#i might buy the odd one if i see one i really like that is reasonably priced on somewhere like ebay

[golden-reedwolf]

I would so collect Breyer horses if I wasn't broke and had the space for more silly toy animals

[arts-i-enjoy]

AHHHHHH

[adhdvane]

i hit ‘a’ when the “oh?” came up and then picked my phone up to respond to a text and when I turned back asdlkfjsdgs, Shiny and a Girl?! (and in the foreign dad’s moon ball instead of mom’s healball, was excited to see which ball the shiny i’d get end up in.) she was egg 203 so i still have 37 in the boxes i need to hatch...

[threadbearsweater]

Nanami is that sort of boyfriend who's prone to spoiling you during the holiday season.

He's equally as bad at making excuses for not indulging you when you're out shopping together and see something you really love.

This time, it's a sweater. Cashmere; soft and supple, a pretty shade of your favorite color, one that makes your eyes sparkle. One, you plead, that would look great with the scarf you were gifted from a friend. You could wear it to the office holiday party. You could wear it to dinner with family.

He knows. And he tries– oh, he tries– to keep a straight face when he tells you no.

And, oh, you give him a look. "I'll get it myself, then. Merry Christmas to me."

Kento huffs, indignant. "You don't have to buy it." I already bought it. It's in the trunk of my car. Please stop being so stubborn.

You take the sweater off the rack and use the sleeve to caress his cheek. You grin, you chuckle. Your boyfriend looks like he might melt into the floor. "Feel how soft it is? I think I'll buy one in each color."

His voice is strained when he speaks, his cheeks pink. "Just get the green one."

It's an odd request. "But I really love the color of this one," you insist. "Besides, I can buy both. I'm using my money anyway."

Kento is patient to a fault, but he's terrible at keeping anything from you, even a secret as harmless as a gift he's already purchased. "–already bought–"

"What?" You tap his chin and plant a kiss there. He grabs your finger and kisses the tip.

"I already bought you one in that color," he concedes. "Saw you eyeing them last time we were here and came back to buy it when you weren't with me."

Your face positively blooms into a smile, and you throw your arms around his neck. "Oh, Kento, you shouldn't have!"

Kento– flustered, stoic, smitten– kisses the top of your head. "I know."

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Spencer Reid

genre: fluff, light angst

word count: 6339

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: Dr. Spencer Reid is simply adorable. And you actually think he might be perfect. Until, that is, he isn't.

a muted shade of green masterlist // next chapter

His apartment is a muted shade of green and you always wonder why is it that he painted it so dark. The book covered walls never fail to impress you, making you smile into the ether that was this place with its shelves and shelves of worldly stories. His taste, you think, is more towards the classics and refined tales that carry significance and importance in the world of literature. Dostoyevski, Austen, Orwell, Doyle. Though here and there, in some corners of the living room or thrown haphazardly in the kitchen counter, you see peeks of contemporary names, the ones you’re sure you sold him a long, long time ago. Murakami, Zadie Smith, George. 

You met Spencer when you first moved into D.C., about a year or so ago, and sometimes, you really think that it was just yesterday when you first saw him with his purple scarf walking inside your store.

“Excuse me.” 

You have too many books in your arms to even see who is talking to you, but you apologise nonetheless; it’s the least you can do for your first customer. “I’ll be with you in a moment, apologies for the mess, we literally just opened.” In your defence, you had been so busy unpacking all the new orders and organising things into shelves that you absolutely forgot to put the plaque with your opening hours by the door. You can hear his shoes clicking and clacking around the place, and a wave of anxiety washes through you. If he leaves with a book– luckily two– you will have made your first sell and that just might remind you that of the reason why you decided to do this in the first place.

Carefully putting the pile of Maggie Nelson’s on the counter, you finally turn to face him, tired smile from ear to ear when you see him holding two books already. “You found something you like?” You gently ask, voice calm and fingers fidgeting while you wait for an answer. “Many things, actually. I’m quite glad to see a wide variety of books here, it’s been hard finding something new to read lately.” 

His voice is pointed and it echoes in the empty store. The clock on the walls says it’s 7:58AM and you suck in a breath; it’s definitely too early for someone to be looking for books, but maybe he wants entertainment for his commute, maybe he needs a distraction for the way, or maybe he is odd like that. 

It must be cold outside. The man is wearing a purple scarf  inside what looks like a wool coat, and somehow, he fits in there, in your store. He looks like the kind of person who would be buying books as early as 8 in the morning and you’re not sure if that is adorable or unhinged. 

“Just these, thank you,” The loud thump of the pile of books he deposits by the cashier makes you gasp. “You have a great selection here, I was lucky you open early!” The twinkle in his eyes is what keeps you from telling him that that, in fact, was a big mistake. In the middle of rushing to get the keys from the landlord in time, get the deliveries, get everything sorted and organised, you had completely forgotten to put out the hours for the shop. 

“I am glad you found us here! Do you live nearby?” At this point, you’re just trying to make conversation as you bagged his items, smiling at the titles and happy to see your favourite book in the midst. “I live just across the street, actually,” He said, giving you his card. “You’ll see me a lot, I’m afraid.”

“And what should I call my most loyal customer, then?” One look down at his card and you would know, but you wanted him to tell you himself. 

“Spencer Reid.”

There is not really a sound reason as to why you walk so freely into his apartment. The first time he asked you to do this, he was going on a case and needed someone to water his plants. As it turn out, your store is quite literally across the street from his building and you don’t really mind the mindless task, so you tell him to not worry, you’ll take care of it. It had been a few months since you two met, five or so, and despite taking you some time to truly understand, you got used to the fact that Spencer created a routine for both of you, knocking on your shop’s door every Monday at precisely 8 in the morning. With time, you stopped questioning him even when you had many, many questions– was he even reading all these books? If yes, how?! Every visit, he left with three books or more, and unless he pulled all nighters every night, those were simply sitting on his desk. 

Instead, you start putting a few titles aside whenever you spot them. You start it with ‘A Gentleman From Peru’ by André Aciman, short and sweet. Next week it was ‘A Little Paris Bookshop’ by Nina George. Then ‘Cultish’ by Amanda Montell. And just like this, you two form your own little book club, his visits extending beyond their usual thirty minutes into the better part of the hour to talk about the plot, the characters, the arcs. You know there is quite a lot you don’t know about Spencer, of course there is, but you learn more and more with every little debate you two have. You learn about his morals through the character he likes, and his dreams through the plots he enjoy. You learn about his photographic memory that allows him to quote his favourite sections to you, and you learn that he is a very logical man through his hatred for the inaccuracy of investigative books. You learn and you learn and you learn and you find out that you like learning about Spencer. More than you like learning about anyone else, that is, and now, every time he walks in, you can’t help but get excited, smiling as you only imagine what you would learn that day. 

