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tsxkkis · 7 months ago

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# tsukishima kei - perfect match

a/n: watch me suddenly appear out of nowhere after the school year has finally ended to post something!! i'm sure absolutely no one is surprised that tsukishima is the centre of this fic, but tbh idk how to feel about it (it's definitely longer than my usual ones but i didn't proofread it, so idk if the lenght is an advantage or not) but i hope you'll like it ^^ with school being over for the next two months i'll finally have time to write, so expect more works soon!!

summary: you and tsukishima decide to help your friends get together, but the plan is long forgotten when you realize what your own feelings are.

warnings: nothing really, canon yamayachi (my loves), some light swearing, bad writing

tsukishima kei did not expect any of his friends to bother him in the middle of the night. hell, he didn't even expect any of them to disturb his alone time at all. and yet at exactly 2.34 in the morning, right as he was about to turn off his currently binge watched tv show and go to sleep, he felt his phone buzzing on the nightstand.

his eyes focused on your name, written in white font on his phone screen, surely shocked by the sight.

'why are you calling me at 2 in the goddamn morni-'

'is yamaguchi interested in anyone?'

your question caught him off-guard even more than the call itself, his brows furrowing in a weirded-out look.

'if you're asking for yourself, i'm positive that he is not interested.'

tsukishima heard a sigh of annoyance on the other side of the call and could only imagine the exact look on your face in this very moment.

'well, thank god, because i'm not asking for myself.' you said. there were muffled sounds of someone preparing food in the background. 'i'm asking for yachi.'

the blonde boy smiled unconsciously.

'he does like her.' the boy stated, turning off his laptop as he put it back on the desk. 'so much so, in fact, that it can be kind of annoying sometimes.'

you squealed with excitement, a giggle leaving your mouth at tsukishima's remark.

'perfect! now, listen carefully.'

that singular phone call created an alliance between you and kei. an alliance with only one goal; getting your two best friends to finally confess to each other. to both of you, it was almost infuriating how blind they were; how they didn't notice just how obvious it was that they both shared the same feeling. constant blushing at as little as a mention of the other's name, the stolen glances, the very obvious pining - all of it seemed to be non-existent in the eyes of both yamaguchi and yachi.

but lucky for them, you had a plan.

his eyes lingered on you for a few seconds, as if awaiting a sign from you. tsukishima still thought of your 'master plan' as rather silly, but seeing the determination on your face, and the frown that appeared when he called your idea stupid was enough for him to sigh and go with it this once.

the four of you were currently occupied with studying for a math test coming up next week, everyone nose deep in their notebooks. well, everyone except for kei.

the boy cleared his throat almost theatrically, drawing the attention of the three of you.

'yamaguchi, i think i'll have to pass on the movies this weekend.' he said, the tone of his voice as lifeless as ever. 'akiteru insisted that i go to one of his games, so i guess you'll have to take someone else.'

the freckled boy looked a little troubled upon hearing the information. both you and tsukishima were well aware that the tickets to the cinema were already paid for; yamaguchi would definitely be sad if it all went to waste.

'well, i guess i can ask hina-'

'yachi, didn't you tell me last week that you wanted to go to the movies with someone?' you barged in before the boy could even finish his sentence, your friend freezing in her spot at the mention of a conversation you had not that long ago, cheeks flushed pink at the mere thought of going somewhere with yamaguchi one-on-one. 'maybe you'd fill in for tsukki?'

the girl glanced at you, panic in her eyes as an awkward silence filled the room, everyone waiting for her to answer. you gave her an encouraging smile, as if trying to non-verbally tell her to go for it, to use this as a chance to get closer to the boy she liked for so long.

'if yamaguchi doesn't mind...' she mumbled quietly, head turning to face the boy who was already shaking his head.

'of course i don't.' yamaguchi smiled, his small dimples showing up in the process.

you glanced over to look at tsukishima, a triumphant smile on your face as if you just won a volleyball tournament. his hair was slightly messy, and his glasses were sliding off his nose, two of the top buttons on his school uniform unbuttoned, showing a bit of his collarbones. surprisingly enough, the blonde boy smiled back; a small, quick smile that your eyes barely noticed. you had no idea what it was, but something about that singular smile made your heart beat faster.

don't. the main focus of this entire thing is to get yachi and yamaguchi together. not to think of tsukishima and how attractive he looks-

shit.

developing a crush on tsukishima kei was certainly not part of your plan.

at first, you tried ignoring it as much as you could, focusing solely on your friends and getting them to date. as time went on and yamaguchi and yachi started getting closer, you almost felt a sense of relief - you could finally stop spending so much time around tsukishima, which made your chances of getting over your stupid crush higher.

but it wasn't as easy as you thought. tsukishima was intelligent, pretty, and his snarky remarks and judgy personality actually drew you to him even more with each passing day. through the countless conversations and numerous phone calls, he proved himself to be more than just a salty, mean guy that everyone viewed him as.

'soon enough, they won't even need our help.' you mumbled to yourself as you opened your bento box, a smile on your face as you noticed your mom homemade onigiri inside. 'i don't know what i'll do with myself then.'

tsukishima scoffed, closing the textbook in front of him.

'maybe start focusing on your own love life for once.'

'hey! it's not my fault that i'm a good friend.' you stated, mouth full of food, as you looked up at your friend sitting on the opposite side of the table, looking through the tasks assigned for next week. 'besides, it's not like i'm the only one.'

tsukishima adjusted his glasses, looking up at you for a mere second before focusing back on his notebook.

'touché.'

'oh, come on.' you whined out, dissatisfied with the lack of response from the blonde boy. 'you won't miss this even a little bit?'

alright, maybe just a bit-

'no.' tsukishima stated firmly, fixing his posture as he highlighted one of the important sentences written down. you heard a bit of hesitation in his voice, and the few seconds of silence before hearing an answer couldn't help but make you wonder. you decided to ignore it this time - he was focused on something else right now, there was no need to disturb him.

'do you think yachi will like my outfit?'

tsukishima was sitting at the edge of his best friend's bed, mindlessly scrolling through his phone and occasionally looking up to see the twelfth - no, thirteenth shirt that yamaguchi has tried on already. the boy sighed, turning his device off.

'it's your first official date, i'm sure she doesn't mind what you wear.' he stated, gaining a frown from yamaguchi.

'you didn't answer my question.'

'alright, i think she'll like it.' the blonde haired boy said, reaching out for a bag of chips, opening it with a loud sound. 'but i'm sure she'll focus more on the date itself rather than what you're wearing.'

ever since announcing to their friends that they're going on their first official date, both yamaguchi and yachi were full of stress, constantly overthinking every little detail from their outfit to whether or not the date will go well or not. tsukishima found it rather comical - it was only a date after all. why stress over it so much? he never went on one, obviously, but he always thought that when the day came, he'd approach it calmly.

'do you have any tips on how to not freak out?' yamaguchi asked suddenly, catching his friend off-guard. 'during the date, i mean.'

'how can i know? i've never gone on one.'

the freckled boy looked at tsukishima, a confused expression on his face as he processed his words.

'oh.' he paused for a second, his voice quieter when he continued speaking. 'i thought you and y/n were, you know, a thing.'

huh?

to say tsukishima was shocked was an understatement. he genuinely had no idea what to say; he never even let a thought of you and him being more than friends, 'partners in crime', as you loved to say, slip through his mind. never did it occur to him that someone from the outside would see your relationship as being something more than a merely platonic one.

well, maybe there was something to it after all.

yamaguchi's words made him wonder - although he did find you annoying at times, it was only occasionally and to a very little degree. that in itself was very rare in tsukishima's eyes, as he found most of the people surrounding him at least normally annoying. you, on the other hand, were a completely different case. your jokes, no matter how awkward or downright cringe, made him crack a silent laugh more often than not, and every time he saw you smile, his lips uncontrollably curved up into a small, barely noticeable one themselves.

'oh, no, absolutely not.' the blonde blurted out after a long minute of silence, the tips of his ears turning a bright shade of red. 'there is not a single bone in my body that would want to date her. now get up idiot, or you'll be late to your date.'

the moment tsukishima opened his bedroom, after walking his friend to the bus stop, he immediately plopped down on his bed, phone in hand, instinctively opening messages to write to you. surprisingly enough, a message was already waiting for him.

'yachi almost cried because of how stressed she is T-T'

'do you think we should spy on them to make sure it all goes well?'

he found himself smiling at the words on his phone screen, quickly typing back an answer.

'do you really not have a life of your own?'

'idiot.'

only after a few minutes did he get a response from you.

'can i come over?? i'm bored :33'

a harmless message, one might think. in reality, tsukishima was freaking out at the mere thought of hanging out with you for a reason other than setting up your friends, his cheeks a light shade of pink as his eyes kept digging a hole through his phone.

you weren't any better than him - hands slightly shaky as you awaited a response for what felt like hours, but was actually just a few minutes. you had no idea what took over you; was it a sudden wave of bravery or rather an idiotic spontaneous choice to ask tsukishima that. but nonetheless, when you finally got the response, you felt ecstatic.

'alright.'

'bring some snacks.'

'kei, i think yamaguchi is he- oh, that's certainly a new face.'

you stood in front of the door with an awkward smile, facing tsukishima's older brother, akiteru, his eyes scanning you from head to toe. to say he was surprised was an understatement - he looked as if he'd seen a ghost. as if a friend that's not yamaguchi coming over to tsukishima's house was so out of the ordinary that it could become a national holiday.

'come in.' the younger male appeared in the back of the hall, an oversized dinosaur shirt and shorts on. his expression was softer than usual; not until he looked at his brother, whom he gave a sharp stare, signaling him to let you inside and don't make such a fuss about it.

you sat down on his bed, awkward silence filling up the room. not wanting to make the conversation about your friends as per usual, you slowly realized you don't know what to talk about, trying to think of something, anything, as you began unpacking your bag filled with snacks.

surprisingly enough, it was tsukishima who spoke up first.

'wanna watch a movie?' he asked, opening his drawer to pull out two bottles of soda, hidden there so that his brother doesn't devour all of them. 'unless it'll make you even more bored than you were before.'

'well, if you have a boring taste in movies-'

'says the one who looks like their favorite movie is mamma mia.' tsukishima scoffed under his breath, turning his laptop on and starting to search up movies. you looked at him, a dramatic expression as you pretended to be offended.

'and you look like you're about to mansplain the godfather to me.'

a short silence filled the room before you heard the blonde boy let out a short, muffled laugh at your comment.

'you couldn't be more wrong.' he sat down next to you, a small smile still on his face. 'i found it kind of boring, actually.'

'what do you like, then?'

'horror movies.' tsukishima stated, eyes focused on the screen. 'but tadashi gets easily scared, so i often don't have a chance to watch them.'

'same with me and yachi.' you said, unconsciously scooping a bit closer to the boy as you tried to get a better look at what he was searching up. 'i love them, but yachi jumps at every small scare on the screen. sometimes, she even gets scared when there's nothing happening at all.'

'they really do match each other.' he mumbled, putting the laptop on the bed as he pressed play on a movie he chose. his eyes quickly glanced your way to get a nod of approval on his choice.

'yeah, they do.'

and we could, too.

'are you and tsukishima dating?'

you almost spat out your drink, the words coming out of hinata's mouth catching you so off-guard you were close to choking.

the three of you, along with kageyama, were currently cleaning up after volleyball practice, the boys racing on who would clean more balls off of the floor.

'no, we're not.' you said in a clearly sad tone with an obvious hint of dissatisfaction in your voice. 'what the hell made you think that way?'

the orange haired boy stopped in his tracks, his signature smile disappearing for a minute as he got lost in his own thoughts.

'oh! i remember now.' he said after a short while, his grin coming back. 'yamaguchi told me that you two are close.'

'he did also mention that he seems happier around you.' kageyama added, joining the conversation. 'seeing tsukishima happy must be pretty scary.'

not really, you thought. but at the same time, what confused you more was what kageyama said right before.

he seems happier around you.

yamaguchi has been kei's friend for the longest time, so any of his observations must be true, or at least that's what you liked to believe. but would that mean that tsukishima kei, the salty, closed-off guy whom everyone finds intimidating could possibly like you? was there truly a possibility that he enjoyed spending time with you?

as you finished cleaning up the hall, saying your goodbyes to your two friends who ran off to practice volleyball somewhere else, a familiar, tall figure appeared in the doorframe, sharp eyes staring at you with an expression that you couldn't exactly decipher.

'want me to walk you home?' he asked, hands in his pockets. 'it's getting late.'

you looked at him, trying to hide the blush creeping up onto your cheeks before quickly nodding as an answer.

'sure, let's go.'

most of the walk was filled with silence on both parts, exactly as you expected. even though it might've felt awkward for some, you did enjoy his presence in itself enough that a conversation wasn't necessary.

the boy stopped in his tracks mid-way, reaching into his backpack and pulling out his phone and an old pair of white, wired earphones, showing them to you as a silent question of whether you wanted to listen to music with him or not. you agreed without a second thought, a small smile on your face as he put on one of his playlists.

'i really like this song.' you mumbled, eyes lighting up upon hearing the familiar melody. with both of you wearing the same set of headphones right now, you were practically forced to walk closer to each other - hands constantly brushing against one another, a faint blush on your face as you tried to ignore it and focus on the music.

tsukishima, on the other hand, couldn't shake away the thoughts roaming around his head. he felt as if what he was doing now was incredibly unlike him; and maybe it was. but for some reason, he didn't mind being like this around you. less cocky, sarcastic, mean and more... gentle.

he could feel his fingers brushing against yours from time to time, and it drove him crazy. should he go for it and play it off nonchalantly, or just ignore it? should he even make the first move or wait for you to do it?

before he was able to decide, tsukishima felt your hand reaching for his, heart rate immediately speeding up as your fingers shyly intertwined with his, looking the other way to hide your anxious expression.

his hand was much bigger than yours, but somehow it fit perfectly with yours. as if they were created solely to hold one another and nothing else. the plan to get your friends to be together was long forgotten by now - your mind was clouded with thoughts of tsukishima only, and little did you know that his wasn't any different.

you glanced his way only to find his eyes already on you, hiding his true feelings behind a nonchalant look. only now did you notice that the two of you were standing in front of your house, the boy adjusting his glasses as he waited to see what you'll do next.

'i guess i should go home now.' you mumbled, but you still didn't move an inch, hand not leaving his. 'see you tomorrow?'

his hand squeezed yours tightly before taking it away, an unusually warm and welcoming smile on his face.

'sure. see you tomorrow, idiot.'

but as you slowly made your way towards the door, tsukishima couldn't shake away the feeling in him, telling him to go for it. and as much as he tried to resist it, he just couldn't anymore.

'wait.’

before you could fully turn away, tsukishima kei's lips were already on yours, a sweet, long kiss that felt as if he was waiting to do it for years. his hand traveled to your waist and it didn't take long for you to react; lips moving swiftly with his, noses bumping into one another before you pulled away, a giggle escaping your mouth as you saw just how red tsukishima's face was.

‘don't laugh at me, moron.’ he said, immediately catching the reason for your laughter as he flicked you in the forehead. ‘your whole face is red, too.’

‘i didn't expect you to do this.’ you mumbled, eyes focused on his as you reached to hold his hand again. ‘didn't expect my feelings to be mutual, either.’

‘i'm glad we feel the same.’ his face leaned in closer to yours, a wave of confidence taking over him as he placed a short kiss on your forehead. ‘but i would still prefer to properly ask you out. if you'd say yes, that is.’

‘of course i would.’ you smiled, ‘i'd be stupid not to.’

‘should we bet on how long it takes the others to realize we're dating now?’ tsukishima smiled at you, eyes not leaving yours for even a spare second. you laughed at his idea, giving his hand a squeeze.

‘get ready to lose, kei.’

‘you wish.’

taglist: @moonswolfie

#tsxkkis #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #karasuno x reader #tsukishima fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff

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reidsworld · 1 month ago

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Cinnamon and Whiskey

Summary: Secret Santa and tipsy flirting with Logan at the X-Men Christmas party. Based on this request.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content Warnings: Alcohol consumption, suggestive themes, making out, dubious consent (they are both under the influence), no use of Y/N, not proof read — you are responsible for the content you consume, if you are not comfortable with any of these warnings or are a minor, DNI!!

Word Count: 1k

Mars speaks… it’s been a while lol, i’ve lowk forgotten how to write a proper summary so ig you’re just gonna have to read the fic🤷‍♀️ also tysm for 400 followers, i am so unbelievably grateful for all of you 🫶 merry Christmas to those who celebrate!!

Masterlist

The mansion buzzed with warmth and light, a soft glow from the Christmas tree illuminating the crowd of X-Men mingling and laughing. The smell of pine and cinnamon wafted through the room, blending with the faintest hint of whiskey every time Logan walked past.

You weren’t sure if it was the mulled wine, the festive atmosphere, or just the way Logan leaned casually against the far wall, his broad shoulders back and one boot crossed over the other, but he was occupying far too much of your attention tonight.

Maybe it was the way his shirt clung to him just right, or how his hair was artfully messy, as if he hadn’t tried at all. Or maybe it was the way he caught your gaze every so often, raising his glass in a wordless toast before smirking into his drink.

Whatever it was, it left a flutter in your chest that had nothing to do with holiday spirit.

Logan had always been like this—rough around the edges but impossible to ignore. There was something about his sharp wit, the way his voice dropped when he teased you, the way he had a knack for being exactly where you didn’t expect him to be. He got under your skin, and you hated how much you loved it.

You stole another sip of your wine, trying to keep your focus anywhere but on him. But that was easier said than done. Especially when he started weaving through the crowd, a new drink in his hand and a distinctly relaxed swagger in his step.

The flush in his cheeks was more than the usual rugged tan. Logan was definitely tipsy, his edges softer tonight, his smirk lazier.

“Don’t look too excited,” he drawled, stopping in front of you. “You’re makin’ it obvious.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Excited about what? Watching you pretend you’re not having a good time?”

Logan huffed out a laugh, his whiskey-smooth voice laced with amusement. “Takes one to know one, sweetheart.”

Before you could come up with a retort, he glanced down at the brown-paper-wrapped box in your hands. “That yours?”

“Yeah. Guess it’s from my Secret Santa.” You eyed him suspiciously. “Why? You know something?”

“Maybe.” His smirk deepened, and he tipped his glass toward the gift. “Go on. Open it.”

You hesitated, your pulse quickening as his gaze lingered on you. It was ridiculous how easily he could fluster you, how just standing near him made your heart race.

With a dramatic sigh, you pulled the string loose and tore open the paper. When you opened the box, your breath caught—and then a laugh burst out of you.

Inside was a lacy red garter belt, delicate and undeniably suggestive.

“Logan!” you hissed, your face burning as you quickly closed the lid. “This is wildly inappropriate.”

His grin widened, and he took another sip of his drink, his free hand resting on his hip. “Thought it’d suit you,” he said, his voice laced with teasing warmth.

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest as you tried to glare at him, though your lips betrayed you with an uncontrollable smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“Oh yeah?” He leaned in just a little, his smirk turning wicked. “Why don’t you show me just how insufferable you think I am?”

You were saved from answering by Hank handing Logan his own gift, wrapped in shiny gold paper. You watched as Logan tore into it with the casual precision of a man who didn’t give a damn about being neat.

Inside was a pack of cinnamon-flavoured breath mints and a small bottle of dark cologne that smells of musk and wood.

Logan chuckled, holding up the mints with a raised eyebrow. “This you?”

You grinned, trying to steady your voice despite the heat creeping up your neck. “Figured you'd need something to freshen up after all those drinks. Can’t have you smelling like whiskey and trouble.”

Logan’s grin deepened, and he stepped closer, his voice a low, teasing growl. “Oh yeah? And what if I want to smell like trouble?”

You leaned in just enough for your breath to brush against his ear, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “If you really want to see trouble, maybe I’ll try on that little gift you got me…” you trailed off, letting the challenge hang in the air, your eyes locking with his.

–

The door slammed shut behind you, and before you could catch your breath, Logan’s hands were on your waist, pulling you flush against him. His lips crashed into yours with a heat that sent a jolt of electricity straight through your body. The kiss was messy, urgent, the faint taste of whiskey still lingering on his mouth as your fingers tangled in his hair.

Your back hit the shelves with a soft thud, but you didn’t care, too lost in the way his body pressed against yours, solid and overwhelming. His hands slid up your sides, and you couldn’t help the soft sound that escaped your throat as his lips trailed along your jawline.

“Hold on,” you whispered, breathless, breaking away just enough to reach into his pocket. Logan’s smirk deepened as he watched you pop a cinnamon mint into your mouth, his gaze locked on your lips.

“You takin’ a breather already?” he teased, his voice low and rough, his fingers tracing lazy circles at your waist.

“Just freshening up,” you replied, your tone full of mischief as you tugged him closer by the collar of his shirt. Before he could respond, you kissed him again, nudging the mint into his mouth with your tongue.

Logan chuckled against your lips, the sound sending a shiver through you. “Always full of surprises,” he murmured, his words brushing against your skin as he kissed you deeper, the cinnamon’s warmth adding a sweet burn to the heat already between you.

You grinned, tilting your head to meet his next kiss with playful fervour. “Figured you’d appreciate a little spice.”

“Oh, I do,” he muttered, his lips moving to your neck, his voice thick with desire. “But I think you’re the only spice I’m gonna need.”

Mars speaks... (again) ty for reading, as always, all likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated (and encouraged)! hope y'all enjoyed my first fic after me not updating for nearly 4 months xx

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine #wolverine x reader #hugh jackman #deadpool and wolverine #x men #fanfiction #reidsworld

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astralnymphh · 6 months ago

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The Sweeter the Wheat

# pair: post-seattle!jackson!ellie x reader

## summary: There is no better birthday gift than loving her.

### reader discretion is advised: romance angst, fluff, bit suggestive towards the end, alcohol consumption, jesse is alive (he thought ahead this time), loser!ellie, sometimes!awkward!ellie, sometimes!cheekyandflirty!ellie, reader is sickenly envious and a bit nosy, but aware, ravenous and tipsy makeouts, sappy shit. #### a/n; listened to "to all of you" by syd matters + "cardigan" by taylor swift while writing parts of it.. got a love/hate relationship with this fic but it slaps i guess

SPRING SUN

“At least we got back before her birthday. Psh—‘magine that sweet tooth havin’ to commemorate her twentieth with nuts and jerky.”

Jackson tholes the bright spring against countless heavy hearts, numb from the death groans of winter. Under the melted snow, came old meadows, but nobody returned to comb through them. Only to pluck them bare of flora for a sole reason—a sole person—and not in the name of beauty.

Some meadows were stabbed through. Pierced into, made into a final home for the dearly departed he.

Time slipped slowly.

“Huh?”

Jesse sits at the tail of the bar, mumbling somethings that fly right past your ears. The diner is packed and the jukebox softly plays, but that of joy and conversation rules, so all nearby speech that is spat has become hodgepodge, herding your brain to run where the world is quiet. Given that, and the subtle significance in the day around you, you feel less than yourself. Immaterial.

There's a rightful wager that you didn't hear Jesse at all. Something about birthdays, maybe.

You pull yourself from the stars with a head-shake, having to retire the tiny notepad in your clutch. “Sorry, I completely tripped out just then. Why are we talking about birthdays—whose birthday are we.. talking about?”

Jesse appeared to be in doubt that your star-scaping moments were over; his features contorting more and more into disbelief as you gave him that barely curious squint. Poor him for having to be offended for somebody else.

A special somebody else at that!

His drawl comes in handy, “Come on, man. Four years strong and now you wanna forget that girl's birthday?” a voice so versed in pettiness, you could smack it right from his clever, grinning lips.

At whim, you almost do. But then his words fall into perfect place; that subtle signifigance makes all the more sense.

Spring: dappled in sunlight and vigorous in the trees, seems lovelier than it would in March or May. Seas of crimson and clovers thrive in the middle of April, and so does the red in her hair—soft, auburn tines—and the meadows in her earnest and shiny eyes. Recently dim, bruised and disheartened. But there, and unplucked at least, above the freckles you least regret missing when vengeance and a clue drove her out of this large, timber sanctuary. Home.

Every year on this day, the sun is relentlessly beautiful. No wonder, you think, now that you remember.

It's Ellie's birthday.

“Shit,” you curse, chewing at your guilty lip. “Is Ellie hiding out today as well? Haven't noticed her walking the thoroughfare at all.” Through the idle-talk, your hands find stray porcelain to retrieve and pile in the sink, scoffing at the liters of coffee that inevitably go cold in forgotten mugs.

“Do you notice anything working behind that counter?”

“Duh, dipshit,” you spout, back-talking him shamelessly, “I noticed you ambling towards the window earlier and knew my ears were in for a grating punishment.” Minding your eyes on nothing but the various plates you grab, the clutter clears fast. Like a damn robot.

He raises his hands in defense. “Hey, not my fault patrol’s been on cruise control this week.” With a part of the counter graciously tidied by your speedy work, he reclines in the barstool and claims that space with his lower legs, off to the side. Blissfully permission-less. “Can't say the same for here, though.”

You draw in a prefacing breath, tilting a cup at him. “You could if you hel—”

“No chance.”

“Fuck you, Jess,” you reply wielding a nickname given for occasions of defeat, little knives glaring from your eyes. “Thought this friendship had a no-questions-asked sort of thing. You've disgraced me.” Cueing that age-old love for drama, you gild the lily; mock a drama-queen. Hand to your heart and a pout to your mouth.

Hating Jesse is out of the picture, and hate is an easy pill to swallow. Sure, you two bark blank insults from time to time, but it's all in good humor. You just get each other too well. A hitch fated to click. A shoulder to violently sob into.

Jesse tuts at you, rolling a smug pair of eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Diners just aren't my thing, as infected aren't yours.” He reaches and grasps his mug of coffee that'd been basking there ever since you whipped up his usual, content in keeping his gob flat for the ‘noon.

And you're content in the casual peace and company. Always are. It coerces you to fulfill orders quicker, you would say. Here you stand, in perfect function, machine of the cogs.

That's how all days streak by here. A warm sun arises, and the hustle and bustle of human nature crowds every faded red booth in here, as your kin would have you sustain, and you sustain it fine enough. Even with the latching, mostly silent presence of your best bud Jesse to keep boredom a stranger and insanity a myth. Peckish lips, thirsty throats; everybody. All famished faces of Jackson, satisfied in the wake of your work. All, save one.

Ding!

