#i half expected him to be like 'but i made SPAGHETTI'

[kinda-indecisive]

.⋅ ˚̣✧ :–⭒  Lingering Affections pt. I⭒–:✧ ˚̣⋅ .

How I imagine the guys would react to you (MC) surprising them with a kiss that lingers a bit longer than expected. I think this is pretty much fluff, but idk.

Part 1: The Xavier and Rafayel Edition! 

:✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧:

Xavier 

The two of you had stayed up later than you probably should have last night building plushie central station in the middle of your living room, making snacks, and having a sci-fi movie marathon. Xavier had talked more than usual during the movies, pointing out discrepancies in the time travel plots and chuckling at things that he thought were ridiculous. You pretended to be annoyed, but couldn’t help but giggle along with him.

This morning, however, you’re exhausted.

Scooting over to flop down across his chest, he seems startled to find you’re awake, laying his hand across your back.

“Ah, I hoped that wouldn’t wake you,” he says, and you hear the frown in his voice before you lift yourself up to look at him.

“I heard your hunter’s watch go off. What is it? Do we need to go in?”

“There was an attack just outside of Linkon. They randomized those with days off today and I got called in. I should get ready.”

Disappointment fills you to the brim. A convenient part of having Xavier as your boyfriend was having someone who understood your job. But that was also a downfall on days like this, when your plans got canceled because of some stupid Wanderers.

You grunt in response, several plushies falling to the wayside as he sits up.

Sinking back into your cushion, you toss Fairymare a dirty look as Xavier stands and heads to your bathroom. The sound of the shower almost lulls you back to sleep, and when you open your eyes again, Xavier’s hair is slightly damp. He stands in your kitchen holding a barely thawed-out breakfast pastry between his teeth as he fidgets with the refrigerator door.

He still looks half asleep as he grabs a chilled green tea from the fridge and leaves.

Forcing yourself out of the blankets, you push your sluggish brain to function as you enter the kitchen yourself. The more awake part of you wants to make Xavier something with a little more substance before he goes, as he probably just went to his room to change.

Setting aside a pot with a scorched bottom, evidence of his attempt at boiling noodles to make spaghetti last night, you locate a pan and decide a simple ham and egg breakfast kimbap should be good enough.

When he returns, he’s a fully dressed Hunter and you are wider awake than before.

“That ham smells delicious,” he hums, walking into the kitchen beside you.

You gesture to the top shelf, “You have two options, pack it up for later or wrap it up to eat it on the go. Either way, you know where the containers are.”

He muses to himself for a second before deciding on a small container with chopsticks.

“I’m going to offer to help later today, though. I just need to get ready first,” you inform him as he packs up.

“I knew that was your plan all along. Linkon City is lucky to have such a dedicated Hunter,” he smiles softly, heading toward the door. You follow behind him and he stops, his box in his hand as he leans down and places a kiss on the top of your head, “Thank you for breakfast, partner.”

He starts to straighten up when you start pouting, gesturing for him to lower his head again. He frowns slightly, his head tilting as he begins to ask what’s wrong, only for his eyes to widen in surprise as you tug him toward you and bring your lips to his.

The kiss, soft and warm around the edges, lingers as Xavier seems to melt against you, his grip on his breakfast faltering. You don’t linger too long, though, since there is a Wanderer emergency out there that demands Xavier’s attention. Be that as it may, when you separate, he looks at you with those beautiful, soft blue eyes and dark lashes and you wonder if you made a big mistake.

“I don’t need to go into work today,” he nearly whispers.

Giggling, you take a step back, folding your hands behind you, “Yes you do! They need you out there.”

“Okay,” he says, surprising you with how quickly he’s become obedient, “I will go and eradicate all of the Wanderers so I can return to my partner as soon as possible.”

:✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧:

Rafayel

Rafayel listens to the conversations of the others backstage with a bored expression, his shoulder against the wall and his arms crossed over his chest. Having rejected several of Thomas’s pleas to attend this event in the first place, you fully expected a pouty fishie when he finally caved and agreed to show up. But clearly you underestimated just how pouty this fishie would get.

Glancing over as you approach, he shifts his weight back onto both feet, accepting the glass water bottle you hand him between three fingertips.

“At least you care about me, cutie. I’m absolutely parched and Thomas was going to allow me to walk out there under those vicious heat lamps without a single sip of water? How cruel, even for him.”

You shake your head, resisting a smile at the sound of his grumbling, knowing he is only partially serious under all the dramatics.

“Thomas does care about you, Raf. He’s just super busy. You know he has another client here today who he has to deal with.”

He takes a long gulp of water as you speak, his eyebrows furrowing at you in the meantime. When he finally lowers the glass, he grimaces.

“Don’t stick up for him and his negligence. He abandoned me here and left you to deal with the consequences,” he says, tugging at his tie, exasperated by Thomas’s audacity, “Ugh, how do people not suffocate with these collars on?”

“Just take it off, I don’t know why you put one on in the first place when you never wear one on a normal day,” you instruct, reaching up and brushing his hands aside so you can loosen the tie yourself. Feeling his eyes on you, you continue to work without looking up, “And I don’t know what ‘consequences’ you’re talking about. It’s going to take more than one grumpy fishie to scare me away. Or did you forget that I hunt Wanderers for a living when I’m not being paid to follow you around everywhere?”

Tugging on the end of the tie, the smooth fabric slides off his shoulder and into your hand. When you finally look up at him, he has a faint smile in his eyes.

Clearing his throat, he blushes softly and looks away, toward the clock that continues to count down to his introduction.

“Yeah, well…” he says, and you realize you’ve just encountered a rare treat: ‘speechless Rafayel’.

“Yeah, well…?” you tease, causing him to flush even deeper. 

He shakes his head as if trying to snap out of a spell.

“I guess I’m lucky I have such a capable bodyguard,” he chuckles, brushing deep purple waves of hair out of his eyes with his fingers. You know he can feel you looking up at him, but he continues to avoid your gaze, “I’ll make it through this little soirée all because of you.”

“I’m happy to help,” you chirp enthusiastically, causing him to look at you with a curious expression.

He doesn’t say a thing, but his eyes seem to be speaking at a million miles a minute and you just can’t look away.

“Mister Rafayel, you’re on in less than a minute,” a stranger’s voice breaks the magic you were under and Raf looks up, giving the man a brisk nod.

“No delaying now,” he flashes a smile and leans down to give you a swift peck of a kiss on the lips. However, still feeling the affect of whatever had been drawing you toward each other just moments before, you gently catch hold of his collar and keep him close. Pushing up onto your toes, you deepen your kiss and feel him lean in, hearing his sweet, contented sigh.

Only when you hear the ten-second countdown begin do you part.

“That’s me,” he breathes, then smiles, “You really know me well. I feel like my heart is singing.”

“Go on, then,” you say, giving him a nudge toward the stage.

He takes his cue perfectly and you hear his voice echo through the suddenly cozy arena. Reaching up, you place your cool hands on your warm cheeks. Feeling bubbles of euphoria rise up in your chest, you allow them to rise out of you in a blissful giggle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zayne and Sylus Edition coming soon!

(and maybe Caleb if I can get a feel for him before posting idkidk I don't want to write him too OOC!!)

Will update this post with a link in this section when it is added. Let me know if you wanna be tagged on the next post of this same scenario :)

MY LOVE AND DEEPSPACE MASTERLIST

[egophiliac]

Have you seen Lilia's vignette yet? Our insight into his initial parenting skills sure was, something.

HA HA YEP, Lilia's. questionable parenting has come up a few times and it's always, like, he read Baby Instructions 101 and went "ooh, I like red, I'll do those ones :)". he has Dad Instincts, but unfortunately they are Stereotypical '90s Sitcom Dad Instincts.

it was, however, worth it to see Sebek (watching Lilia gleefully dunking a bat into a coffee cup) just slowly turn to Silver and go "how the fuck are you alive".

[mggslover]

‘spencer’s “first” time showing you his jealous/possessive side’. bau reader and spencer just started dating and are a bit reserved when it comes to showing affection in the office. a new agent starts flirting/trying to get readers attention and for the first time spencer make sure everyone knows who his girl friend is <3 thank you !!!

the first time spencer gets jealous genre: fluff word count: 965 a/n: oh how i love this prompt!! thanks for the request

Spencer Reid wasn’t big on PDA, so it didn’t surprise you when he suggested keeping your relationship under wraps once it became official. You didn’t mind much—sure, it was a little frustrating when he’d pat your hand away at the round table or create distance the morning after a particularly fun night, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of you—but in general, you were glad to keep things private. You had no problem avoiding the “no dating between coworkers” policy drama, and it gave you the opportunity to focus on the cases and enjoy Spencer’s company even more when you’d sneak off home together at the end of the day. 

So, when you found yourself chatting with the new addition to the team—Agent Owen Rogers—you didn’t expect the effect it would have on your boyfriend.

“Of course he’s taken an interest in her. That woman makes everyone fall head over heels,” Penelope half-sighed, her voice a mix of awe and envy as she watched you talk to Owen from the office window. Her words caught Spencer’s attention, and he turned to the scene, spotting you mid-conversation. He recognized the looks his colleagues were giving Owen—those same dreamy, admiring glances they'd had for Hotch’s brother whenever he visited the office.

Spencer’s posture stiffened as the understanding sank in. If he were being honest, he’d liked the new agent when they first met, but now, seeing the way Owen was smirking at you as he moved closer, that initial fondness had quickly morphed into distaste. He could still hear his colleagues gushing over the agent as he quickly got up and headed down the stairs toward you.

“So, I was thinking Italian? Do you like Italian?” Owen asked, his voice upbeat.

Before you could even open your mouth to turn him down, you felt the familiar warmth of your boyfriend’s arms wrapping around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder.

“We love Italian.”.

You stood there, completely bewildered, as your boyfriend not only inserted himself into the conversation but also made the boldest display of possessiveness, wrapping his arms around you without a second thought. It was so un-Spencer-like—especially in the office—but you weren’t about to complain, your hands instinctively resting over his arms.

“Actually, Owen—I can call you Owen, right?” He doesn’t wait for confirmation before continuing. “You know, it’s fascinating how often people pick Italian food for a first date. Objectively, it’s a terrible choice. Think about it: you’ve got these long, slippery noodles—spaghetti, for instance—that are practically designed to humiliate you. The odds of splattering marinara sauce all over yourself—or worse, your date—are alarmingly high. And then there’s the garlic. People convince themselves that a mint will magically erase it, but we both know that’s just a delusion. Why anyone still thinks it’s a good idea is beyond me. Kind of stupid, don’t you think?”

You bit your lip, struggling to suppress your laughter as Owen’s face crumpled. You truly felt sorry for the poor thing—he really was a nice guy—but seeing Spencer get this sassy, especially when it was all because of you, was strangely entertaining.

“I—uh, yeah.” Owen gives a nervous laugh, his fingers awkwardly brushing the back of his neck. “Pretty stupid.”

“But we’d love to have Italian food with you! Right, baby?” Spencer gives your waist a subtle squeeze, his silent cue for you to play along.

You cough slightly, trying to cover your laugh. “Right! Yes, totally—Italian sounds great.”

“Yeah, that’s cool, guys. But, uh, now that I think about it, I’m swamped. You know, being a new agent and everything.” Roger’s voice wavers just enough to betray his weak excuse.

“So unfortunate. Maybe another time,” Spencer replied smoothly. Owen nodded stiffly, forcing a tight smile before quickly walking off.

You scoffed a laugh as Owen disappeared down the bullpen, the shock still lingering. You turned to Spencer, your eyes wide in disbelief.

“What in the world has gotten into that pretty head of yours?”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed a little, suddenly aware of how much of a spectacle he had just made in the middle of the office.

“He was asking you out,” he said quietly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You chuckled, reaching up to adjust his collar. “And I was just about to say no.”

His arms found their way back around your waist, leaning into your touch as if he’d forgotten where he was. His eyes flickered from your hands to your face, his expression softening. “I know you were. But he should know not to ask you.”

You smiled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear, amused by how the man who’s so intent on keeping your relationship discreet in public is now letting his clingy nature shine through.

“You know he can’t smell that I’m taken, right?” you teased, a playful glint in your eyes.

“Well, maybe we should change that,” Spencer whispered, his voice low as he leaned in, his face brushing against your neck, causing you to giggle.

Unbeknownst to you, the whole team had quietly tiptoed their way down the stairs, and gathered around on the other side of the bullpen. They stood there, wide-eyed, like they were watching an episode of their favorite drama.

“Derek… Am I seeing this right?” Garcia whispered, voice dripping with curiosity as she watched Spencer's face disappear into your neck.

Morgan’s chuckle echoed through the bullpen. “Oh yes, babygirl. You’re seeing it just right.”

Spencer’s grip on you tightened as he sensed the peering eyes, but instead of discomfort, he radiated a quiet pride. He wasn’t hiding anymore—he was proud of what you shared, proud to be yours, and for you to be his, and he wanted the world to know it.

[zorrasucia]

“okay, slow down, you’d never done this until 5 minutes ago” with virgin carmy 🧎🏼‍♀️

Hello, Anon! 💜

Of course! This takes place in his Copenhagen era. Thank you for allowing me to continue my ongoing campaign for Virgin!Carmy 😌 I hope you like it!

"I didn't expect you to cook," you said, watching Carmy plate pasta with ease, a healthy serving of parmesan cheese on top. "Thought you'd be sick of it at the end of the day. It smells delicious, by the way."

"Thanks," he smiled shyly as he sat in front of you, the boat swaying a little. "Wanted to make you something from home."

You didn't know what to expect when Terry arranged for you to meet up with her new golden boy, Carmy, but this was feeling more and more like a blind date. Weirdly enough, you didn't mind her meddling this time.

"Where's home?" you asked.

"Chicago. You?"

"I don't even know where my home is anymore. Before Copenhagen, I was in London for a long while. And I haven't been to visit Aunt Terry in months..."

Carmy arched an eyebrow but didn't ask.

"She's my godmother, Chef Terry, not my actual aunt. I don't usually tell people about it, don't want to make her look bad," you shrugged, something about Carmy made it so easy to open up. "For whatever it's worth, I tried to stay away from cooking and baking and everything, I really did. I just couldn't."

"I get it. Why desserts though?" he asked.

"There's something freeing about them," you bit your lip, trying to put it into words. "You know how they're described, right? It's always decadent, confection, guilty pleasure - things like that. You can be creative."

When you looked up, Carmy was smiling - he looked younger and softer.

"I like that. Sounds nice."

"It is," you smiled back and took a forkful of spaghetti. It was delicious. "Oh, this is incredible," you hummed.

Carmy beamed.

While you dried the dishes, you caught a glimpse of one of Carmy's drawings.

"You make these?"

He looked up from the sink and flushed. "Helps me remember details," he explained shyly, avoiding your gaze.

You learned he had notebooks full of vegetables and dishes, diagrams for plating and cooking. You were surprised to find one of the pastries you had been working on perfecting there too, notes scribbled on the side. Your fingernails traced the lines carefully.

"You can have it," he offered.

"Really?"

He had an adoring, boyish look on his face and you melted inside.

"Yeah," he said, tearing out the page and giving it to you.

"Thanks," you said and without thinking, leaned in to kiss him.

It was quick, a gentle peck. As soon as you parted, you realized you wanted more - you both did.

"Can you- Would you do that again?" Carmy asked.

You tilted your head, moving slowly, relishing the moment right before the kiss, the way his lips parted slightly in anticipation. When you pressed your lips to his again, you took your time, let him cup your face and caress your waist as your tongue touched his lower lip.

When you parted, he looked relieved - that you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

"I didn't think we would do anything like this tonight," you said, your voice breathy from the kisses Carmy was leaving on your neck and collarbone.

You had spent the last half hour making out on his bed, slowly losing layers of clothing. Your blouse and trousers were on the floor, along with his jeans and t-shirt. His right hand was on your breast, caressing your nipple through the fabric of your sports bra, your right hand was palming his cock through his boxers.

"Neither did I," he exhaled into your skin, his thumb hooking on the elastic of your panties. "It's good though?"

He looked up at you for confirmation.

"I- uh-" you hesitated.

"Shit," Carmy froze, starting to withdraw from you.

"No, wait, Carmy," you grabbed his wrist before he could get away. "It's great. You're great. It's just, I've been busy so I didn't- It's a little hairy down there is what I'm trying to say," you said awkwardly, your fingers intertwined with his on your hip, trying to convey your meaning.

Carmy tilted his head, confused. "Okay... Something wrong?"

"I don't know if you're, uh, used to girls that shave it all or- I don't know. Men can be assholes about body hair," you said, a little defensively.

"I'm not used to anything," Carmy said, chuckling nervously. "I like what you look like."

"Oh," you smiled. "Okay."

"Okay?"

You nodded, getting rid of your bra, while he tugged down your underwear.

Carmy got close, his right hand moving to cup your pussy, carding his fingers through the hair, caressing. It made you hum.

"Want to taste you," he whispered.

"Yes," you squeezed his bicep, encouraging him.

"Just- Shit. I think I might be bad at it," he said, his eyes suddenly looked vulnerable.

"Evil ex told you that?" you asked gently, trying to lighten the mood.

He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "I've never done it," he confessed. "Don't want to fuck it up with you."

"Carmy," you touched his chest, tracing soothing patterns, calming him. "You said you wanted a taste, right?" he nodded. "There's no way you can fuck that up. If you make me feel good, that's great but I don't need it to be perfect, okay?"

He kissed you, slow and soft - thank you. Then, deep and full of lust - I want you.

He made his way down your body, licking and nipping at skin, stopping between your legs. You opened them wider for him to settle. He took a good look at you, fingers touching your outer lips with care.

"Beautiful," he exhaled and it tickled you in the most delicious way. You shivered.

He started giving you long, vertical licks, tracing the contour of your folds, almost like he was trying to memorize the shape of you. You moaned low. It was good. There was no rhythm to it but was making you wet and restless.

"Mhmm," you encouraged him, carding your fingers through his curls.

Tracing the lines of you and listening to your breathing, he found your clit. After a couple of his licks were followed by sharp inhales he decided to stay there, kissing and licking, becoming frantic, quickly addicted to the sound of your pleasure.

"Oh! Fuck. Okay, slow down, you’d never done this until five minutes ago," you pulled on his hair, trying to keep his tongue from completely undoing you.

"Shit. That bad?" Carmy asked, sitting up.

"Too fast," you tried to catch your breath. "Too fast."

"Fuck, sorry," he soothed the skin of your thighs and your hips.

"It's- You found the spot. That's good. Just- take your time with it," you explained. "Let me savor it."

He chuckled, your play on words reminding him that he had tasted you and then some.

"Okay," he kissed the valley between your thigh and your hip, soft and sensual, like he was trying it out.

You smiled fondly, watching him slowly kiss his way back to your pussy, open-mouthed, gentle. A needy sound caught in the back of your throat when he finally got close to where you wanted him.

Carmy's eyes widened.

"Oh. Got it," he mumbled, realizing that half the fun was making you wait for it.

He tortured you, carefully finding every place that gave you pleasure. Then, he built up a rhythm that had you writhing on the sheets, fighting the grip he had on your hips, trying to fuck his face, and he paused.

"I've made a monster," you complained, panting and caressing his face - shiny with his sweat and your arousal.

"Fuck," he groaned. "Can't believe you're letting me do this."

You exhaled and giggled giddily. "Can't believe you're enjoying this so much."

"Mhmm," Carmy nuzzled the inside of your thigh, his roman nose tracing zigzags while you caught your breath.

When he started again, he was a little rougher - sucking harder than he had dared so far, hoisting your legs above his shoulders. You moaned low and squeezed your breast, looking for something to keep you grounded. Carmy caught your movements and rushed to replace your hand with his, humming in approval as you intertwined your fingers. You closed your eyes, overwhelmed with pleasure.

He stopped for a second.

"Eyes on me," he growled.

And he kept on devouring you.

You struggled to keep eye contact with how vehemently he was sucking on your pussy, lewd noises coming from his mouth. He was making you gasp for breath and grab desperately at the bedsheets underneath.

You were vaguely aware of the mattress shaking - was Carmy grinding into it? You didn't check or ask any further questions - he was humming in delight against your pussy, lips closed around your clit and eyes fixed on you. He arched his eyebrows. Now? You nodded eagerly.

"Please, Carmy," you keened.

He kept sucking on you, his grip on your breast and thigh getting forceful enough to bruise as you reached your high. You came with a needy sound, something between a whine and an exhale, legs shaking and hips grinding towards his face.

You regained your bearings just in time to see Carmy humping the mattress desperately, drowning gravelly moans into your thigh as he came too.

"Fuck," you sighed, your fingers soothing Carmy's scalp, probably sore from you pulling on it hard all that time. "Oh, my God. Carmy..."

"Sorry. Shit, sorry," he panted, his sticky cheek resting on your hip.

"Are you seriously apologizing for making me cum?" you giggled.

"I couldn't hold it back any longer," he explained.

You didn't tell him how hot it was to see him like that, completely lost in wanting you, cumming in his boxers because he liked eating you out that much. He wouldn't believe it.

So instead you said: "Guess that means we'll have to see each other again. So I can repay the favor."

[daistea]

Could you do a suggestive mithrun x tallman reader fic where the reader somehow managed to become friends with mithrun and they ask if they can touch his ears out of curiosity (I just like the idea of elf ears being sensitive)

Ya! This one was fun 💕 thanks for the prompt!

1800 words

Mithrun x Tall-man Reader

no tws except for smoochin and a suggestive tone

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

You had a measure of decorum. Not much, though. A teaspoon, maybe. A teaspoon of decorum. Yet, that still existing decorum nearly stopped you from doing what you currently wanted the most:

To touch an elf’s ear.

Pattadol said no. Fleki laughed at you and said ‘keep dreaming’ as if you’d just hit on her. Lycion became a bit flirty in a way that threatened you. Cithis also said no. Otta… also said no, out of loyalty to her current partner. Otta’s response made you wonder what the implications of ear touching were to elves. Was it intimate? Was it embarrassing for them? Was it considered rude if you didn’t know the person well, like how using a half-foot’s first name was considered rude for strangers? That teaspoon of decorum caused you to hesitate.

Mithrun, though, wouldn’t care. Mithrun hardly cared about anything. And you were friends, sort of. He didn’t outright call you his friend, but that was fine, you could live with that. He put up with you. That was fine. Fine.