Sometimes, you did notice the absence of your favourite customer. He would disappear for weeks on end and then act like nothing happened, and you get it; he doesn’t owe you anything, you’re just the lady that sells him books, but you feel like there is something that is starting to bloom when, every time he comes back, he brings you a book. “I thought you’d like it,” Is all he says before leaving with his bag of new reads. For a moment, it’s like an exchange, but Spencer never demands anything of you; never asks for anything more than new books and recommendations. 

It’s quite rewarding finding the books you sold him scattered through the apartment. There are a couple in the kitchen, open split on the counter and you smile fondly at the clumsy way he marks his books. There is no folded page, no book marker, no random picture; just his book, cover facing up, open and splitting the spine in half enough to crease. You shake your head, smiling like he’s done this just to rile you up.

“Oh my god, don’t!”

You don’t mean to shout but it’s too late. His eyes widen in shock and he immediately freezes, mouth stuck in a little ‘o’ shape that makes you blush. “What did I do?” 

The wince in your expression is as visible as the light of day when you speak. Your hands hover in the air, unsure of what to do now, but still trying to do something. “The book, Spencer,” The words come out like a whine, and if you start stomping your feet you might as well look like a child. “The spine. The book. The– oh my god, the noise!”

The way he laughs at you is contagious, and you start laughing with him, face hidden behind your hands in embarrassment. Owning a bookshop doesn’t come for free. Your particularities when it comes to your literary treasures are enough to scare any sane person away. “You know, there are worse sounds than a book’s spine breaking,” He mused, closing the book before walking to your counter. His nimble fingers drum a soft rhythm as he waits for you to go around and charge him for the book. It’s a symphony, almost; so loud in your quiet store that, for a second, your heart is tuning in, thumping as his fingers do, beating to the song he creates. 

“You don’t have to buy it,” It’s a little ridiculous how airy your voice sounds then. Aren’t you a little too old to have a crush? “It’s okay if–“ But he doesn’t even let you finish, rattling off some facts about the writer. Most of the time, actually, he is rattling off some fact about something, and some you know, some you don’t, but you never interrupt him. You like hearing him talk. 

You miss hearing him talk. Whenever Spencer leaves, you miss him. You miss the knock on your shop’s door at 8AM. You miss the shy little chuckles. You miss the purple– the constant, always there purple. A wave of sadness hits you then, looking around the apartment with a longing expression. 

The first time he calls you over, it’s not really an invitation. A week before it happens, he doesn’t show up for your Tuesday unboxing and you have to carry all the new orders inside by yourself. It takes double the time and despite the effort it takes you, it’s the absence of his coy chuckles and snarky commentary that leaves you breathless. When you open the boxes, checking inventory to make sure there had been no issues with your order, you find the book Spencer asked you to get him. It’s one of those special books, so old and unique that you could only get your hands on it because you had contacts in the space. “Huh,” You frown at that– it isn’t like Spencer to forget something. Hell, it isn’t like Spencer to forget anything. Before you can cower away from doing it, you send him a text. You have his number saved in the system, and this feels wrong, it really does. Using his personal information that he gave to you as a client felt wrong. But for a second, it makes you stop biting your nails in anxiety. 

Your book is here. 

It’s Y/N, by the way. 

He doesn’t answer right away and you wallow in your regret for as long as you can. Your shoulders hunch forward as you line up the new arrivals in the shelves. Your frown sits on your forehead all day while you help other passing customers. Your hands brush against the book, all ready and wrapped up and sitting on top of the counter. You hate waiting; you hate waiting for someone or for something to happen as if you’re praying for a miracle. Literature has taught you many lessons in life. It has shown you countless of love stories that could’ve been resolved with a simple conversation. It has told you about people that waited and waited and waited until time passed them away. It has taught you that waiting is simply delaying the inevitable. 

But what literature has not taught you is that, sometimes, waiting truly is all you can do. 

That day, you don’t get a message back. 

You get a call instead. 

“Y/N?” The familiar voice on the other side speaks before you can and your shoulders tense up. Something is wrong. He sounds hoarser than usual, airier, too. 

“Spencer,” You say back, clearing your throat of any remnants or indicators of how nervous you are. “Spencer, are you okay? You sound rough.”

Even his laugh sounds weak and a zap of worry rushes through you. “I’m fine,” He mumbles, and you know he’s saying it out of politeness. “I just got sick. I think I have a cold, it’s nothing much, really.”

The relief that washed over you in crashing waves is almost embarrassing. Even though he is not there to witness it, your face still flushes in a dramatic red. “Oh. I see. Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you–“

“It’s not a bother,” The way his voice interrupts you, so strong and concise, makes you chuckle. “You’re not a bother. I uh, I’m glad to hear my book arrived.”

For a moment, you both stay quiet. You, on your end of the line, are nodding like he can see you. Except he can’t. Except he is waiting, probably, for you to say something. Do something. “I can bring it to you. If you want.”

This time, there is no pause. “Yes. I mean, yes, please. I– I don’t have anything new to read and–” Spencer pauses to cough and you start moving immediately. There is no one in the store and you quickly change the sign to ‘closed’, grabbing his book and your bag before locking the door behind you. There is a pharmacy at the end of the block and you keep your cellphone balanced between your shoulder and ear while your hands make sure you have your wallet with you. “Sorry.”

“No problem at all,” You cross the street in such a hurry that you don’t notice the traffic, getting a symphony of horns calling you out as you run to the other side of the street. “Shit…”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You tease, laughing a little and entering the pharmacy with purpose. “So just a cold, right?”

“Y/N, where are you?”

“Out,” There is no need to be vague, but you don’t want to give him a chance to protest. “I should be at yours in fifteen minutes with the book.”

“Just the book?” He asks in such a suspicious tone that you can’t hold back a laugher. 

“What else?” Thank god for automatic cashiers speeding up this entire process. You are in an out in less than five minutes and before he can even answer, you are almost at his door. Admittedly, you are speed walking, almost running, in a futile attempt to get there sooner. “Which apartment do I buzz?”

“Apartment 23.” And that is the end of the call. 

By the time you make it to his floor, panting just as you hike the last step upwards, he is already waiting for you, and you can’t say you’re terribly bothered to have a man like Spencer Reid waiting for you by the door. “Spencer,” You still admonish, a small smile playing on your lips. “You shouldn’t be out and about like this.” 

“Then who would let you in?” The mischief in his expression, much like that of a child making an innocent joke, makes you giggle, nodding in agreement. “Do you want to come inside? I promise everything is clean, I’m not a slob or anything.”

“Yeah, let me come in so I can give you your stuff.” 

“I knew it wasn’t just the book,” The coughing fit that followed has you rushing your hands, pulling things out of your bag in a desperate attempt to get him the medicine you bought. This had always been your curse, the flustering anxiety of wanting to help but being unable to take your time. Shaky hands push the book towards him, with the medication and some old receipts stuck to it. 

“Oh shit, sorry!” You squeak, grabbing the receipts and shoving it back in your bag. One of these days, you’d have to close the store early to clean this thing. “But uh, yeah, I got you some cold medicine and your book. I’m sure you know this with your big brain and all, but you need to take this before bed, cause it makes you drowsy, and this other one in the morning since it has caffeine! And you should be good in no time… hopefully!”

