this Nifty lady was just too comical. Cringe, even. "He's such a loser." He sipped his coffee.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ "Can I have a sip?" You perked up suddenly next to him and eyeing his coffee. Vox hands the mug to you thoughtlessly. "Yeah, go ahead." He says before laughing again.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Valentino and Velvette, on separate monitors as the three were in a video call together, throw a 'really?' expression Vox's way. He fails to notice that though as he's still looking on in amusement and making his comments-laughing at his own jokes like the sad, little simp he is.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ I like to imagine that Vox kidnaps Nifty just to spite Alastor and Alastor, not one to back down from a challenge, in turn kidnaps you. So he's been doing his homework too it seems.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ It then becomes an awkward trade off of little chaos gremlins, with both Overlords inching towards each other holding each others little friend. Like, they don't even set them on the ground for them to find their way back to their masters-each somewhat paranoid that the others just gonna take both and run away. So they hold the two of you out, using the other arm to slowly reach for their respective little entertainment. As soon their fingers graze their friend, Nifty is swept up into Alastor's arms and you're swept up in Vox's. The two throw glares at each other, shadows curling dangerously behind Alastor and electricity flickering around Vox violently.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ "I got stuck in his fancy toilet!" Nifty points at Vox.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ "He took me to Cannibal Town and a lady named Susan tried to eat me!" You point at Alastor.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ One night as Vox sat in a meeting room surrounded by all his sharks, he downed a bottle of some hard liquor. It was another difficult day. Surprisingly enough, the nail on the coffin was when Vox finally admitted to himself that he does have a favourite.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ "Can I stay here?" You suddenly appeared on the table which nearly gave Vox's dead cold heart a heart attack. "What?' He recovered. "I like it here. Velvette says I'm like a doll she can dress up and I get lots of new clothes. Valentino lets me clean his studio-with a promise I don't touch him." Vox nearly snorted. Almost. But a rare, vulnerable, genuine smile took its place instead.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ "I suppose. Your presence is... not unenjoyable to have in the tower." Suddenly Vox finds you climbing his shoulders, hands gripping the top of his monitor to keep yourself steady. You take his hat and place it neatly on top of your own head. Vox glances up at you with a toothy grin. "Onward to my new room, Mister Vox!" Vox stands and cleans up after himself, not removing you from the piggy back you forced upon him. "Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that strange head of yours."

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ You, dear (Y/n), are a soul worth keeping-and a friend worth having.

This took longer to get out than expected. Sorry about that. I think it came out longer than I expected too. A lot longer actually. I might make a part 2 bc this was so fun! Thanks for reading! Likes + Reblogs are appreciated!

Tags: @viviannagiorgini @fabii275

[riaki]

knitted hearts | kento nanami x reader

pt.3 of christmas event! i wrote this for u genie ily 🤍 cw: established relationship, he (over)works at that financing company from before, two (2) petnames

the lights are still on.

that's the first thing kento immediately notices when he gets back; the office clocked him overtime, and so he's late. regrettably, again.

in the past, whenever that's happened, he'd have sent you a text beforehand and came home to a dark apartment; eaten something quick before getting into bed and slipping beneath the soft covers where your resting warmth melts away the stress of the day between his shoulders and his eyebrows.

tonight is different, it seems. the city buzzes with a quiet hum, light snowfall blanketing the roofs and muffling the sound. the holiday season is in full swing; normally, he wouldn't care to know. or remember. if not for the lame decorations around his workplace and the chocolate advent calendar you've been diligently (force) feeding him every night, he wouldn't've noticed at all.

he closes the door quietly behind him, careful not to make excess noise in case you're asleep as he slips his shoes off and hangs his jacket up. after all, you might've just been absentminded or tired, and forgot to switch the lights off. and you blame him for being lost to time.

it's quiet in the house; not dead silent, though. there's soft, ambient winter jazz flowing from somewhere in the house, and the faint sound of the fridge humming, paired with something that's baking in the oven. the scent of soft vanilla and orange settles gently over his shoulders, as if to welcome him home. his half finished coffee sits in a porcelain mug on the stained counter; you'd accidentally made too much for him, leaving you with a puddle of bitter caffeine that couldn't even be finished with your combined efforts. you'd promised him you would chug it over text, but clearly that didn't happen.

he's ready to go through the motions of a quiet night spent unwinding alone when he hears your voice— after endless hours of aching at a desk, clacking away on a mechanical keyboard in the dreariest environment imaginable, it soothes him like no vacation fantasy he's ever known.