You knocked on the door of the little apartment above the noodle shop. Mithrun’s monotone, though muffled, voice told you to come inside. You found Mithrun on the floor, on his knees and hunched over the baseboards. He wielded a toothbrush like a dagger as he scrubbed at the nonexistent dust, and only spared you a glance, but said no greeting.

It wasn’t the first time you’d seen Mithrun clean like that. It was yet another habit Milsiril had instilled in him during rehabilitation, though you had a theory that Milsiril only taught him to clean so ardently because she thought it would come in handy for hiding murder evidence.

Mithrun’s home was simple. It was near empty aside from the most basic furniture. Yourself, Kabru, and several of the Canaries had given him little decorations. The pillows on the couch with the badly embroidered cows on them were from Otta. The simple, thick white curtains were from Pattadol. The painting of Mithrun’s assist dog dressed in royal garb was from Lycion. And most of the utensils in the kitchen were from you, given to him after you saw him attempt to eat spaghetti with a spoon— he knew better, but couldn’t be bothered to buy proper utensils.

As you took a moment to watch Mithrun scrub, your mind began to wander. Was this truly worth it? You’d only recently read about how soft elf ears were, yet you hadn’t been able to get the thought out of your mind. And they were so cute, too, with how they drooped and perked up. You’d even seen Mithrun’s ears droop when he pulled his hair back. It wasn’t as pronounced as other elves’ but no less endearing.

“What do you need?” Mithrun’s voice yanked you from your mind. It was as if he’d grabbed your shirt and pulled you forward, making you stumble for words.

It would be easiest to just blurt it out. He wouldn’t be offended. He might give you the look, but it wouldn’t bother him, surely. Yet, it was as if you’d hit a mental wall. What seemed like such a simple request ended up stuck in your throat, refusing to climb.

Mithrun sat back on his haunches and raised his head to look at you. He rested his forearms on his knees, toothbrush dangling from his fingers. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and there were his ears.

You knew that look. He was expecting something. And he would stare in silence until you blurted it out.

“I want something,” you finally said.

“I already asked what you wanted,” Mithrun reminded, monotone.

“Technically, you asked what I needed, and this isn’t really a need. I mean, it feels like a need, but it’s really not. I can live without it. However, I would like it. It would please me.”

Mithrun didn’t miss a beat, “And you know how much I wish to please you.”

“Okay, smartass, tone it down,” you put up a hand, shooting him a glare, “I’m really nervous, so don’t make this harder for me.”

“I wasn’t kidding.”

“No, you were being sarcastic.”

“I wasn’t being sarcastic.”

“You’re just trying to make me squirm,” you accused, “you’ve become a sadist after regaining your desires, huh? You like watching me struggle?”

Mithrun only slightly raised a brow, “A bit. But use your ears, I wasn’t being sardonic.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you couldn’t help but pause. “...I’m going to think about the implications of that statement at a later date. For now, on the subject of ears, I have a request.”

He finally stood, brushing past you to deposit the cleaning brush into the sink and washing his hands in a water basin. After drying them, he went to pull the rubber band from his hair, but you made a panicked squeak at the sight, which gave him pause.

“Don’t,” you pleaded as he looked at you blankly, “keep your hair up.”

If Mithrun was confused by the request, he gave no hint. He kept his hair up, though, as he strode through the little apartment and sat on the couch, gesturing for you to join him. You’d done this a hundred times before, sitting next to him in comfortable silence as you both focused on your own things— Cithis called it ‘parallel play’ as if you were kids on a playdate. You’d spent hours on this couch, resting an arm over the back of it as you curled your feet up and talked. Mithrun would usually cross his arms and fold one leg over the other, staring at the wall as if he were ignoring you. He wasn’t, he never did— sometimes he did, but you forgave him.

You took a deep breath as you plopped down beside him gracelessly, your nerves taking over your joints and rendering you a clumsy mess. You weren’t sure why you were so nervous, though, it wasn’t as if this was a big request. It would only last a few seconds, and you’d have your curiosity sated. If Mithrun didn’t want you to touch his ears, he would simply tell you, and you’d both move on with your lives.

Yet, Otta’s earlier answer rang in your mind. She wouldn’t let you touch her ears ‘out of loyalty.’ What did that mean?

It was yet another statement that you’d have to consider at a later time. For the moment, you tried your best to get comfortable as the request rose in your chest. It was undeniable.

The words broke through the dam and flooded your mouth. “I would like to touch your ears, please.”

You watched as Mithrun stiffened. His good eye widened for half a second before he schooled his expression. He didn’t look at you, gaze glued to the wall, but the slight raise of his brows betrayed his surprise. Surprise. Why was he surprised? Was ear touching offensive in elven culture? Mithrun didn’t even acknowledge elven culture most of the time.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he looked at you. Your heart clenched and it felt as if someone had punched both your lungs, but you managed a smile. You knew you looked stupid, shoulders slumped and eyes wide and smile shaken. But he didn’t look at you like you were stupid, he looked at you like you’d just spoken gibberish.

“You want to feel my ears?” He asked.

You nodded, “Yeah, I like soft things, and they look pretty soft. I asked the other Canaries first and they all said no.”

Mithrun cracked a little smile. It was barely there, but you could feel the amusement coming off him in waves. “Of course they would all say no. They know better.”

You weren’t sure what that meant, but he’d yet to give you a straight answer. “Whatever. Can I please just feel them, at least a little? Then I’ll never ask you for anything again.” (That was a lie and you both knew it.)

Nonetheless, Mithrun’s gaze flickered around the room. It didn’t look like he was scanning anything in particular, but rather letting the thought absorb. Once he returned to you, he slowly nodded, “I doubt I have any nerve endings left, so it’s fine.”

Nerve endings? It didn’t matter, you were so close to your goal. Some called you single minded, you preferred the description of ‘determined.’

Slowly, you raised a hand. The moment felt monumental. The air was thick with anticipation that set you on edge, raising the little hairs on your arms. You let out an exhale as if to prepare yourself, then gently brushed your fingers on the soft skin of his cut ears.

You traced the jagged tip. Then the lobe. Then the back. Mithrun leaned into your touch and his eyes threatened to flutter shut, but he managed to send you a look, “Don’t look so excited.”

“Yes, sir,” you answered immediately as you tried to school your expression.

He let his guard down, his eyes shutting as he exhaled slowly. There was a hint of gravel in that exhale that sparked a fire in your lower abdomen.

You should probably stop.

“There are definitely nerve endings left,” he murmured.

You gently took his other ear and began rubbing the tip.

Mithrun lowered his head a little, brows furrowing and lips forming a frustrated frown. He leaned in. Only when you looked down did you notice how tightly he gripped his pants. His knuckles were turning white. The sight just made you want to press a little harder…

Wait.

If you’re getting hot, and if Mithrun is breathing that heavily, then—

Otta’s words made sense. Lycion’s flirting made sense. Elf ears are erogenous zones.

You’d asked every Canary if you could basically touch their privates.

More horrifyingly, you’d asked Mithrun if you could touch his—

It felt as if your face was on fire. You tensed, slowly pulling back, but Mithrun’s hands went to your cheeks before you could react. And his lips were on yours. Eager. Hungry. That spark in your abdomen flared and spread and suddenly you were a bonfire. He held your face a bit roughly, and the kiss was desperate. You should probably kiss back, you thought.

You let yourself melt into the feeling, but kept your fingers on his ears, gently massaging the soft skin. He let out a gasp between kisses before diving back in. His chest pressed against yours and you took the hint to lean back on the couch so he could slip between your legs and consume you entirely.

The mortification concerning the fact that you’d unknowingly sexually harassed all your friends was temporarily set aside. At the moment, all you knew was Mithrun, and this new power over him that your curiosity had bestowed upon you.

You will, most likely, use it for evil.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

[gojos-version]

Home late.

Pairings- Y/N x Toji Fushiguro

Summary- Toji comes home from a mission and just wants to be with you.

Warnings- Just kissing and cuddling. All fluff :) petnames (Hun, baby, doll)

Word count- 526

Proof read- ✅

A/N- I'm feeling Toji fluff tonight, definitely going to write smut. Stay tuned I'm gonna make it fiiilllthhyyyy :33

⋆ ✩°｡⋆ 𖦹｡˚ ⋆ ✮ ༺ ⟡ ݁₊ ⊹ ა ✧ ໒ ⊹ ₊ ݁ ݁⟡ ༻ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ⊰⊱ ✩°｡⋆ 𖦹｡˚ ⋆

You were making dinner humming a tune peacefully to yourself as you chopped vegetables putting them into the bolognaise you were making. Toji was out on a job, he left earlier this morning, and you can't lie to yourself you always worry for him. You have a lot of faith in his abilities, but you never know. You put the vegetables in the bolognaise and you start looking for spices to season the bolognaise. As you were reaching deep into the cupboard you felt hands wrap around your waist, making you jump and gasp. “Relax doll, ‘ts just me.” He hums out and tightens his arms around you. “Welcome home, baby. How’d you go?” You ask softly, putting your hands on top of his, looking over your shoulder to see his head on your shoulder. “I went fine, Missed you.” He mumbles out kissing your neck sweetly. 

You move his hair from his forehead and peck it softly. “I missed you too, hun. Dinner’s almost ready.” You cup his face and kiss him on the lips softly and he reciprocates immediately, shoving his tongue into your mouth and deepening the kiss. You kiss him back, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and humming softly into his mouth. Your lungs burn by the time you pull away to breathe. “I’ve got to put the spaghetti on, baby one sec.” You mumble softly pecking his lips and grabbing the spices but as you are about to walk to the stove his arms stay wrapped around you, tightening slightly as he walks with you. “You’re tired hm?” You coo as you let out a breathy laugh.

“Is dinner almost ready?” He hums, putting his chin on top of your head. “I’ve got to put these in and put the spaghetti on and it should be ready, hun.” You say as you put the rest of the spices in the bolognaise. “Can’t wait, it already smells great.” You were half expecting him to shove you on the bench and eat you out like he did last mission but it made you smile that you just got to have a clingy, soft Toji tonight. 

After some time of hugging each other and talking softly the food was ready and you both ate talking about things mindlessly. You've been together for a few years now and you still feel like it was the first day of your relationship. You both felt like school kids with a crush feeling giddy over almost anything you both did. After you both finished eating, Toji dragged you to your shared bedroom, you sat on your back under the covers, slipping into your PJ’s and laying down waiting for Toji to lay on top of you. He slips his clothes off and slips into his sweats. He puts his face between your boobs and his arms wrap around your waist as his eyes shut basking in your presence. 

Your hands play with his hair softly as you both nod off to sleep. You adored days like these, when he was clingy and you'd cuddle all night. If anything you wish it'd last forever.

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Masterlist<3

[anyarose011]

Dimensions {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: What else is there to do after an emotional night than spill your darkest insecurities to someone you hated a week ago? Advice: Go bowling and to a movie afterwards so he'll tell you his.

Part 9 of ?? (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Long ass monologues you could use to audition for a school play, a good father figure, swearing, past miscarriages, past abandonment, descriptions of cancer, and descriptions of grief.

I’m just now realizing that all of my series has a dead mom. Guys, I’m not like Walt Disney I swear; my mom is alive and we have a great relationship 85% of the time. But anyway, hey pookiesss, here's my late Christmas/New Years gift! I really loved this chapter, and made it a little longer just to make up for the long time it took to get it out. Honestly...this may be the second to last chapter. We'll just have to see if I would want to write a long last chapter or not. Also, I would like to apologize for changing the title to the series (specifically to @riverdrowning for recommending it), but it's not my fault Jack Antonoff probably walked out of the movie and said "This would be a great song".

Word Count: 7.4k

The spaghetti wasn’t cooked all the way, the sauce covered half of the pasta, and the only good thing about the room service your stepfather ordered were the meatballs.

Maybe you should’ve just sucked it up and stayed at the diner.

You hadn’t seen Angus or your stepfather-fuck it, he was still your dad, the rest of the evening. You had shut yourself in your small hotel room, trying to console yourself with a warm bath and reading The Little Prince.

It helped a little bit, and you had barely had a break from crying that you thought you would sleep well that night.

Yet, as you laid on the bed and saw the digital clock read ‘1:00 AM’, that was when you sat up. Wrapping the spare blanket around yourself, you peeked behind the curtains of the window and just stared out it. There were a few people down on the streets of snowy Boston. Some were across the street sitting on a bench drinking and laughing, and some walking briskly with their hands in their pockets to escape the cold.

Your gaze then lingered on the door to your left by the desk; the door leading to Angus and your father’s room.

Taking a deep breath, you approached the door and carefully turned the handle. Luckily, the door didn’t creak as you opened it, and then stepped into the room. Just like yours, the only light was in the room was the streetlamps outside peering in through the window.

Your father slept with a pillow over his head, probably in an attempt to smother his snores for Angus sake. Your gaze then turned to the boy in question. He slept soundly on his side facing away from the window.

Tiptoeing, once you made it to his side, you gently shook him.

Angus hummed lightly before turning over and seeing you. He flinched for a moment, and you shushed him before whispering.

“Can I talk to you?”

He nodded. “Yeah, what’s up?”

You didn’t say anything; only took his hand in yours and helped him stand from his bed. The two of you quietly scurried back to your room, and shut the door. You sat on your bed, leaning against the headboard. You assumed Angus would’ve sat at the foot of it, but no, he sat beside you.

Silence filled the air between you, until, for the first time, it was Angus who broke the silence.

“You uh…you said you wanted to talk. Do you still wanna do that?”

“No,” you immediately answered. “but I know I have to.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I mean I need to.” You sighed. “I’m sorry; I didn’t expect that I needed to tell you about…Daniel, but I should have.”

Angus shook his head. “It was none of my business. It’s a lot of bagage-.”

“-Can I just say everything first, please?” When you saw him nod, you continued with hesitance. “My mom did meet my father at Harvard, but she also met Paul. She…she was closer with him the whole time. They went on like one date their sophomore year, but she said it didn’t work out; apparently, he was too full of himself for her back then.” You both laughed.

Swallowing, you continued. “They were still friends, but my mom started dating Daniel her junior year. He had to repeat a year, and even then, barely passed that. It’s not that he was an idiot, he just didn’t want to do the work. Still, they got along, and after they graduated, they got married and moved to Boston. They wanted kids right away but…my mom had two miscarriages before having me a lot later. I-I wondered if he hated her because of that. Still, I remember growing up and Daniel was nice but…It’s stupid, there’d school stuff and he wouldn’t come. He’d say it was work, and I know that was probably the case, but I remember one night where I heard my mom yelling at him because he went to the bar with friends instead of a dance recital or something, I can’t remember.”

Your voice lowered as the memory resurfaced. “Mom got cancer when I was nine, and I think it was a few weeks after I heard something downstairs late at night. I got up and saw Daniel trying to go out the front door, suitcase in hand. I asked where he was going, all he said was that he loved me, and left. I woke Mom up…and she just cried. She cried so much I stopped crying with her and called Paul; Mr. Hunham.”

You wiped your face; tears were beginning to form but not fall. “Her parents lived in Pennsylvania, so there was no one else I could call. They were still friends even after he left Harvard. She invited him to family stuff and was basically my uncle. It was like one in the morning, I don’t know. Barton’s an hour away, but he got there in twenty minutes. I don’t know how he wasn’t pulled over. He took a week off from Barton and just stayed with us. After that, he’d make the one hour commute everyday for a few months. Every few weeks in the mail there’d be the same letter with a toy train stamp. I didn’t know this, but my mom and dad were only talking through letters, and they were getting a divorce. I didn’t even know it happened until she sat me down and told me that they did. It-it was late at night, and I just kept crying. It was over that, yeah, but-but I remember saying that I was scared Mr. Hunham was going to leave.”

Angus slipped his hand into yours, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t expect you to let out a pitiful laugh before continuing. “I was almost ten when he asked how we’d feel about moving into a house in Barton with him. I said no because I genuinely thought the only way we could live together was if my mom and him got married. So I told him that, and later, he pulled me aside saying that he promised he’d at least ask her, but wanted to give her time. I…I don’t know why I trusted him, but I did. We moved to Barton, had a small house that we only lived in for two years…and I think it was my favorite place. I drive by that house sometimes…and I really miss it.”

He squeezed your hand as if to let you know that he was still listening.

“Mary became a family friend, Curtis became my best friend…you know the rest. Mom would get better, then worse, then better again, and it just repeated. And my dad…Paul, he was good; he was really good, especially for her. It wasn’t even a year later when he asked me if he could marry her. Of course, I said yes. There wasn’t a huge wedding; it was just the three of us, Mary and Curtis, and my mom’s parents.” You chuckled, wiping your eyes. “Curtis was the ring bearer, and I was the flower girl. The men were all getting lunch together while we were getting my mom ready at church, and my grandpa wanted to see my mom’s ring so he took it from Curtis, but he dropped it down the gutter!”

“No!” Agnus laughed.

“He did! So we got two old guys freaking out, they told poor Curtis to go to the chapel and tell Mary, but he instead tells me, and my immediate response was to go to the drugstore and beg for change to buy a plastic dinosaur ring.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not!” You had to stifle your giggles. “We told Mom about the ring, but then gave her the plastic one and thought it’d be fine. She marched to the diner of course, rollers still in her hair and all. She showed them the ring, raising her voice; but, in the end, all we could do was laugh. We got someone to go down and get the actual ring, and the wedding went on…I remember she…I remember she told me that she loved every second of it more than she ever did her first wedding…She wore that plastic ring to the grave.”

There was no sound at all in your room, all but your breathing steadying out from your crying. It felt as if the world knew you needed silence.

Angus spoke up. “I would’ve like to meet her.”

“She would’ve liked you.”

“You don’t have to say that-.”

“-No,” You cut him off. “she would’ve; I wouldn’t bullshit that.”

He looked away as if it was too much. Still, he held onto you as he slunk down to lie on the bed. You followed his lead.

“She probably would’ve helped your dad not have a stick up his ass this Christmas.” He said.

You bit your tongue to not burst out in laughter but grinned from ear to ear up at the ceiling. “He still would’ve had one, but not so much.”

Angus nodded then drew his eyes up to the ceiling away from you. “You don’t-you don’t have to talk about it, but…could I ask about Daniel?”

You sighed. “He showed up to Mom’s funeral with his new pregnant wife, and we only really said hello and that was it. I can’t really remember, but I think his wife tried to talk more, but I didn’t want to. He still lived in Boston, and I never heard from him again until this past August. He sent a letter about wanting to reconnect, and I…I was stupid.” You confessed. “I didn’t want to say anything to him, but I don’t know why, I wrote him a letter and we’d just go from there. It was nothing serious, just talking about our lives. Then he started sending money; I guess he was trying to buy my forgiveness. He wanted to meet up, that was the letter you gave my dad; and no, he didn’t want us to meet at the diner.”

“I never thought that.”

“Just wanted to make sure.”

Angus reached over, placing his hand on your cheek to have you look at him. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with his shit all this time.”

“I know.” You responded exhaustedly. “I just…fuck.”

“Yeah…fuck.” The two of you fell into silence; awkward yet somehow also soothing. He soon broke it, asking. “How’re you doing now?”

“My eyes hurt from crying, but thanks for listening.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I care about you.”

It felt strange to hear that. You knew enough from your father and Mary that they would go to the ends of the earth for you; they never had to say it aloud. Still, while the foreign feeling settled in your chest like a weight, it soon eased within you as you tossed your arms around him.

“You’re the best thing that could’ve happened to me this Christmas.” You whispered.

You felt him stiffen at your words, and for a moment, you thought you said too much. Then, he sighed into your hold, encircling your waist with his arms and pulling you closer.

“I’m glad I got stuck with you and not Kountze.”

“You piece of shit.” You snickered, pressing your face into the crook of his neck.

“I’ll wake you up when I gotta go back.”

“Don’t.” You shook your head, still holding onto him. “I’m gonna sleep really well from bawling my eyes out.”

He kissed your cheek. “I hope so.”

“Night, Angus.”

He wished you a goodnight, whispering your name so tenderly.

You were right; you did sleep well. So well, it wasn’t the light outside that woke you up, but a knock on the connecting door. Looking over at your side, you saw that Angus was not there; which relieved you more than disheartened you.

Tossing yourself out of bed, you opened the door, revealing your father.

“Morning, sweetheart.” He greeted. “How are you feeling?”

“My eyes still hurt a little,” you answered honestly. “but better.”

He hummed. “I ordered breakfast, would you want to get dressed and join us?”

“Sure.” You closed the door and went to change into your favorite outfit. You brought it into the bathroom, and when you stripped your nightgown off, you saw the faintest red patch in your underwear.

“Fuck.” You mumbled. Out of all the days your period could have started…at least you had packed a few things for it.

After you were ready, and after tying in one of the ribbons Angus had gotten you, you knocked on the door to let them know you were coming in, and entered the room. Angus sat on his bed, eating a plate of toast and sausages.

“How are you?” He asked immediately upon your presence.

You shrugged, loading up a plate and sitting on the bed with him. “Okay.”

The three of you sat there, eating. Again, there was a hint of discomfort in it; as if none of you slept as well as you could have, and you were too tired to make conversation. Still, in the silence, you found yourself waking up.

When breakfast was finished, you all decided to go bowling at an alley you and your mother frequented when you used to live in Boston. The weather, although still bitter cold, wasn’t as bad as it had been for the past few days, leading to you taking the subway and walking instead of splurging on another taxi.

It’d been a while since you bowled, but you were better than you remembered; albeit, not great, but your ball wasn’t going in the gutter every round. Unlike your father.

Leave it to Angus to teach his own teacher how to properly bowl. It was funny for you to sit back and watch. In many movies you watched as a teenager, it was always the boy to teach the pretty girl how to bowl; never the girl’s stepfather who is also the boy’s teacher.

“Not bad,” your father laughed once he hit a few pins. “you’re a pretty good teacher, kid. Too bad everybody dislikes you; pretty much hates you. But you must know that, right?”

You turned to Angus, smirking as if to say: ‘Now how does it feel?’. He nodded, trying not to smile. “Touché sir, touché. By the way, what eye do you aim with anyway? You know, I’ve been meaning to ask, when were talking, which one should I look at? Sometimes, I look at one,” he pointed. “but then I think I’m wrong, so I look at the other.”

Your father nodded, obviously uncomfortable but not inexperienced with the question. “Yes, everybody does that. My wife did it for a whole month after I met her.”