In life, a pause is not always a bad thing. It’s a time to think. A time to appreciate, to enjoy. It’s a time to be. A pause, however, from the man whose brain worked a thousand miles an hour, doesn’t feel like something to be thankful for. “Is… Do you not like that brand? I didn’t want to get the generic thing, I don’t know why, I–“

“Thank you.”

At first, you barely hear it. For someone whose voice is so rough and hoarse, you’re surprised he can still sound so smooth and airy. Your reaction is obvious; he can see the blush in your cheeks and the way you bite back a smile. “Y/N, thank you, I really appreciate it,” He says it again and now you think he just wants to get a rise of you. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” You shrug, faking humbleness while you keen at his praise. “I wanted to.”

“I know.” 

There is a dance that happens after that, one that you find yourself enjoying quite a bit. Spencer is more present than ever, and you’re getting used to having him around. It’s like you two broke the glass wall the kept you at a safe distance, and now is when you two discover each other a bit better. Like how you find out that, when Spencer’s hand lays on the cashier counter, just an inch or less away from yours, you feel the heath that it emanates. Like how your fingers curl and your palms itch at the sight of his shaggy curls falling on top of his beautiful eyes. Like how his laughter is deep when it’s true and dry when it’s forced. Like how he can read 20,000 words per minute, but he chooses to read 183 instead just so he can read you passages out loud.

You are not sure what he has learned about you, or if he even cares to learn something about you, but the thought still makes you smile. “What’s gotten you so smiley so early in the morning?” 

Ah, yes; another thing you’ve learned about Spencer Reid– he is as quiet as mouse when he wants, and as loud as an elephant when he doesn’t. “My god!” You jump, hand immediately going to your heart to try and keep it from beating our of your chest from the shock. “Spence! You scared me!”

“I’m so sorry,” He laughs, raising his hands in the air, shaking the two cups of coffee he is holding. “I come in peace.”

“And with bribery, I like your style.” 

His style doesn’t change, still haven’t. For ages, you think he buys you coffee at the nearby cafe. You don’t really know the name of the place, some cliche Cafe something something, but the one time you’ve been in there the coffee was terrible and the music too loud. It’s hard picturing your shy, smiley book-lover in there, trying to order something without raising his voice. It’s only when you see the go-to paper cups on his counter, on the fourth or fifth time you come around, that you realise Spencer has never gone to that cafe to begin with. 

The cups are still there. You make a point in spotting them every time you come over– next to the microwave, close to the paper towels. The reminder that this man has, in fact, been making you coffee most mornings validates the fluttery feeling you have whenever you think of it. It makes it somewhat logical. “I must be spending too much time with him,” You mumble to yourself, pushing your sleeves up and getting to work. You are there for a reason, and if those wilting plants die on you, you fear that you might just never be invited back. “Why does he even have plants?” 

You don’t know much about Spencer’s job. He hasn’t told you anything about it except that he travels a lot for it, but you can imagine it is something of importance– a man like Spencer was someone of importance, after all. In your mind, you can imagine him walking into an office down by the Financial District, working with big corporations as an advisor. Yes, you can absolutely see him as some sort of advisor or consultant, but something about him working in finances doesn’t sit right with you– he is yet to talk to you about crypto investments and how to better implement a payment system into the store. Shaking your head, you switch it up. Financial services, aren’t quite right, but maybe an editor, working in a publishing house. With the way he devours books and how well-rounded his personal library was, you could see him as a Publishing Director instead, reading manuscript after manuscript. 

The thought of him reading brings a smile to your face. In his living room, there is an armchair that sits next to the large window on the west wall of his apartment– he says he likes how the sunset hits and makes the pages look warm and golden, turning words into a burning fire of knowledge– and you can practically see him there, blanket over his legs, books and books pilled next to it. It’s your own little secret, how every time you come over, you grab a book, any book, and you sit there for thirty minutes, forty, fifty, an hour; until the sun has completely set and you have to get up to turn the lights on. 

Today, when you sit down, when you bring your knees up, when you drape the blanket over you, something feels incredibly right and incredibly wrong. On the pile of books next to you, right at the top, lays a copy of Gulliver’s Travels. If you remember correctly, which you usually do, last time you sat down at that spot you managed to read up to chapter five before the sun was gone. When you grab the book and you see the bookmark you gave Spencer the second time he visited the store, and you frown– usually, he’d pick up from where you left off. “How long has it been since you last came home, Spencer?” You muttered out loud, grabbing the book regardless. Because even when it breaks your heart to know something has been keeping him away from his precious nook, it fuels your heart to know he leaves your book where you can easily pick it up. To know he doesn’t mind you sitting on his armchair, to know he doesn’t mind you reading his books, to know he doesn’t mind you settling, somehow, in his house. 

A knock on his door, however, breaks you away from your precious moment of rest and relaxation. For a moment, you can’t move, frozen in place light a kid that has been caught doing something wrong. It’s only when they knock again that you move, shuffling to the door to look through the peephole. “Who is it?” You ask, voice weak and shaky. 

“I have a delivery for Spencer Reid.”

How silly you feel in that moment, hand over your heart as you take a deep breath in relief. Unlocking the door, you smile to the USPS guy. “Sorry, he isn’t home right now. I can take it for him.” All you have to do is sign it and close the door, but once you put the package on the counter and your eyes catch sight of a note scribbled on top of the box, all those butterflies inside of you slow down. And find perch. And for a second, make you miss them just like you miss him. 

The first time you think Spencer might have a girlfriend is when he comes into the store with a certain look in his face. He is practically glowing and his eyes don’t leave his phone for a second. “What has you smiling like that?” You two are close enough to ask these kind of things now, making jokes about each other as if you have been friends for ages. “Or uh, who?” Even though you started the conversation, you want to end it now. There is a sour aftertaste in your mouth when you suggest another person to be cause of his happiness, and you know, right there and then, that that is just your jealousy speaking. At this point, you’ve been harbouring a crush on Spencer for the almost two months and there’s only so much a girl can take before exploding. 

“Oh, it’s just a friend.” Somehow, this answer doesn’t settle you as much as you hoped it would. 

The second time is when he brings a woman around. She is blonde, and loud, and colourful, and you eye her carefully. They are matching costumes, and for a second, without even saying, you already feel left out. It’s stupid, being this green over someone so pink. If Spencer was purple, and if you are green, than that woman was pink– she is happy and light and exciting. Next to her, you… well, you are as muted as his green walls. “Y/N!” He calls for you with such a big smile and you just don’t have it in you to pretend to be busy anymore. 

“Hey Spencer,” It comes out quiet and a bit distant, but he doesn’t seem to notice, not with the way he is going back and forth on the ball of his heels. “And hello, ma’am. Welcome, I’m Y/N Y/L/N, the owner. Please let me know if you need any help.”