At the entrance, you hear the jingle of the tiny, golden bell topping the door, and it doesn't intrigue you to investigate. Everyone is a frequenter, and you're basically omnipresent; sensing who it is and where they're routed to before they even sit. Call that perfect function.

Abruptly, the vintage magazine Jesse blankly browsed through is smacked back in place, and his throat clears. “First customer to break the hour-long streak. Let's see who—” he trails, and a dramatic pause thickens the air. Surprise loudly ensues. “Oh, ain't that funny. Look what fate dragged in.”

“Is it not a regular?” you ask, and at last perk your chin up. Intrigue clasps you now, as Jesse thought it atypical enough to point out.

Turns out, it isn't a regular at all.

Fate was a scary portrayal, as fate—and unfinished threads—would have you snuck into a corner and stranded for her to find. Plaid and blue, stood Ellie, lost as a doe in tangled woods, yet tall with purpose in front of that swinging glass door. From here, you notice her right arm supported in a white sling and twisted into her chest, right off the bat, as you did the night of return. Changes were made, obviously, sprigs of marker detailing the canvas-color of it, no doubt produced by those pesky kids in-town. Her tattoo is sorely invisible behind the bandages too; you've always liked that thing.

She's a bona-fide crush. A red-headed angel.

There and then, you recall why your heart reawoke into a prance that night she returned head to toe in dry, aged blood. You felt the revival of an inner-warmth, tracing fingers over the stitches in her back as she hunched in repressive quietude. Felt the moon evaporate off your skin, felt her wrist tensen in your palm as you dressed the wounds in hers. Felt the elusive moment staying became going, as it wasn't right.

You went straight home and threw right up, that very night. Her cold, marred skin was as deathly-like as the skin of a corpse. And you trailed your fingertips, all over it.

Strange. In a week, her flesh has been suppled of life. Hale, blushing and glowing as in younger days.

In your heart: a tremor. It reaches up every time you swallow, and blooms its beat, pounding at the pit of your throat. You don't feel real, you feel light, you feel fright. You feel the past, waking from a slumber in you, emerging breathless beyond the surface. So many things.

You feel fourteen again.

“Guess her ears were burning,” mumbled Jesse, polite enough to not transform your shared scrutiny into a scene, only so he could leave it in your hands. His head carefully turns, speaking softly, “You spoke to her at all, recently?”

“No,” a weighted breath departs you, and your shoulders repose. “Only the night she returned, while I tended to some of her travel wounds. Conversation wasn't easy to digest.” Shunning her very blatant presence, you pick your wash rag and begin again, foraging distraction.

“Bet not. Shit got hectic on the route Tommy picked,” he hums, and his eyes pursue once more to secretly follow her walking the opposite direction. Eyes you expectantly the second she slips into a booth. “Gonna take her order?”

You glower at his smug stare, knowing full well he intends to badger you into jumping the gun. Well, you're employed to do that, but, fuck fate! “Uh, duh? Di—”

“—Ipshit. Stop stalling.” He aims his hand, escorting you. “Birthday girl awaits.”

“Yeah, hold that smile. See what happens later.”

“Mhm.”

EXTRA SYRUP

Spectral hands suffocate your heart, and now your chest is tightened. Gut nervously sickened. There, she sits, seemingly absorbed by the air, and the sun that ripens with it. Thumbing at her nails, but not anxiously. Blowing at her lip, but not boredly. Hair dark ochre as the earth, yet fiery as the flaxen ray that pours into it. Tucked into a neat bun, as it was in December, January, and every paving year before. You like her hair that way.

She halved it up when Joel passed, and Seattle howled her name.

A lot about Ellie changed, really, but that is the perennial nature of water. Ellie is Neptune; a late-teenage girl experiencing a crucial shift into a new, individual season. Ones so seldom—they're cataclysmic, but temporary.

So much of her is eclipsed to the naked eye. Buried to make burrowing space for others. Just not you, it seems.

Every now and then, she glances as you intricately work your way over, a fist cupped to itself as if it alone safekeeps her deep and untold intentions; the warrant for sitting there. And you too, glance when her eyes smoothly retreat, dedicating pockets of this single, cherished minute to drink in little glimpses of her face. Trying to read her, read the shapes on her face if they indicate trouble, or truce. Last time you talked, you declared your resentment for being left worried and sleepless in Jackson.

Was it out of love?

Through the fair-haired light, that scar-heavy look on her features has noticeably abated, recapturing the tender warmth that gave her face the kind, puppy-browed ambiance you hesitated the world for. Gently laid brows, scarred the same as ever.

Those fucking freckles, too; a constellated map. Hidden miles and miles away for one sun and moon too many.

Not a mile bridges you both apart now, not anymore.

“Hey, Ellie,” you chime in, frail in respect of the one-mind conversation her idle stare partakes. Just her, and the spring sun. Sweet wheat skin is taken from its aerial shine as her head heeds your voice, a loose twine of auburn falling from place.

Your somber greeting fine-tuned the focus in her eyes, softening into a shape less spacious, more devoted.

And though away from underneath the boughs of sunlight, her eyes found a disembodied source. Dried moss, gleams into a violent sea glass, pupils taking in how you hold that notepad firm in thumbs and pointers.

For the first time in an age, you too, have changed.

The corners of her lips crease into her cheek. “Hey,” her reply mirrors the breathiness of yours, and her left arm low-arcs up to rest on the booth seat, body facing you head-on. Totally relaxed. “How come you didn't mention the job switch? Was lookin’ for you,” she asks curiously, a tinge of that sweet-talk peeking through her wide grin.

Now that you've stepped closer and garnered her attention, you can see and feel every notched nicety of her face on yours. You can only imagine how a swollen, sliced lip feels, and the continual migraines a fractured nose brings. Weeks of healing have swept by, but her afflictions in particular weren't petty.

“Guess it felt irrelevant to bring up when you got back. But you're here now, and you found me. So?” your tone edges on.

“Well, yeah,” she chuckles. “Did you not miss me?” She feigns offense; brows quirking and her tone pitching slightly.

You did.

A sigh starts in you, “Hard to not miss and worry for somebody when you picked up their slack in every patrol dating way back.” Barely nipping what you really felt with a snarky tease. “Oh shit, that rhymes,” you glance off and whisper to yourself, still loud enough to inspire mirth.

And it does; her forehead pinches and her voice rises in mirth, laughing casually and shifting in her seat to lean one elbow upon the table. “Ha— yeah,” she admits defeat. Ellie is undeniably cute when she does, always shrinks into herself and sinks into thoughtful conference, thinking of something—anything smart to knock you back into that corner. “Guess you're right. Hm, always were on my ass about that, huh?”

You tut, “Mhm. Missed my scolding in Seattle?” crossing a leg and bearing weight upon it.

“Nah,” she confesses briefly, and you barely believe it. Wringing in doubt at that sly smile she tries to conceal from you. “I learned my lesson this time.” Ellie glances up, a prayer written on her face asking you to hold your scolds. “Trust me.”

“Hurt enough this time?”

“Fuck you!” She punts you playfully in the ankle and begins a laugh again. “You’re not allowed to point that out!”

That was the way of things; Ellie would charge into a fight wearing her life on her chest, slackening the rules, and you had to reel her in. Tug the leash. It had you suspecting her to have a foolproof reason as her backbone, like she was daring the devil with eyes fearlessly open. Steadfast intent. She would lure runners to her, grapple them from you, or push you away beyond safety. Leave you to watch an animalistic vigor fill every bind in her body until you're convinced she’s either coming out bitten or scathingly torn.

You wish she saw how worrying she truly looked; a sweet face splattered hair to chin in the blood of infected, catching her breath and shaking the arm of the croaking infected she just slaughtered off her ankle. Being way too blithe-hearted for the sacred sake of everyone involved.

“Don't worry about me.”

One day, when she asked you with her solemn eyes to be afraid, you thought she finally trusted you to handle yourself past her overprotective nature. Then, one clicker got too close for comfort, and she retracted the pact of fighting equally. Losing more than what her blade owes the earth would prove her fears to be a product of her unsacrifice.

Ellie figured it was half the reason you quit patrol duty, but not that it was fully the reason you anguished over her leaving for Seattle later on; her appetite for violence.

She accepts it so easily. But even when you had sworn she had place in something as simple as retiring from patrol and nothing else, she smelt the sugary scent of a white lie. Joel did it before. She never accepted it under a gentle radar. Instead, it had her wondering if she had upset you, if you would forgive the crimson melodrama and still take her up on breakfasts at ten when she returned. Regardless if you painted the full picture in the end, apologies spilled alike to winded waters out of this girl; sorry that she still could not stomach you tagging along for vengeance. Never-ending sorries, and you lapped each one up. Brought gaping arms around her and absorbed all the ugly and hopeless sounds. You wanted to prove her fears wrong, but perhaps it was time fear let you be the lamb. Live and let live.

Then, Dina would step in, and Ellie would be wrapped around her finger in sudden laughter. Happy and unhurt. Couldn't even remember what occurred before her sun entered the room, and dried those tears.

Crimson melodrama is all you preserved when abandoned, and is all you could look at her with when in longing.

The winter dance had your guts up to your throat.

Seattle, inexplainable.

You don’t hate Dina; your envy lies with the disconnection of it all.

“What do you recommend?” she questions, and her eyes anticipate you to be the ultimate apocalyptic-dining expert. Locked and attentive. She then begins to shake her head in gesture, planting the menu down. "I don't— I don't usually go to these kinds of places, so.. What do you think?" she awkwardly giggles, tapping the menu's plastic sleeve.

Tension presses a smile onto your lips at her inelegance. "Nobody does, not even people who went to these places before the outbreak," you opine, swapping the notepad to one hand and sliding into the booth. "It's okay. I mean.. hmm, what do you prefer? Sweet or salty?"

Her eyelids flick down, fingers coming to lace together as her eyes traverse the options. "Uh, I guess I— wait, wait," she interrupts herself. A swift finger draws you to look down at the menu, "You guys make pancakes here?" green eyes gaping at you with pupils more voracious than her stomach—or her sweet tooth.

"Yeah."

"I'll have that then."

It was a steadfast verdict. The sweet honey pancakes, she shall have, at the cost of a couple minutes and a couple ingredients. But it isn't traditional for birthdays, so you weigh in. “Just pancakes? I mean.. Faye is back there if you want something a little more celebrator—”

“—I'm not really a blow-the-candles-out and make-a-wish type of person,” she corrects you, brows cinched in as she rambles. Then, her free hand scoots the menu forward. “But you already knew that, you just insist otherwise,” she chuckles, unable to meet eye and eye.

True. Your soft insistence dawns from wanting nothing less than heaven inside everything for her, and maybe a dash of that sweet-sweet crush on her. But, Ellie is so staunch in being the humble girl that doesn't glorify every recorded happening with string lights and a wish hurled into the uncaring universe bent upon nurturing demised, late lights young girls reach for. She kept everything low-key: a small garage get-together on her last birthday, the one before that, and the one predating those two. Alcohol in your palms and movies playing back to back. Budding distorted laughs and tumbles into each other. Birthday things.

The remnants of her fifteen-year-old mind hangs aimlessly inside that museum. Dangled and stretched into archaic bones. On the day of return, she arrived happier than a sunflower drunk on the sun. Broad smiles and whatever else.

Wasn't for long.

“Forget you're so down-to-earth and reserved about all the fun things,” you snarkily deliver, retiring that still empty notepad behind your back. Memory shall serve. “Will that be it then?”

“Are you saying I'm not fun?”

“I'm saying you need more of it.” You emphasize with a tiny bounce-up on your calves, tilting your head north. Though, nothing she uttered was wrong and so your voice silkily drones on, “And that.” You act the lack of a ruder way to insinuate. “But yeah, okay. One order of pancakes coming up.”

“Cool, I'll uh—have a 'celebratory' drink in the meantime?” She nudges the menu towards you once again, irises pulled thin on themselves. Thoroughly staring; your reflection in a bead of black.

You have to laugh, kindly laugh. “No alcohol here, dumbass.”

“Oh. Right.” Her doe-stare only crescendoed from there, shying away at the result of her asking. Something reluctant is lodged in her pale throat, stumbling out only when it feels imminent as you turn away. “D-Do you wanna chat, afterwards? There's so much bullshit surrounding Seattle I have to catch you up on and I-I didn't before, so.."

Swinging your head back, you gauge that mercurial girl there. Tripping up her request like it couldn't escape hibernation from her head any quicker than insult does.

Faye shouldn't mind. “'Course, I was left to wonder about everything since that night anyway.” Your boss might even encourage it; knowing that your long-standing crush for her—heartbreaking to fathom, beautiful to feel—never swept you from rambling Ellie into some fairytale, so she would use it to psych you into asking her out. Jesse, too. Damn the nosy ones!

But it's the one thing that keeps you worried now.

“Cool, cool. Oh, hey, add extra syrup will you?”

What does Ellie think of you?

“Mhm,” syrup is nowhere as sweet as your hum. “Got it.”

Does she think of you at all?

MOUTHS ALL-CONSUMING AND DEPRIVING

Minutes in, minutes out, wallowing at that ruby-red booth fed the realization to Ellie that the nerves feeding off her anxious chest could not combat conversation alone. She needed an aid. Liquid courage. Velvety smooth and robust.

Fortunately for betting gods and heaven-watching anyones, leftover whiskey from the last bonfire made stock in her cloistered, chaotic cabinets. So it founded no surprise that it whirled to mind after the celebratory-drink fact; leading you here, in her bedroom, on her bed. She pours whiskey into stubby glasses, One for her, one for you, and a lucky extra two for further along this unexplored line. Nothing overflowing limits.

But, oh boy, did it make you all lovey-dovey.

Her lips move and they dance over words, but all you hear is your own enamoration of how heart-shaped they are. You see, but fail to hear and comprehend. Floating aimlessly into those freckles, again. Something a fourteen-aged, sanguine mind would do.

Ellie was relaying Seattle to you, she prefaced. Prefacing didn’t aid you in paying attention, though. Today is not your sharpest, it dates to be your most absentminded. Not your usual, at all.

Nods are swayed to every shock-value word that you manage to understand, but the star-crossed rest, you miss, and replace with whatever story her pupils trace. They flit to read your face after each end of her sentences, so it has you thinking too much of her time has slipped without the company of a listener, and now that her time slips into you, she can use it to stretch your expression with whatever witty remark she makes.

She did one day blurt that your laugh compliments your smile—or however that fucking flirt threw it over the crackle of that bonfire.

In fact, when you begin to let parts of her body neck-down from her face distract you, only then do you decipher how much she has grown in a month.

She pitches her drink to sip, and your eyes are hot on that glassy trail, artistically concerned with the way she swills down whiskey: fluently gulped, throat bobbing, the scar on her lip licked clean. Her brows too, have thickened, much so as her leathered skin, her callouses. She traces her thigh in circles repeatedly—a fidgety habit—and her lips purse and tug and wrinkles hug and press said lips when they are prettily wide.

Every high noon or low point of her body was different, and you have missed a great many things you care too much about to not appreciate every brink and midst. You don't want her to be lost to otherworld winds without studying her presence harshly. She is in your scrutiny, now more than ever.

“So, do I get to see my pancakes yet, or?”

“Oh, oops.” You snap out of your woolgathering, wagging your head left to right. Then briskly as you assented her invitation, you slide your knees under you, reorganizing your seating. “Can't blame me for being so invested in your epic tales. Could totally be a comic narrator for the school in town.”

Ellie had already been sat skyward. Sprawled at one leg and tucked at the other, arm in her lap, where her whiskey is nestled. “Oh, sure,” she says with a sarcastic edge. “Those kids are a bunch of little shits. They would probably interrupt me with fart jokes or make actual fart sounds than sit still and pay attention for thirty minutes.”

“Hmm,” you hum, short and atonal, peeling the corner of the plastic lid back. “And who do you think taught them those terrible jokes, huh?”

Soft lids narrow together to sharpen her gaze; glaring at your clever comment, lips propped slightly open. “Terrible?” An offended, toothy smile pulls on her lips. All sentences she could possibly muster up come crashing into each other; an agglomeration, “I—They aren't bad jokes—and they're puns, really, so they're actually pretty fuckin' smart,” she boasts with brows raised. “And It isn't my fault that every annoying kid picked them up and started repeating them.”

It most certainly is her fault. Hell, even you catch yourself reciting them at the crest of nightfall, giggling into your palm. Although, why she's trying so rigorously to plead her pun-enjoying case to you, might just be funnier. “Are you seriously trying to explain puns to me?”

“God,” she surrenders in a chuckle, and bows her head to introduce another quick sip to her parched lips. Ellie then eyes you for a blank second thereafter, tugging the plump of her lower lip through her teeth. Like contemplation has her hindered.

Around you, the lungs of the garage’s foundation inhale, and exhale; creaking and settling.

She dashes a huff. “You basically asked,” Ellie reminds you, her tone and eye-roll implying obviousness. “Can I eat my pancakes now? M'hungry.” Her face sutures into a pseudo-frown and encloses herself to a crisscross, impatiently behaving.

Now, as for the pancakes. Fluffy, biscuit brown, star-shaped, bountifully rivered in unrestricted syrup, topped off by a definitely-melted, humbled ingot of butter. Needless to say, you're pleased by what boredom and intact cooking-books taught you, and she hasn't even seen them yet.

The ask for a carryout-container was already in order the moment you set pace for her table, because you wound up in a near-catastrophe as she sought you out around the kitchens like a lost pup and maundered right into you. Thank patrol for instincts; it's the one thing you held an undying clutch to. And the sweet pancakes you proudly plated, making refuge on the counters as you cross-examined Ellie in case you injured her arm more.

Lucky girl was all fine and peachy, of course.

She only knocked you two right into that near-injury mess to invite you here. Persuasion sat readily in her throat incase you questioned her motives—most of her ideas turning out to be a little friend-group antic, never anything serious or singular—but you agreed to it in double-time.

“Think you might just be one of those kids at this point.” You gingerly tweak the rim of the plate you kept the pancakes on and lift it outside the container, planting it between all four knees.

“Eh, you're not so innocent yourself,” Ellie contends before she even casts her first peek at the hillock of starry sweetness, totally taken aback when she does. “Holy shit,” she awes, just as if she were a young teen again, “Are you kidding me?”

Labor-intended nights never slip soft through the gaps of your fastened fingers, not even days where your work period is abridged, but hey, strange, space-brain girls are far beyond ordinary exception. Hell, Ellie is vital! Commemorating the red angel you worship in the patterned and soapy act of cooping up on her bed, toasting to the moonlight and letting her talk your ear off for old times' sake is your approach to telling her you love her.

“Know I'm not a pancake-connoisseur, but I gave it a unique whirl. Just for you.” You held a fork out, gracing her with first honors. “Don't blame me if it gives you a stomachache,” your forewarn is a doubtful one; in your mind, morningtime will arise with an extra punch to her gut.

Ellie, however, stares right into the baying eyes of a challenge, snatching the fork from you. "Hey, if it's good enough for my tongue, then it's good enough for ma' gut!" and promptly after exclaim, gashes and tears her fork into the sweet, airy texture of the pancake, popping it past her sweet, berried lips. “Mhh—and I will blame you. So you end up feeling sorry n'take care of me.”

God, whatever souls you would sell to spend paradisal afterlife with this fool. Talking with a gob flush of the birthday project you're humiliated to be proud of. You scoff, “Asshole,” lightheartedly scornful as can be, and it snaps something to mind. Head tilting eye-to-eye, “Dina wouldn't be the one to?” you ask, right after she swallows.

That particular question seemingly struck a chord as her brows cinched together, eyes dropping with allusion. “No,” she says meekly, soft in the sound, but you can tell it came up heavy. Shadowed by a sigh, and an untimely chuckle. “Do you want to know?” She throws on a shrug that ripples through her head, sending it to hang lopsidedly. As the stout willow grows.

“Guess so,” you agree temperately, not wanting to seem too eager—even though with this topic, you just might be. Camouflage those old, foul feelings of envy. “Did Seattle have you kicking more ass than just Wolves and infected? Couldn't have been a very romantic tr—”

“Dina's pregnant.”

Silence carves it's way after that. Thick, tense and unyielding. You had words lined up but like a shot in stark night they've just—vanished, sunk back into the chamber. Nothing prepared you to hear that, “Pregnant?” lowering a hand to your belly where you swear your heart has pummeled to.

Ellie glances up, once at your widened face and once at your hand. A bite of humor works it's way above her chin; smugly smirking. “God, don't tell me you're pregnant now too.”

“What? No!”

Damn idiot. Should punch her right in the—nevermind.

Ellie is way too quick to make serious things unserious. “You're a damn menace,” you unapprovingly giggle.

“Am I?” Amusement raises her brows, tearing into the pancake with her fork for another bite. “Cause you seem to like menace.”

You adjust onto propped elbows, “Do I?” playing all nonchalant. “I mean, what do you mean by that?” your voice dims, expending for the small space that separates you and her.

“Mhh,” she contemplates with a purring sound, and shrugs. “Dunno.” Ellie retreats those eyes downward where you won't compel her to smile. You can tell she battles the letch to look up again, which—as proven in her case—doesn't fucking work. She shoots up carefully, and it's a conflicted gaze this time. “Not with Dina anymore, though. That’s the other thing.”

And we're back.

Having reconciled the chance, you retrace. Look at her with somber concern. “Did something between the two of you happen?” It's a gentle question, reinforced by the bulletproof stare you offer her to unwind in.

The air in her voice softens, “Sort of,” and the meridians of your body then become easier to look at as she continues, wrinkles in her brows. “Said some things I shouldn't have, and we.. figured it best to leave it at that. For now.” her explanation sounds desolate and attemptless, like she has sat in shadow and vigil accepting this fact and has given up on hope. Crestfallen and quieter; this isn't like her. Bent at her wrist, dangling that glass above her crisscrossed lap like a sad child pokes at the food on their plate.

“For now?” You hate that you pry, but that sick greed in your gut from times before haunts with a hunger for knowledge. Your envy that is enlightenment. Still, you hesitate to seem nosy, wanting nothing than to possibly just console your friend in need. “What's holding you back from.. calling it quits? The pregnancy?” You crane your body upright slowly.

“Just still feelin' bad.” Her fingers begin a tap-dance at the glass' rim. “I'm an asshole.”

You duck at the neck, searching for her downcast eyes. “Come on, El. I've only ever seen you rant and rave at middle-aged grumpy men and infected, no way it was that bad.”

“You weren’t there,” she insists otherwise with an earnest voice, inciting a refreshed sigh as she swigs her whiskey.

“Well, what did you say?” You are relentless. No, normally you would not condone it, but tonight, tongues are loose and boundaries are blurry. You miss your happy girl. “I could talk to Dina, if it helps.”

“Wouldn’t change shit.”

“If you love her, you would try.” Even if it sickens you.

Ellie slots her drink in her lap, and grouches. “Dude.” She pinches the bridge of her nose and stifles a groan, frustrated. It draws out in words without proper footing, “It's weird. We just don't know what to say to each other—I don't know what to say to her, it.. it's just how it is—it was a mutual agreement. None of your business, really.”

Her own tongue is a very obvious byproduct of nerves, whiskey, stress, by and large a lot of things. Being goaded, definitely.

How it is, is how it will be.

“She broke up with me.”

You didn't mean to goad her, but curiosity—and a kiss of alcohol and envy—ate your refrain. The lack of any eye contact or movements to stray from you thereafter her word is telling enough. That it aches her head, and a cold, guilty sweat crosses over your skin. It was a stupid thing to blurt. You feel fucking stupid for even saying that.

Fuck.

Her dry sniffle is noisy on your shortcoming, and has you scrambling to think. “Sorry, just been worried for weeks.” But you shrink into a ball of abraded arms and legs, conserving yourself into a shy, spotted egg of curiosity that clads no hatching cracks to be convicted of. “Thought you two finally getting together would be the dream to end all dreams.” What the fuck do you know anyway?

Her eyes watch through you, into you like water; she notices, and the pancakes are slid to the side. Shuffles of fabric clamber closer as she eats the inches between you two, her breath brushing your forehead. “Hey, hey. I didn't mean anything by it. It's fuckin' great that I got somebody I can drink with and mope to. Really. Just been shitty all around—Tommy? Fuck, he's been the worst lately.”

Everything ascends in temperature once her hand plants on the side of your neck, every nerve petrifies; unheard-of touch. She can feel the gasped tension in your throat, thumbing the muscles down.

“Don't worry about it,” she says, and her saying that amuses you.

A moth-eaten phrase in particular is what was said. You scoff at it, plopping your legs back out. “Dude.” You bite a smile into your lips. Sucks that such a hackneyed thread of words does so; you're really chewing back the urge to call her any byname of dumbass, per usual. But damn that sincere face on her face that sweetens the teasing deal for you. You settle for low-hanging fruit. “You always say that, Ellie.”

“Ugh,” she seconded a scoff back at you, grimacing coyly. “Don't you start.” Ellie drags her hand off, not intending for it to land smack-dab on your thigh. It takes her a second to register the sound, the texture, slinking her hand behind her when you say nothing.

“Start what?” you stutter a laugh, bringing your thighs together.

“Nothin,”

“Don’t bullshit me, WIlliams.” To educe her, you dig your foot into her side, poking her. “Does it have anything to do with only me being here and not anybody else?” You lean into her.

Ellie does too, an exact mirror of you. “No..” The only thing that contrasted you, was her hand again, seeking what was left behind on your thigh. “Just wanted to see you first,” her lips barely move besides a slick smirk. Voice tiptoeing through the air, the noise-level two clandestine lovers live at, in secret song.

“You fuckin liar. No hang-outs for weeks before you left and suddenly you want to see me?” You call bull when she relucts to raise her hung head, witnessing the corners of her lip curl. Her head twists away more, and you spearhead the first, little move: tuck that irkful strand of auburn with a single finger. “C'mon.. what is it?”

“Stupid,” she blatantly spits, and at last confronts your face with her puckish one—glimpsing down, and up, and down. Watching her grip flex into your leg intermittently, chewing her lip. “Mhh, maybe 'm starting it.”

Ellie is heart-poundingly close; her breath is now yours to breathe. You whisper, “Maybe you are,” perking yourself right up to her cheek, unnoticing of the ardor her eyes spin over your face. Unsure where to stare. You pretend the pressure on your thigh flies under the radar, too, and that your heart isn't in the middle of a love-logged swell, and your cheeks aren't tender from smirking at the feeling of it perched there. Love-struck death befalls, if else confessed, so you tease, tease, and tease to stomach your excitement. “Maybe, you're stalling on those pancakes because they actually gave you a stomachache. You feeling good?”