“So, which is it?” He laughed.

Mr. Hunham shrugged, turning to you. “Don’t you tell him.”

You mimed zipping your lips and locking them before throwing away the key. He nodded, going to take his turn.

Angus snapped his gaze to you, saying your name and drawing out the last syllable.

“Yes, Angus?” You asked.

“Tell me.”

“No.”

Your father came over soon after, saying. “I’m going to go get a drink, behave yourselves, and you can play for my turns.”

“Can I have some vodka?” You asked.

He answered, walking away. “When you’re in Europe or you’re twenty-one.”

You sighed, looking at Angus. “We’re in agreement we’re gonna screw up his bowls on purpose, right?”

“Only if you tell me which eye to look at.”

“The right one.”

“His right or my right?”

“Yes.”

He snickered. “You’re impossible.”

Getting up, you made your way to grab your ball. “Yeah, but that’s why you like me, I think.”

You bowled your set, getting a spare to your surprise and turning in victory. Angus got up, getting his own ball, waiting for the pins to come back.

“It’s one of them,” he said. “but I can handle you.”

They were simple words, and you know he probably didn’t mean for them to mean anything to you, but they did. Still, you wanted to have fun; you spent all of the night and early morning weeping, you wanted to laugh in the day.

You stayed standing as he took his turn, and he immediately got a strike. When he looked at you with the same shit-eating grin he always gave, you took one of the balls off the dispenser.

“So, what else do you like about me?” You asked, playing.

“Absolutely nothing.”

“You said that me being impossible was one of the things,” you crouched down and simply placed the bowling ball in the gutter. “so, there must be at least something else.”

Angus hummed. “You play fairly.”

Laughing as you stood, you and Angus watched as the ball was slowly beginning to approach the pins. When it quickly became boring, you both sat down back at the chairs, writing down all of your scores. As Angus was penciling in the boxes, you looked back to your father at the bar, chatting with two men. Hopefully he was making friends.

Then, when you heard light giggling, you compulsively turned to your left and saw two girls your age staring at your table. The second your eyes met theirs, they looked away in the blink of your eye.

They’d been doing that the whole damn time since you came to the alley. Your selfish yet hormonal teenage brain thought it was because of you eating utter shit at bowling, then when the fog cleared, you saw that their eyes would be on Angus.

Of course they probably assumed you were his sister or cousin or something. Because in what circumstances would a girl bring her dad and her boyfriend along? Wait shit…you weren’t technically his girlfriend; you talked about that the night before, but you had much direr things to attend to, so no shit you couldn’t talk about-.

“You okay?”

You pulled on a smile at Angus’ question, turning your head to him. “Yeah, just thought I saw something.”

His eyes went to the girls behind you for just a second before landing on yours. He took your face into his hands and pressed a kiss on your forehead.

You chuckled, pulling away. “What was that for?

“Just wanted to see if you had a temperature.”

“Why?” You began to retie your bowling shoes. “Because I’m hot?”

“Well…” He drew off, and you looked up at him with a questioning look until he sputtered out. “Jealousy’s a sickness, that’s why-.”

“-Angus!” You laughed louder than you thought possible, shaking your head.

“You’re hot too!” He tried to defend, finding your laughing contagious. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“Yeah, I do.” He sat farther back in his chair, and you leaned against him, resting your head on his shoulder. He glanced back, then at you. “Your dad might see.”

“Do you care?”

“I mean…maybe.” He admitted. “If he’ll drop kick me into next Tuesday, then yeah.”

You sat up yet tossed your legs over his lap. “This better?”

He smiled, draping his arm over your chair. “Yeah.”

And you both sat like that for another minute until you realized that it was technically your father’s turn, and there was no way in hell you were going to let him come back and knock a few pins down.

Once he returned, and you finished the rest of your game, there was debate on going to a movie or just going to lunch. Considering this was a vacation, you opted for the more exciting of the two and decided to risk getting sick from eating a lot of popcorn; but hey, it was still food.

The only movie that seemed interesting was Little Big Man. The theater was packed as the three of you sat down, and even without knowing anything about it, the movie was pretty good. It certainly impressed your father.

“This is not only amusing,” he whispered to you sitting in between him and Angus. “but for a movie, it’s a fairly accurate depiction of life among the Cheyenne.”

Somebody shushed him before you could, only for him to whisper. “Fuck off.”

You bit your tongue to smother your laughter. Another minute passed, and you felt Angus’ mouth hover over your ear.

“Meet me out in the lobby in a few minutes.”

Before you could even turn to him, he got out of his seat and whispered to your dad. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

He nodded, not thinking anything of it. You, on the other hand, felt your body grow simultaneously cold and warm at the same time. What could he possibly have had in mind? You had an idea of course, but the thought of…doing that in public or just in general caused your stomach to tie in a million knots. Still, you had to tell him that yourself.

After what you thought was long enough, you also stood. “I gotta go to the bathroom.”

That was when your father sat up. He sighed your name. “Now, I know there’s been something going on between the two of you, but-.”

“-I’m on my cycle...” Was all you could think to say. “I’m bleeding.”

Didn’t know why you said the second half and neither did your father, but that was enough for him to stop. “Oh…do you need anything?”

“You to stop talking.”

He did, leaving you to rush out of the theater. You found Angus in the lobby, and he took your hand without saying anything. Oh, but you certainly did.

“I’m not doing anything.” You stated.

He glanced over at you, heading towards the exit. “Huh?”

That’s when you stopped you and him in your tracks yet still held his hand. “I’m on my period, and even if I wasn’t, I would still beat your ass if you-.”

“-Oh my god, no!” He cut you off. “I don’t…look,” he rested his hands on your shoulders. “I haven’t been honest. I’m a prick for not telling you sooner, and I wanted to say something last night, but it wasn’t about me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just trust me.” He led you outside, and you were welcomed to a line of waiting taxis. Angus immediately began making a beeline to the farthest one.

You pulled yourself out of his grasp, saying all the way. “What the fuck? No! What are you doing?!”

“I’ll explain on the way.” He turned to you, huffing. “Just please-.”

“-No! You’re telling me right here and now.”

“Hey!”

Your heads snapped over to the theater, where you father was then sprinting across the street and over to both of you. Angus got into the taxi before you could even say anything, only for you then to yank the door open when your father finally came by.

“Get out.” He commanded.

“I just need to do something.” Angus resisted. “We were gonna come back-.”

“-Where the hell were we even going?!” You fired back.

He didn’t even acknowledge you. “I can go on my own. It won’t take long, it’s nothing bad.”

“So why’d you even ask me in the first place?”

“Stop it!” Your father had enough, then looked at Angus. “Just get out, you conniving little shit! Were you planning this the whole time? Just counting the minutes until I turned my back?”

“I wasn’t running away.” Angus softened, the pain in his voice only growing with each word. “There’s just something I need to do before we go back to school. Please. You could come with me, just come with me, okay?”

“Come with you where?”

“…To see my dad.”

Your heart began to crack like ice on a river in the early days of spring. If only he had told you earlier, you would have gone without a second guess.

“Your dad?” Your own father sighed. “That’s what this is about? What didn’t you just ask me? Because, of course, we can visit a cemetery.”

Slowly, Angus dropped his gaze from both of you. You thought his disbelief was from your father saying ‘yes’, but then tears began to fall, and it didn’t even look like he knew they were. You crouched to his height, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, not looking at you. “He’s not dead.”

The crack in your heart spontaneously shattered it just with three little words. Still, you had to ask with one.

“What?”

“He’s at Pinehills…”

You dropped your hand from him. The sanatorium…you’d never been, only heard of it once or twice. Your father read your shock and spoke for you.

“Okay, we’ll go. Scoot over.”  Angus did so, and your father sat in the middle, looking up at you. “Come on.”

As if you weren’t in your own body, you shook your head. “I-I think I’ll walk back-.”

“-We’re not splitting up,” he said your name gently. “that’s final. Get in.”

You didn’t put up much of a fight, and sat down, shutting the door.

Leaning against the glass, you watched as Boston, once again, passed by you. The car was deathly silent. In situations like this, you would at least look around you, but no; you couldn’t even muster the strength to lift your head, and you felt yourself beginning to cramp.

Skyscrapers soon turned into trees farther out of the city you drove. The sanatorium was just a large stone building, more like a prison than a hospital. After your father paid the driver, the three of you entered.

As your dad spoke to the receptionist, Angus slipped his hand into yours.

You swiftly pulled it away, not even meeting his eyes.

An orderly came out and led the three of you up a set of stairs. You stopped in front of a door, and the orderly gave just a single look to you and your father. You kept your head low, but your father nodded at Angus, and the boy entered with the orderly.

You and your father sat in the waiting room on a bench together, saying nothing. The whiplash of the entire day began to weigh on your shoulders, and so did the entirety of the night prior. The tightening in your lower abdomen only added to everything, and it was your father’s hand on your back that made you break.

“Are you okay?” He questioned.

 “I have to go to the bathroom.”

You stood up and ignored his pleas as he followed after you. Just as you were outside of the woman’s restroom, a stabbing pain struck you like a flash of lighting. Doubling over yourself, you clutched where your uterus lay, tears springing free as you sunk to the floor.

“Hey, hey,” your dad rubbed your shoulders, kneeling in front of you. “what is it?”

“It hurts.” You sobbed.

“Period?” He asked. You could only nod. He turned to a nurse who approached the commotion. “Does the hospital have anything help with the pain? Tylenol?”

“I have some in my purse.” She raced down the hall.

Your father shushed you, holding you tightly. “I know, I know. She’ll be back soon.”

“It-it’s not just that.” You hiccupped.

He ran his hand up and down your back. “What else is it?”

“I-I-I-I.” you stammered.

“Breathe,” he said. “just breathe.”

You copied him when he inhaled deeply, then exhaled softly. When you felt air returning to your lungs, you finally found your words.

“I hate him.” You hiccupped. “I hate that he left mom, and-and that he didn’t want to talk to me until now, and-and-and that he brought his stupid wife and his stupid kids that won’t do anything with their life because they’re just as dumb as he is! I-I hate that Mary’s alone, and-and that Curtis is dead, and that he even had to go in the first place! I hate that he lied, and that he said we would be friends, but he didn’t-he didn’t even tell me this, but I told him everything.”

Your father rocked you back and forth ever so subtly as you cried. He rubbed circles into your shoulder. “You’ve had a lot going on, haven’t you?”

You nodded.

He pulled away only slightly, just so you could look at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve protected you as much as I should have, and even then, some of these things, I couldn’t; no matter how much I’d give to. You are…god,” he said your name. “you are your mother’s daughter. I hate that so much of you and her strength have had to come from people who hurt you; and I wish I could tell you this is the last time you’ll have to feel like this, but I don’t want to lie to you. But, I just want you to know, and I mean this with my whole heart: I wouldn’t be able to overcome the things you are handling right now when I was your age. Girls are forced and socialized to grow up faster than boys; it’s not solely a biological factor, it’s also a societal one, and it’s not fair. I don’t know if it matters, but I’m so proud of who you have become; raging spirit and all.”

You still were crying, but not just in sorrow; now, overwhelming adoration was added. Wiping your nose on your sleeve, you sat against the wall.

“Why didn’t he tell us?” You asked.

“I don’t entirely know,” he sat beside you. “but I believe shame is the main part.”

“He lied.” You shook your head. “I wouldn’t have judged him if he told the truth.”

“Would you have told him about Daniel if he didn’t show up?”

You went silent, already knowing your answer. Sighing, you rested your head on his shoulder. “I’m going to mourn Mom and Curtis longer than I’ll have known them…and if I think about that too much, I can’t sleep.”

Your father leaned his head on top of yours. “Then I’ll be mourning with you, and so will Mary.”

“Until you won’t be.”

“Then you’ll mourn with your husband, your children, your friends, hell, mourn with ten cats and dogs if you don’t have any of those other things later on in life.”

That managed to crack a smile. “Shut up.”

“It’s not human nature for us to be alone.” He said. “Even to those so called ‘antisocials’ or ‘loners’. You will always have someone to share a life with; even if it is those copious amounts of animals you’ll have.”

The nurse came by finally, holding a few pills in her hand, and a glass of water in another. “Sorry I took so long.”

You shook your head, taking them from her. “Just in time, thanks.”

Swallowing the Tylenol, you gave her the glass and she walked away. Your father stood up and reached his hand out to you. You took it and stood up, wiping the tears off your face.

“Do I look like shit?” You asked.

He shook his head. “You look like your mother.”

The two of you walked back down the hallway, and when you turned the corner, you saw Angus come out of the room he had gone into previously. He turned over to his left and he locked eyes with you first.

His eyes were red, yet no tears had fallen.

You left your father’s side and walked down the hallway, enveloping your arms around Angus. He latched onto you as soon as he felt your touch, and only then, hiding his face in your shoulder, did you hear him cry for the first time.

The three of you left the same when you entered; although, worse for wear. Angus mirrored what you had done prior to coming; staring out the window and not looking at anything else the whole time.

You had gone to a fancier restaurant as a final ‘hurrah’ of your Boston field trip, and to finally see Mary again after two long days without her. The three of you were quiet at the table, only truly talking when the waitress came. Your father attempted to make conversation, but it was apparent, after the days you both had, neither you nor Angus were in the mood.

Yet, after it seemed like you would all be silent until Mary arrived…

“He used to be fine; better than fine.” Angus began, staring down at the table before looking up. “He was my dad. Then about four years ago, he started acting strange; like, erratic, forgetful, saying all this weird shit. My mom took him to a bunch of doctors, and they put him on medication. But that just made it worse. He got more confused. And then he got angry, and then he got...physical. And that was the last straw. They put him away. Then she divorced him. Without him even realizing it. That’s why she wants a whole new life. And it’s easy to just stash me away in a boarding school, like half of us there are just stashed away. And I get it; she never has to look at me, because maybe when she looks at me, she…she sees him.”

You held his hand under the table the whole time, not knowing what else to do.

Your father shook his head at the statement Angus made. “No, no, no, no. That can’t be true, she…you’re her son.”

“Maybe she’s right.” Angus shook his head too. “I can’t keep it together. I lie, I steal, I piss people off. I only have one friend, a real friend, and even then I was a piece of shit, I’ll probably get kicked out of Barton too; and when I do, it’ll be my own fault. Get sent to Fork Union and maybe to you-know-where; and nobody will care.”

Except you would. You would lose someone else a second, horrible time. The thought alone brought tears to your eyes, but you forced them away; this wasn’t about you.

“And the funny thing is…” Angus trailed off. “I wanted to see him so bad this whole time….But I also didn’t, you know? Because I’m afraid that’s what’s gonna happen to me one day.”

“Angus,” your dad soothed. “listen. You’re not your father.”

“How do you know?”

“Because no one is their own father.” He shook his head. “I’m not my dad, no matter how hard he tried to beat that idea into me. The girl you’re sitting next to is neither me nor her biological father, and I’m thankful for both every day.” His eyes began to drift. “I find the world a bitter and complicated place, and it seems to feel the same way about me. I think we all have this in common. Don’t get me wrong, you have your challenges. You’re erratic and belligerent and a gigantic pain in the balls, but you’re not me, and you’re not your father. You’re your own man.” He scoffed, rewording. “Man. No. You’re just a kid. You’re just beginning. And you’re smart. You’ve got time to turn things around.”

You and Angus stared at him as if he was a priest giving the best sermon of his life. He went on.

“Sure, the Greeks had the idea that the steps you take to avoid your fate are the very steps that lead to it, but that’s just a literary conceit. In real life, your history does not have to dictate your destiny.” He looked over at you specifically. “And I hope you know this too, Josephine March; this isn’t just a boy’s club philosophy.”

You grinned from ear to ear. “Noted.”

He returned your smile, and then his eyes fell behind you. “Oh, there’s Mary.”

You and Angus looked over and saw her entering. Angus said. “Can you not tell Mary or anybody about-.”

“-Entre nous.” Your father interrupted. “This whole damn trip is entre nous. Stand up.”

“What?” You both uttered.

“Stand for the lady, you boors. You cretins.”

You did as you were asked, and Mary sat down once she was at the table.

“Thank you, sorry I’m late.” She squeezed your shoulder as she sat by you. “How’re you doing?”

“Fine.” You smiled. “Just happy you’re here.”

The host handed Mary the menu and the waitress came back. “Hello ma’am, would you like a cocktail to start?”

“Oh no, I’ll just take a cup of tea.” Mary said.

“Oh, come on, have a cocktail.” Your father insisted.

“No, no, a cup of tea is fine, I’ve eaten already.”

“And you three?” She asked the rest of you. “Did you save room for dessert?”

Your gaze drifted over to a nearby table where the waiter was holding a saucepan completely on fire. You asked. “What’s that?”

“That’s out signature dessert, cherries jubilee.”

Angus smiled, just as entranced as you were. “That sounds great.”

Your father laughed. “Bring the young vandals here cherries jubilee.”

She made a face. “I’m afraid I can’t; the dish contains brandy.”

If you had half a mind like some people you knew (Teddy, Daniel, the majority of the male population, etc.), you would have said aloud: “I’ve had stronger shit than that.”

“Yeah, but doesn’t the alcohol just burn off?” Mary asked as if she wasn’t an excellent cook.

“It’s still against the rules, ma’am.”

“Fine,” your father sighed. “I’ll order the cherries jubilee, we can share it.”

“I can’t allow that either.”

Mary pointed between you and Angus. “Can we say it’s their birthday?”

“Yeah, we’re twins!” You leaned over so your face and Angus’s were side by side. “It’s our birthday.”

She chuckled. “Happy birthday. Let’s get you two slices of cake or some other age-appropriate desserts.”

“Christ on a crutch!” Your dad cursed. “What kind of fascist hash foundry are you running here?”

Mary put her hand on his arm to stop him from further pissing off the waitress. “Excuse me ma’am, do you by any chance have cherries?”

“…Yes.” She answered.

“Great, and do you have ice cream?”

“Yes.”

“Fantastic, can we please get cherries and ice cream to go?”

“And the check?” Your father added.

“Right away.”

Once she was out of sight, Mary muttered. “Bitch.”

You snickered. “Hey don’t swear; Jesus was born two days ago.”

“If Jesus had to deal with her, he’d say the same thing.” She sighed.

“Now who’s committing blasphemy?!”

When the check was brought alongside the cherries and ice cream, the four of you put on your coats and left; not without you and Angus grabbing enough spoons. In the parking lot, your father opened the box and poured the remaining bourbon out of his flask.

“Is this a good idea?” You asked, only then realizing you would have to light a box on fire.

“No Josephine,” your father said. “it’s a great idea. Go on.”

Mary, with a cigarette in her mouth, stroke a match and dropped it onto the dessert. It burst into flames.

“Presto! Cherries Jubilee!”

“Cool!” You cheered. “How do we eat it?”

“It should go out…”

It did not go out; instead, the box actually caught on fire.

Mary gasped. “How much alcohol did you put in there?!”

A series of curses all left your lips, and your father tried to grab a flap of one of the boxes but let go of the heat. It fell onto the concrete, but when there was no sighn of danger, you all looked at each other in a beat of silence, then laughed.

Once the failed cherries jubilee went out, all of you just decided to get ice cream at the hotel. Mary would be sleeping there that night since you would leave in the morning. Once you reached the hotel, and the four of you were walking two by two (you with your dad and Mary with Angus), you lowered your voice.

“I need to talk with Angus.” You told your dad. “Just for a second outside. We’re not gonna run away or anything-.”

“-I know.” He said. “Just maybe keep it down to a few minutes? It’s freezing and I want to go to bed.”

You nodded and stopped once you were right outside the hotel. You grabbed Angus’ arm to stop him and he looked at you with a quizzical look. When she noticed her companion wasn’t behind her, Mary also looked at you.

You smiled. “I just need to steal him for a minute.”

She hummed. “Don’t be too long, I want my ice cream.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Both adults went into the hotel, leaving you and Angus outside. It wasn’t as cold as everyone was making it out to be; but hey, Mary and your dad were old so that’s probably why.

“What do you wanna talk about?” Angus asked.

“You got a cigarette?”

He seemed a bit confused at first, but nodded, taking out a pack and handing you one. He got out a lighter from his other pocket, lighting it for you. You took a few puffs before handing it to him, and he took it, thanking you.

“I’m sorry.” You began.

Angus furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“At the hospital,” you explained, taking the cigarette when he handed it back. “I pulled my hand away from you. You were hurting and I was a bitch about it.”

He shook his head. “I lied to you.”

“You did, but that doesn’t mean I should’ve reacted that way.” You sighed. “I was just…I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up, even before I was homeschooled. The friends I did have would make plans to meet up without me in front of me, or would make snide comments about my hair, the books I liked, stupid stuff like that. I was kind of a know it all in class, so I don’t blame them that much, but still. And I…I never knew anyone else who’d lost a parent; at least, I wasn’t close with anyone who did. And I’m…I’m glad your dad is alive; I was just really blindsided.”

Angus nodded, taking the cigarette from you. After taking a drag, he paused before saying. “I told him about you.”

“You did?”

“Yeah…about what I liked about you.” He smiled gently. “That you’re smarter than me, you’re funny, nice-.”

“-I’m not really.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Then so are you,” You countered, leaning against the wall and taking the cigarette. “and I don’t know why you keep insisting you aren’t.”

He mirrored you. “…I don’t know either.”

You dropped the cigarette once it was finished, stomping it out. “For the record, I think you’re really sweet.”

He snorted. “Now that’s funny.”

“Will you shut up for a second?” You sighed. “You don’t have to be Audrey Hepburn. I mean, shit, you got me a book just because I couldn’t find mine. You…you put up with the bullshit I gave you early on, and didn’t judge me about Daniel. So don’t you dare tell me you’re not sweet.”

He nodded, staring up at the sky, and for a moment, you thought you saw tears prick his eyes the more you went on. When you were finished, he wrapped his arms around you without warning. Still, it was not unwelcome.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I should have told you.”

“I get why you didn’t.”

“No, it wasn’t fair to you.”

It wasn’t, he was right about that. Still, how could you hold it against him? With a sigh, all you said was.

“Mothers and fathers…”

He nodded. “Mothers and fathers.”

His mom shipped him off to boarding school to forget about him, his dad was essentially dead to the world around him.