That day, you two barely talk, but that’s okay, because Penelope, as she introduced herself to you after you help her find a specific book on coding, speaks for both of you. She says that it’s lovely to finally meet you, and mentions how much she has heard about you, and you think this is a very cruel thing to do to your poor, squeezing heart. But you push through. You pretend you’re tired, you apologise for the distance, and you lie about a cough. It’s better if they stay away, you say, but Spencer doesn’t buy it. Instead, he buys Penelope her book and leaves with promises of coming back the next day with your usual coffee. 

After that, you don’t see Spencer for two weeks.

It’s a bittersweet feeling when you get the text that he is back. After almost a week and a half without seeing him, you miss Spencer. He created a space for himself in your life and in your store, and when he is gone, it’s just not the same. But just like how he did, you created a space for yourself in his apartment. Suddenly, the muted green walls aren’t claustrophobic or smothering, but comforting. They are safe. Familiar. They are Spencer. And just like you said, you miss Spencer.

“Y/N!” 

You should be happier to hear his voice, but it’s not the same. The fluttering in your stomach is still there, like a slow buzz trying to come alive, but it’s not the same. Not when the note on the box, flashing like neon signs behind your close lids, has been tormenting you and your poor heart ever since you made the mistake of opening the door. “Y/N? Are you here? The door says open…” At one point or another, you have to come out of hiding and face him. Delaying the moment, though, is the best defence plan you’re able to come up with– if you look into Spencer’s eyes, if you see that pretty smile he has every time he comes back from a work trip… you’re fucked. 

“Y/N, I need you to tell me if you’re here!” It’s not the same. 

His voice. It’s not the same.

Usually mellow and undulating, Spencer sounds stiff, like he’s holding something back. Something new. Something… heavy. There is an edge to him right now, so sharp and cutting that it has you stepping out from behind the Science shelf in pure curiosity. And just like people say, curiosity killed the cat. In this case, however, it almost kills you. 

When you turn the corner to find him by the door, the first thing you see is a man. He is tall and handsome and oddly serious. The way his brows are pulled together make you falter, steps slowing down and mouth opening to ask if he needs help.

That’s when you see it. 

More like you catch a quick glimpse of it, the shinning spark of metal to your side, and you do a double take. You have to do a double take. It’s like your brain doesn’t believe what you’re seeing, and you move your head so fast you feel your neck tensing up in that way that makes your eyes water. “WHAT THE FU– OH MY GOD!�� There is no way to throw yourself against a wall graciously, arms over your head and fear written all over face. You land in an awkward angle and your shoulder takes the brunt of the shock, making you gasp in pain while your legs give our under you. 

Of all the ways you’ve imagined Spencer, him holding a gun up to your head was never one of them. “Y/N!”

“Oh my god!” You think you might pass out– you’re breathing too fast and your chest is squeezing, squeezing, squeezing to the point of physical pain. There is a ringing in your ears, muffling the entire conversation between Spencer and the other man and even though you try, you can’t look up; you’re frozen in a state of distress. For the first time since you met him, you’re scared of Spencer Reid. “I– I– Oh my god, I c-can’t– I can’t b-breathe, I can’t–“

“Y/N, look at me! Look at me, you’re okay, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” The moment his hand touches your shoulder, you’re shrinking away. 

“Who are you?!” You manage to gasp enough air into your lungs to scream at him. One shake hand moves to the back of your neck, pressing down on the sore nape as you finally move to look at him, crying and all. “Spencer, who are you? Who is he? What is happening? Why do you have a gun in my bookshop, why–“

“Ma’am, I need you to take deep breaths,” The other man quickly holsters his gun and you actually think you might be going insane when flashes you a badge. “I’m SSA Derek Morgan, I work with Spencer. We are with the FBI.”

Federal Bureau of Investigation. Spencer is a fed. And he never told you. 

“The FBI…?” You whisper, eyes going wide and breath hiccuped in your throat. “S-Spencer, you work for the FBI?” Nothing about this makes sense to you. The gun, forgotten in his left hand and now pointing down and away from you, is all you can look at. The gun that looked heavy and cold. The gun that those hands hold– the same hands you’ve wished and, admittedly, dreamed of holding yours instead. The gun, the gun, the gun.

The gun. You’ve never seen a gun before, not this close. In museums, of course, and in movies and shows, but never in real life. You don’t have interest in it either, having voted, without fail, for anti-gun laws and representatives. Anything and everything about this, about seeing him with that deadly weapon, feels wrong, and you really think you might be sick soon.

“Kid, put it away, you’re freaking her out.” 

Then is when you catch sight of the Spencer you know. It’s the clumsy actions, looking almost freaked out himself– his hands fumble with the holster and it takes him a couple of tries to fit the gun properly. That’s when you know for sure– you are going to be sick. “Trash,” You mumble, trying to get up but falling again and again. “Trash, pass me the–“ But there is no time and you throw up right there and then, between the cashier and the nonfiction section. 

“What just happened?” 

“Morgan, get her some water– there, over the counter,” The rapid successions of words make you feel a bit better, a cadence of tone and rhythm that has your hands finally stabilising. “Y/N, you’re in shock. Adrenaline kicked in and left, and you pressured crashed, which is what made you nauseous. You need water, and to come sit by the counter.”

It’s funny, how in any other circumstance, you’d be ashamed and embarrassed to have gotten ill in front of him. As far as you know, Spencer is a germaphobe and this surely counts as germs. But as he grabs your hands, gentler than you’ve ever seen him grab any book in your store, and brings you to your chair behind the counter, you wonder if he forgot or simply doesn’t care. Both options don’t make sense. “Spence, what is going on?” Your voice comes out winey and rough, and there is no way to hold back the pained wince when you feel the sting spreading through your throat. Sip by sip, you try your best to drink the water and soothe yourself, but nothing seems to help. 

Nothing until you hear him next to you, small and quiet and, dare you say, meek. “I’m sorry.”

As much as you’d like to tell him he has nothing to be sorry for, he does. “I see…”

“It was just… it was new, having someone not know I’m FBI,” His thumbs play with each other and you’ve known him long enough to recognise that Spencer is nervous. “And we started getting closer and I just didn’t find an opportunity to tell you.”

“There were plenty,” You clarify, feeling a bit of a bitch for the bite in your voice making him gulp. “But it’s okay. I’m not… I’m not anything of yours, I guess, so it’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Don’t say that. You’re my friend.” That hurt.

“Do you point a gun at all your friends or am I just special, Spence?” It is supposed to be a joke, but the memory makes your bottom lip start wobbling again and you feel stupid. You feel so, so incredibly stupid right now that you can’t even begin to explain why. “Sorry, I’m just– I’m not okay.”

“I know, and we’re sorry,” There is such raw honesty in his words and he manages to make you smile a little. Your hand is still shaking, but you stretch it out towards him regardless. It’s a conscious decision to hold onto his wrist, covered by his jacket, than to reach out for his palm, and from the way he looks at you, you know he recognises the effort. “But you need to come with us.”