Her bitten lips part, and the next sensations you feel—are transcendental.

Wisping whispers so hot, and intoxicating on your skin, you fail to catch her hand coming up from your thigh to clasp your face, or that hers has shifted in front of yours. She breathes out, “Won't you shut up already?” through lips pulled into a smirk, and rushes to press it fondly against your mouth.

You wince—somewhere between an electrified gasp and a reaction of delight—into the kiss she stole, and it only beckons her to starve more for you. The heat of her whiskey breath pours into your mouth, and you drape your eyes closed. Scoring these seconds by, she spends them concentratedly rolling the skin together, others pushing and shying from the kiss, until she stills and bleeds out the pressure in a slow, wet smack. Hazily eyeing you for a response.

Once you feel her no more, your eyes blurrily creak open, and the corners of her lips at soft upturn greet you. Single creases at either side, the few freckles above them outspread.

Judgement renounces you, leaving you with pathetic pickings for reply. You aren't sure what she wants—or needs you to say. “Ellie?” daintily, a mumble flows onto her lips, and is far from a frail sound of concern. Intrigue encapsulates you.

What does this mean?

You think you know, but self-reason has always proven itself to be naive and too eager to trust.

By cruel emotion, she misunderstands you. “Sorry,” she pants out breathlessly, blowing the shape of it into your cleft lips and hovering right upon. Her fingers gouge the fabric clothing your chest, mangling it into her fist—an attempting grasp. This proximity is all she could ever dream of. “Is this okay?” Yet, dreams always sever at the apotheosis. So when she comes in for the second kiss, she wants no more for dreaming; the reality she yawns with hunger into, is insurmountable.

A dewdrop of something cold dribbles between you. Tears.

In turn, you misunderstand her. Using your own stubbornness to create an enigma. To think, that out of the blue, all of this would transpire? After endless wishes unanswered? You doubt it.

You love her, but you refuse the reality of it happening upon you.

Separating from the plush, licked skin of her lips fleetingly, you speak. “Is this you being drunk?” Only to be drawn back in without her processing your words right away, and then drawn back out. Intricate intimacy.

“Please,” Ellie begs, “Answer me, before I feel like an asshole again,” and chuckles sobbingly before her teeth feel rapaciously empty, and cannot tolerate it any longer. Instinct, and teeth nip your bottom, vulnerable lip.

Neither of you could be totally drunk, having only drank a modest portion.

So this is raw.

Thinly pulled, she slowly stretches it across the air between, and watches it spring back beneath eyelids sunken low. The action entails nothing else for her to feed satisfaction from, already panting right in your mouth in search of more as soon as your tongue descries the answer. “More than okay,” you heave in a passioned breath along that all-consuming, deprived mouth. Your hand squeezes her fist confirmingly.

It quenches her lust to know, a hot-blooded, moaned and voiceless curse snapping into your mouth. “I fuckin' love you.” Her rage softens in meeker kisses, peppering them up to the corners of your lips until she pauses, and pulls herself away. Her eyes turn troubled and adrenaline-rushed. Stains of tears shimmer beneath, along new ones that begin to plunge, and for the first time ever, you know they're yours. But then the flesh between frowns, the mood shifting, and she croaks, “Am I.. an asshole?”

It breaks you to hear that.

You glare, and stammer, “W-What? You aren't.” Hooking dearly onto her wrist when her hand glides up to rest against your cheek. “Why?”

“Cause I sprung this on you, 'nd I don't wanna force you to..” Ellie cranks to a halt, mouth screwing shut like her thoughts were too much to bear hearing aloud. “Fuck,” she quietly spews, cowering her face near your neck.

“Said it was okay,” you coo, clarifyingly coo, raking your fingertips up and through the tied loops of her hair. “The only asshole thing you'd ever done was not let me come with you.”

“I know.” Her eyes search for uncomplicated plains. The sheets, her lap, your neck. A kiss is planted as she tips her head, the gust thereafter a warm reminder of her sorries.

“Thought you were going to die.” You awoken in violent patterns, cold nights restless in bed, tossing and turning. Waking and falling into daydreams of how Jackson would feel missing a cardinal component. A girl to rave against dying lights. Thorns scale your throat at the thought. “You're reckless, y'know?” you mean it as a gentle insult, chuckling as it leaves your lips, and sealing it into her scarred palm. Kissing reckless consequences.

Her lips loiter on the pulse of your throat. They drag, and they drag.. sloppily limping over your jaw as she makes her way to observe you in her palm, mumbling low, and gravelly, “How many times am I gonna have to say it?” Ellie deems it redundant to tell you that she knows again, resorting to her own little gentle insult, “Such a fuckin' sap.”

“Says you.”

Her hand is comfortingly warm; you aren't fain to break away. But her fingers are curious, thumb nearly making it into your mouth before she second-guesses herself, easing it at the verge of your lips instead.

A longing moment of Ellie staring at the way her thumb looks—a decoration to your mouth—passes, and she responds, “Still alive, aren't I?” to that loose thread of a plea you forgot you even said. It calls you right over, bidding you to look into her eyes again as space finds itself thinning again, her scratchy, band-aided nose caressing yours. “Dumbass.”

She chuckles into your mouth as you chuckle into hers, cutting yourself off with a kiss that ebbs, and flows. Suckles, and smacks, snaking her tongue in for a change. That sweet, sweet wheat. Saccharinity you can't explore anywhere else other than the outline of her mouth. And you—of grunted volitions in her chest—take exploration further, replacing the grasp of her shoulder with the coursing of fabric, sliding under the hem of her shirt and palming the skin there.

You feel her skin breathe, her belly breathe into your hand, and a content wrinkle pinch between her brows. Her skin, is as soft as nothingness.

“You're a dumbass.”

Air clings to your cheek as her hand reaches around you, pressing fingerprints into the base of your head as to prop you for her delightments. Ellie is no amateur, enjoying you as if she knew you were hers without explicit pledge.

“Sure, babe,” she scoffingly counters, and pulls her tongue out of you, lips messiy shining. She scouts you out; lays eyes on your expression with undertones of satisfaction and presses an appetent bite right back into your damp skin, grunting into the filthy kiss.

Your mind is one-pathed right now; in the most maddened form, you crave the story further down her throat. In that warm space, is air thinned and balmy with the scent of alcohol and syrup. In those whimpers, is the sincere confession she held tight in throatly gloaming, all those intimate times before. In all of your yearnings, your lips never parted for more.

Two holes that want to consume each other.

Weeping, wailing, tormenting in an empty forever.

“Fuck you, Ellie,” you cathartically sob into the humid cavern of her, a hint of wanton—and other repressed things, taking form. That hand under her shirt wanders from her navel and tweaks the button of her jeans, pressing your body against all of her like it hurt to be inside your own, singular body. Overcame by a need you could not chew out.

Ellie cuts the kiss, quick to soothe the movement with her hand pressing down and collecting yours. “Hey, hey, too fast,” she laughs, distancing herself and giving you those eyes that could see you were overstrung, hectic to go somewhere you aren't prepared for.

She loves you, but that means appreciating you enough to wait until time is perfect.

Her head cocks, “Let's take shit slow, huh?” fingers weaving into the pliant gaps of yours and pulling your fist dear to her chin, kissing it.

You speak over the repeated sounds of her smooches, “Yeah, sorry,” cringing slightly at how fucking cheesy the scene became. But, when is Ellie not? Wonder clasps you now; intent to know what this makes out of the two of you, having held your feelings for forever. “Well, what does all this mean, then?”

“It means..” Ellie slants her body even more, stealing your wrist along with her. Planning something, no doubt. “You and me, breakfast tomorrow at ten, Tipsy Bison?” Her mouth stuck to the side of your hand like syrup, so firm in not letting you go.

It makes your ears simmer hearing her shamelessly set up a date, of all things she could have said. God. You errantly laugh, totally not giddy when her mouth starts sprinkling up your arm at an alarming pace. “Sounds more than good—hey! You slow down!”

Happy birthday, asshole.

perm taglist; @whore4abby @aouiaa @tlougrl @mina-281 @beabeebrie @fleshunger @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @nicolicht @cosmikoo @xinyaya @sawaagyapong @reinersbigolboobies @brunettedolls-blog @syrenada @p4ison1vy @nil-eena @hi2647 @rarestdoll @narieater @hrtmal @eudaemoniaaaa @ellie-07063 @luvfaeri @carleenaelaine @kissyslut @beemillss @elsmissingfingers @maleelee @seraphicsentences

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

Text

Meet the Family 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: I'm feeling very Little Lies about this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

"So this is the reason you missed Thanksgiving," a butter knife jabs in your direction as you poke at the white turkey meat; this? You look up then at Lloyd as he nearly chokes.

"Uh, yeah," he coughs behind his fist and swallows, "we were out of the country..."

"Yes, why would you bother to stay. No use in seeing your mother at the holidays, or the rest of your family," she reproaches.

"Mom," he groans.

"For ten years," William adds from his wife's side. "Now you show your face and you look as if you're eating rotten apples."

"No," Lloyd argues. "It's just... I'm busy and I don't get a lot of time away from work."

"We all have obligations," Gwenyth argues.

"Well, I took her away so I could propose," he explains as he presses his fork into the whipped potatoes. "And it worked out perfect, right? Cause now I can bring her to meet everyone."

Gwenyth hums flatly, "I suppose." She clicks her tongue and takes a healthy gulp of wine.

"So, Pixie," Lillian drawls from further down, "what do you do for work? Oh let me guess. A librarian?"

You don't let the suggestion bother you. You don't see it as an insult even if she says it like one. You shake your head.

"No, I--" you begin and Lloyd stomps your foot so you bite down on your voice.

"She is a corporate consultant. International corporation," he explains.

"Oh, wow, sounds busy," Gwenyth remarks.

"Yes, how will you have time for children?" Lillian challenges.

"I'm sure they'll find time to make them," Benson chortles over his snifter.

"Ben, please," William rebukes.

"We're focusing on the wedding before all that," Lloyd says.

You peer around as you chew your cheeks in frustration. You're annoyed by how they speak of you as if you're not even there, and so intimately. Yet, you don't have much to say for yourself. This whole facade is tiresome and you really don't care what they think about a made-up job. Or marriage, for that matter.

"That will be done with quickly," Gwenyth sniffs. "And she will need to quit that job if she wants to do her duty as your wife."

"I can handle a job and a husband," you blurt out.

The table quiets as if stunned that you can speak. You blink and Lloyd puts his fork down and touches your arm, "sweet pea--"

"I highly doubt you'd be marrying him for any other reason than that nest egg promised to him," Lillian scoffs. "You don't need to play a saint with us, darling. Marriage is a transaction in more ways than one; affection, money, sex--"

"Lilly," William warns and she laughs.

"Well?" She shrugs. "You do know, the wedding only guarantees a twenty percent payout. He needs an heir to get all of it." She pets her stomach smugly and smiles. "I can assure you it's well worth it. Once you meet Lorelai, you'll see."

"Oh? Maybe when you meet her, you'll consider being a mother too," Lloyd retorts.

"Excuse me?" Lillian snarls. "I love my daughter."

"Of course you so," he sneers. "I'm sure she feels all that love right now as she enjoys her turkey and carrots with the nanny."

"I can't have her around adults and alcohol. You can't possibly understand," she snaps. "And maybe it's better that you never do. I could never imagine you as a father, especially when you are such a child."

"Takes one to know one," Lloyd growls.

"Enough," William barks. "Both of you."

Ransom laughs loudly at the end of the table. Lloyd shifts and Lillian rolls her eyes. You sigh at your plate. You miss your family. For the first time in years, you truly miss them.

"What the hell are you laughing at, Hugh? The only reason you're here is because your grandpappy exiled you."

Linda gasps, "He's not exiled--"

"Oh, right, of course not, Lin, that's why you're here breaking bread with the peasants. That's what you called us at great grandmother's wake--"

"Lloyd, watch your mouth," William snarls. "Better yet, shut it."

Lloyd recoils in his chair and stiffens. His features sharpen then he lowers his chin and picks up his fork. His jaw is stone as he stirs the gravy into his potatoes. You wouldn't call him humbled, more whipped like a dog. These people make you feel something for him you never thought you could; sympathy.

"I don't care about money that much," you say. "It can't buy respect. Besides, I would never marry a man without a prenup. Whatever Lloyd has will remain his." You push your shoulders back as a yawn tickles in your throat. "At this point, he can keep you lot as well."

You stand up and take the cloth napkin from your lap. You fold it neatly, "Gwenyth, you can tell whoever cooked dinner that it was delicious. I appreciate you all having me but I'm going to go find a hotel and some peace." You step around the chair and push it into the table, "happy holidays."

You turn, your insides jittering. What are you doing? Where did that come from? You could say you're tired and not thinking straight, but honestly, you're just so repulsed by these people that your head could explode. They're lucky they only got a a few pieces of shrapnel.

You march out without looking back. Your cheeks tinge hotly with self-awareness. You've messed it all up. After years of harnessing your emotions under Hansen's thumb, you finally snapped. You blew it all.

"What she said," another chair scrapes as Lloyd speaks. "Mom, dad, good night."

You enter the hall and head for the entry way. You hear him beside you. You're still foggy with disbelief. It isn't until you sit to put on your boots that you notice Lloyd.

"I know, I'm done. Fired." You pull on your leather booties. "I'll take the severance and figure it out."

"I didn't say so," he says as he grabs a coat from the closet.

"Um..."

"You're completely right. We can't stay here. They're all a bunch of pricks and they wonder why I didn't come home for ten years," he pulls on his coat as he speaks. He pushes back his hair then smooths his mustache. "We're better off at the hotel. We'll sleep better there--"

"We? Lloyd, please. Stay with your family. I need space," you stand and reach past him for your jacket. "Besides, I booked a single queen and it's Christmas Eve."

"Queen's big enough. You're tiny--"

"Okay, no, no," you hiss. "It's not happening. Stay--"

"But I don't want to," he whines.

"Mr. Hansen," you say. "You're out of your mind."

"Well, after your blow up, I don't think I'm welcome," he puts his hand on his hip. "So this is your last chance to save your job. You made the mess, you clean it up."

"Me?" You exclaim.

He hushes you and step closer, "Pix, you already made a scene, let's not do the encore. I'm gonna grab my bags, alright?"

"You can't be serious." You say.

"Hey, I gotta play the loyal husband--"

"And why exactly is that necessary? Why couldn't you get one of those Tinder girls?"

"Woah, woah, come on, someone will hear you," he covers your mouth with his hand and you turn your face away with a blech. "Go warm up the car. We'll talk on the ride to the hotel."

You stare at him. He watches you, as uncertain as you've ever seen him. In the silence, you can hear the din in the other room.

"Always was such a baby," Lillian laughs venomously.

"He could've chosen someone without an iron spine," Gwenyth adds.

You grimace and throw your hands up, "fine, get your things."

"You're the best," he grabs your shoulders but before he can kiss you, you put your hand up to pinch his nose. He recoils and rubs the tip, "ow."

"No more of that," you say as you pull your keys out of your pocket. "Thank god I only had one glass of wine."

You stomp out the front door. The frigid winter air hits you like a bus. Once one even ground, the swirling snow flecks onto your shoulders and hair. Great, now you get to drive in the snow with an unwanted passenger.

You get in the driver seat and push the ignition. You turn on the heater and the heated seats. At least Hansen pays enough for the add-ons. Still, you’re not sure there’s any compensation equal to what you just went through.

You look over as the front door opens and closes. Lloyd rolls a giant suitcase with him, another smaller bag strapped on top, and a third in his other hand. You don’t move as you watch him descend the steps, easing the wheels over the edge one-by-one.

He comes down the long walk and jerks as his loafers slip on the icy pavement. It would be funny if you weren’t so damn exhausted. You steadies himself and continues on. You should get out and help him. You don’t.

You pop the trunk with the button. He loads in his bags as you check the rear view. He comes around the passenger side and pulls the door open. He lets out an obnoxious ‘brrrr’ as he drops into the seat next to you. You shift gears as he shuts the door.

“Ugh, I feel so much better getting out of there,” he says as he adjusts the seat, making room for his long legs.

“Why?”

“Um, why not? My family is the worst--”

“No, why did you drag me into this?” You ask as you lean into the wheel and squint over it. The dark, the snow, the unplowed roads, it’s like the universe can’t stop throwing you obstacles.

“You want the real answer or the nice answer?” He replies.

“Mr. Hansen,” you growl.

“Right, I had no other choice.”

“No other choice?” You repeat.

“Look, those long-legged beauties back home, they’re fun, but they don’t got much else going on. I needed someone who could play along,” he explains.

“Play along?”

“Yeah, I mean, you’re smart so--”

“I’m smart...”

“I wouldn’t hire you if you weren’t--”

“Jeez, wow, Mr. Hansen, thank you so much. You think I’m so smart, so you should know I’m smart enough to know better than to believe you. You think I’m desperate,” you turn slowly onto the next street. “You think I have nothing else going on.”

“No, that’s not--” he shifts in his seat.

“It’s exactly what you think,” you huff. “Well, I do. I have a flight in...” you pause and check the time on the dash, “five hours so when we get to the hotel, I’m going to sleep and you’re going to let me. Then I’m going to catch my flight and the curtain can be pulled on this whole theatre.”

“Your words, not mine. I don’t think you’re desperate.”

You don’t respond. You’re tired. He just can’t leave things alone. He always has to say something. You wonder if he was truly left to his own thoughts, if his head would combust.

“I’m actually impressed,” you says, “you held your own.”

“Sir,” you utter.

“It was good. Entertaining. I mean, all these years, you never once talked back to me but wow, that was... majestic, really. You didn’t even wait to see my mother’s face. Or my sister’s.”

“Your family is weird,” you blurt out. “Sorry, uh, I didn’t mean--”

“I mean, yeah, we probably are but I don’t really have anything to compare it to,” he says.

You nod. He has a point. Yet, while that horde of entitled brats might explain his personality, it can’t excuse it.

The hotel’s marquee shines like a beacon as you steer into the lot. You yawn and shut off the engine. You let yourself out and drag your feet around to the trunk. You take out your carry-on as Lloyd hovers at the other side.

“All of your stuff, out,” you say. “I’m going straight to the airport in the morning. Checkout is ten so as long your gone by then, I don’t care what you do.”

He’s quiet but he obeys. He takes his bags out and sets them on the ground. He pulls the rolling bag and slings his smallest bag on his shoulder. You snap the trunk shut and turn, shuffling across the icy tarmac.

You enter through the automatic doors and cross the desolate lobby. You check in with your ID but as you look for your credit card, Lloyd flicks his between his fingers and offers it up to the clerk.

“It’s on me,” he insists.

You won’t argue. You really don’t trust him to leave by checkout. As you head for the elevators, he takes a deep breath. He doesn’t speak until you’re behind the sliding doors of the compartment.

“You know, I’m still your boss so you can’t just order me around,” he says.

You glance over at him. “Right, won’t happen again, sir.”

“It could have been worse, you know? I could’ve actually had you come all the way out here just to drop off some gifts. If you think about it, you got a free dinner and some wine--”

“Yeah, it was a great time,” you say dryly. “Mr. Hansen, I’m too tired to lie any more. Tonight was one of the worst nights of my life so no, I don’t think it could be worse.”

The doors open and you stride out. You swipe the card at the door corresponding to the number written in the folio and let yourself in. He follows closely, nearly running over your heels with his suitcase.

You take your bag to the bed and take out the cotton pajamas stuffed inside just for tonight. You bring them with you into the bedroom, doing your best to ignore your guest. Lloyd wanders along the wall and finds his way to the mini fridge.

You’re in no rush to change, only to get to bed. You trade your dress and stockings for the cotton two-piece and emerge. You shove your bag and clothes beside the night table and slide under the blankets. You pull them up to your shoulders.

“They got wine, tequila, beer--”

“I’m going to sleep,” you insist.

“The alcohol will help.”

“No, it will make waking up even harder.”

“After tonight, I think you need a shot.”

“Mr. Hansen,” you grumble and cover your head.

“Fine, more for me.” He snickers.

You’re happy he can’t see the irritation on your face. You might just be better off to let him drink whatever. Eventually, he’ll have to pass out. At least, you can only hope he does.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #meet the family #the gray man

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spiderfunkz · 12 days ago

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MAMA, I'M CHASING A GHOST

pairings. cho hyun-ju x guard!reader

cw. femxfem, heavy angst, no happy ending, canon violence, mentions of a transphobic environment, mentions of hyun-ju's & reader's not so nice past, reader is implied to be dead by the end of this.

author's note: to the anon who sent this, are you okay? hehe, anyways i apologize for any mistakes that i made in this fic. i'm working on a lot of requests right now, but still feel free to send some of ur ideas! it just might take a while🫶🏻

you never really knew yourself.

for you, life felt like a long train ride with no destination. you've felt this way since you were just a child, but it was different then. you used to have a small spark of imagination and hope, but now that is long gone. you couldn't really pinpoint important memories of your past, you barely remember anything, it's just all just a blur.

but there is one thing that you still remember. something that you have yet learned to forget. it's the closest thing you have to happiness.

cho hyun-ju.

a person you met so unexpectedly. during a rainstorm where your parents had forgotten to pick you up from school, she was the only person that insisted on keeping you company. you didn't understand why she did that, you still don't understand it now. she was kindness personified. from that day on, she would keep you company at school, she was your first and only friend.

then, her hair was short, shorter than yours. she was tall, taller than you but only by a couple of inches. she always had a sweet smile, one you could never forget. it's depressing how hyun-ju is the only thing you could still recall without fail.

your friendship with her didn't change. not even until high school. you are still you, unfortunately. hyun-ju's changed, but she's still herself, fortunately.

she has expressed her struggles about her identity to you. you listened to her, you tried your best to understand, and you supported her. you ignored all the mean insults people would throw at you for being friends with her. you try to teach hyun-ju how to ignore them like you, but obviously it was harder on her.

you promised to always be on her side. to be there for each other no matter what. there was nothing that could keep you away from her. she was the light you needed in your life. one day, you give her the idea to run away. together. to finally be able to live the lives you've both wanted.

sadly, that idea was cut short.

you disappeared without a trace. hyun-ju didn't get a text, a call, or even a letter. she had so many questions, and there were no answers to them. she needed you, you knew that. and if you were given the chance to speak at her during those times, you'd say you needed her as well.

but you didn't, you couldn't. she thought you were gone, like gone gone. people speculated the same.

you wished you were, it would've been easier.

now, you work as something little you would refer to as a monster. you don't know what drove you into this but you were desperate. this was the only thing that gave you the money to continue living. a good amount of it too.

it's been a while since you've been doing this.. guard job. the guilt has built up like crazy. if there was something that managed to fill that guilt even more, you'd break.

and now you're feeling what it's like to break.

bastards. is what you wanted to say to the other guards for leaving you behind. now you're held hostage. at gunpoint. no weapon was near enough to defend yourself with, you are utterly helpless.

"take it off." the man demanded, you complied with barely any hesitation, you knew this was gonna be your last moments. you silently pray that you are wrong.

mutters and whispers were exchanged, you guess they weren't expecting a woman to be under the mask. "that too." he gestured to your hood, your identity was now revealed to everyone. they could see you clear as daylight.

everyone could.

that's when she noticed you. you looked less lively than you used too. hyun-ju only knew for sure that it was you when you accidentally locked eyes with her. the same eyes that saw her go through one of the toughest times of her teenage-hood.

you didn't know she was here. you didn't spot her at all throughout the games played so far. it wasn't your duty to hand out meals, or to guard the restrooms, this was the only time you interacted with the players.

"gi-hun, wait." her voice was stern, "give me a moment with her."

"hyun-ju," her name made your ears ring, "we cannot waste time. the guards will come back and we have to get moving."

"it will only take a bit. i swear."

she leveled to your height. you're on your knees, body tense, heart racing. she's on her knees too now, she's calmer than you are, but her heart is racing just as fast as yours.

"y/n?" you don't know how her voice still managed to sound so gentle with you.

though you refuse to make eye contact with her.

"is this where you are now?" her words managed to sting every part of you, you don't know how to respond. she must have so many questions.

"how long have you been doing this?"

"years." your voice was nothing but a whisper.

she's beyond disappointed. "do you remember me?" how could you forget her when she was the only good thing in your life?

you nod, rather cautiously, you could sense a gun being pointed at you still. "where were you? did you leave with the intention of joining this type of work?"

you shook your head.

"could you explain to me why? just a part of it." her eyes were focused on you, for a while, all she wanted to just hug you, to slowly brush your cheek, to tell you that everything is okay.

but she would be lying.

"i'm sorry." was all that came out of you. you wanted to say more, to tell how beautiful she looks now, how happy you are for her, but you couldn't. your voice didn't allow that.

"talk to me. we both know how this is going to end." her voice kept that gentle tone, even when she knows the impending doom you'd have to face. "we have very little time, y/n."

"i'm sorry, hyun-ju," saying her name felt painful. "i was young, stupid, and desperate. i didn't know how to tell you, or how i should say it. i was struggling, it's my fault i didn't communicate," you cry, you didn't care anymore, "i needed you, and i know that you needed someone too. but i couldn't imagine you needing me any further. i'm selfish, i know. but i felt like i was losing myself."

"and you didn't care to tell me? you thought it was better to leave without a word? to have me left alone while you knew i was still figuring things out?"

you stay silent.

she still waits for a response, but she quickly realizes she won't get one.

she looks at gi-hun, you realize his gun was still aimed at you.

"never mind." those were hyun-ju's last words to you, the last words engraved in your head, everything after that felt like mockeries from death.

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murdockparker · 10 months ago

Text

Our Cottage

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: A first anniversary is nearly as important and memorable as the wedding day—if only she had remembered it. Or, at the very least, hoped her husband also forgot. Knowing her husband? Unlikely.

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: fluffy fluff!! cheesy as cheese gets I'm afraid, mentions and illusions of sex but no smut (sorry babes maybe next time)

A/N: Another self indulgent fic for me myself and I. You're welcome to read it if you want I guess—I have nothing else to say about it

The room was too fragrant.

Maybe it was her sensitive sense of smell that had awoken her, but something about the near ten bouquets that adorned her bedchambers led her to believe that both could be true.

“What in the world?”