Your mother was dead period, and your father wanted to forget about you when you didn’t want to forget about him…

A strange parallel you two were. Perhaps you were always meant to find one another out of the billions of people on earth.

“Could I ask you something?” Angus spoke up. You hummed in response. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

He asked as if he genuinely didn’t know the answer.

You pulled away, kissing his cheek. “As long as you don’t pretend I’m not when everyone comes back to school.”

“Never thought of it.”

The two of you stayed there in each other’s arms for just a little longer. When you both decided it was time to go in, you separated and walked hand in hand back into the hotel.

[newkatzkafe2023]

Sooo there’s this trend I’ve seen going around where it’s basically someone copying someone’s snaps, and then they basically just flex their muscles, and the person copying the other person is just RIPPED. I was wondering how that would go with the monkey kings, where they’re joking around with the reader and just asks them to flex, and it just turns out the reader is SUPER muscular

MAMA IS BUFF💪

(Lmk Wukong) I can see him flexing his muscles as a joke, especially when he's busy shouting and bragging to Mk. Though he would joke to you and also show off his good looks which you called him handsome on multiple occasions. You told him and Mk that you your own muscles as well, and of course Wukong asked you to show him, thinking your joining in on the fun. Until when you did you flexed your muscles so hard your sleeved ripped, cue Mk's blown mind and Wukong's jaw touching the floor. He also might be blushing and drooling very hard as he pushes Mk out the house so he can jump your bones🤤

(HIB Wukong) Man he would think the concept of flexing is stupid, and thinks it's purely for showing off.(Which is rich coming from him🙄) However Luier was on his motor mouth moments and asked Wukong if he still has his muscles, and of course he was against it. Though that's when you tell Luier that both you and Wukong have muscles, it's just not seen too often. Wukong, though, you were exaggerating and just telling Luier anything to keep him for bothering him, so he asked about it. That's when you sighed and showed your BULK Biceps ripping the sleeves slightly. Luier began fanboying and shooting questions at light speed. Meanwhile, blood shot out of Wukong's like a water fountain, mumbling as he had a physical breakdown.

(NR Wukong) I'm sorry but this man is a hyperactive bean pole, you would think that all the CENTURIES of battle he would have some kind of bulk but no. However he did share some stories with you and Li about when he was at his prime. You would laugh at his exaggerated muscle mass, and that's when Wukong challenged you to a flexing compilation. Though that quickly backfired Spantacularly when you flexed so hard you shredded a perfectly good jacket, your muscular body would ruin him beyond repair. you would have this man screaming from the roof YES MISTRESS! DESTROY MY SKINNY ASS! BREAK ME IN HALF LIKE A KIT KAT BAR!🥵 I don't know how somebody can get even more shameless.

(MKR Wukong) Oh this should be hilarious, I mean Wukong clearly doesn't need muscles to cave somebody's face in. Wukong would roll his eyes at the idea of flexing, and also thinks it's stupid. That's when you told him about your own muscles as you walked together on patrol, Wukong immediately thought you were messing with him. Their is no way you looking all pretty and Dainty could ever have muscles like that, However It didn't stop him from asking to see out of curiosity. I KID YOU NOT, but the second you flexed those perfect biceps, back and shoulder muscles boy did Wukong acend to a whole new plane of peace and love with his demon boner. You should probably take him to the doctor 😬

(Netflix Wukong) Oh god you don't want to absolutely destroy this little boy's self-confidence, which is why you kelp your muscles to yourself. Though let's face it he has spaghetti Ramen arms to the point where even his staff would have more muscle then him, but that's besides the point. Wukong would loudly and desperately show off his own muscles despite them looking like twigs, is when he challenged you to flex. Wukong asked if you have any muscles not expecting you to say yes, he also wasn't expecting you to have an entire body made of muscles what's really killing him is those big Juicy thighs muscles. You mean if my mommy gets mad at me enough she'll crush my head like a watermelon??? Wukong fell into true madness that day, mentally and Sexually.

(BMW Wukong) OHHHHHHHHH GOD NOOO UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES, CAN HE KNOW ABOUT YOUR MUSCLES because once he does it's over. Wukong would brag for hours and hours about his physical physique as he shows off to impress his dear wifey who is you. However, you didn't tell him about your own muscles mainly because you once felt insecure about them. You got a bit tired of him running your mouth, so you decided to show him your muscles, and boy, was that a game changer. You would have this man re-evaluating his life like you gave him a good crisis. You mean to tell him that this entire time you could have at any time absolutely break his back like an F*CKING GLOWSTICK...........but chose not to...his boner is soooooooo hard and Pulsing that he can't afford to wear pants right now.

(Destined one) Oh lord you would shock the poor baby into another layer of silence if you ever flash your muscles like that. The Destined one has no interest in flexing or in muscles, despite him being battle driven however I think it would peak his curiosity if he learned that you have muscles. The second he learned that you had one of those body builder muscles that can rip clothes off like tissue paper, he couldn't handle it. Im not kidding the Destined one Collapsed on the floor like he was having the most severe seizure of his immortal life. Next time he wants to see those muscles in actions in your shared bed at home😳

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG💪

[stylesonfilms]

ink & innocence - 9

word count: 5.6k

did somebody say... jealousy?

"Oh my god?!" Isobel practically screamed, her voice echoing through their small apartment as she grabbed Aspen by the shoulders. Her eyes were wide with excitement, and her grip felt like it might leave marks.

"Sh, sh, shhh!" Aspen hissed, flailing her arms in a futile attempt to quiet her best friend. She glanced nervously at the apartment walls, half-expecting the neighbors to bang on them. But Isobel was undeterred. She jumped up and down, shaking Aspen slightly as if that would get the truth out faster.

"He kissed you? You kissed him?" Isobel's voice only grew louder, her excitement bubbling over like a kettle about to burst. Aspen's face burned hotter than the sun, and that all-too-familiar blush crept up her neck, painting her cheeks an unmistakable shade of red.

"Maybe," Aspen squeaked, her voice barely audible over Isobel's giddy outburst. Her hair was now a tousled mess from Isobel's enthusiastic shaking, and she tried to smooth it down with trembling hands. But Isobel was relentless. She leaped onto the sofa, planting herself on her knees, practically invading Aspen's space with her wide, curious eyes.

"What do you mean you guys kissed?!" Isobel demanded, her hands gripping the pillow in her lap so tightly that Aspen thought it might explode.

To be fair, Aspen had come home chirpier than usual. Normally, her movie nights with Isobel were quiet affairs, filled with comfort and silence, but this time... Aspen couldn't help herself. With a pillow hugged to her chest and a bowl of spaghetti perched in her lap, she had let it slip.

"By the way, we kissed."

That was all she'd said— quiet, nonchalant, like it was no big deal. But of course, Isobel took it as the biggest deal in the world. Aspen's shy delivery had only fueled her friend's insatiable curiosity.

Now, Isobel was a whirlwind of questions. "Did he do it first? Or did you? No... not you. It was definitely him. Right? Was it good? Was it a peck or a kiss? Or a kiss kiss? Or, oh my god— did you make out with him? How many times? When did this start? Is he a good kisser? Did he say you were a good kisser? Oh my god, does Zayn know? I have to tell Zay—."

"Isobel!" Aspen huffed, finally setting her bowl of spaghetti down on the coffee table with a clatter. "It isn't a big deal. It's just a kiss. You do it all the time!" She crossed her arms and looked away, hoping to deflect the onslaught of questions. But Isobel wasn't buying it. Not for a second.

Isobel scoffed, sitting back on her heels but still maintaining that intense, penetrating gaze. "Just a kiss?!" she repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief. "Asp, it's not just a kiss. It's your first kiss. And it wasn't just with anyone— it was with Harry!"

Aspen's blush deepened, if that were even possible. She could feel Isobel's excitement radiating off her like heat from a fire, and it made her want to curl up and disappear into the couch. "So?" she muttered, her voice quiet and defensive. "It's not a big deal."

"So?!" Isobel practically shrieked. She flopped dramatically onto the couch beside Aspen, throwing her arms in the air like Aspen had just said the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard. "Aspen, it's Harry. Tall, brooding, tattooed, probably-can-bench-press-a-car Harry! And you kissed him. No— he kissed you. Do you know what that means?"

"It means I'm going to regret telling you this for the rest of my life," Aspen mumbled, hiding her face behind her hands. She could hear Isobel laughing, a bright and joyful sound that somehow made Aspen's embarrassment worse.

"It means," Isobel continued, ignoring her friend's protest, "that he likes you. Like, actually likes you. And you kissed him back, which means you like him."

Aspen peeked out from between her fingers, her eyes narrowing. "I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to," Isobel said smugly, her grin as wide as the Cheshire Cat's. "Your face says it all."

Aspen groaned, sinking further into the couch. "I hate you."

"No, you don't," Isobel said cheerfully. She grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it to her chest, her excitement far from fading. "So, c'mon. Tell me everything. How did it happen? Where did it happen? And don't leave out any details."

Aspen hesitated, her mind flashing back to Harry's office, to the way his hands felt on her hips, the way his lips felt against hers, the way he'd looked at her like she was the only person in the room. Her heart fluttered at the memory, and she knew there was no way she could hide the truth from Isobel—not completely, anyway.

"Fine," she muttered, barely audible. "But if you tell anyone, I'll never forgive you."

"Cross my heart," Isobel said, making an exaggerated motion across her chest. "Now spill."

And so, reluctantly, Aspen began to recount the events of the day, her voice quiet and her cheeks red, while Isobel hung on her every word like it was the juiciest gossip she'd ever heard.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Harry blinked, caught off guard by Zayn's question. "What the hell are you talking about?" he muttered, sitting up straighter in the chair. His ring clad fingers gripped the arm rest. His tone was sharp, defensive, but Zayn didn't flinch. If anything, his smirk grew wider.

"I'm serious, man. You've got something shiny on your lips." Zayn gestured toward Harry's mouth, leaning against the reception counter like he was about to deliver a stand-up routine. "Either you're experimenting with a new look, or..." His eyebrows waggled suggestively. "You've been busy."

Harry wiped at his lips with the back of his hand, his jaw tightening when he saw a faint sheen of Aspen's lip gloss on his knuckles. Damn it.

Zayn caught the motion and laughed. "Oh, this is rich." He pushed off the counter and folded his arms, his grin downright mischievous now. "You kissed her, didn't you?"

Harry's green eyes narrowed, his usual scowl deepening. "Mind your business."

"Oh, come on, mate. It's me. You know I'm not gonna drop this." Zayn circled around to the other side of the counter, pulling up a stool and sitting down across from Harry like they were about to have a serious heart-to-heart. "You've been acting weird for weeks. All quiet and broody—more than usual. And now Aspen's coming in here looking all starry-eyed, and you've got lip gloss on your face. You're not exactly subtle."

Harry groaned, leaning back in the chair and dragging a hand down his face. He knew Zayn wouldn't let it go—his best friend was as stubborn as they came. "You're imagining things."

"Right. And Niall doesn't inhale tacos like it's an Olympic sport." Zayn crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed with Harry's deflection. "Just admit it, man. You kissed her."

Harry's jaw ticked, his patience wearing thin. "I'm not having this conversation with you."

"Why not? You can tattoo a flaming skull on some bloke's back, but you can't talk about kissing a girl?" Zayn teased, his grin never faltering. "I'm just trying to help, you know. It's not every day you start acting like a lovesick teenager."

"I'm not—." Harry stopped himself, his voice rising before he could catch it. He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his messy curls. "You're so bloody annoying, you know that?"

"Yup." Zayn leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "Now spill. Did you kiss her, or what?"

Harry glared at him, his fists clenching on the armrests of the chair. He could feel the words bubbling up, his irritation reaching a boiling point. Finally, he snapped. "Fine. Yeah, I kissed her. Happy now?"

Zayn's eyes widened slightly, but his grin only grew. "Knew it!" He pointed at Harry like he'd just won a bet. "So, how was it? Was it all shy and sweet, like I imagine, or did she surprise you? She doesn't seem like the type to—."

"Zayn," Harry interrupted, his voice low and threatening. "Don't."

"Alright, alright." Zayn held up his hands in mock surrender, though his expression was still smug. "I won't pry. But seriously, man... Aspen? Never thought I'd see the day."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry snapped, his glare sharpening.

"Nothing bad, mate. Just... she's different. Sweet. Quiet. Not the kind of girl you usually go for." Zayn tilted his head, studying Harry carefully. "But maybe that's a good thing."

Sweet. She was sweet, and she tasted it, too.

Harry didn't respond, his gaze drifting to the glass door Aspen had walked through just minutes ago. He hated how much he already missed her, how much he wanted to chase after her and keep talking, keep touching.

Zayn's voice pulled him back. "So, what's the plan?"

"There is no plan," Harry muttered, his tone clipped.

"Really? 'Cause from where I'm standing, it looks like you've got it bad." Zayn's smirk softened into something more genuine. "Don't screw it up, man. She's a good one."

Harry didn't reply, but his silence spoke volumes. Zayn clapped him on the shoulder before hopping off the stool and heading to the back of the shop, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.

He sat there for a moment, staring at the door, before finally pulling out his sketchbook. His hand moved almost instinctively, pencil scratching against the paper as Aspen's face began to take shape. The pencil etched little words and phrases around the sketch of Aspen from their ride back home, sitting on the bench with her full attention being sucked between the pages of her book. Suddenly, his phone chimed.

Zayn: Shared a contact: Aspen. 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Tuesday afternoon rolled around pretty quick. It flashed by with ease, although Isobel was constantly nagging into Aspens ear about Harry. Today, she had plans to meet up with a classmate to go over a new class schedule for the following semester. He was a year older and in the same major as her, so she figured the information he could provide would be helpful. The girl felt her phone buzz in her back pocket, and she was confused to see a text from an unknown number.

4159559305: Hey. 

Another buzz.

4159559305: It's Harry, by the way.

A smile crept up onto her lips. Of course, she mumbled to herself while her fingers went to edit his contact after typing out a quick reply.

Aspen: hi ! how'd you get my number lol?

Harry ⭐: Zayn. Do you have a second?

Aspen: yea! whats up?

The girl set her open phone on her dresser as she clasped her bracelet around her wrist, shaking it around before his text came through.

Harry ⭐: I was thinking we could hang out sometime. Are you free today?

Aspen bit back the smile creeping up to her face. But then she remembered she had to meet Shawn in half an hour and would likely be out all night due to her shift at the library. Her thumbs scattered after lingering over the keyboard.

Aspen: that sounds nice but im out today :(

She could see that Harry almost instantly read it, but the typing bubble didn't show for a good moment. So she set her phone down again and rummaged through Isobels perfume collection to snag one of hers to dress herself. Buzz. Finally.

Harry ⭐: Oh?

Just one word? Regardless, she didn't let herself think much of it. But as she began to type again, he texted once more.

Harry ⭐: Where you off to?

Aspen: having lunch with a friend! he's helping me out

The text was read immediately, but no response. She clicked her phone shut after a good few seconds and stuffed her feet into her worn Converse to lace them up. She was quick to realize he didn't text back, but she assumed he got busy or distracted with something at the shop. Slinging her tote over her shoulder, she bid goodbye to Isobel.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Harry stared at the text from Aspen on his phone. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard but ultimately, he decided on not responding. What was he to say? He surely wouldn't bid her a good time with him, whoever she was going to see. And help her with what? What could he possibly help her with that Harry wouldn't be able to? His painted nails, chipped now, curled into his fist and dig into the flesh. A huff fell through his nose while he looked up to scan the semi-busy shop. He had a piercing client to do in a couple of minutes but then his shift was over. He originally planned to ask Aspen if she would be interested in doing something, to which he would figure out what to do if she even agreed. But she didn't. She was off to spend time with someone else, another man at that.

Harry couldn't shake the coil of jealousy in his chest. It had him on the edge of his seat, literally. He had scooted from the back of his leather seater to just the edge. At first it was from excitement, and he hadn't realize how far he came up until he fell back in defeat. When he closed his eyes to take a breath to lose the feeling, her text flooded his mind once again. Who was she going to go see? It wasn't just like she was meeting him for help, but to have lunch. Practically a date!

Harry's jaw clenched as he stared at his phone, the text from Aspen glowing in his mind like a taunt. Her words replayed in his head— having lunch with a friend!—and the image of her laughing, talking, or worse, smiling at some other guy sent a sharp pang of jealousy through his chest. He had no right to feel this way, he knew that, but it didn’t stop the green-eyed monster from twisting the knife. His fingers twitched as he unlocked his phone and scrolled down his contacts.

Kirsten.

The name stared back at him like a challenge. He tapped it and started typing.

Harry: You down to hang out tonight?

He hovered for a moment before hitting send. His thumb lingered over the screen, half-expecting to regret it the moment the message delivered. He stared blankly at the client forms on the counter, the thought of Aspen with her so-called "friend" still gnawing at him.

The reply came back almost instantly.

Kirsten: When and where?

Harry leaned back on the worn couch, his boots propped on the edge of the coffee table, as the amber liquid in his glass swirled lazily with each flick of his wrist. Kirsten sat across from him, her long legs crossed and one arm draped casually along the back of the chair. She had poured herself a generous drink and was spinning the glass between her fingers, her smile lingering in that knowing way that always seemed to unsettle him.

“You’re unusually quiet tonight,” Kirsten remarked, her eyes narrowing playfully as she took another sip. “What’s on your mind? Or should I say, who?”

Harry huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “No one,” he muttered, though the lie felt weak even to him. The truth was, Aspen was all he could think about—her shy smile, the way she’d tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous, the sound of her laugh. The memory of her text, of her having lunch with him, lingered like a bad taste in his mouth.

Kirsten tilted her head, studying him with a sly grin. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” She leaned forward, setting her glass down on the table between them. “Whoever she is, she’s clearly got you all twisted up.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, his grip on his glass firming. “Drop it, Kirsten.”

But Kirsten wasn’t one to let things go, especially when she saw an opportunity to needle him. She slid off the chair and joined him on the couch, her knee brushing against his as she settled in close.

“C’mon, Harry,” she teased, her voice dropping to a softer, more coaxing tone. “It’s me. You can talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said, his words clipped, though his resolve was starting to fray. The warmth of the whiskey and the press of her leg against his weren’t helping.

Kirsten laughed, a low, throaty sound, and reached for his glass, plucking it from his hand before he could protest. “Then stop sulking and drink with me.” She took a sip and handed it back, her fingers grazing his as she did.

Harry exhaled sharply, leaning back against the couch. If nothing else, Kirsten was a distraction—a welcome one, maybe, considering how much Aspen had been occupying his thoughts.

The drinks flowed more easily after that. Kirsten kept the conversation light, regaling him with stories of her latest escapades and antics, and Harry found himself relaxing despite himself. He laughed at her jokes, the sound rumbling in his chest, and before long, the tension that had been knotting his shoulders began to unravel.

Somewhere between refilling their glasses and Kirsten poking fun at one of his tattoos, things began to shift. She scooted closer, her arm brushing against his, her laughter softer and more intimate. Harry felt the warmth of her presence, the scent of her perfume mingling with the faint tang of alcohol.

“You know,” she said, her voice low as she traced the edge of the tattoo on his forearm with her fingertip, “I kind of miss this.”

Harry glanced at her, his brows knitting together. “Miss what?”

“This,” Kirsten said, gesturing between them. “Us. Hanging out, drinking, messing around.” She smiled, tilting her head. “You used to let loose more.”

Harry chuckled, though it lacked conviction. “Maybe I’m getting old.”

“Please,” Kirsten scoffed, leaning in so close he could feel her breath against his neck. “You’re still the same Harry. Just... a little more broody.”

He didn’t pull away when her hand rested on his thigh, her touch light but lingering. The whiskey was dulling his edges, making it harder to think clearly. For a moment, he let himself sink into the familiarity of her—the way she smiled at him, the ease with which she filled the space between them.

Kirsten tilted her head, her eyes locking on his. “You okay?” she asked, her voice softer now.

“Yeah,” Harry muttered, though it wasn’t entirely true. His mind flickered to Aspen, unbidden, and he hated himself for it. What was she doing right now? Was she thinking about him at all?

Kirsten’s fingers moved, tracing slow circles on his knee. “Good,” she murmured, her lips curling into a faint smile.

The line between familiarity and something more blurred further when Kirsten leaned in, her hand sliding up to his shoulder. She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering just long enough for Harry to feel the heat of it.

He didn’t stop her. He didn’t encourage her, either, but he didn’t move away. It felt easy, familiar, like falling into an old habit.

Kirsten pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her eyes searching his face. “There’s that smile,” she teased, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

The moment was interrupted by the sound of her phone buzzing on the table. She ignored it, reaching instead for her phone’s camera.

“C’mon, let’s document this rare moment of Harry actually having fun,” she teased, leaning into his side as she held up the phone.

“Kirsten, don’t—.” Harry started, but she had already snapped the picture.

Her laughter bubbled up as she looked at the screen. “Relax, it’s a good one,” she said, her thumb moving to post it to her story.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

The photo was innocent enough—or at least it seemed that way at first glance. But the way Kirsten was pressed into Harry’s side, her head tilted close to his, her smile confident and flirtatious—it told a different story.

Aspen didn’t see it until halfway through her shift at the library. She had been shelving books when her phone buzzed in her pocket. Curious, she glanced at the notification, her heart skipping a beat when she saw Kirsten’s name.

The picture made her stomach twist. Her fingers tightened around the phone as she stared at the screen, the edges of her vision blurring.

Harry. With Kirsten. Smiling. Close.

Her mind raced. Was this why he hadn’t texted her back? Had she misread everything between them?

Aspen quickly locked her phone and shoved it back into her pocket, but the image burned in her mind. She tried to focus on her work, but the knot in her chest wouldn’t loosen.

Aspen shoved her phone into her pocket, her hands trembling as she clutched the edges of the book cart for support. Her chest felt tight, and no amount of deep breaths seemed to loosen the knot forming there. The picture—the way Kirsten was practically draped against Harry, her confident smile, her hand resting on his chest like she belonged there—kept flashing in her mind.

It wasn’t just the photo itself. It was the timing. The fact that Harry had texted her earlier, asking to hang out, and now he was spending the night with her. Aspen’s cheeks burned, a mix of anger and something else she couldn’t name swirling in her chest.

Why does it bother me this much? she thought, pushing the cart down the aisle with more force than necessary. She nearly knocked over a stack of books, muttering an apology to a nearby patron before retreating deeper into the library.