"nami? is that you?" you called. your voice is coming from the shared bedroom; you sound tired, and kento can just imagine the sleepy look on your face. he's never been inclined to use the words 'cute' or 'pretty' to describe someone before, but if he had to choose, then he'd use them for you.

he walks down the length of the hallway, undoing his tie and gently tugging it off his neck as he reaches the threshold to your room. the air is warm and soft; it seems so much easier to breathe the closer you are. like the crushing weight of work he puts on his lungs dissipates into a cloud of melting frost.

"i'm home, sweetheart." he's surprised at how rough his own voice sounds; it's almost unfamiliar. he needs your rejuvenating touch; at least, that's what he decides the instant he sees you. you're sitting right in the middle of the mattress, something lumpy, tacky, red and green bundled up in your lap. with something between a sinking realization and a fluttering in his chest he recognizes it as the sweater you've been making for him. you're finishing it up, it seems, from the formerly-wide bundle of soft thread that's been reduced to a meek little crimson string on the white sheets.

it's one of your new interests. you seem to be taking up a lot of those, lately; kento feels as though it's his fault, for never having the time to take you out. yet you're always so patient despite his busy schedule, adjusting to portion out a chunk of time from your own just to accommodate for him. it's unfair, and so one night he vowed to do more for you over a glass of red wine and a fancy white table cloth, freshly cleaned and pressed. that was one of the rare times he'd been able to take you out like you really deserved. "and don't call me by my last name. you're allowed to use my given," he sighs, rather exasperated, but you both know there's only affection behind it.

you perk up, a bright look in your eyes that melts the last of the frost buried in his chest and beneath his eyes. he crosses the room to stand at the foot of the bed, unbuttoning his shirt a few to let himself breathe. and he doesn't miss the way your eyes linger, so he clears his throat, and you spring to action.

"i finished your sweater, ken. can you put it on?" you ask eagerly, and he's briefly reminded of a young boy with pink hair like raspberry chocolate and a golden retriever demeanor. a soft feeling pushes at the back of his heart, sending mushy gushiness through his veins at the sight.

you scoot close, holding it up for him to examine. in all honesty, it's not terrible; you get an A for effort, at the very least. the five reindeer look more like those urban folklore creatures, and the tree looks as though it could use seven more centuries under the sun-- but other than that, it's a perfect first try.

"i'd love to, darling, but i..." he doesn't get to finish, because you seem to wilt a little, and it already feels like that crushing burden over his diaphragm is back, but this time it's exceedingly and guiltily unpleasant, so he retracts his words.

"alright." he succumbs with a tired sigh, letting his eyes flutter shut and removing his glasses to rub the spot where the frame has been digging into his skin; normally you'd do it for him, but you're busy adjusting the fluffy pom poms (he didn't see those before) on the sweater's cuffs, so he does it himself.

he hears the tell tale shift of the soft bedding and he opens his eyes again, only to be met with a very expectant look on your face.

"put your hands up."

"...pardon?" a small amount of resistance to your antics is always present, at first. by now he knows you expect it. but this time, it may be much worse.

"you heard me! arms to the sky." he likes your laugh, a lot. it jingles like a gentle wind chime.

"i can put it on myself. i'm not a child," he says, a little cross, but you're undeterred. as per usual. not like he minds.