“Good morning, ma’am,” Mrs. Crabtree said, knocking unceremoniously on the door. “I do hate to intrude on your beauty sleep, but I was instructed to beat the drapes and I’m afraid this is the last room I have left to do.”

“No, no,” (Y/N) groaned, sitting up in bed, “I bet it’s time for me to rise anyway. Can’t sleep the day away.”

“You’re much more forgiving than Mr. Bridgerton,” Mrs. Crabtree smiled, entering further into the bedchambers. “As much as I miss the young master’s presence here at the estate, if he found out that I awoke you early,” she laughed quietly, “I reckon the mister and I would be packing our bags before nightfall.”

“Oh please,” (Y/N) peeled the covers off of her body, stretching her legs, “Benedict loves you both dearly—”

“But he loves you more,” the woman points, making good work of taking the drapes off the wall. “Why, do you think Mr. Bridgerton would purchase the same amount of flowers for me?”

She looks closer at the bouquets—all full of a different variety of blooms. Most filled with her favorites, but a handful were a collection of his favorites as well. “Why did Benedict purchase all of these flowers, anyway? It seems excessive…”

Mrs. Crabtree’s smile seemed secretive at first, fading in realization after looking Mrs. Bridgerton in the eyes. “Oh, my dear, you’re serious.”

“Benedict is usually known for romantic gestures,” (Y/N) said indifferently, “I do not recall a time he did something quite like this, though.”

“Well, I can recall a time Mr. Crabtree and I had to clean up a shocking amount of paint and a few precarious handprints across his study…”

She wished she was still in bed, wanting nothing more than to pull the covers over her bright red face. It was one of the many nights of their honeymoon—Benedict had the bright idea to try and paint with their bodies instead of brushes. She thought he had the decency to clean it all up in the morning. She thought, anyhow.

“I-I’m sorry you had to clean up such a mess,” (Y/N) said, praying the apology could transcend lifetimes. “I will be sure to let Benedict know he needs to be more careful with his oils.”

“Oh, your love keeps me young, ma’am,” Mrs. Crabtree said. “But as I was saying—do you really not realize why your husband had purchased so many flowers?”

“Not a clue.”

“Perhaps it isn’t my place,” Mrs. Crabtree said slowly. “But you and the master have been married for a year now.”

“Yes, yes,” (Y/N) waved. “Nearly year of marital bliss—”

“A year ago, today.”

“Today is… surely not…”

Noticing a perfectly placed card in the bouquet on her nightstand, she grabbed it and quickly sped over the looping font.

Dearest,

I hope these blooms find you well, I instructed the Crabtrees to be extra careful in their delivery this morn. As exquisite as the flowers may be, and I insisted on their exquisiteness, they could never hold a candle to you. Light of my life and song of my heart, how pleasantly perfect the last year has been.

Happy anniversary, my love.

Yours forever,

Their anniversary. Their first anniversary, and she had completely forgotten about it.

“Mr. Bridgerton is still visiting Kent until this evening,” Mrs. Crabtree explained, as if the young missus didn’t know. “I’m sure that provides ample time to prepare something for his arrival, at the very least twelve hours give or take.”

“How could I have forgotten?” (Y/N) was beside herself, forgetting her anniversary? Her first anniversary? Surely it wasn’t an omen of some kind. She was holding onto his note rather tightly. “What kind of a wife am I?”

“Not a terrible one,” Mrs. Crabtree said. “Why, I recall forgetting quite a few of my anniversaries as well.”

“Not your first one though, correct?”

“Well, no—”

“We need to go to town,” (Y/N) said determinedly, flinging her closet open, eyes scanning over every sensible dress she owned. “I need to figure out a way to top whatever spectacle my husband has planned for this evening.”

“I’ll call for a carriage,” Mrs. Crabtree sighed, knowing full well that the drapes will not get finished this afternoon.

“If we were in London, why, I’d have hundreds of choices on what to get Benedict,” (Y/N) said, skimming through the few booths at the market. Life out in the country was agreeable, favorable even, but it was moments like these that she truly missed the convenience of living in such a populated place. “I just do not see how I am to make a gift with anything here.”

“Perhaps, ma’am,” Mrs. Crabtree said, carrying a basket full of fresh fruit and veg—taking every opportunity of the market while they’re out, “perhaps you should try gifting something from the heart?”

“What to wives usually get their husbands for the first anniversary?” (Y/N) asked absentmindedly, fingers running over a healthy pile of apples.

“I find that most women in your place have the pleasure of gifting news of an heir right around or before the year mark,” Mrs. Crabtree said, a hint of a smile dancing on her lips. “I don’t suppose you can surprise Mr. Bridgerton with such news?”

Her face went red. “No. Decidedly not.”

“Shame,” Mrs. Crabtree clicked, “I was rather hoping to be doting on a babe sometime soon…”

“What did you give Mr. Crabtree for your anniversary?” (Y/N) tried to change the subject, ignoring the perfect thought of a little baby with Benedict’s eyes. Perhaps they would have her nose? Her smile?

“Well,” the older woman’s face lit up, “our Henry was the best kind of gift—for me or Mr. Crabtree. I wish I could be more help in that regard, dear.”

Defeated, (Y/N) threw a handful of apples into her basket. The apples weren’t even all that good this time of year. Perhaps she could convince Mrs. Crabtree to bake a pie. Either way, a snack for the horses and their hard work this morning.

“Please forgive me for speaking out of turn, ma’am,” Mrs. Crabtree spoke quietly, “but your husband loves you dearly, I am quite sure he would be most content with any gift you give him.”

“Oh I am sure he would be well suited to accept anything I made or purchased,” (Y/N) agreed. “I rather think I could sneeze on a piece of parchment and he’d write to the National Gallery to induct it into their collection.”

“He would,” Mrs. Crabtree agreed, holding back a laugh.

“Why did I marry such a thoughtful man?” (Y/N) groaned, fist clenching tighter on her basket. “I am destined to be in this predicament every year until the day I perish, aren’t I?”

“To be in a happy marriage, ma’am?”

“To have to deal with my inadequacy for gifts,” she corrected. “We are but a competitive match, after all. Chess is a blood sport with us,” (Y/N) laughed, recalling the last time they had played the game. They both were of the same mind, irritating as it were, it was as if they were playing themselves. It usually ended well regardless, with one under the other in the bedroom. “He probably has been planning something since we were wed, I’m sure. How do I ever top such a thing?”

“Might I suggest the baby narrative again?”

“Mrs. Crabtree, I know you mean it in jest, but it really sounds like my only option at this point.”

“I cannot help my need to see perfect little Bridgerton babies around the estate,” Mrs. Crabtree said cleverly. “But I also know when that day comes and you and Mr. Bridgerton do end up having children, it will be the most welcome of presents. Just, not this year, hm?”

“No,” she sighed, “not this year.”

“Very well,” Mrs. Crabtree nodded. “Perhaps we should head back to the estate?”

“I suppose,” (Y/N) sighed again, kicking a stray rock off of the path. “No use in sulking at the market when I can sulk in the comfort of my own home and await my perfect husband’s arrival with his perfect present.”

“Chin up, dear,” Mrs. Crabtree laughed, putting the baskets away in the carriage. “It’s endearing that you care so deeply about Mr. Bridgerton's gift. I’m sure whatever you land on will be just perfect.” A tease of sarcasm, a tease at her young missus.

“You’ve made your point,” (Y/N) grumbled, hopping into the cab. “Perhaps I should just accept defeat.”

“Oh, well now that won’t do,” Mrs. Crabtree admonished playfully, closing the door behind her. The carriage begun moving home. “You yourself said you were a competitive match, and I for one would like to see Mr. Bridgerton bested. All men need to be reminded that the wife is the true head of the house from time to time.”

(Y/N) snorted. How she cared so deeply for the staff here in the country, the Crabtrees were always a breath of fresh air. “He’s well aware.”

“Remind him anyway,” Mrs. Crabtree said absentmindedly.

As if struck by lightning, Mrs. Bridgerton knew exactly what she could gift her husband.

Benedict was exhausted. His family’s bad timing is never lost on him, needing his immediate attention at Aubrey Hall for one reason or another. His mother’s correspondence begged him to come urgently, a matter only meant to be discussed in person rather through letters. With a heavy heart he left his wife behind, knowing he’d only be gone for a handful of days anyway, even if he would be missing the majority of their anniversary day.

Benedict grinned wickedly. They still had plenty of the night, however.

When he originally had purchased My Cottage, he never expected to share the less-than-humble estate with anyone else, but like it was meant to be—and he had a very good reason to believe it was—(Y/N) made it her own and took to the country as well as he thought. She had even made fast friends with the Crabtrees, who, by all regards, Benedict thought of as family.

“Mr. Bridgerton,” Mr. Crabtree greeted, nodding to the young master exiting the carriage. Anthony had sent for him with a family transport—knowing Benedict would not want to leave (Y/N) without—all the more reason for his brother to agree to come to Aubrey Hall. “Welcome home, sir.”

“Crabtree,” Benedict nodded back, jumping down to the dirt path.

“How was your family, sir?”

“Dreadful,” Benedict groaned. “Made even more taxing by the two entire days of travel there and back. Do they not realize how far Wiltshire is to Kent?”

“I am sure the viscount is well aware,” Mr. Crabtree said, treading lightly. “I am also sure that they would not have called upon you for a small matter, either.”

“No,” Benedict sighed, rolling his shoulders. The trip had been a long one, his muscles ached. “It was a good reason for my visit, but it still pained me to be from my wife for so very long, especially today.”

“Ah, well, your missus has not been herself since you left,” Mr. Crabtree said. “I am quite sure that seeing you will be a happy reunion indeed.”

“Please ensure that you and your missus find your lodgings in the cabin, this eve,” Benedict said, as if the thought just occurred to him. Asking his staff to stay at the cabin by the pond became a regular occurance, especially after his marriage. “It is my anniversary, after all.”

Mr. Crabtree smiled. “Already done, sir.”

“Excellent,” Benedict said, trying his best not to grin from ear to ear. “Have a good night.”

“You as well, sir.”

Benedict knew that dinner would be waiting for him inside, Mrs. Crabtree probably having already made his favorites. After his day of travel, he was ravenous—more for food in this very moment than anything else, but he would settle for his wife, too.

“Darling,” Benedict called out, removing his boots by the front entryway. “Your fantastic husband has returned!”

Silence.

“Darling?” He called again, only to be met with the ticking of the grand clock in the foyer. “Playing hard to get, it seems…”

A shimmering of light caught his eye. Candlelight was emitting from his study, his studio, flickering from the crack under the door.

Odd.

“(Y/N)…?”

He opened the door cautiously, only to find his wife hunched over an easel. She had a streak of blue paint on her right cheek, a smidge of green right across the bridge of her nose. Benedict couldn’t recall the last time he saw something so endearing.

“Oh! Benedict!” (Y/N) said, nearly jumping five feet into the air. “You’re home!”

“I am,” he laughed, shutting the door to the study. “What’re you doing in here?”

“Cooking,” she deadpanned, posing with a hand on her hip, painters pallet in the other. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“After all my begging to get you to pick up a brush, you decide to do it whilst I’m away?” He pressed his hand to his chest. “I cannot decide if I am touched or hurt.”

“It was meant to be a surprise!” (Y/N) laughed, setting the pallet down. “A gift for you.”

“A gift?” Benedict mused, walking closer to his wife. “And what did I do to deserve such a gift?”

“You married me,” she said simply, wiping her hands of any wet paint. They were still covered in a kaleidoscope of colors, but all dried down and hardly worth the effort to clean at the present moment. “A year ago today, I gather.”

“Oh yes,” Benedict said knowingly. “That is today, isn’t it?” His wife grinned up at him, looking more beautiful than the day he met her, a day he could have sworn was burned into his mind forever.

“So I’ve been told,” (Y/N) said. “I hate to admit, but I started on this later that I would have liked, only working on it for the last eight hours—”

“You didn’t happen to forget our anniversary, did you?” Benedict crossed his arms, his voice teasing.

“Of course not!” She lied, keeping her voice even. “You are just an impossible person to make a gift for, that is all.”

“Ah,” Benedict clicked. He did not believe her, but forgave her all in the same breath. “I see.”

“So it is not yet finished—”

“May I see it?”

“No, not yet,” (Y/N) said, turning the easel away quickly. He couldn’t have possibly seen what it was from where he was standing, anyway.

“What if…” Benedict crossed the room, carefully opening the closet in the wall. “We showed them together?” He pulled a similar sized canvas from the contents of the closet, covered in a plain white sheet. Of course he painted her something, it seemed only right. She married an artist, after all.

“Yours is going to be much better than mine,” (Y/N) said, nearly melting into the floor. “I will feel inadequate comparing our work.”

“Nonsense,” Benedict scoffed, walking back towards his wife. “They were both made with the same amount of love, I’m sure of it.”

“Perhaps…”

“Come on,” he said, nudging her arm with the corner of his canvas lovingly. “On the count of three?”

She nodded. “One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

She spun the easel around just as Benedict removed the cover from the canvas in his hand.

Laughter filled the room.

“Oh my darling, I could kiss you,” Benedict said, voice full of love, his eyes not straying from her canvas for a moment. “Granted, I have wanted nothing more than to kiss you since I arrived—”

“Out of everything we could have painted,” (Y/N) giggled, brushing hair out of her face. “We picked the same subject?”

On both canvases laid a landscape rendition of My Cottage, one obviously more well-done than the other. Benedict’s gave a sense of perfect imperfection, something worth hanging in a gallery or museum. (Y/N)’s, while being done by the hand of a novice in only a handful of hours, gave it the sense of home, the shared feeling the couple had every day at their estate.

“We share the same mind,” Benedict surmised, setting his work on a neighboring easel, putting both side-by-side. “What a stunning collaboration on our end.”

“You jest,” (Y/N) pushed Benedict playfully. “Yours is far superior to mine. A toddler could have done better work.”

“Nonsense!” Benedict said, pulling his wife into his side, kissing her temple. “You obviously put such care into it, no matter how lopsided the left side of our home may be—”

“Benedict—”

“It’s brilliant, my love,” Benedict sang, turning (Y/N) to look directly at him. “I couldn’t have asked for a better gift.”

“Truly?”

“Well, I fear I am still waiting on my welcome kiss…” Benedict sighed.

“Needy, needy man,” (Y/N) bubbled, rocking on her toes to reach her husband’s face, all but happy to oblige.

After a total of four days apart, the kiss was one that was worth waiting for. Saccharine sweet and slow, it was welcoming, it was home. Much like their first kiss, Benedict idly wondered if (Y/N)’s lips were always meant to be captured in his own—as if they were quite literally made for each other.

“Oh dear,” (Y/N) giggled, pulling away from her husband’s embrace, thumb rubbing soothing circles on his jaw. He needed to shave.

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

“Paint,” she said, swiping her thumb across his cheek. “Entirely my fault. I’m not even sure how I got it on my face to begin with…”

“Hardly the first time,” Benedict quipped, leaning back in to kiss her once more.

“Do you really like it?” (Y/N) asked, resting her head on his shoulder—their attention somehow turned back to the canvases. “Or are you lying to me?”

“I would never lie to you,” Benedict said. She believed him. “But, I do suppose a few more hours would boast well to the quality…”

Another playful slap to his arm.

“Where are we to hang yours?” Her hand grazed his masterpiece. He must have finished it ages ago, hiding it away for just the right moment. “The entryway gets too much sun—”

“What about our bedchambers?” He offered.

“No, I want our guests to admire your work of Our Cottage,” she hummed, focusing her attention to the beautiful wreath he lovingly added to the front door. She loved adorning their door with fresh flowers, a detail he surely could have overlooked, but still included anyway. “Perhaps in the drawing room?”

“Our Cottage…” Benedict mumbled happily. “I think it’s high time we changed the name to that, don’t you agree? Seeing as it is no longer ‘my’ anything, not with you here.”

“Considering it still is not a cottage in the slightest, I have a few disagreements on that alone,” she teased. Their estate was nearly the furthest thing from a cottage, nearly a small mansion. “But yes… Our Cottage seems fitting.”

“And where will we hang your masterpiece?” Benedict pulled her tighter into his side. “Shall we hang them side-by-side? Allow our guests to see just how talented the Bridgertons can be?”

“Oh I am quite alright with stowing this away until forever,” (Y/N) laughed. “No guest needs to see this poor attempt when the true artistry falls onto you.”

“Poppycock!” Benedict dismissed. “My wife worked very hard on this, I refuse to just ‘stow it away’.”

“Well, then where do you suggest we hang it?” She said, trying not to smile, his praise flooding her senses from her head to her toes.

“I may have a few ideas…”

The wondrous scent of flowers filled their home once more, something that happened more and more frequently in the summer months, when flowers of all sorts were in season. Benedict made sure he outdid himself from last year, adorning each room in their home with at least two bouquets each, rather than just a load in their bedchambers. His reasoning? They only get the once to celebrate their second anniversary, might as well make it special.

“Should we move this one?” (Y/N) asked, holding a rather large assortment in her hand. “I would hate for her to be overwhelmed by the scent…”

“Darling, she’s fine,” Benedict said, grabbing the bouquet from his wife. “But, if you insist, I shall make an exception on this room.”

“She’s a baby,” (Y/N) giggled, watching her husband clumsily run across the hall to place the bouquet in their bedchambers. “I do not think she has the capacity to admire such a thing yet.”

“We want our daughter to be well versed, do we not?” Benedict said, returning to the nursery. “Best we start her on the language of flowers as soon as we can. An educated lady is a respected lady.”

“You’re impossible,” (Y/N) grinned.

“So I’ve been told.”

“God, she’s so perfect,” she said, looking over the crib with a look one could only describe as lovestruck. “How did we manage to make such a beautiful thing?”

“You did most of the work,” Benedict said, suddenly beside her. “I only showed up the once, if I recall.”

“Oh hush,” (Y/N) leaned up against him, feeling the warmth of his body touching her own. “A perfect anniversary present.”

“She’s been quite the gift the last few months, I’ll give you that,” Benedict hummed, his fingers lazily rubbing shapes on the top of her arm. “But I’m afraid that title still falls to the gift from last year.”

Framed perfectly atop the crib of their precious baby girl was the rendition of their home, the one (Y/N) had worked so hard on a year prior. While it had looked a bit more polished after Benedict offered his wife some very well needed advice, it was still lopsided and patchy, but very much full of love. He had hung it two weeks later, after it had completely dried and framed, causing his wife to sob tears of joy on the placement.

Their daughter was born only nine months after.

“Our Cottage,” she sighed happily.

“Our Cottage,” Benedict kissed her temple, looking down at his daughter and back at his beautiful wife. “Happy anniversary, my love.”

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagines #hi i love b.b and no one can stop me #if anyone wants some wine with a side of this CHEESE come and see me

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mshalfemptygirl · 30 days ago

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Under the Tree (S.R)

Plot: Y/N decorates the apartment for Christmas with her boyfriend, Spencer Reid, and things get pretty cute between the two of them. Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader Contents: A sweet Christmas fic where they’re being cute and flirting with each other. Maybe it releases a lot of oxytocin. A/N: I hope you all like it! Merry Christmas to those who celebrate, and if you don’t, I hope you have a wonderful day anyway and enjoy this little piece of joy. Love you all, and thanks for reading my fics! Happy Holidays!

The sweet scent of hot chocolate filled the apartment as I curled up on the couch, wrapped in a soft blanket. Across the room, Spencer was intently focused on his self-proclaimed mission to “perfectly top” our Christmas tree. I watched him as he studied the golden star in his hands, his brows knit together in concentration as if he were tackling one of his impossibly complex equations. “If you spend five more minutes deciding the exact angle of that star, the tree’s gonna give up and decorate itself,” I teased, trying to hide my amusement behind a sip of hot chocolate.

He glanced at me over the rim of his glasses, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. “Did you know that the probability of a Christmas tree being perfectly symmetrical is practically zero? The branches are almost always uneven, even if they’re artificial.”

I raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Is that your fancy way of blaming the tree for how long this is taking?”

He turned back to the tree, the corner of his mouth twitching as he fought back a smile. “I’m not taking that long,” he said, climbing carefully onto a slightly wobbly chair. “I just want it to be… perfect.”

“It’s already perfect, Spencer,” I said softly, my words more for me than for him.

But he heard me. Spencer paused mid-movement and glanced over his shoulder. His gaze was steady, the warmth in his brown eyes making my chest tighten in the best way. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” I replied with a small smile, meeting his gaze. “And I’m not talking about the tree.”

His ears turned a deeper shade of red, and I couldn’t help but laugh quietly. He always got adorably flustered when I caught him off guard like that. But this time, instead of deflecting or looking away, he stepped down from the chair, the star forgotten in his hand, and walked toward me with deliberate calmness.

“You know,” he began, leaning one hand on the back of the couch as he hovered just a little too close, “flirting is actually considered a sign of intelligence.”

“Oh, really?” I asked, my voice softening despite the playful edge in his tone. “So, what does that say about you, Dr. Reid?”

His lips curved into a smirk, the kind that made my heart race and my knees feel just a little weaker. “It says I have exceptional intelligence... and impeccable taste.”

Heat rose to my face, but I managed to keep my composure, raising an eyebrow at him. “Humble as always.”

He chuckled, settling onto the couch beside me and tugging the blanket over both of us. His arm slipped around my shoulders, pulling me closer, and I leaned into his warmth without hesitation.

“You want to know something else interesting?” he asked, his voice dropping slightly, the rasp in it sending a pleasant shiver through me.

“Let me guess,” I said, tilting my head to look at him. “You’re about to hit me with another weirdly sexy statistic?”

Spencer laughed, the sound low and warm, and I couldn’t help but smile. “I could,” he admitted, his eyes sparkling with mischief, “but I was thinking of something a little more practical.”

“Like what?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze dropping to my lips. “Like the fact that you’ve got hot chocolate on the corner of your mouth.”

Before I could react, he leaned in and wiped the spot with his thumb, his touch lingering just a moment too long. My breath hitched, and I swore his smirk grew as he noticed my reaction.

“All fixed,” he said softly, his voice casual, but his eyes held that undeniable spark that left me completely disarmed.

“Thanks… I guess,” I managed, my voice quieter than I intended.

“No need to thank me,” he replied, leaning in to press a quick, feather-light kiss to my cheek. His lips were gone before I could fully process the touch, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “But if you wanted to repay me,” he added, his voice lower, more daring, “I have a few ideas.”

I laughed, trying to steady my racing heart. “Ideas, huh? Like what?”

He leaned back slightly, his lips curving into a smile that was equal parts playful and enticing. “Well,” he began, his tone light but purposeful, “we could finish decorating the gingerbread cookies. You know, keep things wholesome. Or…” His voice dipped, his gaze locking on mine, “we could forget about the cookies entirely and stay right here. See where this... takes us.”

I tilted my head, pretending to consider his words as my pulse hammered in my ears. “And what exactly do you think ‘this’ is going to lead to, Spence?”

He didn’t hesitate, shifting closer until his knee brushed mine, his presence impossibly magnetic. “That’s the best part,” he murmured, his voice soft but full of meaning. “I don’t know yet. But I’m pretty confident I’ll like wherever it goes.”

#spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fandom #doctor spencer reid #spencer x reader #spencer reid x fem!readr #christmas #christmas fic

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pastafossa · 4 months ago

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"From A Squirt Gun, With Love" (Bucky Barnes x F!Reader, Fic)

Time for the next prompt for my Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! This is for day 5's prompt: water gun fight. It's also been a while since I've written for my favorite super soldier, so today's prompt is for Bucky Barnes! You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! Side note, once I've got more these will all be edited a bit more and placed on my AO3, so if you lose one, just keep an eye out over there!

Ship: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Wordcount: 1.5k

Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: some suggestive dialogue and innuendo

You couldn’t afford another mistake.

He’d been hunting you for at least an hour now, stalking you determinedly through the corridors of the compound and the manicured gardens outside. He’d already nailed you half a dozen times. And much to your disbelief, one of those times was because he’d somehow managed to find his way up into the air vents where he could track you unseen. You’d done your best to at least make it a challenge for him, relying on a variety of traps you’d managed to set up ahead of time, but it hadn’t done you as much good as you’d hoped, your hit count a measly two against his six. And now? Now you were running low on ammunition, and just as low on workable options. What was worse, he’d cornered you in the garage. You’d been able to tuck yourself beneath an SUV before he could see you, but there was only one exit—one currently being monitored by your annoyingly precise marksman of a boyfriend.

You held your breath at the quiet scrape of heavy combat boots scuffing against the concrete floor. If you had to guess, he was wandering around about two rows over and off to your left. He could have bent over and just scanned beneath the cars immediately, but he was enjoying this far too much to let it end that easily. He was toying with you, dragging things out now that he had you boxed in.

“I know you’re in here, doll,” came his low chuckle. “Come on out, and I’ll go easy on you. Besides, you gotta be soaked by now, and not in the fun way. But I can change that for you if you want. All you gotta do is pop that pretty head up for me.”

Not a chance.

You weren’t going down without a fight.

You clutched your water gun tighter, checking the glowing tactical display—you hadn’t even known high-tech water guns existed until Bucky had dropped one into your hands with a grin. “If my girl wants a water gun fight, we’re gettin’ a water gun fight.”

And what you saw wasn’t good.

Shit.

You were down to eighteen percent tank capacity. Anywhere else in the compound, you might have had a chance to reload with one of the buckets you’d both scattered around, but you’d forgotten to put one in the garage. If you didn’t get him with your next shot, you were done.

“The fact that you’re not out here shootin’ at me like before tells me you’re low.” His voice sounded different now: higher up, and a bit more distant. Had he… climbed on top of the cars? “You need more practice. I’ll admit, I was proud of you when you got that ass shot in, but that ain’t happenin’ again. My turn to get your ass now, darlin’. You gonna give me what’s mine?”

You sucked your lower lip for a moment before carefully edging your way forward, water gun held in front of you just in case he decided to pull a horror movie move and drop into view. It wasn’t easy. The goddamn water gun was shaped more like a shotgun than a super soaker, clunky and a bitch to drag around. The upside was it had an automatic reload so you didn’t have to worry about making any noise while pumping the gun. Its range was good for a water gun, around twenty feet, but not good enough that you could shoot Bucky at distance. You’d need to get close.

One of the cars down the row creaked, tires groaning, presumably as your massive super soldier of a boyfriend strolled along the top of the cars like they were paving stones. That he wasn’t bothering to be silent was… unusual.