She leaned against a shelf, her phone burning a hole in her pocket. She tried to focus on the task at hand, but her mind kept drifting back to Harry. The way he’d looked at her when he showed her around the shop, the way his lips had lingered on hers the other night. Had that all meant nothing? Or worse—was she just something to pass the time before Kirsten inevitably came back around?

No, Aspen told herself, shaking her head. Harry didn’t seem like that. He’d been different with her—so much softer than she’d expected. But then, why was he with Kirsten now? Drinking, laughing, letting her post that picture. Aspen pulled her phone out again, her fingers hovering over the screen as she stared at the image.

Her chest tightened further. It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t done anything wrong—she had plans with Shawn, sure, but it wasn’t like she’d rubbed that in Harry’s face. And Shawn was just a friend, someone she genuinely needed help from. But Kirsten? The way she leaned into Harry made it clear there was history there, something Aspen could never compete with.

Aspen couldn’t ignore the ache in her chest any longer. Only a half hour passed but it was too long. She ducked into the break room, pulling out her phone and staring at the picture again. A pang of jealousy shot through her as she noticed the way Harry’s arm rested so casually on the back of the couch, his posture relaxed in a way she hadn’t seen before.

She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever felt that at ease around her. Was he laughing with Kirsten now? Sharing inside jokes and stories Aspen would never be part of?

Her mind raced with questions, each one more painful than the last. And yet, beneath the jealousy, there was something even harder to admit: fear. Fear that she wasn’t enough, that Harry would always choose someone like Kirsten over someone like her.

Aspen clenched her fists, setting her phone on the counter before taking a shaky breath. She wasn’t the type to let jealousy consume her, but this was different. This wasn’t just anyone—this was Harry. And she didn’t know why that mattered so much, but it did.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Across town, Harry slumped further into the couch, Kirsten’s laughter ringing in his ears like static. He stared at the empty glass in his hand, swirling the remnants of his drink as his thoughts drifted back to the text exchange with Aspen.

Her last message replayed in his mind. Having lunch with a friend. He’s helping me out. Harry’s grip on the glass tightened. His jaw clenched as the jealousy from earlier resurfaced, twisting low in his gut.

Who the hell was he? Harry thought bitterly, picturing some faceless guy sitting across from Aspen, making her smile, stealing her attention. The thought had driven him crazy all afternoon, and the whiskey in his system only magnified it.

That was why he’d texted Kirsten. That was why he’d invited her over, poured them both drinks, and let the night spiral into something reckless. It wasn’t because he wanted Kirsten. It wasn’t even about her. It was about silencing the jealousy, about filling the emptiness Aspen had unknowingly left behind when she turned him down.

But even with Kirsten sitting beside him, her hand resting comfortably on his arm, Harry couldn’t shake the thought of Aspen. Her quiet laughter, the way she’d hesitated before saying goodbye earlier, the way she’d looked at him like he wasn’t the disaster he felt like most days.

“You’re awfully quiet again,” Kirsten said, breaking him out of his thoughts.

Harry blinked, glancing at her. She was smiling, but there was an edge of curiosity behind her eyes.

“Just tired,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair.

Kirsten raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t push. Instead, she reached for her phone, pulling up the picture she’d posted earlier. “This one’s already getting a few comments,” she said with a smirk, tilting the screen toward him.

Harry barely glanced at it before looking away, his stomach twisting. He hated the idea of Aspen seeing it, of her misunderstanding—but then again, wasn’t that what he wanted? For her to feel even a fraction of the jealousy that had been eating at him all day?

Kirsten shifted closer, her knee brushing against Harry’s. He tensed for a moment but didn’t move away. She took another sip of her drink, setting the glass down on the coffee table before leaning toward him.

“You’ve been acting weird all night,” she said, her voice dipping into something softer. Her hand came up to rest lightly on his shoulder, her fingers trailing along the edge of his shirt. “Come on, Harry. Talk to me.”

Harry tilted his head back against the couch, letting out a heavy sigh. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, but even he didn’t believe the words.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” Kirsten’s voice was low now, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his arm. “You’re all tense. Let me help you relax.”

Harry glanced at her, his expression conflicted. He could see the intent in her eyes, the way her body leaned just a little closer, her hand resting on his arm like an invitation. For a brief moment, he considered it. It would be easy to give in—to let Kirsten distract him, to drown out the thoughts of Aspen that had been plaguing him all day.

Kirsten moved her hand to his chest, her nails grazing lightly against the fabric of his shirt. “You’ve always been so wound up,” she murmured, her voice teasing. “You need to let loose every once in a while, you know?”

Harry exhaled sharply, his gaze flickering down to her hand before meeting her eyes. There was something magnetic about the way she was looking at him—like she could pull him under if he wasn’t careful. He felt the weight of her presence, the pull of her touch, and for a moment, he let himself lean into it.

Her hand slid up to the side of his neck, her thumb brushing against his jaw. “There you are,” she whispered, her lips curving into a small smile.

Harry’s head dipped slightly, his body leaning closer to hers almost on instinct. The tension between them thickened, and for a fleeting second, he thought about closing the gap entirely. Maybe this was what he needed—something simple, something that didn’t make him feel like his chest was being torn in two.

But just as quickly as the thought came, it vanished. Aspen’s face flashed in his mind again—the way she looked at him, the way her lips felt against his, the way her quiet presence had a way of settling the storm inside him.

He pulled back abruptly, breaking the moment. Kirsten’s hand lingered for a beat before falling away, her expression flickering with a mix of confusion and disappointment.

“You okay?” she asked, her tone lighter now, but there was a trace of something deeper behind her words. Harry cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I just—I think I need some air.”

Kirsten’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t push. Instead, she reached for her phone, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Sure thing." 

As Harry leaned against the railing of his balcony, the cold air barely registering against his skin, his jaw tightened. His drink, now forgotten in his hand, grew warmer with each passing minute. The image of Aspen’s text replayed in his mind like a taunt.

Lunch with a friend… he’s helping me out.

The words felt innocent enough on the surface, but they burned in his chest like an ember he couldn’t snuff out. He hated how vague it sounded, hated the way it left too much room for his imagination to fill in the blanks. Who was this guy? What was so important that she’d drop her plans to spend time with him instead?

His grip tightened around the glass, the tension in his body coiling tighter with every thought. He knew he had no right to feel this way. Aspen wasn’t his, and she didn’t owe him an explanation. But logic didn’t quiet the bitter jealousy coursing through him.

She could’ve said yes, he thought bitterly, staring out into the night. She could’ve spent the afternoon with me, but she chose him.

He thought about the way she’d smiled at him in the shop, the way her shy demeanor had started to crack just a little around him. For a moment, he’d let himself believe that meant something. But now… now, it felt like a punch to the gut.

And the worst part? He couldn’t even be mad at her, not really. He was mad at himself for caring this much, for letting her crawl under his skin in a way that no one else ever had. He barely knew her, and yet here he was, seething at the idea of her spending time with someone else.

His thoughts grew darker, fueled by the alcohol and the frustration he couldn’t shake. What did he have that Harry didn't? The question gnawed at him, petty and unworthy, but relentless all the same.

Maybe this other guy was more her type— polished, stable, easy to bring home to her parents. Someone who could fit into her world without the jagged edges that came with Harry’s. He thought about the tattoos that snaked up his arms, the chipped paint on his nails, the hours he spent in a noisy shop filled with ink and adrenaline.

He wasn't exactly the boy you'd take home to mom, he reminded himself bitterly, his lips twisting into a humorless smile.

And yet, he couldn’t stop wanting her.

The jealousy simmered, refusing to let go. It wasn’t just about the guy she was with— it was the fact that she’d picked him over Harry. That stung in a way he wasn’t prepared for. He’d asked her to hang out, to spend time together, and she’d turned him down like it was nothing.

What the hell was I thinking? he thought, running a hand through his hair. I barely know her, and I’m acting like…

Like what? Like he had a claim to her? Like they were something more than a few charged moments and a kiss that had left his head spinning?

He downed the rest of his drink, the burn in his throat doing little to dull the frustration. He hated feeling this way-- vulnerable, exposed, like a raw nerve waiting to be struck. But no matter how hard he tried to push it down, it kept bubbling back up.

He thought about texting her again, asking how her lunch went, trying to pull some kind of reassurance from her reply. But the idea of her saying something that might confirm his fears stopped him cold. He didn’t want to hear her gush about how helpful this guy was, or how great of a time they’d had.

Instead, he did the one thing he swore he shouldn't do: he went back to Kirsten.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The mans long legs draped over Kirstens hips on his couch, her hands under the thin material of her shirt. He nosed at the woman's bare neck, muttering something to himself that somehow drove her crazy without hearing it. His fingers were still decorated with their rings and chipped black polish while they held tightly onto Kirsten's hip over the lace she wore. His other arm, to her side, propped him up as he slotted his thigh between hers. He stood up to gaze down at her half naked body, and that's when guilt shot right through him so hard he swore he could collapse. 

He sucked in a sharp breath, letting go of her body. "This isn't going to work. It's best if you leave." Harry stood up to his full frame now, removing his body from hers. Kirsten propped herself on her back elbows, brows furrowed. "Really?" When he only nodded and tossed her jeans back to her, she scoffed but got dressed again. 

Harry chose to ignore the rude mutters she spoke under her breath, knowing he'd only scowl back at her if he heard.

Kirsten slammed his apartment door a little too hard, making Jasper swivel out from behind his cat tree followed by a hiss which made Harry's lips turn up a bit before guilt continued to consume him. Jasper came to tangle himself between Harrys feet, skimming along his owners fingertips before running off again. Harry buried his face into his hands with a heavy sigh. What was he doing? 

Looking back up at the glasses and drinks on the table to the caved in spot where Kirsten lay moments ago, he had only wished it was Aspen instead. And instead of beers and bottles, he wanted to see books and journals and pencils and Aspen.

Regret flashed through his heavy green eyes. He was so fucked.

[kimmie2me]

# 03. Unexpected Partners

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✰⋆⁺⋆˙⠀⠀⠀⠀taglist ... chapters ... masterlist

.....

If you’d had a time machine, you wouldn’t use it for anything noble or selfless—no epic rescue of historical figures, no preventing major disasters. Nope. You’d drag yourself back a month just to shake your wide-eyed, naïve self by the shoulders and scream, "Don’t do it. Find another department. Any other department. Join traffic control. Herd cats. Just don’t end up here."

Because here was Bakugou personal circle of hell. The past few weeks felt like a marathon in which you’d been tripped at the starting line, dragged halfway, and then left to sprint uphill. In the rain. With weighted vests. There was no mercy in Bakugou’s world, only adrenaline and barked orders that carried enough force to knock the confidence right out of your chest.

You learned, fast and furiously, that he wasn’t just tough. He was ruthless, exacting, and demanded perfection with all the warmth of a drill sergeant who hadn’t had coffee. And coffee—you’d learned the hard way—was something that could make or break a morning. There was The Incident when you dared bring him a cup with too much sugar, only to receive a sharp glare and a grumbled, “What, you think I’m ten?” The next thirty minutes were dedicated to sprint drills so intense your calves whimpered for days. All you wanted to do is figure out what the hell his favorite coffee is! Yes, you're still trying..

And yes, you're still failing.

Bakugou’s teaching methods were a combination of trial by fire and sheer terror. He wasn’t interested in your excuses or half-assed answers. If you messed up, you’d know—usually by the clipped way he’d shout, “Run it again,” or the eye twitch that signaled he was two seconds from ripping the folder out of your hands and doing it himself.

It wasn’t just the shouting, though that was certainly a staple. It was the moments he’d watch you with that hawk-eyed stare, arms crossed and expression set like granite. There were no second chances when Bakugou was breathing down your neck; you either got it right or got ready to count pavement cracks while doing your punishment laps. You hadn’t done so many wall sits since training, thighs quivering like jelly by the time he allowed you to stand.

And it wasn’t just you. Anyone who dared step into his path found themselves swept up in the tornado of his expectations. It made surviving the day feel like a badge of honor, if surviving meant stumbling into your apartment with barely enough strength to fling your shoes off.

One time, you’d accidentally jumbled up a lead in a report, swapping suspect descriptions that Bakugou caught in record time. He’d smacked the paper onto your desk with an incredulous look. “D’you even read this before handin’ it in?” And just like that, your next hour was filled with circuits and resistance bands that made your arms feel like spaghetti. “C’mon, rookie, or should I start callin’ you noodle arms?” The jab stuck, and you groaned whenever he brought it up.

Bakugou’s wrath was tempered only by moments of begrudging silence, the rare instances where you met his eyes and thought you saw a flicker of something softer, only to blink and find it gone. Those moments would have been comforting if they weren’t fleeting, crushed by his next tirade over a misplaced document or a missed clue.

But just as you’d started thinking maybe you’d bitten off more than you could chew, a case dropped that pulled everyone into high gear: a string of burglaries, each more calculated than the last. No dumb luck, no rookie mistakes would fly with this one. Bakugou’s tension was palpable, a crackle in the air whenever he entered the room. He’d pace with his hands shoved into his pockets, muttering curses and theories under his breath like the case had insulted him personally.

Your nerves spiked with each passing day. Bakugou was more relentless than ever, orders flung out faster than you could grab your notebook. And if you so much as hesitated? He’d turn, eyes gleaming like a predator scenting blood. “Keep up, or get out.”

By the time you wrapped up that week’s legwork, you weren’t sure whether to feel accomplished or absolutely wrecked. Bakugou had pushed every ounce of strength and patience from your body, leaving you hollowed out and aching. Yet, for some reason you’d yet to understand, you kept coming back, stepping into the precinct with a quiet determination that only grew as his glare followed you like a challenge.

Time machine, you reminded yourself, scribbling down notes that were half-legible from your shaking hand. You’d go back, find yourself, and whisper conspiratorially, Choose desk duty. It’ll save your soul.

But you didn’t have a time machine. You had Bakugou. And you were starting to suspect he might just make a detective out of you, whether you survived him or not.

.....

The burglaries had started small—a string of break-ins that barely made the back page of the city’s morning paper. But each successive hit grew bolder, more precise, like the thief was taunting the force. By the time it hit their radar, Chief Yagi’s usually calm expression had hardened to steel, and even the more seasoned detectives were exchanging wary glances.

For you, it meant one thing: Bakugou was operating at maximum intensity, his usual scowl deepened to something almost carved from stone. It was an energy you could feel in the air, like the static before a lightning strike. And with that, the pace of your life turned from grueling to almost impossible. Long days blurred into longer nights, the fluorescent lights above burning into your skull as you combed through reports with squinting eyes and a splitting headache. The precinct buzzed with anticipation and tension, everyone bracing for the storm.

You sat at your desk, meticulously cross-referencing suspect details when Bakugou stormed in, clipboard in one hand and the other pressed into his hip like it was the only thing keeping him from losing it entirely. He glanced around the room, eyes sharp as the edge of a blade, before they settled on you. The air shifted.

“Rookie,” he barked, and you jumped, nearly dropping your pen. He didn’t wait for you to recover before launching into his rapid-fire speech. “Listen up, ‘cause I’m only sayin’ this once. The pattern’s changed. Our thief’s not just hittin’ high-value targets anymore—they’re goin’ after places with tech infrastructure. Means they’re not just lookin’ for loot—they’re diggin’ for data, and if we don’t get ahead, we’re gonna be two steps behind with our heads up our—”

He paused, jaw tightening like he was biting back an insult, and then leaned down, bringing himself to eye level. His eyes were an inferno, daring you to miss a word. “You listening?”

You nodded so fast it was a wonder your neck didn’t cramp, scribbling down notes as if your life depended on it. Maybe it did—at least, your peace of mind surely did. Bakugou’s tone wasn’t just demanding; it was drilled into your skull, searing in its urgency.

“Good. Now, look—”

“Oh! Hey, Kacchan!!”

The voice sliced through the room like a record scratch, shattering Bakugou’s hyper-focused tension into a thousand jagged pieces. He physically recoiled, straightening up so fast you’d think he’d been stung. Your pen stilled mid-word, eyes flicking between him and the newcomer with an internal "?!?!?!?!" blaring in neon letters.

Kacchan?

There, standing at the threshold of the precinct like he’d wandered in by accident, was Detective Midoriya Izuku, all soft smiles and bright green eyes. He gave a little wave as if Bakugou wasn’t seconds away from launching into orbit.

“Kacchan, hi! It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Midoriya’s tone was impossibly cheerful, and the nickname fell from his lips like it was a greeting between best friends. But from the way Bakugou’s hands twitched, it may as well have been a bomb dropped into a room full of dynamite.

Bakugou’s response was instantaneous, voice sharp enough to cut glass. “What the hell’re you doin’ here, Deku?”

The silence that followed was suffocating, punctuated only by the distant hum of computers and a detective a few desks over clearing their throat awkwardly. Your heart thumped in your chest as if it was trying to escape the awkwardness, and you glanced at Midoriya, expecting him to shrink back. But he didn’t—his smile wavered, sure, but he held his ground, eyes earnest.

“I’m here to help with the case,” Midoriya explained, and it took everything in you not to whip your head around. Help? With your case?

Bakugou’s reaction was as explosive as you expected. “Help? You—”

But before he could finish, a voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Enough, boys.” Chief Yagi’s voice was firm as he walked in, flanked by another man who exuded calm authority—the infamous Chief Aizawa Shouta. His tired eyes swept over the room, taking in the scene with a raised brow.

“Chief Aizawa and his team are joining us for this operation. And that includes Detective Midoriya.” Chief Yagi’s tone left no room for argument.

Bakugou’s jaw set so tight you could hear the grind of teeth. And in that moment, you knew that whatever the past few weeks had been like? They were about to get a whole lot more complicated.

…

You barely had time to absorb Midoriya’s, let alone Cheif Aizawa's, sudden appearance before Chief Yagi called everyone into the briefing room. This would’ve been a regular meeting for the higher-ups—the kind you’d usually only hear about when Bakugou came out, slamming the door behind him, face redder than the emergency exit signs. But today, for reasons you couldn’t fathom, you were summoned along. Because apparently, if Bakugou was involved, you were involved.

The briefing room was already filling up, the thick scent of coffee and paper lingering in the air as officers shuffled in, muttering greetings and speculations under their breath. Chief Yagi took his place at the head of the room, looking as solid and unyielding as ever, while Chief Aizawa leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, observing the room with the detached but alert gaze of a cat watching a busy street. Midoriya slid into a chair near the front, shooting you a small, encouraging smile. Bakugou, in contrast, looked like he’d swallowed a wasp.

Then, in strode Officer Ashido Mina, bright as a firecracker, with Officer Sero Hanta close behind her, both exuding a casual confidence that somehow didn’t feel out of place even in a room of high-stakes professionals. Mina shot a finger-gun wave at the room, winking in your direction before taking a seat across from Midoriya. Sero plopped down beside her, his grin almost lazy but eyes sharp, taking in everything at once.

Chief Yagi’s voice brought the room to order. “Alright, everyone, this joint task force is in place because the burglaries have escalated. We’re dealing with a team of thieves targeting secure information in addition to high-value assets. The leads point to a complex operation, and that’s where our collaboration comes in.”

He nodded to Chief Aizawa, who spoke in that low, measured tone that commanded instant respect. “We need all hands on deck. Each of you will have a role—whether it’s field, intel, or processing. Officer Uraraka will be on the evidence team, coordinating with the data we’ve collected so far.”

The mention of Uraraka’s name caught your attention, and sure enough, she was at the back, beaming when she spotted you. Her presence was a rare comfort in this sea of intense, stern faces. It had been years since you’d seen her, but it was like old times when she waved, mouthing an excited “Hey!”

“Detective Bakugou, Officer L/N, you’ll be working alongside Detective Midoriya’s team,” Chief Yagi continued, and the very air in the room seemed to vibrate as Bakugou’s scowl deepened. He was in full protest mode, shooting daggers at Midoriya, who looked back with a determined—if slightly nervous—smile.

Once the briefing concluded, Chief Yagi dismissed everyone, and the room exploded in chatter as officers filed out. You managed to navigate through the crowd until you reached Uraraka, who practically bounced on her toes, pulling you into a quick hug.

“Can you believe it? We’re working together!” she said, her voice bright with excitement. “I’ve been doing the fingerprinting, data scans—all the good stuff. Remember when I used to geek out about this stuff in school?”

“Oh, totally! You always aced those forensics projects,” you replied, grinning as the memories rushed back.

She nodded, laughing. “Exactly! And now, look at us! I get to actually do it. And you—you’re working with Bakugou Katsuki, of all people!” Her eyes widened with awe and maybe a little mischief, the kind that reminded you of her knack for getting you into trouble back in the day.

“Working is a strong word,” you muttered, glancing over at Bakugou, who was still glaring holes into Midoriya, ignoring everyone else. “Surviving might be more accurate.”

Uraraka giggled but quickly straightened when she caught Bakugou’s expression aimed squarely at her—a glare so intense that it was a wonder she didn’t spontaneously combust. She cleared her throat, gave you a small, sympathetic smile, and said, “Well, I’d better get back to it. I’ll send over the scans when they’re ready! And hey, catch up soon?”

You nodded, squeezing her hand in agreement. “Definitely. Thanks, Ochaco.”

With a final grin, Uraraka turned back to her workstation, her demeanor shifting from friendly to focused in an instant. You watched her go, feeling a brief pang of jealousy at how seamlessly she slid into her work. But that was quickly overridden by the realization that Bakugou was striding your way, arms crossed and a storm brewing in his expression.

“Done with your little reunion?” he sneered, barely waiting for you to nod. “Good. 'Cause now it’s time for you to actually do somethin’ useful, rookie.” He nodded towards the open case file in his hand. “Let’s go.”

.....

The silence between you and Bakugou was taut, strung up like an overused wire threatening to snap. He stalked ahead, practically dragging the storm cloud that was his mood behind him. You weren’t entirely sure why he’d decided that now was the time to go full boot camp on you, but here you were, heels clicking on the polished floor, trying not to look like you’d rather melt into it.

“Listen up, rookie,” Bakugou started without turning around, his voice a low rumble laced with that familiar bite. He navigated the labyrinth of hallways like a predator circling its territory. You’re gonna make yourself useful if it kills ya, got it?”