“Why?” You cry out, a single tear coming out of the corner of your eye. At this point, the shock is going away and you’re more overwhelmed than anything else. You’re scared and confused and overwhelmed and it’s his pulse, beating again and again, that brings you back to Earth. “Why do I need to go with you? What is going on?”

“Y/N, when you were housesitting for me, you received a package, right?”

In the midst of everything, the memory of that day, that box, that note, all fade. Frowning, you shrugged. “The delivery man knocked and said he had a package for you… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, I–“

“No, no, no, you didn’t, you didn’t. Please.”

“Ma’am, when you signed for the package, did you use your name?” The man, Morgan, ask, and all you do is nod. Of course you signed with your name. “Kid, we need to take her to the office now.”

“I am not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on!”

Finally, some energy in you. Some strength. Your voice echoes in the empty shop, and the chair tips back when you stand up on stiff legs. Looking at Spencer is hard, when you feel the burning of your rage inside, but you still do; you still meet those pretty brown eyes, you still stare him down until you practically force the answers off of him. “The package… did you see who it was from?” 

“Spencer, are you insinuating you’ve pointed a gun at me because I read a message your girlfriend wrote on the package she sent you?! Because I didn’t mean to– I didn’t! It just… It was there, right at the top and I–“

“She is not my girlfriend,” He immediately cut you off, hands waving in front of him in a visual demonstration of desperate denial. “Not at all! I don’t have a girlfriend! I was–“

“We can deal with this later,” Morgan is quick to interrupt, sighing as he looked at you. “Y/N, we re really sorry to disrupt you like this, but this is for your own protection. Please lock the store and let’s go.”

It takes time for you to gather everything you need. You are not a disorganised person by any means, but suddenly, you can’t remember where you put what. Your bag is thrown under the cashier, and your keys are, for some reason, in the Fiction shelf. Your glasses are in your head the entire time, and Morgan has to point that out to you. The more you look, the more flustered you get, yet somehow, you make it to the car. Morgan is driving and Spencer is on the passenger seat, and the way they keep talking to each other using words that make no sense to you make you want to scream. “Spencer.”

The heaviness of his name, said with such emotion,, lingered in the air. His eyes meet yours through the rearview mirror, and he nods. “Yeah?"

“Spencer,” You whisper again, eyes wide in shock as reality starts to dawn. “Spencer, if she’s not your girlfriend, then who the fuck is Cat Adams?”

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

AAAAAhhhhh I'm trying something new >.< I've been a massive criminal minds fan for a long, long time and Dr. Spencer Reid has my heart <3

Please let me know what you think, this is my first Spencer fic and I'd love if it got to turn into a series!

[alchemistc]

Tommy ignores the knock at his door. He's in day three pajamas and the only person who might make the effort to check in on him is his exes best friend. Which.

The knocking continues.

It's getting louder.

There's a Kings game on in the background and he's been elbow deep in the Jeep manual he'd finally cracked open in some sort of weird, fucked up pattern of mourning.

Tommy's never gonna buy a fucking Jeep. He hates them. You own one for more than five years and more than half the parts are replacement parts.

He's been staring at a diagram of the timing belt for half an hour, at least. The last thing he remembers about the game is Kuemper letting in three goals on five shots and somehow the Kings are up two, now, and there's still 25 minutes of game time left.

Tommy reaches for the remote. Turns the volume up.

The knocking returns less than a minute later.

---

There's a box of odds and ends tucked under the table in his entryway. He avoids looking at it. He knows there are a few things missing from it and he really doesn't want to examine what he'll have to do to avoid giving it to Eddie tonight. He cut the cords, he shouldn't be lingering watching the frayed edges sway in the wind, clutching his line like there's anything braced on the other side of it.

Evan's oldest, softest LAFD hoodie, the one that's technically too small for both of them but has stretched shockingly evenly and is definitely not sitting unwashed at the bottom of Tommy's laundry basket. The program from a recital of Denny's they'd stopped by to support him for, on their way out of town for a long weekend. Evan's stupid keto bread and the milk frother he'd left behind three months ago and never bothered to grab because he had more than one.

Whoever is at his door is still fucking knocking, and suddenly Tommy doesn't feel like being polite. He'll shove the box in Eddie's arms and tell him to fuck off and close the last few remaining open doors he has to this.

Only when he swings the door wide it's not Eddie on the other side, and the box nearly takes out whatever Evan - Buck, Jesus Christ - has in his own arms.

Not a Tommy box - too small for all the shit that he'd left behind. He misses the house slippers that had had a permanent spot tucked under the left side of the bed.

Tommy flinches, reels away, tries to shove the box away before Buck can see its contents.

"What are you doing here?" Even tone. No quiver in his voice. He's been called rude and dismissive for less.

Buck scowls. Hefts the rectangular dish in his hands and shoves past Tommy before Tommy can blink.

It's silly to say he chases after him, down the hallway towards the kitchen, but he's not exactly following along behind at a casual leisurely pace.

The glass pan slams down on his kitchen counter and Buck spends a minute staring at the calendar he was only getting two months out of because he couldn't look at the one with all Buck's notes penned in anymore.

"Wow," Buck says, and shifts his weight awkwardly.

"What are you -?"

"Jee and I made you birthday cupcakes," Buck says. His voice is hard. Angry. Hurt. "Happy birthday, asshole."

---

He cracks the lid and there are only three cupcakes inside. Tommy forgets himself. Raises a brow, amusement rolling over him pleasantly, prepared to tease him, but then he catches the set of Buck's legs and the curl of his mouth and the tight way his arm tucks itself back in against his belly, a protective gesture that reminds Tommy very effectively what this is.

"Why?" Tommy wonders aloud, and Evan's scowl deepens.

Buck's scowl.

God.

"We've been planning it for weeks." Something flashes across his eyes before he schools his features. "Jee made me promise to bring you some."

"She must not be a skilled baker," Tommy jokes. "If these are the only ones that made it."

Evan's expression twists. "I ate most of them."

The frosting looks fresh. No creases in the paper cup holding them together.

"I had to make a new batch of frosting because I used some of it for -." He cuts himself off. Looks like he'd like to throw it in Tommy's face but can't quite force himself to hurt Tommy.

It hurts as much as he'd expected, anyway.

The world is a small place. It's not the first time he's had to speak to an ex when he didn't want to. It's never pleasant.

This is worse. The cut and run is supposed to give him time.

Evan Buckley has been an ache behind his ribcage for months, now, long before he'd made that final decision. He'd known it was too little too late. Buck's gonna be the shadow other men see behind his eyes for years.

Buck's apparently found and slept with someone within the week and a half span from Tommy walking out to his sad shitty mopey birthday.

That he'd forgotten about.

Tommy leans in. Picks up a cupcake. Licks a stripe through the frosting and makes a face when he realizes it's buttercream.

"The ones you were supposed to get had the whipped cream one you like," Buck says, accusingly.