“Here, kitty kitty,” he purred, his voice growing fainter as he wandered down towards the other end of the garage. “Where’s my pretty girl gone?”

On the one hand, you enjoyed hearing that tone from him, playful and relaxed, warm and content. He’d grown pretty comfortable with you, open and affectionate, over the time you’d known him. That comfort, that openness with you had only blossomed further as your relationship had morphed into something romantic. But even so, it was still unusual for him to let go like this just so he could have fun. It was progress, and that knowledge filled your heart with a sparkling warmth.

But you also couldn’t help but be the least bit suspicious, because it would be absolutely like him to use his voice and playful tone to distract you from something.

You froze again when a pair of boots suddenly appeared on the concrete in front of you, landing without a sound—you’d been right; all the sound a minute ago had been to try to lure you out, make you think he was farther away than he really was. You didn’t dare move, not when the slightest sound might give you away. Slowly, the boots shifted on the concrete as he turned one way, and then the other. Waiting for you to make a run for it.

But he’d taught you better than that.

There was the softest, quietest little huff of amusement, or maybe pride, instead. But instead of heading off, he began to kneel.

Shit, shit, shit—

He was going to duck down and look under the car. He knew you were here, he had to. He had to. Could you shift the angle of your water gun before he leaned down and saw you—

Fortunately for you, it became clear a second later that he was only lowering himself into a crouch. You stilled again in the shadows beneath the SUV, your gun still aimed cautiously at his legs.

Speaking of which, you had a really good view of his thighs at this angle. With him crouched the way he was, his thighs looked even thicker than usual, deliciously hard muscle covered in old denim. The round curve of his ass looked just as good where he filled out his jeans, though the dark splotch on the tight fabric made you grin. It was a testament to one of the only two shots you’d managed to hit him with. Sure, he’d shot you twice in the ass in retaliation, but it had been absolutely worth it.

He settled onto the balls of his feet, rocking a little back and forth. You heard a soft whir, before his metal hand appeared in your view. Your heart skipped a beat, a droplet of maybe-water-maybe-sweat rolling down your temple. Only… his hand didn’t appear to be going for you like you’d expected. Instead, it slipped down to the concrete. One metal fingertip gleaming in the fluorescent lighting, it brushed lightly at the droplets of water drying on the concrete.

Fresh droplets.

From you.

Crap.

His head appeared beneath the SUV as he leaned over to meet your eye. Then he flashed you a feral grin. “Hi doll,” he said smugly. “Hi Bucky. I love you,” you said fondly, and shot him in the face.

His head reared back as he spat out a curse, frantically swiping the water away from his face. It gave you just enough time for you to squirm out from under the SUV and take off down row between the cars, your sneakers slapping against the concrete, the wind blowing your hair back. If you could get to the door before he did, you could turn around and lock him in. It wouldn’t keep him here forever, but it might buy you a few minutes to reload.

Based on the rapidly pounding footsteps behind you, though, you weren’t even going to get close. Not when it sounded like he was charging after you with every last bit of super-soldier-powered speed he had. You needed another plan, or else—

Something slammed hard against one of the cars behind you, startling you enough to make you stumble. In that brief moment of distraction, Bucky had vaulted himself up off the car and over your head.

His broad form landed smoothly in front of you in one easy motion, dropping into a crouch. He rose slowly, powerful muscle gradually uncoiling inch by inch, until finally he loomed up over you, water gun held ominously in one hand. His pale eyes had gone dark with heat, pupils blown wide as he fixated on you: his prey. He took one prowling step forward, a flash of pink from his tongue as he lazily licked the droplets of water away from his mouth.

“You shot me,” he rumbled hungrily. “I should be mad. But damn, doll. That was hot.” “Hot enough to stop you from shooting me back?” you asked hopefully.

“Not a chance,” he said with a smirk, before firing a blast of cold water directly at your abdomen. You let out another shriek, turning to sprint away from him, a trail of damp footprints left behind. And if your shriek was half laughter, well, his playful growl was just as full of joy as he took off after you.

#tuna-tober 2024 #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes #fanfic #fic #falcon and the winter soldier #falcon and the winter soldier bucky #james buchanan barnes #fluff #reader #x reader #f!reader #reader fic #marvel fic #let bucky have fun 2024

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solarmorrigan · 7 months ago

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Open Doors, Part 1

Ao3

Everyone was so kind about the first fic I wrote about Steve and Eddie's neighbor adopting them that I had a few more thoughts about it! I owe you all thanks for the inspiration and I hope this is also an enjoyable read <3 Part two will be up later this week

Tags: POV Outsider, Steve Harrington Has Migraines, Protective Eddie Munson, past minor character death, car accident mention, the looming specter of period-typical homophobia

Gladys isn’t a churchgoing woman. She’s never even been particularly religious, beyond a performative sort of faith for the sake of her God-fearing mother (God rest her soul, Gladys supposes), but Sundays are sacred, all the same.

Sundays are for Murder She Wrote. And, more recently, they’re for dinner with her boys.

Neither Eddie nor Steve are the religious sort, either (she’d brought it up once, just to see, and they’d laughed a little in an uncomfortable sort of way that had told Gladys all she’d really needed to know), but Steve is a fellow fan of Jessica Fletcher, and Eddie is happy enough to join them on the couch after a good meal and watch them compete to see who can guess the solution first.

It’s something they all look forward to, so Gladys isn’t sure why she’s been left standing in front of the boys’ front door a full minute after she’s knocked. They ought to be expecting her, after all; they take turns hosting, and Gladys is sure it had been her turn last week. She knocks again, a little louder this time.

After another few moments, she hears the thud of hurried footsteps coming towards the door, and then Eddie’s voice is hissing out at her before he’s even finished opening it.

“I’m here already, now will you keep it–” he falters when he sees her standing before him on the doormat, “–down?”

“Well, if I’d known that was the kind of welcome I’d receive, I would have stayed home,” Gladys says dryly.

Eddie’s face morphs quickly from irritation to confusion and, finally, to a kind of horrified understanding.

“Oh, shit, it’s Sunday,” he realizes, voice still pitched low.

Taking in the state of him, it seems as though Gladys has interrupted some kind of lazy day; his hair is a mess (more so than usual), and he’s in pajamas and bare feet.

It smarts a little to think their evening has been so easily forgotten.

“It is Sunday,” Gladys confirms, maybe a little sharply. “But I can see you’ve had other things to do, so maybe we’ll just try again for next week.”

“I’m sorry, Gladys,” Eddie sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Today’s been… stressful. I swear I meant to call, I just got distracted.”

Gladys softens. She doubts if she could stay mad terribly long even if they had forgotten, but it’s nice to know they hadn’t, exactly. “It’s fine, Eddie,” she says, reaching out to pat his hand.

“It’s not, I seriously meant to let you know,” Eddie insists. “We can make it up to you next week? Or maybe, like, Tuesday? Tomorrow’s not gonna work, but–”

Whatever else Eddie has to say is lost when the door at the end of the hall, the one Gladys knows from the layout of her own apartment leads to the larger of two bedrooms, swings open with a creak. It’s dark beyond the threshold, but Steve is standing in the doorway, holding onto the edge of it and looking far more disheveled than Eddie.

With a faint flush of embarrassment, Gladys wonders if she’s walked in on some sort of… private time between them, but then Steve takes a few unsteady steps into the hallway and has to brace himself against the wall, and she realizes that something else altogether must be going on.

“Hey, hey,” Eddie says softly, leaving Gladys at the front door to rush down the hall and support Steve. “What’re you doing up?”

Steve, also clad in pajamas, his face almost shock-pale and his hair flatter than Gladys has ever seen it, makes a little noise of discomfort as Eddie pulls him away from the wall. It’s jarring to see when Gladys is so used to Steve moving with the confidence and easy grace of the athlete he’d told her he once was. His eyes are scrunched shut, but he moves from leaning heavily on the wall to leaning heavily on Eddie without hesitation.

“You were gone,” Steve mumbles, his head falling to rest on Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie glances down the hall to where Gladys stands at the still-open front door, something almost like nervous, but he doesn’t make Steve move away. Instead, he moves his hands to Steve’s shoulders, kneading gently. “I had to get the door. Gladys is here.”

“Gladys?” Steve mutters, and then, after another moment of silence, groans, “Oh, shit, it’s Sunday.”

Gladys almost laughs at the way he unwittingly echoes Eddie. Eddie does laugh; just a little breath of a thing, something helplessly fond crossing his face.

“It’s fine, Steve. We’ll take a raincheck,” Gladys says, just loud enough that she’ll still be heard from the other end of the short hall.

Steve makes a protesting noise, straightening a little so he can face the front door. He opens his eyes just enough to squint at her, and it really only serves to make him look more pained and tired. “’m sorry,” he mutters, his words stumbling worryingly into each other. “Wasn’xpecting this today.”

“It’s fine,” Gladys says again. “You just feel better.”

He’s still frowning, and Gladys gets the feeling it’s as much out of displeasure with the situation as it is out of discomfort, but then Eddie tugs gently at his shoulders, turning him back towards the bedroom.

“C’mon, ba– Steve. Let’s get you back to bed.” Eddie glances down the hall at Gladys one more time before leading Steve away.

Silence falls over the apartment, and Gladys takes the opportunity to invite herself in, shutting the door behind her. She won’t stay long, of course, she just wants to be certain that Steve—and Eddie, who had looked awfully stressed—will be alright. The low tone of Eddie’s voice drifts out of the bedroom, quiet and indecipherable, followed by a grumbling that must be Steve, and then Eddie is slipping back out into the hall, shutting the bedroom door as he goes.

“Everything alright?” Gladys asks, keeping her voice low.

Eddie sighs. “He, uh – he gets migraines, sometimes.” He raises a fist and raps his knuckles against his temple. “Took a couple’a knocks to the head when we were younger and– yeah. Today’s a bad one.”

Gladys itches to ask, to press for more information, but she does actually possess a filter; she knows when to hold her tongue, even if she usually chooses not to. Instead, she says, “But he’ll be alright,” not really sure if she’s asking or reassuring.

“No, yeah, he’ll be fine, he just needs to rest.” Eddie nods, as much to himself as to Gladys.

“And you’ll be alright?” Gladys goes on.

Eddie shoots her a funny little look. “Yeah?” His voice quirks up at the end, like he isn’t sure why she’s asking. “I mean, I’m not the one whose brain is staging a full-scale revolt.”

“But you’re here with him,” Gladys says. “It’s hard to watch someone you care about be in pain.”

It had been a car accident that had taken Avery from her, not illness, but the few days she’d spent in the hospital with him, keeping vigil until his damaged body had given up, had been some of the worst of her life.

“I guess.” Eddie sighs, rubbing roughly at his chin. “It’s– They make medication for this shit, but it’s expensive, so we can’t– Sleep is really the only thing that helps, and it just sucks to sit around knowing I can’t do a damn thing for him while he’s– he’s suffering.”

“You’re here with him,” Gladys says again. “It seems like he appreciates that enough that he came looking for you when you’d gone.”

The ghost of a smile crosses over Eddie’s face. “Yeah…”

“I think you’re doing just fine.” Gladys reaches out and gives Eddie’s arm a little squeeze, and his smile grows.

He reaches up and twists his fingers into the ends of his hair, half-ducking behind it, as if he’s trying to hide the smile from her, but she can hear it in his voice when he tosses out a quick, “Well– thanks.”

“You just keep taking care of your boy, and I’ll see you two later in the week,” Gladys says, and Eddie nods.

“Yeah, I’ll–” he stops, blinking at Gladys as the full sentence hits him. “Uh–”

Gladys offers him a smile, seeing herself out the door. “Let me know if you need anything,” she tosses back over her shoulder quietly as she can, and shuts the door on his confounded expression.

She doesn’t know much about migraines, but she supposes she could learn. In the meantime, she decides that no matter what the ailment is, chicken soup is always an appropriate answer.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #I honestly didn't expect much to come of the first thing I wrote but I'm glad other people seem to like outsider pov as much as I do #solar wrote

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moominsuki · 2 years ago

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THE DRIEST SPELL OF THEM ALL (7.1k) — bakugou katsuki x f!reader

✎ᝰ you've only been in a relationship with bakugou for a short while, but you can't help but think it's strange that you haven't had sex. guess it's time to change that.

࿄ ! warnings — nsfw, straight up penetrative sex, established relationship, oral sex (f!receiving), unprotected sex, lots of praise and feelings, bakugou is a sweetie pie, not a safe space for minors, reader is a college student and bkg is a pro hero.

/ note. this is my first, long fic and i'm so excited to share it with you guys. honestly was so fun to write and it has a lot of plot but who is uma if she doesn't have loads of self-indulgent dialogue?? anyways minors please do not interact with this and to the rest of you, please enjoy my very smutty fanfic.

to bakugou, the first time you and him have sex happens out of the blue. the relationship is relatively new and fresh - only around three-four months in. you do think it is kind of weird that you guys haven’t crossed the line of actually doing the deed.

you both have tiptoed the threshold of making out and soft touches. like when he came over to your place and you both made out after dinner together. you offered to put on a movie - just a random romance flick that you don’t seem to remember now; considering the tension in the room could’ve been cut with a meat cleaver.

just three months ago, it had been your third date and you’d only passed a few light touches and long hugs at this juncture so when he put his hand on your bare knee, it was game over. you pounced on the blond and kissed him for as long as your breath willed you to. it just probably was not the best idea for you to try to undress on your couch.

“is it alright if i take this off?” you say, going to grab the hems of your light pink shirt that wasn’t doing enough to cover the hardness of your nipples. bakugou nosed at your jaw and kissed at your neck before he bit back a groan at this and rested his hands at hem of your skirt before nodding.

“fuck, you don’t gotta ask me, princess. just do it.” your hands slipped under your shirt and revealed underside of your boobs - which bakugou was ready to smooth his hands over until the footsteps of someone approached your living room.

“hey y/n- oh my GOD. i am so sorry oh-” and the footsteps are heard running to another room before a SLAM! echoes in the distance. you had not anticipated that your roommate would be arriving home so early but then again, common sense would have told you to go to your bedroom.

alas, it was too late. the mood had dampened significantly and bakugou awkwardly made his way out of your apartment - failing to look at you or your red faced roommate. he did, however, send a text apologising to the both of you and by the next day, everything had seemingly been forgotten.

the sexual tension had not been forgotten.

there would be many more days where you and bakugou would get hot and steamy before being interrupted by his friends, or a phone call coaxing him back to work, or the fact that the both you were super busy. he was an up and coming hero and while your career wasn’t as demanding as your better half, you were a busy college student: with assignments piling by the day, leaving you with little time to do anything with your boyfriend… which left you both sexually frustrated and unsatisfied… until now.

“there’s so many hot guys here. i should really pick you up more often,” sighs mina happily as she waves at a guy on your campus.

“mina, you are literally a pro hero. you could find a guy way hotter than… the guy who literally sits behind me in my pharmacy class. and he’s a stupid fuckboy, by the way.”

“good thing is i have a thing for stupid fuckboys,” she smiles and you roll your eyes. “but enough about meeee,” she drawls and you groan out loud, “what’s up with you and mr dynamight?” you both reach a red light and she turns to wiggle her eyebrows at you.

“nothing. well, not nothing - we’re fine. just fine.”

“you guys haven’t had sex yet?”

you splutter indignantly and mina taps onto the steering wheel and nods empathetically.

“what- when did i even imply that-”

“a girl always knows when her friend hasn’t done the do with her boyfriend yet. always. you’d be glowing and bubbly and happy but here you are… low-key awkward, not glowing. you don’t have that post-sex first time glow-”

you yell over her ramblings, “okay, OKAY, i get it. fine, we haven’t had sex. but it’s not like we - i don’t want to. it’s just time and finding the privacy to… fuck. and you literally work with katsuki. you know how pedantic he is about his work and his free time.”

“so you’re saying he doesn’t want to fuck? or that he’s avoiding you?” quizzes mina and it’s your turn to sigh, albeit a little sadly.

“i don’t think he’s avoiding me but whenever we get to the point of just doing… it, something happens and now he just doesn’t really initiate it? i don’t know if it’s because he just knows we’ll be interrupted or he just doesn’t want to anymore… am i overthinking it?”

mina parks her car and stares straight on to fully digest what you say before nodding.

“no you’re not - but this is BAKUGOU we’re talking about. he’s not your average guy. have you seen the way he looks at you? it’s like he wants to eat you every time you enter a room. like genuinely i have never seen a more feral man so this is very surprising news to me,” ponders mina and you laugh a little at her admission, kind of grateful for it. before you can say anything, she turns to you and grabs your shoulders.

“i have the perfect idea! we’re having a party at the agency tomorrow night and you should “go.”,” she gestures with finger quotes. you look at her strangely and raise a brow.

“I should “go?”” you copy her gestures and she nods vehemently.

“are you catching my drift?…” you shake your head in confusion and she rolls her eyes, “jeez, okay, look, i’ll remind bakugou about the get together and i’ll tell him that i told you about it. he’ll invite you and when the day comes, you guys just don’t go.”

“we don’t show up? but why-” the cogs in your mind turn inquisitively before you put two and two together at mina’s wiggling brows and you “ohhhhh” in mutual understanding.

“you know, that’s not a half bad idea. as long as you can everyone to not question our absence…”

mina laughs, offended a little at your quip, “y/n, baby, lovely. when i make a proposition, i tie up all the loose ends. it’s just up to you to find the right time and place. you get one evening to sort your sexual tension out. after that, it’s smooth sailing. and i prayyy that you do. have you noticed that he’s been really pent up? bakugou’s angry but he’s like, exceptionally angry, these days-”

“if you’re trying to insinuate he’s mad because he’s sexually frustrated, i have no answer to that. and we’ve been sitting in your car for almost 20 minutes now. we probably look crazy,” you note and mina sighs and nods before grabbing her things.

“you can avoid this conversation but when he taps that, you will tell me all about it and i will not accept no for an answer.” you hum indifferently and make a mental reminder to make up a story if the night that entails will be as raunchy as you hope it will be.

when mina drops you home, bakugou sends a text.

katsuki: y/n, did mina tell you about some dumb thing we’re doing at the agency?”

you smile at that.

you: yeah, she mentioned it. why, are you thinking of going?”

hook…

you tap your toes expectantly as you see the bubbles disappear and reappear.

katsuki: don’t really want to but they’re gonna force me to, so fuck it. you doing anything tomorrow night?”

line…

you: nope, don’t have any plans. why?”

katsuki: you wanna come with as a date? you’ll brighten up the shitty place.”

sinker.

you squeal at your phone and collect yourself to reply.

“sure, kats, I’d love to go with you. you can come over to my parents place so we can get ready together if you’d like.”

“you busy right now? wanna call you.”

he doesn’t wait for you to answer and it rings. you often think you got lucky for having such an easygoing and pliant man and today cements your beliefs as you go to pick up his call.

ᝰᝰᝰᝰᝰ

the day of the party seems like a long one. you made sure that your parents would not be home for the weekend - while it’s terribly unsexy to fuck in your parents home, the chance of your roommate bombarding your sexy time with your boyfriend is too high of a chance to risk and you’ve spent more time than necessary thinking about what the day would entail.

now that you’ve shed your pyjamas, you look at yourself in your bathroom mirror. your orange panties are doing nothing to hide the outline of your kitty and you’re definitely certain that the bra’s purpose was purely just encase your boobs in a rune of bright orange and white.

“i’m never letting mina pick out lingerie for me again,” you sigh as you poke and prod at the pieces. of course mina had to pick out the most raunchy, provocative and immodest pieces known to man. you’re pretty sure you could see the colour of your nipples sticking out of the material. you were somewhat questioning whether this was a good idea. what if bakugou thought this was too much? would he even like this? you definitely should’ve asked him first-

katsuki: on my way. will be there in five.

of course he texts you right at this moment, breaking you out of your horny driven and frantic stupor.

now that you really think about it, when you recall all the time you’ve almost been with bakugou, it makes you close your legs together to calm down any heartbeats ruminating between your legs. it makes the situation of not actually having sex with him yet even more heartbreaking - you want the feeling of his hands running down your body, his lips nipping at your lower belly, down to where you really want him. it makes you wonder what position he’d fold you into, if he’d press you into the mattress and make you cum till you were shaking and crying…

you inhale deeply and run around your home to do a few, final touches. you felt like you were a teenage girl all over again - faffing all about the house and praying that your parents wouldn’t come home and notice that your boyfriend fucked you into your flowery sheets. and you hoped bakugou wouldn’t just yet notice the strong smell of his your favourite perfume and the orange lace clinging onto your ass and boobs underneath meticulous layers of less attractive pyjamas. is this what they call reverse psychology? it’s no time to ponder when your boyfriend knocks on the door and you practically launch yourself downstairs to greet him.

you have to bite back a moan when you see him. seeing as this was a relatively fresh relationship, you both agreed that you wouldn’t always obsess over seeing each other. the last time you saw bakugou was two or so days ago and you make a mental note to throw away that line of thinking when you see your boyfriend in all his glory.

he’s wearing his typical grey joggers and hoodie combo (the one who looks the most biteable in) and he pushes down his hood to reveal his wheat-haired mullet and downright gorgeous face. he enters your home and you stand by patiently waiting for him to drop his bag and take off his shoes before touching all on him.

“you not gonna say hello?” bakugou says gruffly and you roll your eyes (in your head, of course) before walking up to him and wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing his cheek.

“hey, baby. missed you,” you kiss into his face and bakugou wraps an arm round your waist and raises his arms to grabs at your cheeks to properly look at your face before kissing you once. and twice. thrice. even four times before you’re laughing and begging him to stop. with a stretched hand, you lead your boyfriend upstairs to your childhood bedroom.

“any reason ya wanted to stop off at your parents instead of my place?” bakugou asked, raising a brow in suspicion. you fight back the urge to overtly shudder at the thought of his friends ruining what will be a long night - especially if you had anything to do with it.

“i was just thinking that we don’t really get much time to ourselves. just us two. i think we’ve only had a proper date to ourselves maybe three times. and i am saying that loosely,” you admit. bakugou scoffs and sits on the edge of your bed.

“‘s not my fault people are always botherin’ us,” he mumbles and then he looks up at you and gestures for you to stand between his legs. you do so quite obediently.

“never said it was, baby,” you say, just above a whisper, as you brush the back of his hair and into his scalp. his hands rest at your knees and rub softly against your thighs and you really have to fight back the urge to jump his bones. but, alas, you had to make him want this just as much as you.

your boyfriend hums and leans into your touch and bakugou looks up at you and smiles, a little mischievous, “so we have your ‘rents house all to ourselves and ya wanna waste it on going to a lame ass company party?”

your eyes widen at that, not really expecting him to almost put two and two together so early on. you grossly underestimated the intelligence of your boyfriend so you had to dispel any ideas of sexual activity before he spearheaded into your plan.

“first of all, you invited me. and second of all, it’d be nice to go and come back to a place all to ourselves for once. we don’t really get to go to parties with your friends often,” you muse and bakugou groans and wraps his arms around your thighs.

“they wouldn’t even know we were missing…” he grumbles and you smile down at him and give him a kiss to his forehead, your thumb passing his brow piercing and booping his nose and lips.

“we don’t even have to go for that long if you don’t want to-”

“i don’t wanna go at all.” bakugou states adamantly and you tap his face and bask in his hold and affection.

“we only have to just show up, so you’re not gonna get out of this one easily. then you have me all to yourself. sounds good, kats?”

bakugou throws his arms off you and himself into your pillows and pulls his phone out - akin to a petulant child and you have to laugh. if only he knew what was actually going to happen.

“yeah, yeah, just - let’s just chill for a bit.. we can at least cuddle before we have to fucking spend time with those idiots,” katsuki grunts and you hum at his reply before clambering on top of your hulk of a boyfriend. you stare down at him in all his glory. now that you were right above him, you notice he looked more tan than usual. and did his lips always look so kissable?

“y/n? you all good up there?” kstsuki asks as he taps softly onto the planes of your temple. you look down at his nose and then his lips and it’s settled.

fuck it. there was no going back now. this was happening today.

“yeah, kats, ‘m good. just missed you, is all,” you breathe out and your boyfriend hums in reply and you thank your lucky stars that he’s sometimes a little naive when it came to you- lest he speedrun his own surprise.

bakugou looks at you, all soft and loving even though all you can see and feel are his red eyes piercing into you. he stuffs his phone into his pocket and pulls you into his wide chest, arms imprisoning you.

“shitty hair just texted me asking where we are. ‘m gonna tell him to fuck off.”

“don’t be mean to your friends,” you scold and bakugou rolls his eyes but he’s barely paying attention to what you’re saying. you try to ignore the fact he’s looking at you properly - drinking you in all angles.

“you gonna let me kiss you or just keep staring?” katsuki asks, eyes all half lidded and brooding. you shy away a little at his upfront neediness for you but you entertain him regardless. you bend down to plant a soft kiss on his mouth but that does little to satiate him.

“the fuck was that? you love torturing me, huh, princess,” katsuki groans and you smile at his expression: all frowny and so, so pretty.

“sorry, sorry, you’re right. just love teasing you,” you say, barely above a whisper and you give katsuki his first proper kiss since seeing him today. the kiss is heavy: all tongue and wet and warm and you grab onto his arms to ground yourself. meanwhile bakugou pulls you down so you’re right on top of him, so he can get a better grip on your ass and easier access to your mouth. you’ve got a leg over his hips and an arm hanging off his shoulder, completely attached. he’s got a large palm on your lower back, slowly drifting further and further to squish your ass.

it’s like this for a couple of minutes; your arms wrapped around his head and neck, his large palms groping at your ass and hips and bakugou’s mouth kissing on your tongue and lips. your leg rests on his waist and you swear you can feel the heat of his dick right then and there. it’s not like you can miss it, all heavy and imposing.

“fucking needed this, baby,” your boyfriend practically moans and a hand sneaks in your pyjama top and shorts and you moan loudly as he squeezes and grabs at you, your leg around his waist pulling him even closer. katsuki pulls back at the feeling of soft lace running across his fingertips and only then does it resonate that he can feel what you’re wearing. he looks at your face with a quizzical look and you want to hide from the sharpness of his eyes.

“what’s this ‘m feeling?” katsuki asks and you stuff your face in his neck as he smoothed his hands on your lace clad hips.

“just a little something i was gonna surprise you with…” you trail off and he sits up at this declaration.