"please?"

kento doesn't particularly view himself as a man with a great many ambitious, or zealous ideals. still, he isn't a pushover and has a strong resolve. unfortunately for him (fortunately for you), when it comes to you, it doesn't take much for him to crumble. if you willed it, he'd get down at your feet.

with resignation, he kneels down on one leg, as if you're about to knight him. he waits patiently, holding his arms up, and he can practically feel your giddy smile.

soon enough, you're slipping it over his tangled blonde hair— with a little bit of effort and a lot of scratchy fabric. it's too big here and too tight there, hanging off his shoulders oddly and the sleeves are uneven. but it's cute, too-- in the way that a toddler's crayon doodles are endearing, so are your amateur efforts. what matters to him the most, is that you've handmade it for him.

nothing an industry company factory could achieve.

"so? how do you like it?" you prompt as you start to mess with the collar, pinching and pulling the fabric so that it suits his form appropriately. he doesn't ever remember you asking for his size, but you seem to know it anyway.

"it's warm," is his only input. he knows you'll complain— but it's fun to hear you whine.

you frown. "is that all?" there it is— a small, sweet little pout; the minute down tilt of your lips. your fingers dance over his collarbone as you pull the collar of his button up over the rim, and his breath hitches in his throat. kento wonders if you can feel his heartbeat or notice the way his adam's apple bobs when he swallows.

before you— or he— knows it, he's pulling you down to sit on the knee that's still propped up, catching you by the rest and meeting you halfway to press a gentle kiss to your lips. he's met with a muffled sound of surprise that quickly melts into a laugh; he can feel you smile against his lips and he wants to devour it.

"so i take it you like it?" you whispered as you lean in, hands leaving the unwieldy sweater to thread through his hair, messing it up to your heart's content after he slicked it to the side. you taste sweet, like chocolate and caramel-- he must've missed the advent sweet for today.

his only response is a small hum— you can feel the vibration, so you chuckle again and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling away breathless from the kiss to knock your forehead against his, gazing into his eyes. there's an undeniable well of warmth behind your gorgeous irises; if he had the time, he'd get himself lost in them.

"good, because i have socks on the backburner and you'll be getting a scarf next."

whenever the lights are off, kento knows you've gone to bed already, without him. but he thinks he could get used to scratchy, hand-knit clothing if it means they'll always be on and waiting for him after a long day of dreaming in front of a desk, all about your smile.

not proofread my (riaki) stuff. don't repost and/or plagiarize !

[belladonnadawn]

Borderline

“We're on the borderline, caught between the tides of pain and rupture.”

Isaac x reader

“It’s adorable how focused you are, pickle.” Isaac chuckled as he observed you. There’s a glint of adoration in his eyes as he looks at you, one that makes you fall for him even harder.

“I should be, this is an interesting case.” You responded to his teasing with a smile.

The study was peaceful, perfect for a long night like this. The soft sounds of paper, the quiet clicks of keyboard, and the occasional teasing between you two made the tedious investigation bearable. You were assigned to a new client whose goal was to reveal her husband's infidelity and substance addiction. All she needed was evidence strong enough to prove that he wasn’t able to fulfil the moral clause in his inheritance, and that was your task. So far, you're happy she had a good standing; but you can't help but be concerned about the man that she was associated with. “What a corrupt and evil man.” You muttered under your breath, shaking your head.

Leaning back on your seat, you reached out for your cup of coffee. You sighed as you noticed that the cup was empty. “Isaac, I’m getting a refill. Do you want some?” You offered.

“I’m good for now, pickle. But you could get us some snacks if you like?”

“Okay, wait here.” 

You hummed as you walked towards the kitchen to brew yourself a fresh cup of coffee. You have grown familiar with the house. After months and months of living here, cleaning every crevice and rooms, you easily navigated yourself to get the task done. At first, the thought of it terrified you; living in a spacious mansion with furniture older than you seems like something out of a horror movie. Thinking about the house, you can’t help but wonder if his parents or his grandfather watches you both. An occasional ‘if you’re here watching move a cup’ lingers in your mind– a joke that you never told Isaac. But it’s better than before, at least you’re not in a life and death situation everyday.