That somehow stings just a little bit extra.

Tommy pulls back the paper, takes a bite. There's raspberry filling inside, and Tommy can feel tears prickling at the edges of his eyes, because when he'd told Evan about how his grandma baked he'd been thinking of Evan being a grandparent, the kind of shit he'd forbidden himself from imagining with anyone he was dating years ago.

"Thank you," he manages, and Buck frowns.

"He thought the whipped cream was too sweet." And Tommy probably deserves this but he's not particularly in the mood.

"Cut it out, Buck."

Buck rolls his jaw. "I just figured you'd wanna know how it's going. Maybe I could tally up the hookups for you, count them all up by gender and stamina and opinions on how I should feel and act and fall for someone. Find out if I'm actually gay enough to be a man's last."

---

The rest of the cupcake kind of collapses and oozes as Tommy smacks it down on the counter. He takes thirty seconds to pull the other two cupcakes out before he's grabbing the too-large fake Pyrex and turning heel. The keto bread goes in the pan. Then the milk frother.

Tommy yanks the recital program off the fridge and tosses it in the trash.

Buck almost looks triumphant.

"The box under the side table has the rest. You can see yourself out."

He actually does exactly as he's told, and Tommy listens to his footsteps drift off, shoulders hunched in and the breath tight in his throat. He'd been cruel, it was only fair Buck got a few final kicks in.

Tommy sucks in a breath and blinks away the moisture at the edges of his vision.

The footsteps take a heel turn at the side table and turn right back around.

"This isn't everything."

Tommy half expects some panned comment about how Tommy's got his heart - the kind of silly shit he'd say to a dead outlaw.

"My sweatshirt," Buck says, and Tommy freezes.

He could lie. He could pretend he had no idea where it was. Claim he didn't remember it even being here, because that particular piece of clothing did have a tendency to travel.

He doesn't fucking want to hand that one over.

Buck smirks, like he's caught the crack, and is looking for ways to exploit it.

"I own my own house!" Tommy says, and it's a terrible launching point but Buck latches on.

"You just left, Tommy! I know I jumped the gun, Tommy, but you didn't even - you just left! I'm sorry, okay. I'm sorry I didn't know I was into men until you. I'm sorry you had to be my first, I'm sure that must have been such a burden for you."

"That's not fair."

"You didn't even give me a chance. That was - I'm so angry with you, Tommy. I'm so fucking mad."

"I know."

"But that's what you planned for, right? That's - you ripped the bandaid, Tommy, except there's a whole fucking untreated stab wound right underneath and it's still bleeding, Tommy."

"Did you even make this round of cupcakes with your niece?" It's better to keep his family's names out of his mouth. Just keep those ties cut.

Buck looks livid. "No, you idiot, I whipped up a tiny batch of this recipe just for the excuse to see you and - and tell you what a stupid, awful coward you are."

"That's not f-." He isn't sure whether Buck is being facetious about the small batch thing or not. He doesn't have any time to think about it.

"My sister and Chim are having another baby. Bobby and Athena are probably gonna host Christmas this year. Eddie shaved off the mustache and he's, like, dancing now, I guess. Hen and Karen are good for the first time in -." He shakes his head. Stares at Tommy. Tommy can't quite hide from that gaze. "We were good, Tommy. We were - you loved me."

He'd never said the words. Neither had Evan, but they'd both known. Both felt it. Tommy let it go too far, did it scared for longer than he usually would.

"It's not like that just went away when I walked out, Evan," Tommy hisses, and then regrets it immediately.

Evan has spent most of this visit pushing, pressing, digging fingers into the wound to make it hurt.

Evan goes silent now, reeling back a little. He seems shocked that Tommy had admitted it.

"I want you to go," Tommy says. "I need you to go, Buck."

It was the right dagger the first time, but apparently it's only effective once.

"I love you too, you know." His voice is soft. Tommy can't meet his eye. "And I hate you. I hate you even though I know that's what you wanted but I love you too much to not hate you out of spite."

Tommy knows if he caves it's done. He's signing himself over to whatever fucked thing will end them a week, a month, five years, two decades from now.

"Go home, Buck. Hate me there."

---

He goes in for the kill.

"I called Abby, two nights ago."

Right for the jugular. No survivors.

"She laughed for like twenty minutes, and then she tried to get me to chat about our sex life for comparison, and then she was shocked silent for a full minute when I wouldn't." Because Evan had always been a little too open about those details. "She also told me she forgave you but she doesn't think you ever forgave yourself."

Tommy agrees. For all that they'd been terrible for each other, they'd known how the hell to take care of one another like no one's business.

"I want you to go," Tommy says, steady, quiet, nearly a snark for how deep his voice goes to hide the tremor in it.

Buck cocks a hip against the doorframe. "I want my sweatshirt."

The breath that escapes him is shaky, but her think he hides most of it behind the hand over his face, the finger pinched at the bridge of his nose.

"I can't do this."

"Exactly how many men and women do I have to fuck before you believe the future I'm looking at is with you?"

"All of them! None! It was a stupid thing to say and it's not what I meant and I can't do this."

Buck spins on his heel. Grabs the box he'd set aside and hefts it up into his arms. "I'm coming back for my sweatshirt," he says. "You let me know whether you want to talk about the data points of the sexuality spreadsheet or about us."

"There is no us, Buck." His voice sounds defeated even to himself.

"If that was true you'd just give me the stupid sweater and be done."

Tommy sits in silence. He does not get up to retrieve the hoodie. Buck is still angry, but his smile is wide and bashful.

Tommy listens to his footsteps trail down the hall, towards the door, out of it. He hears the Jeep's ignition catch, the wheels roll off the drive.

He realizes he'd left the goddamn Jeep manual open on the timing belt page, right there on his side table where he'd pointed out the things he wanted Evan to take to clear him from his life.

---

There is someone knocking at his door.

Tommy doesn't quite ignore it.

He hid the sweatshirt in one of his toolbox drawers when Evan texted him this morning to let him know he'd be over with a six pack and a pot of chili.

There's a zero percent chance Evan's getting that sweatshirt back, tonight.

[mrfoox]

Bruh... Discussing anything with Oliver is so fucking juicy. The diffrent perspectives im getting man

[mahyuume]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI AS YOUR BOYFRIEND!

synopsis. bakugou katsuki as your boyfren headcanons/scenarios!

genre. fluff, romcom lowk. | pairing. bkg x fem!reader (obvi) | mlist

req. bakugou x yn headcannons? - anon, 080224. reminders. this all takes place in UA timeline! :3 part 2 with timeskip prohero!bkg? maybe….

“For an extra like you, you’re not as half bad like the rest of these losers.” were one of the first words your amazing, strong, beautiful, handsome, and most importantly heroic boyfriend said to you when you both first started dating

Very, very lovely of him, No? Yeah. It wasn’t, but because it wasn’t super romantic, you laughed it off with him… more like you just laughing at his stupid statements and him basking in the sound of your laughter; which makes him smile. thinking about the natural melody sounding off of a cherished laugh he loves oh so much.