You swallowed thickly, feeling a combination of irritation and nerves twist in your chest. You’d learned over the past few weeks that Bakugou had a penchant for the extreme. Everything was all or nothing with him, whether it was paperwork, interrogations, or the way he yelled about the printer jamming (which was only your fault that one time).

“Got it,” you managed, though it came out weaker than you intended. He spared you a glance, eyes narrowing as if daring you to prove him right about all the times he’d muttered under his breath about “extras” wasting his time.

As if on cue, the door to one of the briefing rooms swung open, and Detective Kirishima stepped out, his broad grin a sharp contrast to Bakugou’s perpetual scowl. “Yo! Heard we’re working together on this one,” he said, his voice friendly and warm, instantly cutting through the tension.

Great. If there was ever a time to look capable, it was now. Not that Kirishima would ever point out your mistakes, but being around Bakugou had a way of amplifying your self-awareness until it was deafening.

“Try not to get in the way,” Bakugou snapped, jerking his thumb towards the entrance. You wondered if his eyes had always held that unrelenting glint or if he’d sharpened it specifically for you. Kirishima, bless him, only chuckled, patting you on the back as he passed by.

“Don’t mind him. He’s just on edge about the syndicate case,” Kirishima whispered, though you knew Bakugou’s sharp hearing likely picked it up. His glare confirmed it, but he didn’t say anything, turning his attention to the map on the table instead. Red pins clustered like a rash, each marking a hit by the crime syndicate that had every department in the city scrambling.

The realization hit you hard. The stakes were higher than ever, and the idea of fumbling now made your stomach churn. The last thing you needed was to mess up in front of Bakugou and Kirishima, especially when the latter’s optimism made you want to do better and the former’s disdain made you feel like you never could.

Bakugou laid out the plan, his voice cutting through the thick tension in the room. "..'nd if we’re lucky, tonight’s stakeout’ll give us what we need.” He turned to you, eyes narrowing to twin blades. “That clear, rookie?”

“Crystal,” you muttered, earning a sharp nod.

As Kirishima checked the comms equipment, you shifted on your feet, the weight of what was coming pressing against your chest like a vice. The quiet hum of urgency filled the room as you prepared for the night ahead, a stakeout that promised no sleep, a test of patience, and a confined space with Bakugou’s intensity smoldering beside you.

Yeah. You're soo fucked.

[nothingbutnowhere]

A Simon x reader blurb

Notes: Reader refered to as 'girl' once, mentions of anxiety/hypervigilant symptoms

Edit for typos I wrote this at like 1 am on my phone lol apologies

Your phone was always on silent. No ringtone, no vibration, not even alarms, you had an alarm clock for that, one of the fancy light ones that gradually brightened and played birdsong as the alarm. Given your sensitive startle reflex it made sense to Simon. And it's not like you often missed his calls or texts when he was away. No matter to him.

"Where was that new place you wanted to eat?" you asked from the kitchen, "Kinda out of food right now."

Simon had come home earlier than expected and left you with no time to prepare after a busy week. And considering you'd spent the afternoon and most of the evening rolling around in bed neither of you wanted to cook anyway.

The idea of going out was so much less stressful when Simon was with you. The fear of being perceived, and the fear of the nebulous 'something bad' made exiting your home a no go about 50% of the time. Simon had everything covered though. He could and would handle anything 'bad' and his glare was enough to send wandering eyes away. And seeing Simon straight up not give a fuck helped your thought patterns more than CBT ever did.

"I'll send it"

A few moments later there's a loud notification sound and buzz. Simon nearly jumps, head whipping towards the noise.

He starts to say something but when he sees you with your phone clutched to your chest, familiar red face like you've got caught with your hand in the cookie jar he closes his mouth and waits for the stammered explanation.

"I- it's- um. I have it set for you. When you're gone, guess I forgot to turn it off. It's just so, you know, I don't miss you. I mean miss your calls. I always miss you."

You give him half a smile and it twists Simon's heart, or what's left of it.

He stands and approaches you. Something that most people run away from, but your eyes only get softer and shoulders sag as you melt into his arms. It took time but you broke though his hard shell only to find a teddy bear inside.

"Sweet girl," he murmurs into your forehead before pressing his lips to your skin.

"Handsome boy," you say back, hands gripping the front of his shirt.

"Doin' all that for me? Guess I must be then."

"Mmhm. My handsome boy."

It makes Simon smile when you get possessive over him.

"My sweet girl."

And it makes you hot when he's possessive over you.

You groan.

"Don't start that again or we'll be eating 3am pizza. Or plain spaghetti noodles."

"It's just the truth love."

You break the embrace.

"Well your sweet girl wants dinner," you say with a winning smile.

You tilt your head up and stand on your tiptoes, a silent ask for a kiss.

He swoops in dutifully, but it's only a passing brush.

Asking for kisses is a dangerous game, there's more than one reason your man wears a mask (it's the oral fixation).

You look playfully disappointed but he only gives you his deadpan expression.

You huff and follow him to the door.

Once your shoes are on he does indulge you in another kiss. Deeper this time. Lingering. You give Simon a nip on his bottom lip, something to ache a little bit during dinner while you can't have your lips on him. He smiles, nearly giggles, and gives you a matching one.

A/N: I'm a little rusty, haven't written in a hot sec, but this just kinda plopped into my head. And I have a few other ideas for this soft!simon and anxiety/PTSD/hypervigilant!reader, so maybe I'll continue

...

I do NOT consent for my works, part of my works, or my ideas to be used for ANY form of AI.

[jasonsknight3]

Part two! @eva-sparda20

Warning: intermediation? There isn’t much in this one.

Passing by

(AK Jason d Sweet waitress reader)

Today was a cloudy Saturday, not raining though which was an unusual thing. There was always rain with clouds but not today. Not on your day off. Not that it mattered sense you weren’t going out anyway. Your day off was spent watching movies, napping, snacking, and a few hobbies you finally had time for. The man you met hasn’t come back to your dissatisfaction. As intimidating as he was, you felt a force of attraction to him. Not just his pretty eyes and face, not just the way he made your heart leap in all kinds of nervousness but, the mysterious air about him. The alluring mystery to his personality. You still hadn’t figured him out. Not that you really had time to when you first met him. He was on your mind near constantly for the past three days and two nights. There was so much you wanted to know, to explore. He had your attention so much, it honestly bothered you how quickly you felt…attached. It wasn’t love but it was something. A connection somehow.

Around 6:00 pm the sky grew a little darker and you put on the second movie of the day, a personal favorite. The 1950’s movie “Scaramouche” with Stewart Grange in it. A dramatic movie with romance, sword fighting, comedy, and so much more. It wasn’t everyone’s favorite but you enjoyed it. Watching. As the movie plays you feel your eyelids getting heavier and heavier. The last thing you remember was when Andre Moreau jumped in the wagon proclaiming his love to Aline De Galvrillac.

The sound of wood dragging against wood against wood woke you up. Opening your eyes you rub them trying. To rub away the sleep from them. Peering behind the back part of the couch, you look into the kitchen. You gasped as you saw a figure standing there next to the open window you swear you locked. The figure slid off his green baseball hat revealing a familiar face. Your body relaxed a little. It was him, he wasn’t wearing his armor though, instead, he wore a red hoodie, gray pants, and some hiking boots. “You’re back.” You said softly trying to hide your excitement for the much welcomed surprise visit. Getting up stretching you walk to the kitchen. “What did you come here for?” You ask stopping to rest against the counter. “I was actually hoping you wouldn’t be here.” He said flatly. That drug a little but you half expected it. You tried to keep it light, ignoring the comment. “Yea, I have Sundays off. Um…” you look around your eyes settling on the microwave. 8:00. Before you could speak he said “you should really lock your window.” You nod “yea, it’s actually broken. It doesn’t actually lock.” You explained sheepishly. “You should fix it.” There was a long pause before you said anything else. “Would…would you like some dinner?” You question. He looked at the floor for a moment and looked back at you silently longer than comfortable. “Fine.” A part of you felt relief at his acceptance but you also felt he had ulterior motives for staying. You didn’t mind though, you felt as though it wasn’t anything bad. “Does spaghetti sound good?” You ask him. “Sounds fine.” He replied unenthusiastically. Grabbing pots, noodle, ground beef, mushrooms and all the seasoning you set all the items out to start.

As you filled up the big pot with water he leaned against the counter next to the stove. “So, what’s your name hm?” Him asking questions was a surprise but you answered happily. “Um, (F/N).” He hummed in response before continuing. “I could tell you worked at a diner the first time I saw you but I just want to know if my assumption is correct.” You smile, “yea, I work at a diner.” You say heaving up the pot of water and setting it on the stove. Turning the knob and pausing til you hear the three clicks to finally turn it up to nine. The fire caught and started to heat up the water. “Which one?” He questioned you. You looked at him for a moment before answering “why are you asking? What’s with starting all these questions?” You ask curiously. He frowns as if his reasons were obvious. “To make sure that you keep your word.” The water began to boil. Putting in the noodles and storing for a minute you respond. “How would asking me these questions keep me in check? Besides, I'll keep you a secret.” You say as you start to brown the meat. He seemed frustrated. “Your word isn’t enough. Secondly,” he stepped close to the way he presented himself was intimidating, making you shiver a little. “I’ve done my research, you know. I know you to a level others don’t. Your name is (F/N) (M/N) (L/N), I know you are (age), dropped out of college, work at Paul’s diner on Maigani island, on grande Avenue, the one that was rebuilt a year ago, I know your medical history, I know you’re originally from (redacted). Escaped your family, now you're here. I. Know. Everything.” Your heart hammered in your chest, your face no doubt reflecting panic and terror. You didn’t really realize the gravity of who this man was. Possibilities swam in your head. Has he been stalking you? Was the night you helped him planned? Stepping back he relaxed. “Calm down, it’s not that hard to find all of that information, not for me. Let’s just say I used to work for the supposed “best detective” there ever was. I’m a vigilante. I hunt criminals down regularly. Hunting down your information was easy. As for your question about how it helps me “keep you in check” by asking questions. Think of it as a test. I ask what I already know and based on your answer I learn how honest you really are.” It was a lot to take in but it all made at least a little sense. Why he was hurt, why he wore the gear, why he knew so much about you. It all made more sense but still freaked you out a little. You quietly start to add the red sauce. You didn’t know what to say, you felt so exposed, you didn’t have a criminal record but it felt as if he knew every sin you committed.

Out of the corner of your eye you see him looking out the window when his body suddenly jolted , his body going stiff, his head slightly snapping to the side before returning to looking out the window. He closed his eyes for a moment before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, putting it to rest between his lips. Taking a deep inhale he then blew out the smoke. You look at him nervously before saying “could you please open the window?” His iceberg eyes shifted to you. Wordlessly he opened the window letting the cool air of the night carry the smoke out. Within fifteen minutes the spaghetti was ready. The final touches were adding rosemary, mushrooms, pepper, garlic, and some basil. Making a plate for him he takes a seat at the table and begins to eat. Even if he tried to hide it you could tell he was really enjoying the home made meal. After making your own plate you lean in against the opposite counter and begin to eat as well. Once you chewed a few bites you managed the courage to ask him “what’s your name?” Pausing just before taking another bite he eyed you down before replying “No need for you to know.” Not really happy with his answer, you add a little pressure. “Well you know so much about me already. Seems fair I should know at least something about you.” He chewed his bite slowly considering. “I don’t play fair (F/N).” I don’t owe you an explanation but…my name is Jason. That’s all you get.” You smile “Jason, seems fitting.” You say, his facial expression changed, he seemed a little weirded out or at least didn’t know what to say to that. It was honestly kind of funny…cute even. “Yea, well, don’t get too excited. It’s just a name.” After eating he thanked you for the meal.

Before leaving he said “don’t forget to, I am keeping tabs on you.” He paused one more time halfway through the window “and fixed that window lock. You're just asking for trouble.” With that Jason left. This meeting felt different. There was so much that happened in one setting, being left with many emotions, fear, attraction and the biggest of all. Curiosity.

[alyssas-personal-diary]

suffocation

summary: dean can’t breathe, not with his dads dick down his throat

came across an account on twitter that’s just videos of guys choking on dicks until they throw up and/or pass out so i used that for this. kind of? this is my first time writing any type of sexual scene/assault in the same breath so if it’s bad writing (or in bad taste) please let me know.

enjoy freaks (tw for dubcon ((i think?)) and underage)

Dean turned 9 and Daddy started looking at him all odd, just started looking and looking, like he couldn’t keep his eyes away from him. Dean thought Daddy was just looking out for him now that he was getting older and older. It was a busy season for Daddy, spending more and more time away at night, coming back bruised and sore and tired early in the morning when he thought Dean was asleep in the bed with Sammy.

Dean trusted his Daddy, trusted his every word. He didn’t question it when Daddy asked him to get into his bed, didn’t question when Daddy dressed him into a white slip that was far too big for a boy his age, didn’t question why he slipped off his belt or unzipped his pants. Dean didn’t even whimper when Daddy grabbed him by the head, practically pulled his bones out, positioned him so his head was hanging off the side. He didn’t ask why he had a bottle of milk off to the side with a towel under it. He didn’t complain once cause he trusted his Daddy.

Daddy’s dick was a lot bigger than his, it made him almost self-conscious. When the boys at school compared sizes in the bathroom during recess, Dean was the biggest, his friends told him so. But with Daddy, he felt like he had a mouse dick. Daddy looked grown up, a forest of hair at the base, balls hung low and heavy, full of years worth of cum, the shaft itself bigger than any popsicle Dean’s managed to swipe at a gas station.

Dean certainly didn’t expect the sudden loss of air when Daddy shoved himself insides Dean mouth, no warning or prep, immediately hitting his gag reflex. Dean felt sick and couldn’t help but cough and whimper against his own will, his stomach tensing and turning.

Daddy didn’t let up, keeping his dick pressed against Dean’s gag reflex, watching as Dean struggled, gagging and groaning, tears in his eyes as he clawed at his head before he shut his eyes and tried to breathe, tried to focus on something else except the solidness pressing against the back of his throat.

Dean thought he would throw up the milk he choked down earlier, the leftover Spaghetti-O’s turning around in his stomach. The first wave hit him and he couldn’t stop it coming up. Even as he choked and gagged on his own throw up and spit, Daddy didn’t let up, relentlessly pressing into Dean’s gag reflex, Dean’s hands digging into the back of his Daddy’s thighs, leaving half-moon imprints.

“That’s it baby.. let it come up.. c’mon, let it go..” Daddy whispered, glancing over at the bed Sammy was sleeping in before glancing back down at Dean, grinning as he begin to pull out, then pushed back in, then repeated, watching as Dean withered and squirmed on the bed, the white nightgown falling down on him with each movement he made, his spit up leaking down the sides of his mouth.

“Fuck, so pretty baby.. What a beautiful baby boy..” He murmured to Dean with a moan, eyes fluttering as warm liquid flooding his mouth, accompanying the throw up and spit already filling his mouth. Dean felt like he couldn’t breathe, his nose getting plugged up with a mix of liquids he didn’t even know the name of, his throat aching in pain from each cough and gag that came with every throw up fit.

Just as soon as Daddy stuck his dick into Dean’s mouth, he pulled it back out, Dean flipping onto his stomach, dumping his stomach and mouth onto the carpeted motel floors with a sob, looking up at his Daddy’s dick before making eye contact.

“C’mere baby, sit up.. drink this.. it’ll help you..” Daddy muttered, tucking away his throw up coated cock back inside his pants, zipping up the denim over the bulge, pulling Dean up and uncapping the milk, pouring a little into his mouth. Dean thinks Daddy must’ve been in a good mood cause he didn’t even glance at the mess Dean left on the floor, didn’t grimace once at the nightgown covered in both of their bodily fluids.

“Take a shower, ‘kay? You’ll feel so much better baby, won’t feel sticky no more. Just a quick one, to wash off.” He whispered, focusing onto the mess on the carpet. When Dean stood up, he still felt like he couldn’t breathe, like his gag reflex was still being pressed on, his knees weak and his throat on fire.

Dean trusted his Daddy, listened to every word he said, even when he told him to take a shower after sticking his dick down his throat without warning. Dean loved his Daddy and he knew his Daddy loved him.

-

this probably won’t get posted to ao3 cause it feels short and rushes through but i just needed to get this out of my system

[nethhiri]

Marooned: Chapter 30

Kid x FemReader x Killer

Warnings: Sexual themes

Just Desserts

"I'm invited, right?" Of note, Kid was not working on fixing the wall. He was fiddling with something small and metallic, trying to shape it. 

Killer was sitting on Kid's workbench, lost in thought. "Huh? No!" 

That seemed to surprise Kid. "What do ya mean 'no'?!"

"You'll do something to piss her off and then she'll leave." Killer crossed his arms. 

"But I like spaghetti." 

"I'll save you some!" 

Kid shrugged. "Fine." 

Killer narrowed his eyes under his mask. He knew Kid and he knew Kid had no intention of leaving them alone. "Kid..." Killer's tone was a warning.

"I said fine!" Kid scowled. "But you better invite me to whatever happens after." Kid looked at Killer with a quirked eyebrow and a grin.

"That's not..." Killer gave up. "Yeah, sure." He rolled his eyes. He didn't even expect that you would agree, let alone want to join him afterwards for anything. Killer mainly wanted to do something nice for you since you had shielded his face from the crew. That wasn't something that he took lightly. He had broken your nose after all. It would have easily been fair not to do anything. His cheeks got warm thinking about how flustered you had been. Even if it was more for yourself than for him, your concern was cute. Killer could tell you were trying your best to earn your place. He needed to distract his thoughts before he started to get nervous. "What are you working on?"

"None of yer business." Kid moved his hand to cover the thing he was making. 

Maybe it was Killer's imagination, but he thought Kid's face flushed. Killer was surprised Kid didn't want to tell him what it was. Sometimes Kid did that. Especially if he wanted to make sure it worked first. Kid did not take constructive criticism well.

"She kinda had yer ass, huh?" Kid smirked. Kid thought it was kinda hot when you were choking Killer out. He wished it was with your thighs though. And that it was him. 

It was Killer's turn to scoff. "I would have won if my helmet didn't come off."

"I don't know..." Kid teased. "Ya seemed to struggle there."

Killer shook his head. "You fight her then."

Kid waved his hand in dismissal. "I already have. Piece of cake."

"That was when she was still half-starved." Killer pointed out. "She's stronger now, probably not even at her peak."

Kid considered this. "Yeah I guess her ass has gotten fatter." Actually, you had filled back out quite nicely thanks to Killer's cooking. You were a far cry from the girl on the island, scrawny, and all lean-muscle. You were still muscular, though putting weight on in all the right places. 

Killer sighed. "Not what I meant." Killer was a man. He was not immune to noticing these things. "But... I do agree." And though your boobs were pressed into his face, he had noticed your stomach more than anything. Your crop top left the skin of your mid-section bare. His hand had brushed against it, feeling how warm and soft it was. He wanted to know what it felt like to lay on it, bury his face in it, have it in his grip. It made him proud that your body reflected how much you enjoyed his cooking. He wondered if you would let him feed you a few bites. He had to stop thinking about it before he gave himself heart palpitations.

Kid noticed the angle of the light coming through the window, hues of deep orange. "Shouldn't ya get started in the galley soon?" 

Killer saw how low the sun hung in the sky, jumping up from his seated position on Kid's workbench. "Shit!" He stumbled over his feet and hopped on one foot to keep from tripping before he ran out the door. 

The captain shook his head. "All that fuss fer one bitch." He looked down at the small, silver, crescent shaped object on the table, spinning it around with his finger, elbow resting on the table with his head in his other hand. He flicked it across the room and drummed his fingers on the wood. With a frustrated growl, he stomped across the room and picked it back up, shoving it into his pocket. I'm no better. 

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You decided to take a short nap before dinner, sprawling yourself over Minerva's back. The warmth from her back and her rhythmic, soft snoring put you to sleep in seconds. It was a blink to you. That hadn't felt like a nap at all, but it was dim outside so some time had, in fact, passed. You would have slept until the next morning save for the smell of food beckoning you to the mess hall. Not even bothering to get off Mini, you rode her down for dinner. At this point, no one batted an eye. There was a glaring problem. There was an egregious absence of spaghetti on the plates that you could see. You dismounted and walked to the galley, leaving Mini to perform her evening rounds, where she circled the tables with her mouth open until someone tossed something in, or sniffed the ground for dropped morsels.

Flinging open the galley doors, you started to complain, "WHERE'S THE SPAG-....hetti.... Oh." There was spaghetti. On two plates. Across from each other. With a candle in the middle. You didn't move, still processing what was in front of you. Your heartbeat started to race. Oh fuck. You replayed the conversation in your head. He had been asking you to dinner, not asking you to choose dinner for the crew. Asking me to dinner! 

"Is something wrong?" Killer's hands suddenly got sweaty. He saw the blank look on your face and panicked internally. 

"I... No." You blinked. Killer was fiddling with his apron balled up in his hands. "No. This looks great." You tried to convince him with a smile. You were kicking yourself for not realizing. You didn't even change clothes! You probably smelled like boar! Killer was going to regret this. You reached for a stool, which Killer quickly pulled out for you. "You don't have to do that."

"I want to." Killer sounded happy, his hands were still sweaty, but he was nervous in a more excited way now. He joined you in sitting at the opposite end of the table. It was the prep table dressed up with a tablecloth and a candle. A candle that he had to bribe Heat to let him borrow. 

You were frozen, only moving when you saw that Killer was waiting for you to take a bite first. After the first bite, it was hard to stop. It was delicious. You were eating it by the forkful, hardly stopping to chew. Killer was watching you intently. "S-sorry." You dabbed your mouth with a napkin. "That wasn't... ladylike." You forgot this was a date and you were supposed to behave a certain way.

Killer laughed. "Who cares? I'm glad that you like it enough to wear it." 

You relaxed, then realized what he had said and looked down. "Ah fuck." There was some sauce on your shirt. You squinted. "What the...?" There was a purplish smudge. 

Killer cleared his throat. "I think it's um... my lipstick, from earlier. Sorry." 

You really wished you had changed. Lipstick? Kid wore it but you wouldn't have guessed Killer did, since the helmet would block it. Your eyes shifted to Killer, who still had his helmet on. He was moving his fork around, not actually eating. It was because his helmet was in the way, though you couldn't help but feel a squeeze in your stomach, thinking maybe that it was you. "Do you want me to turn around? Or close the eye that works?" You laughed apprehensively.