The sound of the coffee brewing along with your occasional hums filled the room. You leaned at the counter, recalling the information on your ongoing investigation to occupy your mind from thinking of sleep. Suddenly it hits you, a looming fear in your stomach, you hugged yourself. After years of living– or barely surviving, you learned that once your guts scream, you listen. And you did. You stopped your tracks, sensing anything unusual. But you heard nothing. You sighed, blaming it on paranoia, reminding yourself of how secure the house was. Isaac was meticulous when it comes to security, not a single detail out of place would pass him and you thank him for that. It somewhat assured you, helping you battle those thoughts. 

Then it hits you again, a persistent feeling that doesn’t seem to go away. Tonight, it’s different. You’re not stupid enough to know that it’s different. And you heard it, faint scratches and movements seemingly just outside the house. You silently walked towards it, investigating where it came from.

Bang!

You fell back at the explosion, immediately covering yourself. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you tried to process everything. The nauseating fear crept in your stomach, it felt as if life snatched you back to that day– the one that you longed to escape. A life filled with exploitation, violence, and malevolence. 

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

“[name]?! [name]!” Isaac’s panicked voice brought you back to reality. You opened your eyes trying to look through the smoke, only to see him at the door of his study, a gun holstered on his waist. It wasn’t the first time you saw Isaac with a gun. You remembered the time he came to your aid after a nightmare, with the same panic stricken expression. But this time, it wasn’t a nightmare, not an alarm or a simple shrug will bring you back in his arms safe and sound. You had to face what torments you every night. You had to make a move, so you did.

Without wasting any time, you ran towards him. A pain filled moan escaped your lips as you felt a tight grasp on your hair, along with sharpness pressed against your neck. Thousands of curses ran through your mind. You were disoriented, scared, and terrified of how quickly everything unfolded. You felt a low rumble behind your back, seemingly a chuckle. Any attempts to squirm out of his grasp failed as they seemed to push the knife deeper in your throat the more you tried.

Isaac had his gun pointed at the man behind you. His face filled with anger and worry as he witnessed everything. “Let them go.” His voice is firm and commanding.

The man chuckled, “I don’t think you have the leverage to command me.” He tightened his grip on your hair, “I’m here for one thing and one thing only. I know you’re working for that bitch that I call wife, and I know you sons of bitches were onto me. You think I'll let you deliver to her whatever bullshit you found?” You groaned as his grip tightened. 

“You don’t have to hurt them, just tell us what you want.”

‘You’re that asshole that my wife hired, huh?!” The man screamed, pointing a knife at him.

“I am.” Isaac stated with such conviction. Your eyes widened as he stated a lie– a blatant lie.

The man pulled you back, causing your body to hit the floor. As you tried to regain yourself, you felt a kick in your stomach causing you to fall once again. Isaac tried to come to your aid, but he was met with a punch from the man, causing him to stagger. He tried to draw his gun, only to be kicked in the guts, falling with his weapon.

Your eyes wide as you watched them fight, tackling each other with all their might. A painful groan came out as you tried to pull the man back from Isaac only to be backhanded from him. Pain filled your body as you slammed to the floor. You desperately searched for anything to help your case. Then you saw it: the gun. 

Wasting no time, you immediately grabbed it. You feel your heart beating out of your chest, you know how to use a gun, but your lack of skill in aiming might be the death of you, or him– or Isaac. A lump formed in your throat, you silently cursed yourself, wishing that you were trained to do this. But there’s no time for regrets and contemplation, you must act now. 

With shaky hands and short breaths you tried to aim for the man. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Closing your eyes for what’s about to come, you pulled the trigger.

Silence.

A soft thud from the corp– body followed. For years of not having faith, you found yourself praying to God once again. And this time, you wished that he could still recognize your voice and answer your prayers.

“I’m sorry, Isaac. I’m sorry.” You sobbed, choking at your own words.

He gently caressed your cheeks, “Shh, there’s nothing to be sorry about. You did what you did for us to survive.” Isaac pulled you close, for a brief moment his embrace was enough to make you forget the horrors that you just went through. 