Speaking of your laugh, he loves it. Like, love, loves it.

He’s like ASAP rocky; he can hear you laugh from a whole mile away and turn his head around just to check if you’re near, while saying “The fuck was that? You heard that shit too right?” to one of his many best friends, specifically the one with the hardening quirk, just for kirishima to look at him weird and say no.

Bakugou thinks he has a weird spider sense when it comes to you, but in this case it’s called ‘yn sense’.

He wasn’t the one who made it up, it was obviously Denki and Mina, with a little bit of Sero in the mix. The trio noticed how your explosive boyfriend would always have an odd reflex when it came to you, which invented the ‘yn sense’, that only Katsuki Bakugou has.

And I’m talking weird but really observant reflexes. You feel a cramp coming up while training? He’s right behind you with his handmade heating pad (his own hand). Feel dizzy? One look at you and you don’t even notice how he got you prompted on his back so quick. Hungry? He already bought you your favorite meal last night and brought it with him ‘just incase’ (he says). You also don’t need to worry about your food being cold, like ever. Because he’d already have it warm it up for you.

Now, on the topic of food, it’s known he’s an amazing chef. You’d think he’s better than Gordon Ramsey or whoever you see on those professional cooking shows.

You once gave izuku money to buy a limited edition all might figure that was on the market, but in order to get the money, he had to put water in Katsuki's mouth when he was asleep. (he snores loud asf)

You both got burnt hair afterwards as a result.

Izuku still got the money as half of an apology.

hi guys! im so sorry for going ghost.. life has been sooo busy esp since school started again. these head canons are pretty short but just dragged out, I hope you guys like it! starting to do more requests again lol.. so sorry for the waiting! :(

[thrfted]

꩜ DATING MR. CRAWLING .ᐟ

SFW GN!Reader HCS after the blissful love life ending.

Italics is in the other world’s language! Sometimes more the implied message rather than a direct translation. I'll probably do Mr. Hood later too :3 !

Your bed is much more comfortable than anything in the other world, and it only makes it better that mr. Crawling gets to be in it with you. He grows accustomed to your nightly routine and is always excited to cuddle up. Big spoon, little spoon, facing each other—all of it makes him as happy as can be!

(^ As someone who still has a twin size, some of us have to invest in a much bigger one lol)

Generally so so affectionate and loves when you’re physically affectionate !! You can kiss his head and he’ll giggle, maybe point at his face and ask “Again!” You leave kisses all over his face, and his hands pull you in close when you finally kiss his lips.

One of Mr. Crawling's strongest traits is his patience—especially when it comes to you. The first day you come home without him trailing behind (much to his dismay, and honestly yours), he’s at the door to greet you, smiling and giggling as you wrap your arms around him. You find out he hadn’t done much but wait for you to come home. (With no complaints of boredom on his part, and all the worry on yours.)

He'll sit as you play with his hair, trying out new hairstyles or putting in clips. “Me cute? Pretty?” he asks. And if you let him do the same in return, he'll giggle and compliment you too.

I think he’d look through your closet and enjoy watching you try on clothes too. He compliments you and feels each of the fabrics, liking the ones that feel softest. He might try on some of the accessories if none of the actual clothes (sort of…) fit, and is really happy when you match!

Mr. Crawling is a fast learner. You worry he'll feel overwhelmed with all the new technology and words and whatever else, so you focus on making sure he’s comfortable. But he points at things and ask what they are, repeating after you. “You teach me language?” he asks and you laugh softly before nodding. “I teach you language.”

He will accidentally touch a hot stove top or pot if you don't remember to warn him beforehand. Then whenever you cook he gets worried you'll hurt yourself, watching to make sure you're alright (forgive him if he pulls your hand away and says “Danger! Don't touch!”)

Since he doesn't know his birthday, you make the day you returned special instead! He's happy to just stay in with you, eating a good meal and watching or learning something new.

Mr. Crawling also learns when yours is and does his best to make it a good day for you too. He tries singing happy birthday and makes food with what you have at home, mimicking the meals he's seen you prepare.

You teach him how to call your phone while you're away. It's supposed to “be for emergencies,” but you both know he's going to call just to hear your voice, and who are you to complain?

I think he gets sad sometimes when he sees or hears you talking to friends—the way you communicate and laugh so easily compared to conversations with him. The other world's language itself is limited, and he hasn't learned enough of your own. You spend some evenings reassuring him, reminding him learning is a process, and it doesn't change your feelings!!

He does his best to learn on his own. You buy (exercise) books and show him shows for younger kids and he spends a lot of time alone with them, both to surprise you, and also just because he loves talking with you and wants to talk more and more.

The first time he speaks your language is a special day. After many days of calling out that you’re back, he decides to say it himself. “You home!” You almost drop everything in your hands, and that’s when he continues, “Miss you.” It feels odd hearing it in his voice, but he’s grinning so wide, and you won’t find out for a while just how excited and nervous he was waiting for you to get home.

One of Mr. Crawling’s favourite things to say and hear is “I love you.” Every time you say it, he gets all giddy and tries to get closer to you (as if that’s possible while already cuddling in bed). He says it a lot while you’re doing chores or really nothing, just to remind you and see you smile. There’s no way in his mind for those 3 words to lose their meaning, or become any less special.

[suguann]

an. another ex-husband gojo fic because i'll die with this trope. this ends exactly how you'd expect (if you know me)

Satoru doesn’t take it well when you tell him you have a boyfriend after bumping into him in the grocery store parking lot. At least, you don’t think he does. It’s hard to tell, his expression inscrutable as ever behind his dark sunglasses—the sharp arch of his brow the only indication he’s heard you at all.

“Is that so?” he finally says, and for some reason, it makes you nervous. Has you grasping at straws to make something right that isn’t even wrong yet. Has any thought of this being an easy conversation shattered at your feet.

You clear your throat. “Yeah…he’s nice. You might even like him.” 

No, he wouldn’t—a little voice in the back of your head tells you. Knowing it's because all of the unreadable parts of you are no longer connected to him, but instead to a man you've barely spent two months dating, and that must infuriate him.

He doesn’t ask (not that you expect him to) when you find yourself prattling on about how you met Rin through a friend, how he’s an investment banker and takes you out to his cabin on the weekends, that he’s predictable—stable is what you really mean, but don't say—with an ordinary life who wants kids—

Satoru seems to chew on that last bit of information like he’s suddenly tasted something unpleasant, the line of his brow flat and unimpressed, the slant in his mouth mutinous. He’s uttered all but three words, and so far, this entire conversation leaves you with nothing short of a stomach ache.

“He really is a good person,” you add, just because you have nothing else to say and your penchant for filling awkward, empty spaces.

Then he smiles, and you relax a little. “That’s good. I’m happy for you.”

You smile, too, a soft, sure thing this time that makes his widen.