The truth was that Killer was working up the courage to take his helmet off. He wanted to. He knew you had already seen his face. It was a mental hurdle that he was trying his best to get past. "No." His heart was pounding out of his chest and his blood rushed in his ears, but the soft, encouraging look you gave him had his hands reaching for the clasp on his helmet. He wasn't worried about anyone coming in. He gave Wire strict orders that no one, not even Kid, was allowed to come in. 

It felt wrong to watch, averting your gaze to the plate in front of you to give him time. When you heard the soft thud of his helmet on the wooden table, you slowly raised your eyes to meet his. They were every bit of icy, piercing blue as you remembered them. His bangs fell over them until he pushed them back with his hand. The smile on his face lacked any confidence, endearing all the same. "I've never seen you with lipstick on before. I think the purple looks nice." Though that part was new, it was the same handsome face that had washed up on the beach. Your compliment made his smile stretch a little wider.

Neither of you knew what to say, so you ate in silence. It wasn't awkward at all. It was actually more awkward when you had been talking. This felt relaxed, a bit of peace away from the daily chaos and incredibly loud captain. The candlelight flickered, casting faint shadows on the walls. 

You rolled a meatball around with your fork. "Can I make a confession?" Killer nodded, puzzled. "I didn't realize you were asking me to dinner. I thought you were just letting me pick." You shyly admitted. 

Now your initial response made sense to Killer. He tensed, wondering if you wouldn't have agreed otherwise or if he made you feel uncomfortable. He was about to apologize, but you sensed his unease.

"This is nice though." You spun up another forkful of pasta. "I've... never been asked to dinner before." With a snort, you said, "I know that's probably an earth-shattering revelation." You were being sarcastic. Of course you were pretty... pretty abrasive, forward, cocky, and downright mean. People weren't scrambling to sweep you off your feet for more than a night.

The surprise in his expression was evident. "What do you mean? Never?" You nodded with another snort of laughter. "But you're-"

"Save it." You rolled your eyes. "I know what I am." It wasn't meant to be snappy, your tone was gentle, genuine. You rested your chin in your hand and smiled. You were happy with yourself. You didn't need Killer to list off things he liked about you. Obviously he liked something enough to make you spaghetti.

Killer laughed and held up his hands. "Ok ok. I'll save the flattery for Kid." 

On the other side of the doors, Kid's voice carried, "Better save some spaghetti for Kid!" It sounded like he was waiting far enough away that he wasn't technically interrupting you, but close enough to be in earshot if Killer's voice was loud.

"Fuck off, Kid. I did!" Killer yelled in the direction of the voice. He would have to be more mindful of his volume. The captain seemed pleased with that since he stopped yelling. While the two of you were in the galley, the only beings remaining in the mess were Kid and Mini, awkwardly sitting in silence with each other, waiting for their respective partners. Killer shook his head, getting back to his dinner.

The two of you continued to eat, sharing small parts of each other, neither of you willing to get too deep into anything. Killer gave you some feedback about your fighting, good and bad, lest it be mistaken for flattery. There was a good chance Wire would be grumpy for the next few days. He also said that Kid had been impressed, leaving out his other comments.

The increasingly full feeling in your stomach slowed down your eating. Your gaze moved from twirling your fork to Killer. His golden hair fell around his shoulders, his sharp jawline covered in equally golden scruff at the apex, the way his cupid's bow was a perfect 'v' shape, you were always drawn back to his eyes, ever-changing shades of blue, like the ocean. He was perfect, and here you were disheveled, hair a mess, stained shirt, covered in the day's grime. "Y'know if I had realized this was a date, I would have at least taken a shower and put a clean shirt on."

"Is this a date?" Killer questioned. 

Was that a hopeful tone? All the sudden, your face felt like it was on fire. "Well-," you choked on your pasta. To avoid answering and to figure out what he was thinking, you countered, "Do you want it to be?"

Killer grinned. "I want it to be whatever you want it to be." He knew what you were trying to do.

It was a stalemate. Neither of you wanted to speak anything into existence, for fear of ruining it altogether. 

"FER FUCK SAKE." Kid was leaning in the doorway. "PATHETIC." Kid barged in, looking around for his plate, mocking your conversation. "What do you want? heehee no what do youuuu want?"  Kid tore through the kitchen like a starving hound. "I want my fuckin dinner! I waited long enough and I'm fuckin starving! Just fuckin kiss already!" Kid took the lid off the pot of pasta. "Bingo!"

Killer snatched Kid's wrist faster than you could see. "No. Hands."

"Wouldn't hafta use em if ya had made me a fuckin plate like I asked!"

You watched on as they squabbled. Killer was essentially wrestling Kid away from the pasta. It seemed as though there may have been a history of Kid contaminating the food by eating with his hands, about right for your characterization of him. In the midst of it, Killer had put his mask back on. It was nice to see his face while it lasted. It kind of pissed you off. One nice moment in your otherwise brutal and chaotic life, and the King of Chaos himself comes to ruin it. You were finished with dinner, but maybe you had wanted to talk to Killer longer, maybe you had wanted to steal a kiss. You definitely did, who were you kidding?

"I'll leave you two to it," you said with a hint of venom, glaring at Kid. Switching to a softer voice, "Thank you, Killer. That was a lovely...evening." You winked at him. "Too bad it didn't have a chance to be even more lovely. Kid." 

Kid pointed back and forth between where you had been standing and Killer, "Doffs dat mee weee ain huckin?"* He had a mouthful of pasta. One good thing about red lipstick is that you couldn't tell how much of the pasta sauce hadn't made it into his mouth. 

Killer folded his arms and let out a defeated sigh. "I told you that you would piss her off and she would leave."

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

There was a soft knock at the door to the women's quarters. You were tucked in bed after a piping hot shower, reading an old newspaper. There was a lot you missed when you were on that island, and Heat was nice enough to pull the highlights from his collection. Every now and then, you would explain something particularly eventful to Minerva. Emma called for you. Strange. You weren't expecting anything. Your eyebrows went up when you saw Killer. He had his normal first-mate air about him, all business, relaxing only when Emma left. You looked at him for elaboration.

"I'm sorry about Kid." He rubbed his arm. 

You shrugged. "That's not for you to apologize for. Kid happens." You leaned against the doorframe. "That's not all you came for though, is it?" You picked up on the way his hands kept fidgeting. Cute. 

Killer cleared his throat, "I... uh. I made dessert, too, but we didn't get to it." He sucked in a deep breath. "Do you want to have some? I remembered how much you liked chocolate cake." Rather, he remembered you drunkenly eating it from his hand and the feeling of your tongue around his fingers. 

You felt your mouth water. "I could go for some I suppose." You crossed your arms, thinking. You were in your pajamas, nothing extravagant, a simple cotton button up shirt and matching shorts. It was chilly out and you really didn't want anyone to see you in pjs. 

Killer took your hesitation as a negative. "You don't have to. I can go."

You grabbed his arm before he could turn. "No, I want to. I just don't want to be out in pjs and I have no shoes on. I'll have to change." 

The first-mate noticeably perked up. "Don't worry about that." He turned around and hunched down. "Hop on." Killer made grabbing motions with his hands, indicating that he would grab your legs. "Or I could just sling you over my shoulder. Don't want anyone to get the wrong idea, though."

You cocked your head. "And what idea does this give instead exactly?" You relented, stepping back before getting a short, running start to jump on his back, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around is waist. The image of being slung over his shoulder wasn't a bad one, if you were honest. 

Killer stood up, adjusting your thighs around him in a way that was more comfortable, doing a little hop to bounce you higher on his back. 

You took this opportunity to breathe in his scent, holding yourself back from burying your face in the thick golden hair tumbling down his back. A few untamed strands tickled your face as you bounced along with Killer's steps. Distracted by this possibly once-in-a-lifetime chance, you barely registered that Killer had passed the mess hall and galley, going to his room. 

Killer walked over to his bed and turned around, letting you down gently. 

You bounced on the edge of his bed. "Oh. I thought we would go to the galley again."

"Too risky." Killer explained. "Kid usually makes a fridge raid late." He handed you a fork and a plate with the most decadent-looking cake you had ever seen. It was multi-layered, moist, and he didn't skimp on the portions. 

Eagerly, you took the plate from him and scooted back to sit more comfortably on his comforter. It was soft and it smelled like him. You watched as he grabbed his own slice, sitting across from you. Killer had swapped his jeans for sweatpants. His shirt was the same but slightly faded, an older one. "Hm. How thoughtful of you then." Now that you had a better grasp of the situation, your confidence had returned in full. You preferred to be in control. 

Killer was looking at you expectantly. You assumed so anyway, his mask was pointed in your direction. 

Bringing a forkful to your mouth, you were barely two chews in and already reaching for another bite. Much like the spaghetti, you were inhaling the cake. "Good god, Killer." You had to resist saying something downright filthy, not wanting to ruin the otherwise sweet moment. "I didn't know I had a heart until you found your way to it with your fucking cooking." 

A pink tint spread down his neck. 

"I wish I could return the favor, but I'm sure you've noticed I'm not great in the kitchen." You took another bite, humming your satisfaction.

Killer huffed a partial laugh from his nose. "You're... not great," he agreed. "But," he continued, "you're... good company." 

You rolled your eyes. "I know that's not true." You thought he was being sarcastic. 

"No I mean it." Killer said in earnest. "You're nice to look at." 

"Oh so I'm your kitchen eye-candy then, huh?"

"Don't act like it doesn't go both ways," he retorted.

You hmphed. "So? It's not equal because I can only ogle from the neck down." You smirked at him. 

Killer took a deep breath and sighed. "Fine." His hand came up to the back of his neck, hesitating, then unlatching his helmet for the second time that night. He set his helmet down next to him. "Ogle away."

It was difficult to peel your eyes away from him. He was probably planning to remove it at some point regardless since he hadn't attempted to eat his own cake before then. "Don't mind if I do." You laughed and kept eating away at your slice. While you did so, you looked around his room. It was kept neat, as expected. Your eyes settled on a picture. It was difficult to see from your position, though you could make out who you assumed to be Kid and Killer, with a third, smaller person between them. They looked familiar, similar to the picture of the girl you saw in Kid's things. You didn't ask about it. It would be hypocritical of you to press for information about their past when you were so against it when they did the same to you. Though, one could argue, they owe you at least that much in return. 

"Hey, Y/N," Killer wavered, unsure whether to ask or not. "Remember back when we rescued you from the island with the marine base, after the fire?" He waited for you to nod, letting his bangs hide his face in place of his mask. "You were kind of out of it, but you said you liked m-my laugh... Did you mean it?" He looked up at you until one of his sapphire eyes met yours.

"What? Of course I meant it." You looked at him, questions evident in your expression. 

Killer noticeably straightened up. "I don't really like it myself." Killer paused. He didn't know how much he wanted to say on the matter. "I used to get made fun of." He shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal. You knew better, since he cared enough to bring it up.

"I would love to see someone try it now." You put down your empty plate. "You could put them down without even dirtying your punishers." Pretending to jab someone with your fork, you added, "Or I'll add them to my hit list."

Killer grinned, amused by your comments, not elaborating any further on his past. "You have frosting on your face."

Could you go one second without getting food on yourself? You searched for it with your hand, trying to wipe it off.

The man across from you grinned wider and wider every time you missed, enjoying your struggle. "Let me get it." He leaned over and swiped his thumb across your cheek, a fair bit away from your mouth. Who knows how it got there? 

Half-expecting him to let you lick it from his thumb, you were surprised when he did it himself. "Maybe I wanted that," you said teasingly. 

Killer ran his finger through the remaining frosting on his plate, eyeing it, then motioning you over with it. "Come get some then."

You crawled over until you were sitting on your feet, kneeling in font of him. Taking his finger in your mouth, you put your lips around its base and sucked the frosting clean off, licking around his fingertip for good measure before you released him with a pop. It was nearly the same as the first time, though now you were completely sober.

Killer shivered. He wasn't planning on letting you have your way tonight. You made it so tempting though, the way your eyes stared into his as your soft lips enveloped his finger. 

Testing his boundaries, you leaned forward, hands on his knees. You gave him the chance to pull back, searching his eyes for an answer. His eyes flicked to your lips. That was an answer enough for you before lightly pressing your lips against his. You smiled against him before pulling away and opening your eyes. As you settled back on your feet, Killer was reaching out for your face, pulling it gently back to him. His other hand ran down your side, catching your waist and tugging you closer until you were sitting side-saddle in his lap. Finally some of the tension that had been building was released. You sighed into his mouth as your lips moved against his, hands sliding around his neck and into his hair. Similarly, his hand slid through your hair until it was on the back of your head, pressing you into him. His other hand didn't wander, simply held you close. He groaned as you nipped his lip and slid your tongue into his mouth. When you both pulled away, you leaned your head against his chest. There was a tightening coil in your gut, that was certain. There was something else, too. Butterflies? 

Killer put one arm around your back and one arm under your legs, picking you up bridal style. 

Your heartbeat quickened. Was he finally gonna let you have it? Yes throw me on the bed and rip my clothes off already! The lust cleared from your mind when he started moving away from the bed. Then it came back in a thicker fog. Shower sex? Bathtub? Kid's room? Even though you were mad at him, your pussy wasn't. The lust was vacuumed from your mind for good when Killer set you down in front of the sink and put a toothbrush in your hand. You looked from it to Killer and back. 

"Brush your teeth before bed, princess." 

You frowned deeply. "You weren't putting very princess-like thoughts in my head," you grumbled. 

Killer out his hand on your shoulder affectionately. "Me? Never." His hand moved to pinch your cheek in a playful way. 

You squinted at him in the mirror, catching sight of the outline of something in his sweatpants, you whipped around on him, pointing at his crotch. "Oh come on!" You said through a mouthful of toothpaste. "You're fuckin half-hard!" You turned around to spit and rinse your mouth out.

Killer made a noise of denial. "I'd say quarter-hard." The quirk in the corners of his lips made it all too clear that he was thoroughly enjoying this. 

Rounding on him again, you pleaded, "Just the tip? Please?" 

He tsked. "Begging only works on Kid. You have to earn it from me." He ruffled your hair. "You are very cute when you beg though, breadcrumb."

Walking back into his room, Killer cleared the plates from the bed and pulled back the covers, motioning for you to hop in. 

"I can stay?" 

"Just because I don't want to fuck tonight doesn't mean I want you to leave." 

You slid in next to him, half-laying over him on your stomach while he was on his back so you could look at him. He put his arm around you to rest his hand on your lower back. That sent electricity up your spine that you did your best to repress. Thinking about your date, you grinned up at him.

"What?" He narrowed his eyes at you, knowing you had something smart to say. It was interesting how much better he could read you than when you first met.

"Thanks for trusting me with your face even though you won't trust me with your cock." Even though it was disguised as a joke, it had true sentiment behind it. That must be a huge deal to leave his helmet off for so long with someone who was arguably still a little bit of a stranger. It was probably made easier by the fact, you had already seen him for some time before then. 

Killer allowed himself a short laugh and pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Patience is a virtue." It didn't take long for you to drift to sleep. He watched the features of your face twitch as you entered your first dream of the night. Killer normally took a lot longer to warm up to someone. He didn't know himself what made him so comfortable around you. You acted similarly to Kid, with a charming roughness and feisty personality, and he loved Kid. Maybe that made it natural for him to begin to love you, too.

Next Chapter

[gretavangroupie]

Burgundy

Word count: 5.7k+

Pairing: Daniel x Female Reader

Warnings: Drinking, Language, Smut, Fluff.

Summary: Attending a wedding alone can be kind of a drag, especially when you show up late and sit next to a stranger. Right?

A/N: This idea was born from the recent photos of Daniel attending a wedding looking extra delicious in his Burgundy suit. I hope you enjoy.

You pick up your phone on the bathroom vanity to check the time again. 4:24.

Why is it taking so long for this curling iron to heat up?

You run back into the main room to grab your phone charger out of your bag and quickly pad back into the brightly light hotel bathroom to plug your phone in, hoping that it will gain enough of a charge to last you through the night. Your flight arrived 2 hours ago, and it was questionable if you were even going to get on it to begin with.

You and Briley were great friends in college, but your communication dropped off after graduation. You were still friends, but not like you used to be. So when you received the invitation to her wedding you were a bit shocked. You immediately told yourself you weren't going but, over the next few weeks you wondered what it would be like if you did go. You wondered if you would see anyone else you knew from college, and you needed a little vacation. So you decided to go.

That is until yesterday. As you tore apart your closet looking for a dress, you were coming up empty. ‘What exactly is Nashville Formal?’ you thought to yourself. The invitation left nearly everything open to interpretation. You would find out later, exactly what that meant, but in the moment you were lost. You eventually decided on an emerald green chiffon spaghetti strap dress with a scooping neckline. Classy but still sexy. It hit about mid calf, and had a slit up the front, showing a little bit of leg. Now, typically you look for any excuse to dress up and go out, but this time you were dreading it. You knew you would more than likely not know anyone else at this wedding and the thought of socializing already had you sweating. Not to mention it would be half of the Nashville music scene in attendance thanks to Marcus. So when the time came to board the plane, you almost made a run for it, back to the safety of your apartment. 

Ultimately you did board the plane, taking the short flight into BNA, giving you roughly two hours to get checked in, and get ready for the wedding. That's where you find yourself now, curling your hair as quickly as possible, and touching up your makeup. You slide on the dress, and fasten the straps on your heels, praying your feet will last the night in these things. 

You pull your phone from the charger in the bathroom, giving yourself one last spritz of perfume, and shoving your phone into your clutch as you head out the door, hearing it slam shut behind you. You call an Uber and see that you will arrive within 5 minutes of when the ceremony is supposed to start. You’ve never really been great with being on time.

As the Uber pulls up outside of the Symphony Hall, you follow the signs and the smell of florals to find people gathering waiting for the ceremony to begin. You quickly rush into the doors and scan the crowd for an open seat. You see a few open seats towards the front, but you are more of a middle, or back type of gal. Needing to make a decision quickly you spot an open chair near the middle, next to a guy in a burgundy suit. 

“Hi, is this seat taken?” you ask in a hushed tone, hearing music beginning to play. 

His eyes flick up to yours, covered by a pair of amber lenses, “No, it's all yours.” he smiles.

You quickly sit as the music gets louder, and groomsmen begin to enter. You look around the room and have yet to see a face that you recognize, as expected. As you turn back to face forward you catch the scent of the cologne the man sitting next to you is wearing, as he continues to peer down the aisle. 

Well that is…a nice smell.

You turn to look at him briefly, and then look to the other guests in the row behind you, that you saw him chatting with when you walked in. One of the girls flashes you a quick side smile before you both turn your attention back to the doors shutting, indicating that the bride is coming. 

You all stand and turn towards the doors as Briley makes her grand entrance. She is even more beautiful than you remember. Of course she is. She was the crush of every guy on campus back then, but she finally found her prince. Her 'King' if you will.

As her father walks her down the aisle past you, you hear clicking behind you and turn to see a tall guy in a red suit snapping photos on his vintage camera. He makes eye contact with you through his sunglasses, ‘did I miss the sunglasses memo?’ and flashes you a toothy grin as you all take your seats. The man next to you turns to whisper something to another guy behind you and you put the pieces together that this must be his group of friends. You try not to eavesdrop but you can't help it when you are sitting directly next to them. 

“Did you see Josh?” the man says.

“Yeah, he was in the middle, they both were.” the man behind you answers. 

“Okay, good.” the man replies. 

You turn your attention back to the front and watch as Briley and Marcus commit themselves to each other for life in a beautiful ceremony. As Marcus reads his vows to Briley you find yourself starting to feel choked up, a small sniffle leaving your nose. But to be fair, you weren’t the only one. 

The man next to you leans over and pulls something out of his pocket, holding it up slightly to you in question, as you try to dry your eyes with the side of your finger. 

He leans to you and offers you a white handkerchief, and you accept with a gracious tight lipped smile. Your fingers brush his hand and a swirl of something flutters through your chest, you think he must have felt it too by the way his eyebrows raised subconsciously. 

You take it from his hand and notice the embroidered initials adorning the corner in beautiful navy blue letters.

DRW

Fancy… Who is this guy?

You quickly dab the white linen at your waterline, collecting your tears and clutching it back in your grip, hoping you wont need it again. As the ceremony concludes you feel his eyes boring into the side of your head. 

Gosh he probably thinks I am some emotional nut case…

The officiant has everyone stand as they have their first kiss and everyone cheers in congratulations. As they make their way back down the aisle as everyone claps, the guys behind you hooting and hollering for their friend. A smile crosses your face as you make eye contact with Briley, and you can tell she is glad you came. 

They walk out the double doors and the officiant invites everyone to join cocktail hour in the great hall. 

As you gather your clutch from under the seat you turn back to the guy next to you and wait for him to finish his conversation. He stops when he sees you waiting. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but thanks for letting me borrow this, I was not expecting to cry.” you giggle.

He takes off his sunglasses and folds them up, sliding them into his pocket, and it's only then that you get a good look at his deep chocolate brown eyes that practically suck you into them. Your eyes glance up to the tendrils of curls hanging loosely around his face, the rest of his clearly long and curly locks, pulled tightly into a claw clip. You find your eyes diverting down to his lips as he responds.

“Hey, it happens to the best of us, why do you think I had it?” he says with a wink.

You can feel the crimson blush washing over your face.

Why are you blushing, you don’t even know this man…

“You are very kind.” you say handing him the monogrammed square of fabric. 

He grabs it from your hand and pushes it into his coat pocket. You nod your head and go to turn away, when his hand stops you by resting on your bicep.

“Are you here alone?” he asks.

You turn to face him as guests begin to file out of the space.

“Yeah, I am. I knew Briley in college and decided at the last minute to come. I don’t think I know anyone else here. I was actually planning my escape during the ceremony.” you laugh.

He flashes you a quick smile, as he responds. “Well, I’m Daniel and now you know me. Don’t leave just yet. Come hang out with us, we don't really know anyone here either. Plus I’m the only one in my group without a date, so we can be stag together if you want. I hear it's an open bar...” he says with a laugh.

You bite your lips inwardly, as you turn to look at his group, each one of them with a date, just like he said. You purse your lips and squint your eyes, “Okay… I’ll stay a little longer, but only because I feel bad that you are the only one without a date.” you say playfully.