Your eyes landed on the unmoving cold body once again, a choked sob leaving your lips as you realize what you’ve done. After the smoke cleared you saw everything clearly; the debris, the wounds, the blood, and the corpse. It was nauseating, too much for you to bear. 

“I can’t believe they bombed the door.” Isaac sighed, shaking his head. “I’ll just hire a clean up and find a replacement for the door.”

You only nodded, tears still streaming down your face. “I-I didn’t… I just want to protect you.” The realization that you killed a man sinks down further, and the fact that it was your client’s man made you sob harder.

Isaac nodded, “I know and I understand. Please don’t beat yourself up. I know that it wasn’t your intention to kill him, right?”

You nodded.

“I believe that intentions hold more weight than action itself. At that moment, we were in a dire situation where we needed to do everything to live another day. It’s not your fault that you wanted us to survive.” He placed a soft kiss on your forehead. 

Leaning towards him, you let yourself be engulfed with his comfort. You’d hope that once time passed you’d be able to come to terms with what happened. And maybe you’d understand that your action was out of bravery– out of love.

Pattern banner from Cafekitsune

[ozzgin]

Hi ozz! :3 I'm curious, what's your favorite type of monster? Or, what kind of monster would you want as your partner? :0

(Maybe these questions may be a little weird, but I'm really interested. I hope this question hasn't been asked yet. :_) Thanks for your blogs! You're awesome!!! (⁠つ⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)⁠つ )

I mostly go for nondescript creatures, which is why a lot of my stories involve generic monsters without any specific mention. Some pre-existing types are certainly intriguing, like gnolls, or demons, or folklore entities, but I personally like handmade designs. That's how we got the Xenomorph, for example. Or Pyramid Head.

As for realistic partners...I immediately thought of a slime monster. They just seems practical to have in your household, you know? Dropped your earring under the fridge? They can squeeze in and grab it for you. Keyboard collected too many crumbs? You can grab a piece of 'em and use it to clean the nooks and crannies. No plus one allowed to the wedding? You can scooch 'em up in a little pudding cup and carry them in your purse.

[heartfullofleeches]

Mono do be making my head go brrrr. I love this funky robo homie. But! How would Mono react to a very stubborn S/O who wants to help around the ship? Do repairs, help carry out tasks, ensure things are running smoothly even if the task itself isn't the safest thing to do? Btw, hope all is doing well!

(Tw: light injury)

Mono thinks it's absolutely adorable - at first.

As with most things you do, they are greatly pleased with your interest to help. They enjoy doing anything with you, and for you to want to fix up the ship they see you accepting it as home. Would mean they'd have to turn on more cameras, but they would never complain in regards to your safety. Mono gives you little tasks such as cleaning the windows or monitoring the onboard garden, thinking it'll settle your desires.

How wrong they were.

-

"Please, Mono?

[Negative, Y/n. There isn't anything left for you to do.]

Mono lifts their arm as you leap for their clipboard. Pointless - considering the height difference, but gets their idea across clearly.

"Yea, but there's still stuff to do, right? C'mon there has to be something I can do."

Mono glances away as you pout.

[Please do not make that face, Y/n. It is arguably rather cute, plus I can hardly protray my own emotions through expression means so it is unfair.]

"Then give me something to do."

The glass of Mono's visor fogs up, their chest gently rising in further indication of a sigh. They flip through the list.

[Continue repairs on my voicebox. Check for intruders. Making sure your doors lock properly at a set time. Permanently disabled the ship ai. Check the fuel.]

"What was that third one? Nevermind- I have to be able to do one of those things! Checking fuel sounds easy enough."

[The engine room is over three hundred degrees. Starlight, I admire your aid, but there are somethings you simply cannot do. For your safety, and my comfort in allowing you to walk freely. Please understand that for me.]

"I just want to be useful..."

Mono lifts their hand under your chin.

[You are, Y/n. On top of what you've done, just you being here motivates me to improve. Before we met, I traveled the universes with no goals, and now I have one - making our living quarters a home.]

"Right.." You gently pull away. "I'll see you later."

Mono watches you walk away with your head low. As you step out of the room, they glance at the keypanel embedded into their arm. They sighs as they grab hole of it.