“yeah? something f’me? you not gonna lemme see it?” he muses and your eyes widen. your boyfriend has always been pretty bold so you don’t know why you’re being so shy right now but you comply with his demands and sit up on his lap to pull off your shirt to reveal the brightly coloured brassiere.

bakugou’s breath hitches and his chest rises a little slowly when he sees the bra in it’s entirety. you look gorgeous, he thinks. all innocent and sexy at the same time. he doesn’t know whether he wants your legs on his shoulders so he can taste you until you’re begging him to stop… or whether he should just fold you in half and fuck you until pearly tears are falling down your cheeks.

he decides on complimenting you for the time being:“you look gorgeous, princess. fucking sexy… all f’me, yeah?”

“who else would it be for, dummy?” you say in a low, humorous tone and your hand travels up his chest to rest at his jaw, so you can give him a kiss to his ‘o’ shaped mouth. you slot yourself entirely at the weight of his bottoms and only then do you really feel what you’ve done to him. it’s your turn to make an ‘o’ shaped expression.

you lean down to kiss his lips again, sucking on his bottom lip before letting go with a pop, before smiling at him. katsuki grins back at you, leaning up on his elbows and nudging his nose against yours and you can smell his minty breath. you rest your hand over his stubbled cheek, brushing a hand over it as he slots his lips with yours. he takes his time with you, so much tongue as drinks everything you give him. katsuki lays back down to watch you and runs his hands over your hips, squeezing at your ass and all the parts he can get his hands on.

he decides he’s had enough of the petting and the touches because he groans and grabs at your waist so he can you flip you over.

bakugou presses hot and wet kisses and nips at your jaw and your neck - till he’s laying on his stomach to kiss at the top of your breasts. he’s fiddling with the underwire of the bra before he looks up at you with blown out pupils and a smirk to match.

“we were never going to that party, we’re we, baby?” he hums as he noisily kisses and sucks your collarbones and the fat of your breasts. you know he’s caught you out and trying to elicit a reaction but with the way he’s biting and kissing on you, you can’t find it in yourself to care.

“n-no…” you say, with a hint of a whine, “just wanted you to myself for once.” bakugou can feel himself throb at how much you want him and he climbs up to situate himself exactly above you, his arms caging around your head.

“such a fucking minx, you know that? who knew you had it in you, princess?” he says, looking directly into your eyes. you feel small under his gaze and try to cower away but his hand grabs at the chub of your cheeks.

“don’t get all shy on me now, baby. you knew exactly what you were doing,” katsuki trails off, now littering your neck with gentle bites and hot, wet breath that made your spine shudder and toes writhe.

“you’re not gonna embarrass me. it's gotten me this far, so not a bad deal,” you gasp, just shy of a whimper at your boyfriend’s ministrations. katsuki chuckles at this and sits on his haunches to have a good look at you.

“at least you did your research… y’know orange’s my favourite colour too. can i take this off, princess?” katsuki asks, his hands brushing over the thin straps of your bra. you sit up slightly and nod at him. however, he doesn’t seem content with that answer as he thumbs over your nipple through the bra and you gasp again.

“use your words, pretty girl. that don’t mean shit to me,” he breathes out and you want to fight him for forcing you to beg so explicitly.

“yes, yes please,” you practically cry out and bakugou fixes his hands to undo the clasp of your bra and your breasts spill out of the material. katsuki bites back a moan, his eyes half lidded at the sight of you. he feels like a teenage boy all over again - wanting to grope and bite and kiss at you. so he does exactly that.

discarding your bra, he leans down onto his stomach and goes to playfully bite down at your left nipple and you whine at him, placing a hand in his unruly hair. just as you’re about to scold him, he smoothes over his bites and sucks with wet and soft kisses over the skin. with his free hand, he travels down to your barely there shorts and slips into them, his fingers leaving a ghost of a touch against your pussy.

“can feel how wet you are and i’ve barely even touched you,” whispers bakugou and he kisses at your tits while watching your expression. to say you felt shy under his watchful eyes was understatement. but you still wanted so much more.

“katsuki… please,” you breathe out and he presses his fingers harder into your barely covered clit and you bite your lower lip to stop a squeak from leaving your throat.

“please, what, pretty? you look like you knew what you wanted when you dressed up all sexy f’me,” katsuki says mischievously and you want to slap and ride his face at the same time. you’ll save that for another day.

“please make me… cum,” you finally get out and bakugou kisses at your breasts one last time before descending into the lower half of your body.

“since you used your manners,” katsuki muses but you both knew he wouldn’t pass at the chance to get his mouth on you anyway, recalling back to your moments of interrupted intimacy (or cockblocking as katsuki would call it).

katsuki pulls down your fluffy pyjama shorts to reveal the orange panty ensemble and he bites his lip to hold back a whimper at the noticeable damp spot just at your cunt hole. he looks up at you, who’s clearly embarrassed by all the attention because you’re covering your face with your hands. he playfully bites down on your thigh and you yelp, looking right at his lust filled eyes.

“wan’ you looking at me when ‘m bout to eat you out,” murmurs your boyfriend and you force the heels of your feet dig into the plush of your bed so you don’t clench your thighs at his words.

bakugou continues with looking at your pussy and he can practically see your walls clenching from how turned you are and he feels impossibly harder at the thought of tasting you. he places a small, wet kiss on panty-covered clit and you tuck your bottom lip under your teeth.

katsuki continues to lave and give attention to your pussy by soft and wet kisses through the material and your whimpers were about to turn into complaints until he pulls the dampened material down your legs and stuffs it in his trouser pocket.

in any other given situation, you would have brought that up but katsuki launches himself between your legs and starts suckling at your clit and suddenly, whatever happened before has been forgotten. you cry out at the sudden attack on your pussy and the noises that come out of you are borderline pornographic.

“k-katsuki, fuck, that feels so g-good,” you stutter, whole body practically trembling.

“yeah?” your boyfriend chuckles, “you taste good, princess. can’t believe i went this long without having you on my face,” he grunts, alternating between kissing and sucking at your clit and your lips. when you thought it couldn’t get any better, he slowly presses two fingers into your hole and your head falls back into the pillows.

katsuki’s watching your reaction and he’s humping the bed for even a lick of friction; the way you taste and sound is too much for his senses. he can feel the tip of his dick leaking when you cry out his name and his eyes roll back when he feels you clench around him.

“o-oh, ‘m gonna come, kats, fuck, ‘s too much-”

“that’s it, baby. doing so well f’me, fuck. wan’ you to come all over my face. can you do that f’me?” asks bakugou while he alternates between stroking your inner walls and tongue-fucking you.

you nod, unable to answer and practically scream before your eyes begin to roll back, your toes begin to curl and the effects of your orgasm hit you like a truck. all you can see is white and you can’t even comprehend the noises coming out of you.

katsuki decides he is in love with the way you look when you come undone. he fucks you through your orgasm, lapping up everything that you give him and he only stops when your thighs begin to close up around his head and you make feeble attempts to push him away. not wanting to overwhelm you, he kisses your clit before sitting up and notes that he would stay between your legs some other day.

meanwhile, you’re catching your breath and your eyes are brim with a few unshed tears and katsuki chuckles breathily at you. you pout, “don’t laugh at me,” and he smiles in awe at your naked beauty. it’s only then when his eyes rake up and down your body that you realise he’s still completely clothed.

“starting to think you’re allergic to getting naked.. i’m feeling all exposed and left out,” your pout deepens and he stretches a hand to pinch at your nipple and you yelp and swat him away.

“relax, pretty girl, all you had to do was ask. ‘sides, not like i can fuck you in my clothes,” katsuki smirks and you roll your eyes and nibble your lips, impatiently awaiting to see your boyfriend in all his true glory.

bakugou pulls off his jumper and shirt in one go to reveal his tan chest and various miscellaneous tattoos, including one of your favourite flower right under his right pec. he then goes onto to pull down his joggers to reveal tight, grey briefs - and you hold your breath at the sight.

your mouth waters when you can see the length of his meat alongside his thigh and you can even see the damp patch on where the head of his mushroom-shaped tip is supposed to be. katsuki can see you checking him out and his chest puffs up a little at this.

“you look like you’re about to eat me, princess,” he jokes and you raise a brow.

when you’re about to bite back at him, you realise that you’re way too horny to waste anymore time and instead, you just nod seductively and open your arms so he can rest on top of you.

katsuki accepts and his arms rest by your head. he’s directly above you and only now does the sheer size of your boyfriend dawn on you. his whole body hulks over you and you’re unable to hold back a whimper that escapes when you realise just how hot this situation is.

“you still turned on? anythin’ i can do to help you?” katsuki snickers and you know he gets off on teasing you: he’s enjoying your helplessness and the fact that you’re so horny you’ve been rendered slightly brainless.

“stop teasing me,” you pout and katsuki leans down to kiss your pouty lips and he smiles, all warm at you even though he’s one clothing item away from rearranging your insides.

“sorry, princess. ‘s just fun to tease ya, is all. believe me when i say i wan’ this just as much as you do,” he grunts out and he sits up to finally rid of his briefs.

the wait is agonisingly long but when bakugou finally strips himself naked, your whole world stops.

your boyfriend is a hefty, adonis of a man so the size of his cock should’ve never surprised but no amount of mental physical preparation could have prepared you for the actual thing. it’s beautiful, veiny and thick - the length being tan with a vein that climbs all the way to the head of his cock: which sits at a dark pink, almost red colour, dribbling with precum. at the base of his cock sits a tuft of blond hair and your mouth basically waters.

katsuki’s dick twitches a little at your unwavering gaze and it’s his turn to feel a little embarrassed. you sit up and reach a hand out to thumb at his most prominent vein and a mixture of a groan and a whimper catches at the back of his throat. he feels like - he knows he could come just from looking at you as you brush against his cock.

it’s why he jumps to crowd over you on the bed and grabs your right thigh to sit at his waist.

“you think you’re ready? ‘m gonna ease into you slowly, ‘kay? promise you’ll tell me if it hurts,” he insists and you make sure to verbally reply, lest he waste time trying to get you to speak up.

“fuck, yes, ‘m ready, please put it in already,” you beg and katsuki wants to call you needy but the mushroom head of his cock brushes against your slick pussy lips and any smart reply he has locked and loaded in his head goes out his ear.

katsuki grabs his cock and brushes it on your clit, your lips and then circles your cunt hole and you’re clenching just at the feeling of him pressing down onto your most sensitive parts. you were half sure he was going to make you beg for it but before you could blink, he presses into you and your head would’ve hit the headboard had katsuki not place his hand behind you knowingly.

the feeling of him inside you is too much but not enough simultaneously and your hands grip at his forearms and you’re not sure on whether you want to push him away or bring him closer.

meanwhile, katsuki’s fighting his own mental battle: he curses himself for putting this off for too long and also prays that he doesn’t come before he at least gets yku off. you’re tighter, warmer, wetter than he anticipated and he can’t get enough of you. he’s not even watching himself feed his cock into your gooey hole, deathly afraid that if he looks down for at least one measly second, he would bust so deep into you, you’d be pregnant with triplets.

katsuki’s eyebrows are furrowed as he finally sheathes all the way into you and you rest a hand on his lower abdomen at a feeble attempt to push him away.

“i don’ think is’ gonna f-fit,” you slur, “‘m so full.” katsuki grabs your hand and lifts it above your head in a small, handholding embrace.

“don’t push me away,” he practically growls and he situates himself so he’s resting on top of you again, “you’re a big girl. if you wan’ me off of ya, you know to use ya words.”

you furrow your brows and look away from his dark eyed gaze and he chuckles, “that’s what i thought.”

katsuki pulls himself slightly out of your warmth, only to grind himself back in at an antagonising pace. he sets a speed and he lets go of your hand to properly rest on his forearms above you. you use this as an opportunity to wrap your arms around his back; your face scrunched and bottom lip tucked under your teeth.

you can feel katsuki’s pants above you and you finally open your eyes to see him and he’s probably never looked more sexy and eatable. his hair is sticking to his forehead and his eyebrows are furrowed so deeply that frown will probably be stuck for a while. katsuki angles himself just ever so slightly and you throw your head back in unabashed pleasure as he hits that sweet spot inside you.

“you like that, sweet girl? look at you.. fuck, all fucked out. wan’ you to tell me how good ‘m fucking you,” katsuki breathes out and you swear you’re not ignoring him on purpose because with the way his cock presses inside you and with the way his pubes brush against your clit, all you can muster is a broken moan (one that katsuki will definitely tease you about later).

“that’s how good ‘m fucking ya? can’t even - fuck, ha - can’t even speak, can ya?,” he says out loud and his words are coming in waves. katsuki reaches down to flick at your pearl and your legs seize up around him as you babble mindlessly to appease him.

“yess, feels so good, so deep, ‘can feel you so deep inside, kats - ohh, right there, pleaseee,” you warble and katsuki lifts your right leg to his shoulder to get impossibly deeper inside you.

“fuck, can’t believe i went so long without this sweet pussy,” he grunts out and the feeling of you cunt spasming around him hits at 100mph. you become sloppier, wetter and katsuki finds himself being able to fuck you right to the base of his cock. then it hits him: you just came.

“did y’ just fucking come already? jesus, fuck, haven’- haven’t even properly fucked you yet. so dirty, baby,” katsuki moans out and you can’t hear a word he’s saying. your nails dig in deeper to his shoulder blades and the soles of your feet press into his back as you’re still coming down from your high.

“d’ya think you can go again f’me, princess?” your boyfriend asks politely but the way he asks is anything but polite as he’s already folding both your legs to place them on his shoulder as you’re pushed and manhandled into a mating press.

katsuki still hasn’t pulled out and his cock is throbbing inside you and he wants to cum so fucking badly. but the unshed tears in your eyes made his heart beat a little faster than usual and he would never want to push you past your limits.

“you alright to continue, y/n?” he asks sternly, his expression slightly worried and you amass all the strength your body will allow to pull him down and you link your arms around his neck.

“so serious, katsuki,” you joke, still a little out of breath and he rolls his eyes and stares down at you lovingly while your thumb brushes against his cheek.

“make me cum so hard ‘m seeing stars,” you whisper and katsuki growls as he pulls out and sheathes himself deep into you while you cry out.

“you get what you wish for, princess.”

katsuki places his hands on the back of your thighs and goes crazy at you; desperate for both your releases. the sound of skin and the wetness of your pussy echos in your bedroom and accompanied with the your gasps and cries, the sounds of the room were past the point of being just pornographic.

you swore you’d have his hands imprinted on the back of your thighs with the way he was groping them and with this position, you could feel everything so much more. he was so deep inside you and you swore you could feel him in your stomach as you writhed under him as your third climax of the night crept on you. you were already so sensitive from the last two and you knew this was the one that was going to wreck you.

“‘m so-o close, fuck, it feels like ‘m gonna make a mess,” you gasp, moving to wrap your arms around katsuki’s neck. you could tell from his tightly wound facial expressions that he was not too far off.

“y-yeah? make a fucking mess on me princess, f-fuck, cum all over me an’ i’ll give you everything i’ve got, baby,” he grunts and he slides an arm down between you both to thumb at your swollen clit and you seize at the feeling.

“‘s too much, katsuki, too - oh-oh, ‘m gonna,” you cry o out and you grab your boyfriend’s face, “pl-please kiss me, please,” you beg, pearly tears streaming down your face and katsuki moans out.

“anything for you, pretty,” he rumbles and he slots his mouth over yours as your orgasm hits at you in waves. katsuki can feel sprays of your release hit on his pelvis and his eyes roll back.

“that’s it, pretty girl, make a fuckin’ - make a fuckin’ mess on me,” katsuki kisses into your tongue before coming deep inside you and moaning out loudly as you kiss him back to goad him through his orgasm.

you both ride out your climaxes and your boyfriend watches where you’re both connected and he pulls out, hissing while you whimper and he eventually collapses on top of you. you hold him close to your chest as you match his breathing pattern. the silence is comforting and you scratch at the nape of his head and he opens an eye while his face is pressed into your tummy.

“you okay?” you ask katsuki and he wraps his arms tighter around your body as response but you’re not satisfied with that.

“use your words, baby,” you tease and katsuki playfully digs his teeth into your belly and you make a feeble attempt to push him away.

“should be asking you that instead. fucking squirted all over me,” katsuki chuckles and you gasp, lifting up your hands to hide behind them in embarrassment.

“god, that’s so embarrassing, i can’t believe i did that,” you say, all muffled but katsuki pulls your hands from your face and kisses at your palm.

“was sexy, baby. want you to do that every time we fuck,” he mumbles, nosing little kisses onto your chest and tummy. your boyfriend looks adorable like this: all fucked out, exhausted and glowy and you’re holding back the urge to ‘awwh’ at him while you pet and rub his face with your thumb.

“and i want you to get off me so i can shower. ‘m all gross and sweaty and sticky,” you complain, albeit lightheartedly and when you make the attempt to get up, the blond jumps up like he was never tired.

“sit your ass down and let me run us a bath. and i’ll know if you moved,” katsuki warns, walking to your bathroom in his naked glory and you laugh and before he exits the room, he turns to pass you a quizzical glance.

“nothing, it’s just, your butt is so cute. i can’t believe i never noticed it before!”

“y/n, so help me god, i’ll throw your dumbass into the bathtub,” yells your hot headed man and you giggle at his ‘threat’, watching him try to hide his butt from you as you go to follow him to the bathroom, disobeying his every rule.

so when mina and the bakusquad anyone asks you about your first time, you tell them it was something you waited dearly for and you wouldn’t change for the world.

“uh, kats? why did kiri just text asking if we finally ‘fucked and got it over with?’”

so maybe it wasn’t spontaneous for your boyfriend either. but it’s like you said-

“i will kill that red headed bastard,” yells out katsuki, grabbing his phone and throwing you over his shoulder as you squeal.

you wouldn’t really change a thing.

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #self indulgence at its finest #this was proofread let’s clap and cheer!#bakugou smut #bakugo smut #bnha bakugo smut #bakugou imagine #bakugo x reader #༝˚૮ .♡ katsuki.#moominsuki™#✎𓂃stamped: (my hero academia)。°˖⌕#✎𓂃uma thirsts。°˖⌕

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and-claudia · 4 months ago

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Professor Howlett (Logan x fem!reader) Kinktober Fic #2

Warnings: Age gap!! Naughty pictures, unprotected sex, student/teacher relationship (reader IS OF AGE), professor kink, the use of the pet name Sweetheart (a lot)

Wordcount: 3000 (i am so sorry)

Kinktober taglist

“Don’t forget, final papers are due tomorrow.” Professor Howlett said, and my heart sank.

Fuck. I had completely forgotten about the paper. I used to always be on top of my work, but recently, during class, specifically Professor Howlett’s class, my mind had begun to wander. My time was spent thinking about all the different ways I would let him bend me over his desk and have his way with me rather than whatever era he was teaching us about.

“Yn, hang back for a minute.” He said, beaconing me over to his desk with two fingers.

“Yes, sir?” I asked, adjusting my books in my arm.

“Are you okay?” He asked and it went straight to my core the way he said it.

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Are you positive? You’ve been… staring off into space lately. Are you sure you have nothing on your mind?” He asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Yes, sir. I’m fine. Maybe just a little nervous about the paper due tomorrow.” I admitted.

“Don’t be,” He brushed it off, “I always enjoy reading your papers. I’m sure tomorrow won’t be any different.” He said, and I swear he winked.

“Well, thank you, sir, I appreciate it.” I said, smiling.

He nodded and went to leave, “Oh, one more thing, Charles told me I needed a teacher assistant or something next semester. You interested?”

I smiled, “Yes, I would love to.”

“Figured you would.” He said with a small smirk.

I was about to ask him what he meant when someone came into the room.

“Am I interrupting something?”

I turned to see Professor Xavier entering the room.

“No, sir.”

“No, Charles. I was just speaking to my new teacher assistant for next semester. I think the two of us will make a good team.”

“I am sure you do, Logan. Yn would mind excusing us, in need to speak with Mr.Howlett?” He said.

“Of course,” I said, nodding before turning to Mr.Howlett, “I will see you tomorrow.”

He nodded, and I left. I decided to skip my last class and go straight to my room to work on my paper. However as the hours passed, I couldn’t come up with anything that I liked nor would yield even a decent grade. I was finally brought out of my focus by a knock at the door.

“It’s unlocked!” I hollered for whoever it was to just come in.

“I noticed you didn’t come down for dinner.” I jumped when I realized it was Mr.Howlett.

“Oh, I must have lost track of time…” I said, closing my computer.

“I figured, here.” He said, setting a plate down on my desk.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it.” I said, smiling at him.

He nodded before glancing around the room at all the Polaroids I had hanging around the room.

“You take all these?” He asked.

“Yeah, I have my aunt’s old camera.” I said.

“Old? Ouch.”

“Sorry.” I said with a laugh as I stood.

I went over to my dresser, where I left the camera sitting, and picked it up. As I walked, I felt eyes on me. I then realized that I had forgotten that I changed once I got to my room earlier and was wearing short shorts and a hoodie only. When I turned around I swear I saw Mr.Howlett’s gaze jump up to my face from where he had been looking lower down my body.

But he wouldn’t be checking me out like that, right? Sure I was one of the few adult students here, but that’s thing, I was still his student, it would be wrong.

“Here, this is what I used for them all.” I said, handing it to him to look at.

He looked it over curiously before carefully handing it back to me.

“You must have a thing for old things, don’t you?” He said smoothly.

And while I knew he was talking about the decor in my room, it felt like he was hinting at much more.

“I guess you could say that.” I said flirtatously, suddenly feeling much bolder.

“Well, although I would love to stick around for a while, you have a paper to finish, and I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to be in students' dorms after a certain time, if not at all.” He said.

I almost told him to stay, but I knew I shouldn’t… besides I had something else in mind. After he left, I ate the food he had brought me and then got my room set up. I moved my mirror away from the wall and cleaned it off some before setting out some blankets and pillows on the floor so I wouldn’t have my bare ass on the old wooden floor. Then I got changed into my best pair of panties and matching bra and got to work. Tomorrow, instead of turning in a paper, I would be handing a very special folder to Mr.Howlett.

I took a few pictures at varying angles and positions with everything on. Then I took off my bra and got some good shots of my tits. I didn’t want to give him everything in these photos, though, I wanted him to have something to look forward to, so I left my panties on as I took one last picture in the mirror of me on my knees, tits out and all the previous photos strewn out in front of me. Then, I collected all of them up, threw my hoodie back on, and worked on putting them in my portfolio to turn in tomorrow.

As I climbed into bed, I realized just how wet my panties had gotten by the thought of Mr.Howlett looking through my pictures. I slipped them off and decided to let my mind play into the fantasies of what would happen after he sees them tomorrow. When I came on my fingers, it felt amazing, but I knew that it was nothing compared to what Mr.Howlett could make me feel.

The next day, I felt giddy as I sat through Mr.McCoy’s class. He was rambling on about another math concept I knew I would never use. Once again my mind began to wonder to wander to another teacher of mine. He finally released us and I nearly ran to Mr.Howlett’s class, folder in hand, ready to turn it in.

“Hello, Mr.Howlett.” I said as I walked in.

He was sat at his desk and when he glanced at me, he did a double take. I had purposefully wore a low cut blouse, revealing possibly too much clevage for school, but I didn’t care, it was all a part of my game.

“Hello, Yn. You finish your essay?” He asked, quickly gaining his composure.

“Right here.” I said, holding it up for him to see.

He held out his hand, and I happily handed it to him as I went to sit at my desk, which just happened to be directly in front of him. I watched as he opened up the folder and flipped past the cover page.

“Fuck.” I heard him sigh as he saw the first round of photos, and it made me smirk to myself.

He flipped the page and glanced over the folder at me, “This is… good.” He said, shifting in his chair.

“Oh, it gets better.” I said leaning forward in my chair, resting my chin in my hand.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps walking in, and I sat back and pretended to be getting something from my bag. Mr.Howlett shut the folder quickly and swiftly dropped it into one of the drawers on his desk as more of his students walked in. Everyone found their seats and soon the whole class was here.

“Alright, pretty easy class today. Turn in your essays then you’re free to go.” He said to everyone, not standing up from his desk.

Everyone was clearly excited as they got their essays out and dropped them on his desk before leaving. Once the last student walked out, he silently stood up and walked over to the door. He shut it and locked it. Then, he walked back to his desk, sat down, and got the folder back out. I watched with anticipation for his next move and was quite surprised when he beaconed me over with his fingers.

“Pull up a chair.” He said, nodding to the space in front of his desk.

“I want you to tell me what you were thinking when you took each one of these pictures. No bullshit, either. Understand?”

I nodded.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Let’s start here.” He said, pointing to the first picture.

It was simple: my face was covered by the camera, but you could see my whole body. The way I had adjusted my lights made a perfect silhouette of my body, every curve on display for him.

“Well, I was thinking that this is a stupid idea but I had already set everything up, and there was no turning back now. It was late, and there was no way I was writing that paper.”

He nodded and pointed to the next one, “This one?”

This one was a close-up of just my tits. You could see the delicate white lace of the bra I wore.

“My only thought there was, I hope Mr.Howlette likes this color on me.” I said.

“It’s nice.”

This continued until he got to the last one, and again, he asked me the same question.

“At that point, I realized just how wet my panties were at the thought of you looking at all the pictures I took for you.” I said, standing up.

I began walking around to the other side of his desk.

“I was fantasizing about all the things you would do to me when you saw them… I must say, a Q and A was not a part of any of them.” I said.

He had moved away from his desk giving me enough space to turn his chair towards me and straddle his lap. When he didn’t show any signs of rejection, I sat all the way down.

“One more question. Is this what you’ve been daydreaming about? Turning in a folder of naked pictures of yourself?” He asked, hands instantly going to my waist.

“Not exactly…” I said, biting my lip slightly.

“Tell me then. What was so interesting that you couldn’t even focus on your favorite teacher?” He asked, leaning forward.

“Well… I was thinking of all the ways I would let you have your way with me right here on your desk.” I said.

“Is that right?” He asked.

I only nodded and dipped my head down to kiss him. When he did reject the kiss, I knew I was golden. I began grinding down on his lap, and I could feel his erection growing in his jeans. He quickly took over, using his hands on my hips to set the pace of me grinding on him.

“Get off.” He said, suddenly.

I quickly scrambled off of him and looked at him with wide eyes, thinking I had done something wrong or that he was second-guessing everything,

“What? Kinda hard to fuck you on my desk when you're on my lap, sweetheart.” He said with a smirk.