He shrugs his shoulders and nods his head as it's your turn to exit the seating area. He places his hand on your lower back, the warmth from his large hand radiating up your spine as he guides you out of the row and into the aisle.

You don’t hate this…

He follows behind you and stops you as you wait for the rest of his friends to join you.

He points everyone out, to give you a quick introduction before actually meeting them.

“Red suit is Sam, his girlfriend Hannah in the green dress. Jake, in black, his girlfriend Jita in Blue. I’m Daniel, obviously, and….. Josh…. Is around here somewhere. We will find him later.” he says.

“I think I may remember that, but don’t quiz me later.” you laugh. You quickly tell him your name, just as the group approaches. 

You all make your way to Cocktail Hour and the drinks are already flowing. You all gather around a tall table and the guys decide to go grab drinks.

“What would you like?” Daniel asks you.

“Mmmm maybe a red wine? I’m not picky, whatever they have.” you reply.

“You got it.” he says with a smile.

You and the girls chat at the table as the guys get the drinks. They introduce themselves and ask you how you know the bride. You give them the quick run down on your history with Briley and they tell you theirs. Apparently you are hanging out with a band? Just as you find that out, the guys are returning with drinks. 

“They had Burgundy and Merlot, and to be honest I don’t know the difference. I picked Burgundy.” he says nervously, handing you the glass.

“Seems you have an affinity for Burgundy.” you say pointing at his suit up and down.

“Seems I do.” he says with a smirk, sipping his cocktail.

You all begin to chat with the group, introducing yourself to the rest of the guys and meeting the mysterious Josh they kept mentioning.

Turns out he and Jake are twins, Sam is their younger brother and Daniel is their best friend. They are all in a band together and apparently Daniel is a drummer?

You aren't sure if it's the wine, but your head is spinning with new information. 

“You want another?” he asks, taking your empty glass.

“I don’t know if I should. I do have to make my escape…” you tease.

He slides his hand across your lower back, “You can't leave me yet…” he whispers as he walks away to the bar, shooting you a look over his shoulder. You shake your head and smirk.

How has this man convinced you to stay at this wedding?

A few minutes later he is returning with fresh drinks, and you accept with a whispered thanks.

“Daniel, are we going to see you on the dance floor this evening?” Sam laughs.

“Depends on if I have a good partner…” he says, and all eyes shoot to you.

“Ohhhh, no… no no. I do not dance.” you says waving your hands in front of you.

“Everyone dances if they have had enough to drink.” Jake jokes, and everyone laughs as a small smirk crosses his face.

“I’d have to switch to the hard stuff for that to happen.” you say.

“Can be arranged.” Sam says.

You shake your head and let Josh steer the conversation in a different direction.

Daniel leans over to whisper in your ear, “Sit at our table.” his hand finding its place on your lower back. 

“We have assigned seats…” you whisper back. 

“I know, but when I RSVP’d I had a plus one, the seat was accounted for. Now… it's an empty seat, and I have a new date.” he says, his velvety voice traveling the length of your spine. 

“Is that so…” you reply.

“Sit with me.” he says again, eyes peering into yours. 

You nod slowly, and he bites the inside of his cheek, hoping to stifle the smile that wants to spread across his face.

Forgetting where you two were, you both look back to see the group staring at you suspiciously. 

You both laugh and are perfectly interrupted from an explanation, by the doors to the reception space opening. The space is beautifully lit in pink and green tones, large tables with flowers line the length of the grand ballroom. 

“I think we are up front.” he says, leading you to the table. You are near the dance floor, the looming thought of yourself dancing in the back of your mind sends a shiver through your body.

As you all take your seats you gush over how beautiful the venue is and the choice in colors and design of everything. It’s perfectly Briley and you expected nothing less. She always did love to be vibrant in every aspect of her life. 

A waiter comes by your table, depositing plates of food at each place setting, and taking drink orders. 

As he returns the drinks are served in plastic cups with a caricature of Briley and Marcus, and you know you have to take one of these home. You have switched to vodka tonic and you already know you’ll be at this wedding longer than you ever intended thanks to the beautiful man in the burgundy suit sitting next to you.

The group is fun, someone is always cracking a joke, or telling a funny story. You have been in stitches for over an hour. You make a mental note to look up their band when you get home and see what they sound like. 

The bride and groom enter and immediately go into their first dance, and again there isn’t a dry eye around. Daniel notices your tears and chuckles, shaking his head. Both of you laughing at your emotional state. He places his hand on your thigh, a soothing gesture, but one that heats your body from the inside out. You bite your lip and glance at him, his eyes locking with yours. He looks down to his hand, watching his fingers rub small circles into the soft skin, before he looks back to you and then back to the dance floor. You don’t want his hand to ever leave that spot, but inevitably the dance ends and everyone claps, Daniel included. 

You are having a way better time than you expected and a few drinks later you do find yourself on the dance floor. The glow sticks have been passed out and everyone has had way too much to drink. It is rowdy on the dance floor and you see Josh across the way absolutely tearing it up with strangers. Everyone around him, joining in on his fun. Just from your 10 minutes of conversation with him, you are pretty sure he has never met a stranger in his life. He is a ball of sunshine and everyone around him feels his warmth. 

You turn back to see Daniel approaching you, sliding his hand over your waist and pulling you into him as a slow song begins to play. 

“Oh are we slow dancing Daniel?” you ask playfully.

“Call me Danny, and yes, if you want to that is.” he answers. 

“I do.” you answer.

He smiles, “I think that's the bride's line.” he winks.

You smack his chest playfully and lace your fingers around his neck, letting him lead. 

“I’m glad you don’t have a date.” you say, into his shoulder nervously.

“What do you mean? I have the prettiest date here.” he smiles, sweeping the hair off of your neck.  

You slide your hands under his suit jacket and feel his torso through his black shirt, before running them down his abs and sliding them back up around his neck. 

“You’re warm, you should take the jacket off.” you say playfully.

“Already trying to get me undressed… tsk tsk tsk.” he says jokingly, shaking his head.

“Maybe I am.” you say looking up at him through your lashes. 

“Careful what you wish for.” he says, tongue darting out over his bottom lip.

“Are you a genie? Do I need to rub your magic lamp three times?” you reply.

“Not the lamp, baby...” he says, as he pulls away and heads back to the table, smirking at you over his shoulder.

You find yourself wanting to follow after him, but deciding to keep a bit of distance, mingle a little, get another drink… Make him wait.

As you approach the bar you order yourself a new drink, and make conversation with the people next to you. You are approached by a striking looking blonde man in a black suit. You can tell he is looking to get lucky tonight by his approach.

“What are ya drinkin’” he asks.

You casually look him up and down before answering, “Vodka Tonic” you say.

“Need a new one?” he asks.

“Nah, just got one.” you answer, grabbing a cocktail napkin. 

“Friends with the bride?” he asks, leaning on his elbow.

“Yep, college friends. What about you?” you ask.

“I work with Marcus. Well with his management company.” he answers smugly.

“Oh so you’re a suit.” you reply.

He reaches his hand out and places it on your arm, his ice cold hand sending a shiver through you. “You could say I know people.” 

Okay, what a prick…

A voice comes up behind you, and a hand slides around your waist. “You good, baby? You get your drink?” Danny says, marking his territory. 

“Yeah, I did. Thanks babe.” you say playing into it. His grip on your waist tightening. 

He liked that.

“You trying to steal my girl John?” he playfully asks the other guy.

“My bad dude, didn’t know she was with you.” he replies.

He knows him?

“All good, but yeah, she's with me.” he says, placing a kiss on your cheek.

They shake hands, his other hand never leaving your waist, as John walks away.

He releases you, and you spin to face him. “You know him?” you ask.

“Oh yeah, everyone knows him. He’s kind of a douche.” he says, raising his eyebrows.

“I kinda noticed, thanks for rescuing me.” you say flirty.

“You don't strike me as the kind of girl who needs rescuing. I bet you could have handled him all on your own. However, I couldn’t watch him continue to touch all over my girl.” he says, tracing his pointer finger down the length of your jaw.

“Your girl, huh?” you ask, seductively. 

“Definitely.” he replies in your ear.

You lace your fingers with his and pull him behind you back to the dance floor. They are passing out hats and you both get one, yours reading “This Wedding Sucks” and his reading “Shitty Advice for $1”. You both laugh hysterically at all the funny hats and begin to dance to the music playing. His hands are all over you, and yours all over his. After a few minutes you face him and pull him closer to you, feeling him pressing up against the thin material of your dress. His lips graze the side of your neck, and you lean into it. 

You pull back but lean into his ear, “Wanna go get some air?” you say with a devilish look.

“I thought you’d never ask.” he says, guiding you off the dance floor and through the crowd. You see Sam on the way out, and Danny stops to tell him something, before rejoining you.

You look at him with a smirk.

“Just told him we are stepping outside to get some air…” he says playfully.

You walk out of the ballroom and into the beautiful corridor from earlier. He pulls your hand to the side and you follow after him, walking down a long winding hallway that's dimly lit and practically a ghost town. 

“I found this earlier while looking for the bathroom.” he says, backing you up against a large wooden door. His hands have caged in your head, and you slide your hands around his waist, locking your fingers through the belt loops of his Burgundy suit pants.

His eyes search yours for a few seconds before you answer by pressing your lips to his, feeling all of the pent up tension from the night releasing from you. His hands come down to cup your face as he kisses you again, this time running his tongue along your bottom lip, asking for permission. You open your lips allowing him to slide in. Your tongues dance together in a way that you could never replicate on a real dance floor. You can taste the alcohol on his tongue, and you are sliding your hand up and onto the back of his neck, pulling him in closer to you. As your lips continue to explore each other your other hand wanders down his waist, gliding gently over his belt buckle and resting on the hardened bulge pressing against you. A groan falls from his lips into your mouth and you swallow it down like fine wine. 

He pulls away from you, a whimper leaving your lips at the loss of contact. He looks at you, and looks both ways down the hallway before twisting the door handle.

The door opens behind you and he pushes you in, closing it quickly behind you, twisting the lock and flicking the light switch. 

It's a very small room, just a chair, a small table and a piano. You look around the room puzzled, as Danny smiles and answers your silent question.

“It’s a practice room. This hallway is lined with them. I told you I couldn’t find the bathroom.” he laughs.

You slide his coat over his arms and he throws it onto the chair. He takes the clip out of his hair, and lets his curls hang freely on his shoulders.

Holy shit, he is hot.

He pulls his black turtleneck over his head, revealing his chiseled tan torso. Your hands instantly reach out to touch his skin, hot and flushed. His hands reach for your face, pulling you up to meet his lips as he kisses you over and over. 

Your hands reach his belt buckle and begin to unfasten the metal and leather. Your fingers shakily unbutton the buttons on his slacks and glide the zipper down. Your hand slides into the front of his pants over his boxers and you can feel the magnitude of what he was hiding under the pants. 

He slides his hands over your shoulders pushing the thin green straps over the curve of your shoulders letting them fall to your arms. His finger traces the dipping neckline of the dress, leaving a trail of goosebumps across your chest. 

“So responsive…” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your collarbone.

You reach behind you and pull the zipper down on your dress, letting it fall around your ankles, leaving you in just your thong. You feel his rough fingers come up to meet your hardened nipple and roll it beneath his thumb and forefinger. 

You hook your fingers into his boxers and tug downward, pushing them and his pants down his legs, letting his dick spring free. You place a kiss on his collarbone, just like he did to you, but you don’t stop there, you continue down his chest, placing soft kisses as you make your descent. 

“Now what was it about my wishes?” you ask in a flirty tone.

When you reach his groin you push him backwards to sit in the club chair. Crawling up to meet him, you take his length into your hand and a groan leaves his lips. You look directly into his eyes as you lick from his base to the tip, his hands clawing into the leather chair.

“Don’t you rub the magic lamp three times to get your wish?” you say, pressing a kiss to his tip.

You take him into your mouth and begin to bob your head slowly up and down his length until you have worked him up to a good speed. You know you have hit that point when he is unable to stop the string of groans and curses falling from his mouth. He refocuses and looks at you, grabbing your head and pressing you closer to him and further down your throat. You moan around him as he grazes the back of your throat. 

“Fuck…” he says, releasing his grip on your hair, and letting you pull back and releasing him from your lips.

“Keep going, do it harder.” you say, placing your mouth back around him.

“You sure?” he asks.

You nod in response. You begin to suck him back into your mouth and he replaces his hand on your head, this time forcing himself further down your throat with a little more pressure. As he hits the back of your throat repeatedly, you suppress the gag by gripping your hand into his legs. 

“God you’re so gorgeous…fuck me…” he says, in a breathy pant.

The wet noises coming from your throat are obviously doing something for him as you feel his dick begin to twitch in your mouth. Tears are pooling in your eyes slowly leaking out of the corners. 

Swirling your tongue as you work his tip, he starts to thrust his hips into your mouth. 

“I’m close baby, do you want to…” he starts before you pull away and cut him off.

“In my mouth.” you say and he groans. 

With a few more thrusts into the back of your mouth you feel him tense up and the warm rush of his release spills down the back of your throat. You swallow him down and pull off of him with a kiss above his base, watching him as he quickly grabs his coat from behind him, pulling out his handkerchief from earlier.

“How many times are you going to cry tonight, baby?” he says, wiping the tears from your face, and the spit from your lips. “The only thing I want you to cry, is my name.”

You stand up and push him back in the chair. You make a show out of sliding your panties down your legs and crawling onto his lap. Straddling his still hard length, you press a kiss to his lips. His fingers run slowly through your folds, collecting the wetness on his fingertips.

“Oh, you’re ready aren’t you baby... I think you earned your wish.” he says, grabbing his dick and lining it up with your center.

He places his hands on your hips and you slowly sink down onto him, with a groan. You wrap your hands around his neck and lean forward to kiss him, his tongue swirling with yours. You lift your hips off of him slowly before crashing back down into him. A moan leaves his chest as you clench around him at the sound. 

“Oh you feel so good, so tight… Jesus…” he pants.

His hands are guiding your hips up and down his length, and you are enjoying the constant pressure on your g spot. His mouth connects with your nipple, his tongue swirling around the tight flesh. You start to roll your hips in a wave pattern as he groans into your chest. He pulls back from you and locks eyes with you.

“Stand up.” he demands.

You slide off of his lap and stand, he stands to meet you and pulls the chair from behind him.

“Lean over the back.” he says, and you follow his instruction.

He positions himself behind you and grabs both of your hips in his hands, guiding you to meet his length. He presses into you at a new angle and you both cry out at the feeling.

He begins to furiously pound into you, hitting that sensitive bundle of nerves in just the right way, that you can feel the tension growing in your stomach.

The sounds of your skin slapping together so loud, you are positive anyone who walks by will know exactly what is happening. 

“Say it. Say my name baby. Tell me who is making you feel good.” he says punctuating each sentence with a deep thrust.

“Daniel! Fuck, you are. You make me feel so good Danny. Keep going.” you cry out.

“That’s right.” he grunts into you. “You’re my girl. I make my girl fucking feel good.” he says, twitching inside of you.

“Danny please…” you beg.

“I’m gonna cum baby, I need you to cum with me.” he says, reaching around the front of your hips, and placing his fingers on your clit. 

You moan at the sensation, as he swirls perfectly in rhythm with his thrusts.

“I’m there Danny, I’m there, fucking cum…” you beg him.

“God damn….” he says, with one final thrust, both of you reaching your release simultaneously, his hot ropes of cum painting your insides. You’re glad the chair is supporting your weight because you would have surely collapsed with the sheer force of the orgasm washing over you. 

As he pulls out of you, his release threatens to spill down your thigh.

You feel the soft familiar feeling of the handkerchief begin to wipe away the evidence. Danny cleaning you up the best he could with the small piece of fabric.

You stand back up and turn to face him, his free arm snaking around your waist and pulling you into him for a desperate and passionate kiss. Your hands find his curls, and scratch against his scalp as the kiss grows deeper. You feel his hands gripping to your back like life or death and you still don't feel close enough.  

He pulls away quickly, scooping up your panties and handing them to you. You smile and slide them back on, before stepping back into your dress. You know the party is winding down and you have to get back before anyone gets suspicious. Danny quickly redresses himself and fixes his hair the best he can without a mirror. He slides his coat back on, shoving the soiled handkerchief into his pocket with a smirk.

He is so gorgeous...

He zips the back of your dress and places a soft kiss on the back of your neck, before spreading your hair over your shoulders.

“Beautiful.” he whispers, looking at you before unlocking the door. 

He pokes his head out to see if there is anyone coming, and he quickly rushes both of you out, turning off the light and quietly shutting the door. 

“I should stop by the bathroom….” you say.

“Oh no you don’t, you’re gonna keep that right where I left it. I am going to check on it later.” he says with a kiss on your shoulder. Your face flames bright red at the thought of a repeat later.

As you walk back into the ballroom you search for the group and find them all sitting at the table, talking and being rowdy.

“Daniel! You have returned brother!” Sam says playfully in his drunken state.

“Yeah where have you been Daniel?” Jake asks with a smug look.

“We were just getting some air....” he says with a smile.

Jake turns to his girlfriend, “Remember when we got air at your cousin's wedding?” he says with a devilish laugh.

The table erupts with laughter and you both know your cover is blown. 

“Jake!” she says smacking his arm. She turns to you and apologizes, “I’m sorry, he has clearly had too much to drink.” she laughs.

You grab your trucker hats from the table and put them on, to fit in with everyone else proudly displaying theirs. 

You both sit down and talk for a little bit longer until the Newlyweds decide to make their grand exit. The reception was fantastic and you couldn’t imagine this night without Daniel. You are so glad you chose to stay. 

As you make your way out of the reception hall, you are arm in arm with Daniel. He has invited you to come with him to the after party and you have graciously accepted. You walk through the front door of the Symphony Hall, and around the side of the building, he stops you and spins you around, dipping you down dramatically for a kiss. He pulls you back up and places his hand on your cheek.

Looking at his hat again you quickly dig a dollar bill out of your clutch and extend it to him.

“What's this?” he asks.

“Your hat. It says shitty advice for $1… but how about you give me good advice instead.” you say leaning into him.

“Hmmm… good advice?” he asks, as you continue the walk to his car.

“Mhmm…” you say, stepping into the car, as he closes the door behind you. 

He slides into the driver's seat, and starts the car. He turns to face you, and places his hand on your thigh.

He smirks and laughs to himself before he finally says, “My grandpa always told me, 'never leave home without a handkerchief'. Now I know why.”

.

.

.

.

[merbear25]

your back! ^v^/ can you do china, France and Italy x reader romantic headcanons Who's loves horror. Like they talk about horror all the time and show horror movie couples and be like "this is so us!"

Yes, I am! We're back in business haha. Thank you for sending this in! As a horror fan myself, it was fun to imagine these. I hope you like what I've written for you 💜💜

CW: SFW, gn!reader, fluff, slight humor, headcanons, characterization based on the episode Hetalia of the Dead

With a s/o who loves horror (China, France, Italy)

China 

As much as he thought he had a stomach for horror, you quickly put him in his place.

He wasn’t one to openly admit when he was scared, let alone terrified, so watching your favorite scary movies with him presented quite the challenge.

You could tell from the get go that he was struggling, though. He’d tremble and jump a few times, yet denied the film was affecting him. (You never asked by the way. He just felt like he needed to defend himself.)

Cuddling up closer to him when you sensed it may be too much to handle gave him such relief.

He couldn’t help but groan whenever you said “this is so us!” because half the time the couple ended up dying.

Even though you thrived in horror based activities, you understood his limits. Taking him to a haunted house was out of the question; he felt way too vulnerable. Something like a haunted hayride was doable for him, though.

Sure, he clung to you as if his life depended on it, but there was just an ounce more of security with this activity. After everything was said and done, the both of you couldn’t have come out of that more different: his heart was pounding and he felt drained while you were coursing with adrenaline.

With all of this considered, there were aspects of his culture that held their right when it came to monsters. Sharing these legends with you was much more his cup of tea, and he adored how you hung on each word.

France

Although he wasn’t as big of a fan as you, he wasn’t opposed to it. There were aspects that he could enjoy. He was much more partial to the plots being scary than any overuse of jumpscares.

He didn’t really get scared while watching these films with you. It was far more likely that the gore would turn his stomach. If you were completely numb to this and ate during these parts, that’d be more horrifying than anything playing on the screen.

Your comment of “that’s so us!” was rather funny to him, especially given the dumb or silly mistakes the couples always made.

Seeing as you were a die hard fan, he would offer to go on a guided tour of the catacombs. Exploring such a place needed to be done wisely, so don’t expect him to allow you to scamper off because you saw a “cool” skull.

Venturing with the group was nice for him. It was a unique part of his history, and being able to share it with someone who was more than willing to soak up the information was refreshing.

He wouldn’t be able to resist whispering little stories of others feeling cold spots or even a phantom hand on their shoulders. He told you these knowing how they’d pique your twisted little interest, smiling at you when your eyes lit up.

Walking down the streets at night was ideal for sharing legends with you. With the mood set as the moon hung high in the sky, he delivered each tale with conviction, only adding to their chilling ends.

Among all of the genres of film and literature, horror was not ranked highly for him. That being said, he grew more fond of it knowing how much it meant to you.

Italy

Despite his care-free and innocent demeanor, his country wasn’t exactly shy when it came to the horror scene.

He could stomach a lot of the gore to your surprise, even making a few comments on how good or bad the effects were.

Eating while watching such films was completely fine with him, and more often than not, he’d prepared something to compliment the film specifically. Of course, pasta, especially spaghetti, was the most commonly eaten while you watched horror because the sauce resembled the blood perfectly and the pasta was squishy like entrails.

As you messily slurped up your food, your comments of “this is so us!” was excitedly agreed on. When the couple (or one of them) inevitably died, he pointed out another that you two could relate to.

There were no issues for him when it came to sitting and watching something on a screen. However, going out to haunted houses was off the table, which you came to realize in practice. This poor man didn’t expect it to be so terrifying, and there was no way he’d be able to put on an act of bravery. When you eventually made it out, he was shaking like a leaf, leaving you to cuddle and tend to him for the rest of the week.

You being as big of a horror fan as you were, it was the perfect opportunity for him to show you the darker and more mysterious side of the country.

There were plenty of museums highlighting torture, castles which were said to be haunted, and even catacombs.

You were spoiled for choice, but that was fine! He would enjoy exploring each bit with you because he knew that it was a deep rooted interest.