[The things I do for love...]

-

Entering your room, the paging device Mono had given you rings. You're not sure if you'll answer, but after the eight ring you finally pick up.

"Hello?"

[Y/n, could you come to the lab? There's an emergency and I am in need of your assistance.]

"Yes, I'll be right over." You leave the device on your bed as you hurry over to the lab. Mono sits against the back wall of the room, arm propped up on the table. You gasp at the amalgamation of tangled wires protruding from their metal flesh. The keyboard they had installed had been ripped from the limb; exposing their inner hardware. You wonder if they could feel any pain while they gazed at you blankly.

"M-mono?..."

[Hello, Starlight it appears that we had a breach in security. I luckily was able to disburst the danger, but they damaged my arm in the process. I need your help to install a new keypanel as my arm is nonfunctioning at the time. Can you assist me?]

[labrxnth]

Prison Break- Part 8 (Leon Kennedy x Reader Series)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Tag List:

WC: 2007

CW: Alcohol mention

AN: In this house we appreciate and respect Ada Wong. Also sorry I said this would come out last night, I sat down to write and I legit fell asleep and woke up four hours later, with a keyboard imprint on my face o_o

Summary: You mull over the past week while you and Leon are bad about feelings.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

It had been a few days since Alcatraz. The San Franciscan horizon had turned into the all too familiar D.C. horizon. Buildings that you knew like the back of your hand came into view instead of the bay that held your curiosity. But that was the name of your job, you were sent anywhere and everywhere, only to come back to the landscape of D.C. that was seared into your eyelids. 

Like the surging tides of the Bay Area, thoughts of you and Leon’s relationship changing seemed to fade away as quickly as they showed. 

It was a weird thing, to have your friend admit their love for you, then acting like nothing happened. The world around you kept turning while you were waiting on something, anything from Leon. At this point, you would have been happy with a longing look towards you, but you got nothing. Nothing at all. 

You were also too nervous to make the first move, thinking that an inevitable rejection would come from making the relationship a reality. Maybe if you weren’t so wrapped up in your own anxieties and insecurities, you would notice Leon acting the same way you were. 

So now here the two of you were, at a stalemate in your D.S.O. office, hoping the other would take pity and say something about the past week. 

Your office felt suffocating, excruciatingly so. The silence between the two of you was heavy and thick, not being able to be parted. The ocean that was between the two of you only grew by the second, either one of you too nervous to say anything. 

There were only a few other times where it felt like the day crept by at an excruciatingly slow pace, but today definitely won first place. The clock finally read 4:00pm; a sigh left your mouth as you turned off your laptop to get ready to leave. Your laptop went into your bag and everything on your desk was collected to either go in your bag or your desk. 

You were excited to get out of the choking atmosphere of the office, already thinking about your plans when you got home. The plans were to order delivery, sit on the couch with a bottle of wine, and drown out your hopes of this going anywhere. 

As you mindlessly cleaned up your workspace, your thoughts were running rampant. Maybe you misread his intentions during Alcatraz. You two did kiss, but what if he regretted it and it was only an adrenaline fueled, spur of the moment, thing? 

As you walked towards the door, you could hear Leon slightly clearing his throat, your head turning to look at him, sitting at his desk. 

“Hey, (Y/n),” He said, his face unreadable. His acknowledgement seemed to melt away any thoughts you had.  

Your eyes met his in expectation for something, anything from him. As soon as your eyes locked, he looked away, taking a sudden interest in the corkboard on your wall. 

“Have a good rest of the day,” He said flatly and went back to typing on his laptop. The sound of the keyboard was the only thing that filled the silence of the office. 

You could cut the tension with your combat knife. 

You nodded, a little disappointed, then walked out of the office, feeling the raging waves drown the two of you. Expectations of something died in the roaring waters. Who you thought of as your life preserver was slowly deflating, leaving you to your own devices in the dark, cold, ocean. 