With that, he lifted me up onto his desk and began kissing me once again. This time, however, his hands began roaming all over my body. I could tell he was being a little hesitant though, never actually touching my breast. So, I took matters into my own hands and began unbuttoning my top. Once it was completely open, I grabbed his hands and put them on my breast.

“You’ve already seen them; you can touch them.” I said between breaths.

My hands tangled into his hair as he groped my breast. Small grunts left his mouth as he toyed with them. One of his hands slipped behind me to unclasp my bra, and once it fell away, he took full advantage of his access to my nipples.

“Fuck- best tits I’ve ever seen, sweetheart.” He groaned against my lips.

“Please, just fuck me, professor.” I said, breathlessly.

He stopped once again and pulled away.

“What did you just call me?” He asked, lips slightly swollen.

“P-professor.” I said.

I hadn’t meant to call him that. I knew he wasn’t technically one and that he told us not to call him that at the beginning of the semester. It just kind of slipped out.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re killin’ me.” He groaned.

His lips found mine again as his hands dropped to the waistband of my skirt. I slightly nodded, telling him I was ready, and lifted myself up so he could slip it off of me along with my underwear. The smooth wood of his desk was cold against my heated core, and it sent a shiver up my spine.

“Off.” I said, grabbing his belt and pulling him closer by it.

“You don’t get to make demands here, sweetheart. You’re the student, and I’m the professor. Got it?” He said, pulling away to look at me.

I nodded.

He shook, “Use your words.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” He said as he went back to kissing me.

This time, however, only one hand went back to my breast. The other went down to me entrance. He ran his fingers through my folds, collecting the wetness that had already begun to seep out. Then he slowly pressed one of his fingers into my hole. A small whine left my lips.

“Sh, it’s okay, just getting you ready.” He said gently as he slipped another finger in.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, sweetheart.” He said.

He continued pumping his fingers in and out, scissoring them to help stretch me further.

“Good.” He said, pulling his fingers out before reaching for his belt and undoing it.

He pulled his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his hard cock. I was staring at it, and I couldn’t care less.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” He asked, voice dripping with cockiness.

Before I could stop myself, I nodded. He laughed lowly at me.

He grabbed on of my legs and hooked it over his hip and lined himself up at my entrance.

“Ready?”

“Yes, sir.” I said, not taking my eyes off his cock.

I watched in awe as he slowly pushed the tip in. I tensed up slightly at the stretch.

“Sh, sweetheart, gotta relax.” He said gently as he pushed further in.

I watched for as long as I could before my head dropped back and he slid the rest of the way in. A moan left my lips, adittedly a bit louder than I expected.

“Damn sweetheart, it’s like you want the school to know the teacher’s pet is getting her tight pussy fucked by her favorite professor.” He said as he pulled back and began to set a stead pace thrusting deep in to me. One of hias hands was gripping my hop, holding me in place. And the other dropped down between us to rub tight circles on my clit.

“Fuck.” I said, breath hitching as me walls scqueesed around him.

He let out a small growl as he continued to pound into me. My mind was fuzzy and the only thing I could focus on was the feeling of his cock hitting that sweet spot deep inside of me and his rough calloused fingers working my clit.

“Fuck, I’m close…” I said.

“Go ahead, sweetheart. Come for me.” He said, surprigly soft and that was all it took for the tension to snap and my walls clamped down on his cock as I came. He hissed as my nails dug into his shoulders, through his shirt and I moaned.

“Where do you want it, sweetheart? Not lasting much longer the way you’re gripping me.” He said, clearly restraining himself.

“In. Please. I’m on the pill.” I said, still riding my high.

He thrusted one last time, and released thick, hot ropes of cum deep inside of me. He thrusted a few more times lazily before stilling. Then, he gently pulled me forward to rest against him, cock still burried deep inside of me.

“Fuck sweetheart… I’m in trouble now… how will I ever keep my hands off of my teaching assistant next semester?”

“Don’t.” I said simply, closing my eyes as I rested against his strong chest.

We stayed like this for a few more minutes before he sighed and slowly began pulling out of me. A small whine left my lips.

“Sh, sweetheart, it’s okay. I got another class coming in soon. But if you come see me tonight I’ll make you feel even better than you feel now.” He said.

I sighed but hopped down off his desk and grabbing my clothes off the floor.

“I’ll hold you to that, Mr.Howlett.” I said, slipping my skirt on, but keeping my panties balled up in my hand.

“Logan is fine… except in class, or during sex.” He said with a smirk.

“Okay, Logan…” I said with a smll smile.

By now he had pulled his pants back up and put his belt back on. I wrapped my arms around him and reached up to kiss him one last time.

“I’m going to go clean up.” I said, stuffing my panties into his pocket.

He knew what was I was doing and just smirked at me. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked towards the door. I glanced back at him and he sent me a wink before I opened the door and walked out. To my surprise Prodessor X was rolling up.

“Hello, Yn.”

“Hello.”

“Is Mr.Howlett in there?” He asked.

“Yeah.” I said stepping to the side so he could go in.

“Logan, a word.” I heard him say seriously causing my eyes to widen as I sped up my pace and hurried away and back to my room to shower.

Kinktober taglist

@comicbookslut @mariaxman @howlingco

#logan howlet x reader #logan howlet smut #logan wolverine #logan howlett #wolverine x reader smut #wolverine #wolverine x reader #x men smut

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wayfayrr · 7 months ago

Note

hey uh. if requests r open. would it b possible to request a follow up to that self-aware-twi fic. if not thats ok i just wanted u to know i havent stopped thinking about it since i read it. altered my brain chemistry, touch-starved twilight princess link my beloved, etc etc. ur writing is top-tier <3<3<3

I think the best part about this ask is - I've had this written since early January. I actually wrote part two as a birthday gift for a good friend of mine @glowyskull <33

So this is more just me finally posting it sfbgdfbgdb. it's also funny to think that the twilight fic is my most popular fic now considering how the self aware au really started as just a really guiltily self indulgent fic - something fun to write that I didn't think could get as big as it did on my blog. and I'm glad that you liked it so much <333 whimpery touch starved twilight princess link is just so AUGH love him so

[masterlist]

“Oh you’re finally wakin up then darlin’.”

“...hmm?”

“C’mon darlin’, you can’t have forgotten what happened earlier already? Can you? Your fever - cold isn’t that bad so you can't have…”

Who’s rambling… and why does it sound so familiar? Wait does that mean - is everything that happened earlier all real then, did link really crawl out of my tv just because he was lonely. Because I left him there, left him all on his own to rot in his own solitude.

“Link? You - that - everything was real then? All of it?”

“All of it darlin’, from how I got out to how I’m never gonna leave ya.”

“Huh..? I could’ve sworn that you didn’t even mention anything like that…”

“Mhm, well you’re ill and still a little out of it darlin’ so you probably just forgot, you did agree though.”

It does sound like something that I would agree to, I mean I’m the reason that he’s sentient. It would be cruel of me to throw him to the other wolves, he isn’t from here but besides even that, he isn’t from here. He doesn’t know how this world works, it would be worse than sending a dog to a shelter. It would be his death sentence for certain, and after all that I put him through for a simple pause in playing. The way he’s petting my hair like this though, it’s enough to simply just wash the rest of my worries away, if I could I would spend the rest of my life right here easily.

“About your illness though, do you have any red potion anywhere?”

“No, no things like that don’t exist here link and the painkillers I have aren’t worth moving for.”

“If you’re sure… I’ll go and get them for you the second you change your mind.”

“You don’t even know where I keep them.”

His hand paused at that, causing me to let out an involuntary whine. I couldn’t even think to stop it with how it slipped out instantly, which he seemed fond of. Cuddling me closer to his chest and resting his head on top of mine, with what felt like a giant smile on his face.

“I can look for them, It’s not like I won’t need to learn where everything is now that I’m living with ya… besides I’ve already put you through so much stress when you’re not well.”

“You didn’t mean to link, how could you have known I was sick?”

“...I don’t know - I just - it shouldn’t have been hard to know with how you looked when you opened the game. I’m sorry love I just wasn’t even thinking I just wanted to be out, but I should’ve been more considerate to you.”

With how silent he is in the game you could never have guessed how much he likes to ramble, it’s the second or third time it’s happened since he crawled out of the glas- the glass. Are his bandages holding up, he seems fine but he’s not from here, any infection could be deadly. He wouldn’t even see it coming with how much he’s fawning over my comfort right now.

“Link?” “Yes, darlin’?”

Oh wow, he - well he’s whipped already. Is it real love or has all that time trapped alone twisted him into this. I’d look into getting him therapy but… if he mentioned the truth then it would be a matter of seconds until he’d be diagnosed with something inaccurate. No one. No one at all would ever believe that a video game character actually broke out of their game - especially not someone like Link falling for an exhausted student like me.

“Are you feeling alright? You have so many cuts and wounds right now.”

“It’s nothing that’s worse than anything else I’ve ever had. They do feel more real though.”

“...real?”

“They feel like real wounds, not something that could be healed away in seconds and they’re just tiny scrapes.”He sounds so giddy as he’s talking about being hurt - it’s unnerving when he starts holding me even tighter when he’s saying it. I don’t think I’m ever going to be getting away from him ever again… if I wanted to. Why shouldn’t I take a chance at having a relationship though. He cares about me - he really does even if it’s unhinged - it would be so nice to come home to him, to be able to spoil him and be spoilt by him. Even being held like this feels so unreal, so impossible that I shouldn’t be here with him. So much so that I want to stay here and fall back asleep without any argument. Didn’t he even say he wanted to be my lover? Why look over a gift too closely?

#I waited to post it cause I wanted to get permission to post the fic #I dm bday fics to my friends lol #cause I'll use their name/ocs name instead of a stand in yk?#so this is the first posted of them #moss✦writes #yandere linked universe #linked universe #yandere link #yandere linked universe x reader #linked universe x reader #link x reader #lu twilight #self aware au #self aware loz #sentient au #linked universe twilight #queueueueueueueueueueueueueue

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bunny-jpeg · 6 months ago

Note

Could I get cinnamon rolls with a tea and a cofee on the side? For Max Verstappen. I love your fics! Thanks😁

bakery menu

want to suggest your own order? hit up the menu for more info! i write for more than just f1 so ask away! thank you for this lovely anon for submitting this request! the classic rivals au is back baby!! i love this combo (and the driver), so thank you for the request! have a great rest of your day!!

cinnamon rolls ("no one needs to know.") + tea (semi-public sex) + coffee (rivals au) served by max verstappen (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, rivals au, ferrari driver!reader, semi-public sex, secret relationship, fingering, quiet sex, mean!max

"well, i have to say this much. if max verstappen thinks that he's going to get in between me and my championship, then he has another thing come for him." you laughed with your arms crossed.

you could soon feel max's lingering gaze from the other side of media pen which only made you give a bright smile to the reporter asking you questions. you were a ferrari driver and max was a red bull driver, the two pieces aren't meant to fit together.

most rivalries were for the cameras to create drama. and to an extent your rivalry with max was for the camera. but that didn't mean it was paradise between you two. you'd push and shove until you both ended up in bed together.

but, sometimes there wasn't enough time to find a bed.

"you're a bitch you know that." max said as he cornered you in the paddock. he held onto your jaw with his hand and said, "saying all those things about me."

"what they were true."

he leaned in closer, "to imply that i have a small cock? we both know that's not true. i don't know what game you're playing, but i swear." he grabbed you by the collar of your racing jacket and brought down a side hallway off the paddock. somewhere more quiet.

that only led to you pressed up the wall with max in your space. those blue eyes seemed dangerous as he undid your jeans and stuck his hand down your pants.

those thick fingers grazed your pussy and you almost jumped out of your skin. you hissed quietly, "what the fuck is wrong with you?"

he said lowly in your ear, "i think you've forgotten your place there." he kept close to you as he sank two fingers into you, "you might be riding high on the track, but when it's you and i. you're under me." he panted a little, he could feel his own cock strain as his pants.

"you're a dick, verstappen."

"and yet you always come back to me." he grazed your clit with his thumb, "if you can't handle it on or off the track, get out of the way." and felt your breath get stuck in your throat. he then sealed his lips against yours.

you knew that you could have anyone you wanted, you were at a level that any adult man, woman or whoever would want you. you were one of the most successful drivers in formula one. hell, you could have your pick of the paddock both with drivers and other staff.

and yet you were crowded in a hallway with your rival max verstappen. you were letting him finger fuck you as a punishment for saying his cock was small.

you both made out once more and you had your hands dug into his shoulders. he was working overtime with his fingers, especially your clit.

when he pulled away and pressed his forehead against yours, "no one needs to know. if you want to be a good girl and say something nice. just like no one knows that you're in love with me." he panted.

"oh yeah, i'm pretty sure redbull has the champagne ready when we make it public."

he chuckled, "only way they'll have you on the same team as me."

"well, i guess they'll have to dream a little longer then." then continued to make out with him. you two ran the risk of getting caught, but there was very few going around the area at this hour.

he held onto you with his free hand, he clutched onto your hip as he buried his fingers to the knuckle. he wanted to make sure you felt him inside of you. even if he wasn't fucking you with his cock, he'd still cause you to make a mess.

"you drive me crazy." he said softly, "you think that you're the new god of racing, but i have bad news for you. you'll always be mine above all else. you know that you'll be my wife one day. i bet your old man would be happy about that." he said slyly into your ear.

"i hate you."

"no you don't, treasure. you love me, and you love these stupid fucking games we play." he moved his fingers differently inside of you and you almost bit into his neck to stop from moaning.

you knew deep down that is max proposed tomorrow, you'd at least think about it. then you'd pull some trick and like steal the ring and wear it so you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of saying 'yes'. you knew that the racing world would be beyond happy if you got married.

and as he made pleasure twist in your gut, you didn't think that being mrs. verstappen was a horrible idea. you panted through a tense jaw as he continued to push his fingers inside of you. it felt amazing, your body felt on fire as he continued to plunge his fingers into your poor, achy hole.

"you're a prick." you panted.

max chuckled, trying to ignore the pain in his cock, "right, right. a dick, an asshole, i'm such a fucker. i'm all these things, but i will be the champion this year."

he pulled you into another kiss. you whined a little bit into the kiss, as you felt the surge of pleasure overtake you. it was just too much. the kiss was the loudest part of your interaction. you've been good at not causing too much noise.

"shit." he panted.

you dug your nails into his forearm as you felt the wave of pleasure crash over you. you tensed your jaw as you finished with the help of max's fingers. you pressed your forehead against his shoulder and panted.

"good girl." he said. he took his hands out of your pants and zipped them back up for you. he patted your hip and stepped back. he did something that made your knees weak. he put his two fingers into his mouth and licked them clean before he wiped his spit off his pants.

"you fuck." you panted as you felt your knees wobble.

he shrugged, "poor little thing." he said, "maybe next time you won't use such harsh words when talking about it. and even if my cock was small, i know more ways to make you cum." he leaned in and kissed you on the corner of your mouth before he left the hallway to go back to what he was doing.

you zipped up your drivers jacket and pulled away from the wall. you sighed before you left as well. trying to get it all behind you. as you walked back to your team's section. you saw the reporter from earlier.

while most would've just kept walking and brushed out the interaction with max. you started to walk faster to catch up with the reporter. "hey! guy from earlier, do you want an interview real quick!"

if max thought that he was going to win this little rivalry by finger-fucking you in a hallway, then he had another thing coming. you weren't easy to beat, he knew that from the track. so why did he think that you'd be easy beat off the track?

your core still felt wet as you answered the reporter's questions. silly verstappen, there was no one like you. <3

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misssakuramochi · 1 month ago

Text

'UNSUNG SONGS' A SENKU x READER DRABBLE

Synopsis: After literal years of watching Reader pine over Senku, Gen decides to give them both a little push. [Indirect sequel to this fic] Requested By: A Lovely Anonymous Requester Request: 'Hello Author! Iam the person who requested Senku x Reader a few days ago that you already made into drabble. I came here to request a Part 2 of the drabble.A few days have passed, and Reader can't help but fall deeper for Senku. She remembered that someone used to say to her that a crush is just lack of information but years, month and days have passed since she met him long time ago but the more she get to know Senku the more she fall in love with him. It's feel like she have fallen into a black hole with how deep she have fallen. Though of couse the black hole she have fallen is quite a pleasant one. Without knowing her eyes light up everything time she see Senku. When she look at Senku, she smile without herself realising. Her heart feel light and fluffy when thinking or being with Senku. Though Reader does wonder if Senku feel the same way. She didn't dare to ask him anything. Fearing that his blunt word would break her heart and ruin their relationship ( Soft Hearted Reader here! ). Reader feel it's more better like this ( Their current relationship ).Basically, Iam pretty sure people around would notice the adoration/love/soft look in her eyes when Reader look at Senku ( I guess ? What do you think ) especially Gen. What do you think people around would do when they looked at Reader being like that and surely will Senku do something? If not the it's alright too. Because I don't think Senku is the type of person who will tell the person they in love with that they have fallen in love with them straightforwardly consider in the anime Senku want to quickly return from the island because afraid of Tsukasa body rotting because left too long in the freezer but of couse he kept it inside his heart since he didn't want to be emotional???? Basically with the second paragraph I write can you write a FLUFF drabble of Senku x Reader.THANK YOU FOR READING THE LONG PARAGRAPHS AUTHOR!!!!!! I plan to write my request just like before but it's came out like a story. Iam pretty sure you can write something more amazing with the information ( Second paragraph). I think you are quite AMAZING author. The way you write Senku is like the real Senku ( You get what I mean right? (″ロ゛) )' Age Rating: E Warnings: N/A Genre: Fluff Word Count: 4,760

With legs crossed and shoulders rounded you sat relaxed, palm cradling the jut of your chin as you watched Senku work on his latest science project. The finer details of what exactly he was doing were somewhat beyond you, but as you watched him carefully pour out a measured test tube into a larger beaker, grin almost manic-looking with his brow furrowed in concentration and eyes focused in with pinpoint precision, you could easily tell that the scientist was absolutely elated about whatever it was he was doing. That was more than enough for you to be excited about it, eyes soft as you watched him work from a safe distance across the lab.

“You could just tell him you know.” While Gen’s voice was mischievous, matched by a grin that would make the devil flinch, he wasn’t exactly joking. He’d been the first to pick up on it, noticing the way you began to follow Senku about with a near desperation to be in his presence, catching your change in demeanor at the mere mention of their head scientist’s name before you had yourself; he had not, however, been the only one to notice it. In fact, it was common knowledge amongst the kingdom of science by now that you had fallen hard for Senku, and you had no chance of recovery. Some had even taken to making bets on who would say something first - surely, if they had all noticed how you felt, Senku had too.

“Huh?!” Gen’s sudden intrusion into your thoughts made you jump: you had nearly forgotten he was there, “Wh- I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Though you found yourself no less startled as you processed what Gen had just said, you struggled your way towards an attempted recovery, stuttering through a weak denial as you pleaded silently for Gen to drop the subject. You knew as well as he that, this wrapped up in an experiment, Senku wasn’t listening to you. Still, he was right there - what if he heard you?

“Come on…” With a heavy sign Gen deflated with ever-dramatic flare onto the countertop he sat in front of, squishing his cheek to the cold stone as he drew out his words in a whine. Though when you showed no signs of budging, even as he pouted up at you, Gen was quick to change tactics. His back straightened so gradually he almost seemed to be a snake, slithering upright as silver tongue danced behind smirking lips and mischievous eyes cracked ever so slightly open to meet yours.

“It’s been nearly three years [Name]. You’ll never move forward if you keep running away.” A weak protest died in your throat, lips parting but sound failing you as you stared at Gen. Even as his high tone lilted lightly, much too casual for the words spoken, his words struck you. Seldom was Gen ever so serious - you couldn’t help but take what he said to heart.

“Besides,” A sharp poke to your cheek pulled you from your whirling stupor, Gen’s expression becoming light again as his eyes closed and his lips quirked into a boyish grin, “...it’s no fun to watch a drama if there’s no drama.” The joke hardly bothered you, a part of you even thankful for the way it smashed away the lingering tension. Still, you felt obligated to shoot Gen a small, pointed scowl, smacking away the finger still pressed to your face indignantly as you clicked your tongue.

“Oi, quit fooling around!” Senku’s voice cutting into the conversation stopped the topic dead, both your and Gen’s attention drawn immediately as Senku spoke up for the first time since he’d begun his work perhaps an hour ago.

“We’re about to make a serious breakthrough here.” Though his words were rough as always, the grin that spread wide across his face told of his lack of malice. All those in the lab were quick to gather around, yourself and Gen crowding on either side of Senku as Chrome and Ukyo padded over from the opposite station where they had been working.

“Look at this.” Raising the beaker he’d been so carefully mixing and measuring with a success that told you he’d finally gotten the reaction he’d wanted, Senku showed off the fruits of his labor. A glass beaker, carefully modeled and crafted, filled about ⅔ of the way with clear liquid. Most stared at it with clear confusion, heads tilted and eyes blank as they tried desperately to recall what Senku had been making through his ever-detailed explanation of how exactly he was going to make it; Chrome specifically stared with bright-eyed excitement, fists clenched as he took a wide stance and pushed his face so close his nose nearly touched the glass.

“Woah! It’s so cool!” You could see Senku inflate under the praise, “What is it again?” only for his shoulders to drop and his eyes to narrow, looking around at four confused faces staring between him and the beaker. You held back a giggle, listening to Senku sigh, pretending he was the least bit upset about “having” to explain the process again.

“To put it simply, once we were able to grow our own crops and find a way to preserve them it was only a matter of time before we had everything we needed to make this.” A small, empathetic swirl, sent the clear contents inside the beaker to spin and bubble ever so slightly, “Antiseptic.”

xxx

The evening was one of celebration. With the creation of an antiseptic, even a mild one, came a world of possibilities for the health and wellbeing of the Kingdom’s people - a world most had never dreamed being possible in this stone world. The introduction of something that could destroy an infection, kill something that so easily robbed the life of even the most able-bodied, the antibiotic, had been revolutionary - the introduction of something that could prevent the infection to start was enough to bring many of the village elders to joy-filled tears, more hopeful than ever for future generations.

Their happiness was ironically infectious, the evening quickly picking up into a boisterous feast that continued even as the sun said it’s goodbye’s for the night and the moon rose to greet you. The fire’s flames flared high, rising in flickering curls that left tendrils of smoke trailing into the chill of the night air as the firewood beneath popped and crackled with the heat. You watched as many of the people you’d come to call friends danced in its orange-tinted glow, moving along to the swaying beat of makeshift instruments created for the more musically-inclined. It made you happy, seeing those you cared for so much basking in so much excitement, given such hope and purpose; knowing it was Senku who’d made this all possible, facilitating every step of the road you’d paved together, made your heart swell.

The longer you had spent by his side the harder you had fallen. Even as you’d tried to wiggle yourself free from the desperation of your heart, Senku had come to reel you back in, striking you with the realization of why you had fallen so painfully in love with him in the first place. At first, you’d feared being a burden - and then, as Senku wiped away both your doubt around your worth and any chance you had of getting over him in one fell swoop, you’d decided that you were simply happiest as things were.

Revealing your heart and placing it, open and vulnerable, before Senku came with freedom of burden, unspoken words and untold secrets finally free from the cage you’d trapped them behind. It also came with the danger of having it torn apart, revealing your tender heart to him and giving him the opportunity to break it. Terrified as you were of having the overwhelming warmth your feelings brought you turn cold, what you feared more than anything was the damage of the aftermath. If you broke the barrier that kept things strictly platonic between the two of you, you feared it may never heal back the same way. If you told Senku you loved him, would he start seeing you differently?

Brow furrowed and eyes downcast you stared into the dark liquid of your drink, rippling as your hands gripped tighter to your wooden mug. Your thoughts spiraled and just as you feared the anxiety may swallow you whole, a tug at the fabric of your clothes pulled your thoughts back to the surface.

“[Name]? Are you ok?” Blinking away the blur your head inclined to find Suika standing beside you, a hand still entwined in the loose fabric of your shit as she stared up at you, head tilted.

“Oh, I was just lost in thought. Nothing to worry about. Did you need something Suika?” Perking up as if your question had reminded her why she’d sought you out in the first place, Suika pulled her hands back to clasp them in front of her chest.

“Have you seen Gen? I have a very important message! Oh, that’s supposed to be a secret-- you won’t tell anyone, right?” You managed just barely to stop yourself from chuckling at the adorable way Suika looked at you, instead smiling and offering a small nod.

“Not a soul. I haven’t seen him at all tonight though, come to think of it…” Having spent much of your night distracted, wrapped up in your own thoughts as they warred between echoing Gen’s earlier words and blatantly trying to forget them, you hadn’t realized until Suika had brought it up that you hadn’t seen the offending speaker since you’d parted ways at the lab. As if in disbelief of your own memory you found your head turning, searching about the crowd for any sign of his stark white streak of hair, or the pale lavender of his flowing kimono. It was unusual for Gen to miss events like this, opportunities to unwind and focus on fun few and far between. Still, no matter how hard you searched, eyes straining and head swiveling, you found no sign of the Kingdom’s resident mentalist.

“Hm… Then that means this is a job for Detective Suika and her trusty assistant Chalk!” You smiled fondly as Chalk gave an affirmative bark, hopping about Suika’s feet in excitement. She thanked you as you wished her luck, giving the duty-bound detective a small wave as she tucked into the watermelon atop her head and rolled off.

xxx

“Everyone’s celebrating out there, you know.” As Gen made his rather dramatic entrance, arms open at his sides as he walked forward to allow a sliver of moonlight to illuminate him in silver, Senku found himself rolling his eyes. He’d known Gen had been standing there for just about two full minutes, but he was waiting to see how long it would take him to show himself; Senku had almost hoped that if he’d ignored him long enough Gen might leave him to his research.

“Yeah. Sounds like they’re having a good time.” A hand on his hip and an absent glance out of a nearby window allowed Senku a moment to grin fondly, thinking of the people outside as he heard their joy resonating through the wooden walls.

“[Name] is out there with them too.” Senku’s expression became level as he turned, studying Gen for a moment. He was done beating around the bush, it seemed. Still, as quickly as Senku had made his assessment he pulled his lips into a hard line, a finger scratching at the inside of his ear as he feigned ignorance.

“Eh?” Even as Senku refused to engage with the topic, hoping Gen would drop it if he didn’t pick up his end, the mentalist remained undeterred. Enough was enough, and he was going to push. This was a mental game, and they both knew Gen was winning it.