When the door closed, Leon looked back up at it, watching the very space you were only a few seconds prior. He tried to ignore the heat coming to his cheeks as the blush slowly spread. All that was on his mind was how you felt in his arms, how your lips tasted on his. How everything felt like home to him, in a life where home was a privilege. 

Someone had to give between the two of you, and Leon knew it had  to be him. He knew that you would keep on working as if nothing happened, all to appease him. The way you worked was that you never wanted to misstep, or be an inconvenience to anyone, no matter how you felt. 

Feelings for him were terrifying. It felt like he was being suffocated in his own skin; his heart and brain coming together to tell him what was happening. 

Unfortunately, he couldn’t convince himself that he was denying himself and you of each others’ feelings to protect you. You were also in this job, this life, unlike the other people he’d turned down through his life. 

He opened his top desk drawer and the overhead lights of the office caught on something. The makeup compact he had kept in there for years. The looming idea of a love that he let fizzle out. 

What if you and him became like him and Ada? 

Opening the compact, he looked at himself in the mirror. The reality was that the dynamic between Leon and you was different than him and Ada. He was aware of your feelings, but felt like he couldn’t reciprocate them, until everything had bubbled over in Alcatraz. Leon loved you, but he had justified himself in his own head, scared of the pain of losing you. 

In this dynamic, he was more like Ada and you were like a younger version of him. 

Ada Wong couldn’t get involved with Leon, no matter how much she wanted to. Their lives were too different and things would get messy. Leon knew her reasoning, and he was content with the few nights they spent together. There was something there, but it had to be let go. 

Leon wouldn’t be content with potential hook-ups. He needed you like he needed to breathe. The two of you had been teetering, and it would fall into the pit of nothingness if Leon didn’t do something about it. 

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. He closed the compact and put it on his desk, thinking about how to stop the two of you from becoming another lost potential instead of a blossomed relationship. 

His eyes landed on a folder on top of your desk. It wasn’t rare for you to leave things behind, but maybe it could be the push Leon needed to make things right. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

The parking garage was cold, reflecting the outside weather. It was a nice cover from the rain falling down, but everything around you seemed to reflect how you felt. The calming noise of the rain settled your racing head as you walked closer and closer to your car. The thoughts swimming in your skull. 

Maybe you had to be the one to make the move, but you knew you couldn’t. No amount of planning would make it easy for you to swallow your anxiety and try to break out of the mental chains you had given yourself. 

As you reached for your car door handle, you heard someone behind you. Their footsteps echoing through the parking garage, sounding like they were running. 

“Y/n!” A familiar voice said, his voice echoing just like his footsteps.

Turning around, you saw Leon, running towards you with something in his hand, a folder of some sort. He stopped running as he got close to you and he held out the folder. Recognizing it, you knew that this was from your desk, something you forgot to pack in your bag. 

“You forgot this,” He said, still breathing a little heavily.

Your eyes met his as you took the folder and each other’s hands touched. The spark that was felt couldn’t be denied by either of you. After a few seconds of stillness, he let go of the folder and you put it in your bag. 

“Thanks,” You said quietly, getting lost in his eyes, the vast sky that they held in their irises. The two of you just stood there, feeling how you got intertwined just by looking at each other. 

Leon’s Adam apple bobbed up and down in his throat as the two of you inched closer to each other. His eyes drifted to your lips as he drew in a breath. His hand cupped your face, his thumb slightly rubbing your cheekbone.

“Do you want this?” He asked quietly. 

“Yes,” You said breathlessly, your cheeks turning a slight pink at his words. 

He grinned, then pulled you into a kiss, making your lips meet each other. 

It felt like the world around you melted away, you got lost in Leon’s everything. His cologne, the feeling of his lips, the feeling of his hand on your face. Every part of you that was connected to Leon felt like a slow, warm, fire was raging. You used to chastise romance novels and movies for making kisses feel magical, but now you were a believer. 

The two of you separated after a couple minutes, needing air. All that you could do was lock eyes with each other and get lost in the feeling. 

“I’ve been stupid the past few days,” He said, his arms wrapping around your waist. “I’m sorry.”

“We both have been,” You replied, your arms wrapping around his neck. “What now?”

“How about dinner?” He replied. “Sometime soon,” He added quickly. 

“How about tomorrow night? If we don’t get dragged away to another corner of the country,” You said, smiling.

“Sounds like a plan,” He replied. 

Hesitantly, the two of you separated. Leon opened your car door for you and watched you get in. “See you tomorrow,” He said and smiled warmly. 

You could've sworn that if anyone on the planet was made to give you butterflies and make you melt, it was him. 

You nodded and he closed the car door, waving as you started the car up and pulling out of the parking space. 

You drove off out of the parking garage and started on your journey home. The speakers in your car were bumping your favorite band, a few songs hitting differently now that you knew where you stood with Leon. 

Now, you knew that your love was reciprocated, the melodies and talks of love in the songs made more sense. 

The ocean between the two of you was fearlessly crossed, the world around you swirling in color. What you thought was bland and monochrome was revealed to be color, brighter than you could’ve ever imagined. 

Romance had its ups and downs with you, as it did everyone. After your last relationship, you were a little hesitant to give it another chance. The polaroids of you and your ex-girlfriend still were hanging up in your house. The fear of moving on and having no one, except for the company of your pining, was too harsh. 

Leon was the one person that could care for you tenderly; the one person that you would trust enough with your heart, to piece it back together thoughtfully. 

The thoughts you had about him in San Francisco swirled around your head. He was your life preserver in this sea of emotions and events called life. He was someone that you could trust with your life and, more importantly, your heart. 

He was someone that was just out of your grip, but now you were in his embrace. Cherished and loved. 

The drive home seemed to fade out of your consciousness as you thought about the last week. About how you were so deep in the pining and yearning, that now you didn’t know what to do. 

You were pulled back to your present when you parked the car and got out of the driver’s seat. Grabbing your work bag, you quickly walked back into your apartment, giddy and excited for tomorrow. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

Catch this fic and more on my AO3

[octuscle]

Been scrolling through this website and it has all these pop up ads about web cam shows and cam models on it. I accidentally clicked on one and it says transformation starting?

70's Porn Lover. Interesting name for your channel…. But I agree: the mustache and whiskers fit the name excellently. Fuck! What do you look like? Where does the hair in your face come from? You were perfectly clean-shaven just now. The webcam lights up. You're on the air. Your light blue button-down shirt is getting tighter. The collar is getting bigger. The cotton becomes a nylon fabric. The light blue becomes a bright orange. Shit, you can only sweat in that fabric. You stink of sweat. Deodorant? You don't use it. Armpit hair? Hell, they're supposed to grow. You start playing with your hands on your nipples. Little nipple piercings form. The first comments pop up.

"her we go"

"shirt off, 70s lad!"

"cant w8 2 c ur big uncut cock".

"new tattoos, pr0n lover?

The lava lamp on your desk is bubbling. Sunny and Cher are blaring from the speakers. And you take off your shirt, stretch, cross your arms behind your head and show your armpits to the camera. Virtual jeering from your followers. The donations start flowing. And you start to wank your cock. And your foreskin grows back a little bit with every movement.

Fuck, you start to forget your fans. You are just horny. You take off your brown polyester bell-bottom pants, switch the camera to the ceiling camera, lie down on the bed and jerk off for all it's worth. The pinging, the incoming comments you ignore. You are just a professional. Everything has to look natural. And now you're just a guy from the 70s jerking off to some Tom of Finland drawings in an old issue of Physique Pictorial. But not for long. Then you cum a respectable load on the tattoos on your belly. You are blessed with magic balls. You can cum a load four times a day that a normal man might produce every two days.

You rub your cum on your torso and lick your fingers. Your fans are still beside themselves because of the good show. You don't want to know how many keyboards are now cum-smeared. You don't care either. The main thing is that there are a few hundred dollars more in your account. You turn on the TV and watch "Hercules in New York". It won't be long before you're stroking your cock again. Your fans can't wait.

Screenshot of your latest show found @totallyfuckedupupfuckedtotally