“Are you just going to let them continue like this forever?” Though Gen’s light tone and raised brow feigned amusement, Senku could feel the jab residing beneath as it swiped for his gut. Even in Senku’s continued silence, eyes hard as they met Gen’s slightly revealed ones, Gen pressed on.

“Hm. Maybe you like the attention, having someone hovering around you all the time like that? I can’t say I blame you.” As Gen gave a heavy shrug, hands facing palm-up as they came parallel with his shoulders, he felt the tension in the air become heavy. His words had made impact: good.

“Gen, this is still basic medicine. We have a long way to go if we’re going to get humanity back. I have work to do.” Senku’s eyes were downcast now, and as he took his seat back at his desk and began pouring over his paperwork again he made a show of apathy anyone else may have believed. But, as Senku’s voice shook with the lightest lack of it’s normal, unwavering conviction, Gen knew his point had been made.

“Fine, fine.” Raising his hands, pretending to surrender the battle he’d already won, Gen allowed himself to back towards the door, leaving Senku to stare blankly down at equations he could no longer focus on as he slipped out from the lab.

xxx

“Suika.” It had only been moments since Gen had taken his leave from the nearly-empty lab, just ranging out of ear shot when he spoke to address the person he knew had been listening for some time. Stifling a laugh as he saw the stem of a melon dart into and out of sight again as Suika jumped, Gen offered a smile in her direction.

“You heard all that, right?” Timidly, Suika peeked out ever so slightly from behind a protective curtain of brush, looking guilty as she stared up at Gen, as if waiting for punishment. As he met her expression with a grin, however, crouching to be eye-level with her, her eyes widened with curiosity.

“Then you know what we need to do, right?” As the realization dawned on her Suika’s lips broke into a beaming smile, hopping ever so slightly as excitement overcame her.

“Right!”

xxx

The echoing sound of the party outside still resounded through the small walls of your hut, though from in here the world felt much more contained. The flickering candlelight at your bedside was much less overwhelming than the roaring fire that burned at the center of the village, the weight of your own thoughts more than enough intensity for you to bear all at once. It hadn’t been long after your conversation with Suika that you’d opted to head home, saying your goodbyes and turning in for the night.

Even as you laid in your bed, covers pulled to your chin, you found yourself restless. Tossing, turning, your eyes settled on the ceiling, the candlelight, the small decorative plants you’d managed to keep, but not once did your focus stray away from Gen’s words from that morning. You wanted to fight it - argue that this was the best option for everyone involved. But the only reason you believed that was because it was the safest option - and if you only ever did the safest thing, abandoning any and all desire for fear of risk, what were you really doing but running away?

‘I have to tell him.’ The thought swirled, chased by nattering whispers that told stories of heartbreak and pain, loneliness and ruin. You wanted to give in - tell yourself those thoughts were your realistic side, the floating need to confess that you’d held back for years nothing more than a fleeting whim. But, if you did nothing but run from those thoughts, what did that make you?

“Shit.”

xxx

“Shit.” Head sinking into his hands Senku finally dropped the quill he’d been destroying his parchment with, letting it land atop a pile of scribbled over equations with a messy splotch of spreading black ink. Try as he might to get the numbers aligned in his head, making tables, compartmentalizing into columns, he couldn’t focus. Inevitably, every thought warped into a thought of you, Gen’s words playing in the background like a tortuous record: ‘Are you just going to let them continue like this forever?’

He had been correct in what he’d said earlier regarding the experiment; this was just the beginning. While he was happy his friends were happy, pleased to let them celebrate the accomplishment, he was nowhere near satisfied. This discovery had just been a stepping stone, and it only made Senku all the more eager to use it to jump to the next. Even that excitement couldn’t outweigh the plague of guilt that weighed in his chest like a tumor, though, and so long as he was worrying about you he wasn’t going to be able to focus.

“This isn’t good.” Sighing aloud Senku slowly forced himself to rise from his desk, hand rubbing at his neck as he glanced absently towards the ceiling above him. He allowed himself a singular moment to lament on how he’d gotten himself here, caring so much even after so many years of telling himself that a relationship, that love, would be nothing but trouble. Then, with renewed determination, he headed towards the door. He had to deal with this, and he was going to do it now.

“Senku!” The crack of the door ricocheting off the opposite wall was drowned out by Suika’s voice, high and pinched in urgency as she came bouncing down the path, “I think [Name] is in trouble!”

Senku felt his heart clench, beating once, twice rapidly as his thoughts turned to the worst; however, as the first shot of panic eased in his mind he found those same thoughts becoming suspicious. Suika’s explanation only confirmed the nagging conspiracy forming in his mind as she frantically told him that she had seen you running off in a panic towards the outskirts of the Kingdom’s boundary - right after speaking with Gen.

As the final piece of a puzzle he’d set off to the side came into play the picture fell into his lap. A heavy sigh deflated his lungs, hand leaving his hair in even further disarray as it combed through the jutting tangle. He may have been able to see through this little set-up, but there was no way you would be so logical; especially not if Gen was involved.

“I came to you right away!” As Suika finished her frantic story, manic gesturing stilling as she stared up at him with expectation, Senku found himself unable to be irritated. He could be annoyed with Gen for being meddlesome, certainly, but with Suika staring right at him, the innocence in her eyes only reflected by the glass that enhanced them, he found himself unable to be overly upset. She, at least, was genuinely just trying to help.

“Thanks - I’ll check it out.” As Suika hopped with excitement, beaming the way she did only after a job well done, Senku gave himself the moment to consider that he was walking into an obvious trap - all for you. A subtle shake of his head was all the response he offered the thought before taking off towards the spot he knew Suika was sending him, building up to a jog.

It was a blessedly short trip along a forest path for Senku, allowing him to limit the time he lamented on how troublesome this was whilst unsuccessfully trying to talk himself out of it. Still, it seemed he had arrived at least a few minutes after you had as he pushed away an overgrown branch to reveal you, head swiveling as you looked about with a frantic desperation that suggested you simply couldn’t find even a hint of what you had been looking for.

The ragged pants and harsh breathing that strained Senku’s lungs and pushed through his throat as he struggled to catch his breath caught your attention quickly, though, and you wasted no time in making your way to his side to begin worrying over him.

“Senku? There you are! Are you ok?!” A raised hand begged you to pause, give him a moment, as Senku tried to catch his breath. It wasn't a long trip to this spot, but he was not an athletic man. Still, much more worried over Senku’s wellbeing than his raised hand, you couldn’t stop yourself from continuing.

“Gen told me you’d gotten stuck out here and I came looking but I couldn’t find you anywhere-- what happened?” As Senku finally managed to stand upright again, turning to meet your eye, the flat expression on his face told you exactly what had happened, even before his voice chimed in to chastise you for it.

“Gen suddenly came to you claiming there was an emergency and you believed him without question?” The flash of memory that matched Senku’s hypothesis almost exactly had your cheeks burning hot with embarrassment. As your arms crossed defensively you mustered, just barely, the courage to meet Senku’s eye with the corner of your own.

“I… if there was even a chance something had happened to you I wasn’t taking it.” Courage faltering your eye fell to the grass below, light summer breeze sending it to sway at your feet, “You showed up too. That’s why you’re here - right?”

It was at the small grunt of surprise sounding from the back of Senku’s throat that you managed to look at him again. It was his turn to avoid your eye, head rolling to the side as he pretended to look at something in the distance.

“Suika showed up at the lab. I figured you’d end up out here.” There was a moment where you found yourself puzzled, struggling to put together the new pieces you’d been given. Gen and Suika had been working together to send you both out here? Though it made you fluster, you could figure out why easily enough - but why here? Curious eyes studied Senku, as if you’d find an answer in his eyes, until you decided finally to follow his gaze. Immediately you understood.

The top of the hill where you stood marked the crest of a clearing. From up here, you could see with complete clarity the way the risen moon, full and abundant, blessed the field of flowers below with it’s silvery light. The light breeze had the sunflowers, taller perhaps than you, swaying in hypnotic rows as evening dew sparkled like stardust on their vibrant petals. In this stone world, the loss of everything modern had taken much from all of you; sometimes, you forgot how beautiful the natural world could be.

“Senku?” Somehow the scene put you at ease, the peace settling a determination in your mind. Heads turned slowly, eyes met, and before you could even begin to think of any of the million ways you’d prepared for this moment you found your lips parting and words overflowing, spilling finally free.

“I love you.”

The silence that followed was heavy. You watched as Senku’s relaxed expression became uneasy, a wariness clouding his eyes. Your gut lurched as anxiety settled in your stomach like a stone. Senku had been your rock, his level-headed stability bringing you comfort; conversely, when he felt uneasy, you couldn’t help but mirror the emotion. Still, determination boiling, you reminded yourself that life wasn’t about just settling for being comfortable.

“I’m not asking you to do anything you don’t want to. I just…” A hand raised as if grasping for words you struggled to string together, “I’ve felt this way for a long time. I think you know that already.” A small, bittersweet smile met his guilty expression, “I needed to tell you eventually. But I also need to know how you feel.”

At first Senku avoided your eyes, too earnest, too vulnerable. But, as he steeled himself to meet your gaze he managed the response he’d had in the back of his mind ever since he’d first noticed your behaviour towards him changing.

“I don’t think I can give you what you’re looking for.” Somehow the answer upset you more than a ‘no’, his refusal to answer the question upfront making you frown.

“I’m not looking for more than you already give me.”

“I think you should be.” Senku’s response was too quick, giving you no time to explain as crimson eyes locked on yours, the hard line of his lips doing his best to keep you locked out, “My research is always going to come first. I’m never going to care about stupid days like Valentine's Day or White Day. I’m not the least bit romantic and I’m never going to be.” Though Senku found himself somewhat surprised by the way your eyes continued to meet his, gaze unwavering, he continued along with his explanation, “I’m not a normal guy. You should have someone who can match what you’re putting in.”

“What more can I ask for than someone who makes me happy?” It wasn’t often Senku was asked a question he found himself without any answer to, but having you retort so quickly, so assuredly, had him lost for words. As your hand outstretched to take his own, gentle as you placed his upside down palm in your face-up one, Senku struggled not to flinch; the contact was unfamiliar, intimidating. His curiosity won out as he waited, breath caught in his throat as he listened to you continue.

“I didn’t fall in love with you because I want you to change, Senku.” You felt long fingers tense in your own for a moment before the attached hand slowly relaxed, words striking Senku like an open palm. Even as his posture eased he stared at you with a lingering wariness, logic fighting heart behind burning crimson eyes as he fought between pulling his hand from yours and engulfing your fingers within his own.

“I’m not saying anything has to change if you don’t want it to, either. I just need to know how you feel.” Eyes wide, alight with unguarded emotion, you found your voice shaking as you again asked Senku to tell you how he felt about you; to shatter your heart, here and now and let you finally recollect it’s pieces, or to accept you as you were - and as he was.

“I think love is more trouble than it’s worth.” Senku looked again at the field of flowers below, lids low as you felt the tips of his fingers begin to tremble against your palm, “It impairs logical judgement, consumes valuable time, and promotes unnecessary risk.”

Senku’s eyes flitted back to you as you shrunk beneath his words, chest aching. Even as the mood of the situation began to sink, Senku couldn’t help the grin beginning to spread at the corners of his lips.

“Which is why I avoided telling you. But you’re kind of forcing my hand here, huh?” Lowering eye shot wide, the threatening burn of forming tears stopped immediately as you looked towards Senku again.

“Ahh, this is troublesome. You know I hate mushy stuff, so don’t expect me to say it often - but I love you too.” A sharp pinch to your cheek paused your beginning celebration, catching the smile that spread across your face as Senku’s expression became serious again.

“I meant it when I said I wasn’t going to change, [Name]. I’m always going to be who I am - for better or for worse. Are you sure that’s what you want?” Leaning forward, face inches from your own you found your cheeks burning from his sudden proximity, throat tight as the intensity of his stare threatened to rob you of your senses. A heavy gulp swallowed the feeling as you nodded, smiling again.

“It’s what I’ve always wanted.” Though Senku rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue as his fingers pinched again at your cheek, the small blush you could see dusting his cheeks made your heart swell.

“You’re a weirdo, you know?” Finally letting go of your face Senku freed you to laugh as he teased you.

“You’re one to talk.”

xxx

“So… it worked? We did it?” Suika’s voice was hushed as she stood on top-toe to peer from behind a stretch of underbrush, expression giddy as she turned to look at Gen, who’d been watching the scene at her side from the beginning.

“Yup! I knew they just needed a little push.” Gen spoke in a song, raised hand counting invisible numbers as flexing fingers did unknown math, “Which means Magma owes me 100 Dragos!”

Staring at the excited face of Gen as he celebrated his gambling win Suika found her lip curling.

“So slimy…”

xxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: Hello Anon! Thank you so much both for your request and your kind words! I'm SO glad you enjoy my writing, and I'm also very happy you like how I characterize Senku! I try really hard to keep the characters as they are, so I'm glad to hear it's working!

I got a little carried away with this one and wrote more than I thought I would, but hopefully you don't mind!

I hope all who read enjoyed. Thank you for making it to the end, and safe travels!

#dr stone #dr stone x reader #senku ishigami #dr stone senku #senku ishigami x reader #fluff #dr stone headcanons #dr stone imagine #dr stone drabbles #dr stone fluff

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months ago

Text

Someone New 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’ve had a crush on your best friend for years, but you’re slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: Idk why but I'm so over dealing with people!

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You swipe away another phone call. You have at least a dozen missed. Let them buzz in your pocket for another few hours. You try not to think about it as you turn your attention back to the plot before you, the tight foot by foot square, and continue to gently sift through the dirt. You stop only to make notes on the map and examine the odd bit of animal bones you find.

Bzzzzzz. The constant vibration in your pants makes you anxious. You should put it to silent but keep forgetting. Whatever. You’re busy. Whoever it is will have to wait. You know who it is. He’s been calling for days. You’ve been ignoring him just as long.

You should pick up. You should be there for him. You should be happy for him but your heart feels rotten. Years of pining and you can’t pretend any longer. Not after the party. Not after seeing him on his knee for another woman. That’s it. That’s the seal on the envelope. The dream is crumpled up and in the bin.

He didn’t even notice that you left early. You don’t think anyone did. You spent all those weeks planning and fretting and laying awake at night and for what? To pretend that it could ever be all for you?

You sigh and sit back on your heel, one leg bent under you as you rest your arm on your other knee. You blow an insect away from your face and push your hat back. The sun beats down, offering great light for the excavation but less than ideal temperature.

“Eh, there you are,” Arturo waltzes up in his round tinted spectacles, “find anything good?”

“Nah,” you shake your head and shrug.

“You know where you’d find something amazing? Norway,” he smirks, hands on his hips. “So... you thought about it?”

“Mm, yeah, been thinking,” you utter dully as you look up at him from under the brim of your hat. “When do you need a decision?”

“The sooner the better. The grant proposal is all but approved, we just need a name on that blank line,” he says, “this could be really good for you. No, I know it will be good.”

“Right,” you nod and stand up, dusting off your tan pants, “I know you said you weren’t sure but any idea how long? I’d have to worry about my apartment and telling my family...”

“A year. That’s about right,” he proclaims, “could be longer but I’d plan for that.”

“A year?” You wisp as your chest deflates. You put your hand on your pocket as your phone buzzes again. “Wow.”

“You really want to spend another year in the city sweating for crow bones?” He asks. “Not trying to push you but these opportunities don’t come along often.”

“Norway,” you suck your teeth and angle your chin as you think, “viking stuff?”

“Possibly, could be an early Christian settlement too. How about I send you the proposal and you give it a look?”

“Sure, I... I guess I should.”

“It’ll all be taken care of; accommodation, travel, stipend,” he lists off with his fingers. “I know it’s not Ireland like you wanted.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you assure him, “I’ll keep thinking.”

He winks and grins triumphantly, “tomorrow. I need to know tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” You echo back in a hollow murmur.

He’s already walking away. Your phone starts to shake again and you growl. You shove your hand in your pocket and rip it out. Your gloves smear dirt on the screen as you press the red button. You pause before you can drag your thumb over. You inhale and push your finger the other direction.

“Bucky,” you answer in confusion. He wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t an emergency.

“Ah, there you are kid,” Steve’s voice comes in place of the expected timbre. You hiss. “You avoiding me or something?”

“Uh, no,” you reply thinly, “I’m working,” you rub the back of your neck with your other hand, “it’s been busy and I’m sure you’ve been running all around with... everything.”

You can’t bring yourself to say it. Wedding. Ugh. He’s getting married... to her.

“Well, Peggy’s doing most of the planning, really. I don’t know,” he chuckles crisply, “you know, more a lady’s thing. She’s already knee-deep in the engagement party. Maybe you could give her a few pointers.”

“Yeah, maybe,” you grumble as you bring your hand forward to rub your thumb with your index, scratching away more of the dust.

“I didn’t get to say thank you. Again. That party was amazing. It was perfect, kid.”

“Steve, we’re the same age,” you gripe at his pet name.

“Yeah, but you hate it so much,” he teases.

You can’t smile. Even as your cheeks pinch, you can only grimace. You drop your arm and close your eyes as you push your head back.

“She loved it. I did too. We’re so happy and you made that happen--”

“Steve, why are you calling? I’m buried right now,” you huff.

“You are? I thought you’re supposed to dig stuff up--”

“You know what I mean.”

“Well, you missed Opening Day so I thought maybe you’d wanna come watch the game. Sam’s doing his famous nachos and Bucky is... coming.”

You hear the very man mutter in the background. Great, you even have an audience. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had you on speaker. Why would anything between you ever be intimate?

“Tonight?” You wonder, “you sure you’re available?”

“Me, I should be asking you,” he scoffs, “come on, how long’s it been since we’ve been apart a whole week?”

“Work...”

“Can you dig in the dark?” He challenges.

“Steve,” you sniff, “I’m tired...” you feel your heart sinking. You feel bad. You never say no to Steve. It’s not easy. You tried but he’s right. You can’t remember the last time you didn’t see him at least every other day. “Fine, twist my arm.”

“Good,” he chirps victoriously. “I wasn’t looking forward to driving up there and digging you out. So, seven?”

“Seven, right,” you agree. “See ya then.”

“Don’t make me come find ya, kid.”

You hang up and cringe. You don’t even like baseball. It was just another personality trait you took on hoping to be close to Steve, hoping he might realise you’re destined to be together. Well, that’s not true. You’re just stupid. It took you too long to grow out of being that stupid college girl fawning over the blond hunk in his coed sweater.

Still stupid, still alone.

💟

You never show up empty-handed. Even when you were a poor sophomore. So it is that you delay the inevitable by stopping at your favourite local bakery. They’re closing and you get the eclairs for a discount as they’ll be on the day-old shelf in the morning.

The owner, Marigold, knows you and puts in an extra one. You leave a tip as you listen eagerly to her rambling story about her granddaughter’s first soccer practice. Usually, you would be checking the time but today, you got more than enough. Finally, she sends you off as she turns off the sign.

Fine, you’ll go.

You find a visitor’s spot behind Steve’s building and linger in the car. You eat the extra eclair to keep from crying. Sugar is good for clogging up your tear ducts. You wipe your mouth and make yourself get out of the car.

As you wait in the lobby for the buzzer to pick up, your insides squirm. You’re not ready for this. You’re not ready to face the truth you’ve been running from. The one you know you can’t deny any longer.

“Hey kid,” Steve unlocks the door without awaiting a response. It’s typical; you have your patterns. Those little rituals are all going to end.

You go through to the elevators and contemplate taking the stairs as you wait. The doors open and you step on, facing your reflection in the mirror doors. Your pants are still filthy from working in the dirt, your shirt is stained with your sweat, but at least you remembered to change your shoes. The elevator dings and you nearly let the doors close again before you can find your strength.

You walk down the hallway and knock. You can hear their voices through the door. Steve opens it from within and gives you a strange look.

“What’re you knocking for? You know you can come right in.”

“Yeah, sorry, tired, long day,” you babble out the lazy excuses. “Here.”

“Oh, nice,” he takes the box of eclairs, “you weren’t lying. You look exhausted.”

“Ah, you really know how to talk up a woman,” Sam interjects as he appears in the doorway further down the entryway, “it’s a wonder Peggy said yes.”

“Shut up,” Steve throws back as he turns to head back to the kitchen.

You take your time in pulling off your shoes and sense Sam lingering, watching as you meander. You clear your throat as you stand and head down the hall. He nudges you as you step into the doorway next to him.

“Where ya been?” He asks, “these jackasses have been driving me nuts.”

“Work,” you repeat again, “lots going on.”

“Right, yeah, now that you’re not spending all your time planning someone else’s girlfriend’s birthday.”

You give him a sharp look and he shows his palms. You shake your head. He’s right. You wasted all that time. You’ve wasted years. All for nothing.

“Fiancee, now, I guess,” he adds.

“Yeah, the happy couple,” you snip and step into the room, “so we watching the game or are we giving him another pat on the back.”

“What? You’re not excited? You’ll get to be a bridesmaid or whatever. Since I’m best man, I’ll be sure to save you a dance,” Sam chuckles.

“You? Best man?” Bucky sneers from the couch where he slouches and flicks through a motorcycle magazine, “don’t think so, bud.”

“Oh, you don’t think I’m better than you?” Sam challenges. “Let’s race for it.”

“You cheat,” Bucky growls.

“No, I have strategy,” Sam counters.

You roll your eyes. Wedding talk, already. The exact thing you can’t handle right now. Bucky sits up to glare at Sam as he closes the glossy pages. You let them argue and posture at each other.

You leave the room and let yourself onto the balcony. The fresh air is chilling. You shiver as you step up to the railing and look across the city. You take in the skyline, each window, each peak, each speck of a car on the streets below. It feels so grey. Like it’s the last time you’ll be standing here looking over it all.

Maybe it is.

💟

You sip from the bottle of beer as Sam nearly drops his nachos off his lap in excitement. He hollers at the screen as Bucky gives him a look. Steve shakes a fist at the second base run. You’re happy enough to tamp down the heat of the peppers with the wheaty ale.

Sam rights himself beside you as Steve reaches forward to set down his plate. He grabs the square of paper towel folded on the coffee table and wipes his lips. He sits back and slings his elbow over the armrest as the next batter takes his place.

“So, how do you guys feel about a destination wedding?” Steve asks.

You clamp your lips tight and scoop up more fixings with a chip. Sam swallows loudly as Bucky shrugs. No one says a word.

“Peggy asked earlier. I wanted to do it at a cathedral here. Just how I always pictured it,” Steve says.

Yeah, that sounds like him. He likes old-fashioned and elegant. Everything Peggy is and you’re not. Makes you wonder why she wouldn’t want the same venue.

“Back home?” Sam wonders.

“England? No. I suggested that and she was not into it.”

“Somewhere tropical?” Sam prompts again. He’s at least trying. You’re too sick to open your mouth.

“Sure, that’s what I was hoping,” he smiles, “especially if it’s a winter wedding. The date... yeah, that’s a big deal too. You know, I thought the ring was a pain.”

You keep your head down, hoping the pain doesn’t show. Not only did he propose to her, he kept it from you. You’re best friends and you had no idea. How much had you been through with him? He had you plan that whole party but he couldn’t tell you that?

No, no, you’re being dramatic. You’re friends. He doesn’t owe you that. It’s between him and Peggy. His future... wife. Ugh. You can’t even imagine that happening. You try and try but you just can’t stomach the image. Peggy in white, Steve in his tux, and you just standing, watching.

“I can’t come,” you blurt out abruptly.

“Huh?” Steve blinks and flinches as if he’s been slapped.

Sam angles beside you to squint at you and Bucky’s brows pop up. Another silence, this one deadly. You’re suffocating as you search for words.

“I won’t be here.”

“Well, yeah, like I said, it’s gonna be somewhere else. You don’t even know when it is,” Steve blusters as his face creases in disappointment.

“I’m going to Norway,” you blather and nearly choke at the realisation of what you said.

“Norway?” Sam repeats hollowly.

“Yeah, uh, work... offered me a grant contract and I’ll be going to Norway. For at least a year. So... yeah.”

“Wait, you’re leaving?” Steve blinks rapidly, “how-- when were you going to tell me?”

“I’m telling you now,” you push your shoulders up, “I just found out.”

“You can’t...” Steve begins.

“That’s awesome,” Sam speaks over him, “hey,” he nudges you, “that is so fucking cool. Norway. Vikings and shit.”

Bucky nods and gives a thoughtful look, “rains a lot.”

“So I’ve heard,” you utter dumbly, not sure how to respond. “I got a lot to do before then so I might be a bit absent.”

“Don’t even worry about us,” Sam insists, “you need any help at all...”

Steve stands up suddenly and slams his bottle down. Before you can speak, he twists on his heels and storms across the apartment. You stare after him as he disappears into the next room and you hear the balcony door slide back then snap shut just as quickly.

You grip the beer bottle tight and look down. You didn’t think he’d be mad. You’ll be out of the way. He can get married and be happy.

“What a baby,” Bucky grumbles, “can’t be happy for anyone but himself.”

“Well, you are his best pal,” Sam snipes, “birds of a feather.”

“So that means I’m best man,” Bucky intones mischievously.

“No, it’s not best buddy, it’s best man--”

They continue their banter and you get up. You put down your chips and beer and leave without notice from the bickering couple. You near the balcony and look through to Steve as he leans on the rail, his head down. Gently, you slide the door open and step out.

Only the wind blows as you come closer to the railing. He roils in the cool evening air. You take a breath as you come up next to him.

“Sorry, it’s... a good opportunity.”

“No...” he drones, “I’m happy for you. I just... I can’t imagine my wedding without you. Or my life.” He lifts his head to look at you. “What am I going to do? You’re supposed to tell me what bowtie to wear and how to do my hair.”

“Peggy can do all that,” you cross your arms, “Steve, I can’t pass this up. If I stay in the city...” you let your voice trail off into the wind. If you stay, you’ll have to watch his happily ever after while yours never comes. “I’ll never do anything.”

“I know,” he dips his head again, “I’m proud of you. Really. But I’m going to miss you.”

Your cheeks tauten and your throat clenches. Your voice is creaky as you speak, “I’ll miss you too.”

He’ll miss you but he’ll never love you like you do him.

#steve rogers #thor #fic #series #au #someone new #mcu #grayish fic #angst fic #marvel #avengers #captain america #steve rogers x reader #thor x reader

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