But if you'd been more level-headed and less flustered about bumping into your ex-husband after several months of silence—since he signed his name beside yours in front of your lawyer—you’d realize how dangerous that smile is.

You’re unsure if it’s too contingent to be considered a coincidence, but he starts showing up in odd places after that all-too-uncomfortable one-sided conversation in the parking lot.

First, it’s at your favorite coffee shop you usually stop at on your way to work. It’s strange because you remember him hating coffee, how he'd always preferred to load it with creamer and sweetener just to get rid of the bitter taste. But you don’t mention it when he offers—no, insists on paying for your coffee and blueberry streusel muffin.

When the total pops up on the register, he doesn’t even blink when he opens his wallet.

Of course, you can't let him pay. There must be something in writing somewhere that says ex-husbands shouldn't pay for their recently divorced ex-wife's coffee.

He shrugs, smiling, after you tell him it’s expensive—has that ever bothered me?—and slides a shiny black card across the counter to the barista.

“You can't show up out of nowhere and start buying me things,” you hiss afterward, slightly flustered by the whole ordeal. The city’s big, but you still worry about one of your friends or colleagues seeing you with Satoru—they may get the wrong idea. “We’re not together anymore.”

"Do I have to message you the next time I want to get you coffee?" he tucks his hands into his coat.

"No, we shouldn't even be getting coffee together."

“Am I not allowed to be nice now that you have a boyfriend?”

“That’s not what I said,” you huff. “And you didn’t even buy yourself anything. How am I supposed to look at it?”

He shrugs, “I decided I didn’t want anything,” and you don't even think he notices that he holds your hand when you go to cross the street.

Habit. You'll write that one off as a habit, but he doesn't let go until you're in front of the tall, shiny doors of your office building.

The second time he shows up unannounced is while you're walking through the quaint park near your apartment, which you know is far from his sleek penthouse on 5th Avenue, the one with a perfect view of the city and the bay—a thirty-minute drive, at least.

“I bought a house out here,” he tells you when you ask. “It’s up on the hill.”

You know which one he’s talking about. You’ve driven past it a few times. It's a cozy brick stone with lots of windows, a white picket fence, and a large backyard, something you’ve always wanted since before you were married. According to a real estate website, his house is a little over a million. 

Interest must be written all over your face because he asks: “You want to see it?”

There are a number of reasons why you shouldn’t say yes, why you should politely decline and finish your last lap along the trail and run to the grocery store afterward to pick up something for dinner and call Rin to let him hear about your day—

“Okay,” you say, hands on your hips. “But make it quick.”

He smiles down at you, eyes crinkling at the corners with something akin to affection. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth to remind him, again, that you’re not together, so he’s not allowed to use pet names, but a large hand on the small of your back to usher you towards the shiny, sleek SUV across the street leaves you with a mouth full of cotton.

He watches you take in the hardwood floors and tall ceilings trimmed with crown molding. When you stop in the massive kitchen to run your fingers over the granite countertops, it almost feels bittersweet walking through the house of your dreams while your ex-husband eyes you questioningly as if he's looking for your approval.

“So? What do you think?”

The smile you give him is genuine. “It’s beautiful.”

Satoru matches your smile with a bigger one, almost blinding. “That’s good, that’s really good.”

You feel like you should ask why he bought a house this big in the first place, but there’s a pebble in your stomach if you think about family photos on the walls with him happy and smiling, his arm around a pretty wife who wears frilly aprons and kisses him on the cheek when he comes home. A future where you don’t exist, yet he’s letting you take a peak into it, anyway.

So you don’t say anything.

You meant to leave an hour ago, but he plied you with dinner— friends can have dinner together, can’t they? —which leads to two glasses of wine and then watching movies together on his very soft couch. If everything didn't feel so fuzzy around the edges, you probably would have noticed the signs sooner, that he’s trying to—

(He presses you into the couch cushions, biting marks into your neck and chest until your breaths come out fast and high-pitched.

“We shouldn’t,” you manage to say, still tipsy and tongue heavy in your mouth from the wine you had. "Toru, I should really go."

He huffs a laugh against your cheek—you note how he still wears the same cologne you bought him all those years ago when everything was so new, and there wasn't a ring on your finger yet—pressing a messy kiss there that makes you squirm. “Doesn’t this remind you of old times, though?”

“B-but I have a boyfriend.”

In retaliation, he sinks his teeth into the tender flesh around the fluttering pulse in your neck, just shy of too rough, though your fingers in his hair pull him into you like you can’t get enough.)

That maybe this means he—

(Satoru bunches the lace of your panties in his fist, shoving them up around your knees, trapping your legs together against your chest. A long, drawn-out groan rumbles in his chest at discovering the creamy mess between your thighs. “Always had such a pretty wet pussy, fuck. Do you get this wet for him, too?”

“Shut up.”

He laughs because he hears what you don’t say: No, you’ve never been this turned on when it’s with Rin. Satoru’s the only one to ever leave you wet and shaky just from a few words.)

It’s an insane thought, but it’s almost like Satoru—

(He holds his hand up to your mouth, telling you to lick before he wraps it around his cock, pressing the tip into the slick seam of your cunt. And you forgot how big he is, just on the side of too much, the bit of effort it takes for him to sink in a little, and then all at once, rending you right down the middle.

You whimper, fingers scrabbling clumsily for one of the throw pillows near your head, needing something to hold on to.

“There you go, pretty girl,” Gojo breathes, hips tight and close, grinding into you so that you can feel how deep he is. “I see she can still take it.”)

No, he wouldn’t—

(He fucks you hard enough to send you skittering up the couch, only to pull you back down again, grinding you on his cock to touch places inside you that he’s only ever managed to reach. You whine into where your face is pressed against the back cushions, biting down to muffle how loud you’re being.

He makes a displeased sound and forces you to look at him again with his fingers digging into your cheeks.

"What if I give you a little baby, huh? We'll be a family together. You, me, and our baby in this big house. Doesn't that sound nice? We'll fill the house with babies," he mutters, bending down to suck a nipple into his mouth, forcing your legs further against your chest.

The angle rubs just right inside you. You make an unintelligible noise at the back of your throat, unable to move or get better friction in this position.

“We did it your way last time, didn’t we, baby?” his little laugh is breathless, kind of mean. “I let you leave with all those silly thoughts in your head; thought you knew what you wanted, but now we’re going to do it my way from now on.”

His words should strike alarm bells, but when he fits his hand between your bodies to strum his thumb against your clit, your mind empties.

"You've always been mine." Words barely audible, he still sounds breathless; wrecked. "It's about time you get that through your head.")

Except you know he would. 

A month later, you’re packing away the fine china in your apartment, wondering how the few things you own will fill a house so large.

[elikajinnie]

hiii I LOVED ur ni-ki hogwarts au and I wanted to request more for ni-ki in hogwarts au if that’s okay 😭😭?? I love ur writing, it’s really immersive and I’ll definitely look forward to many more of ur writings 😭🫶

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘽𝙚𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙮 𝙊𝙛 𝙎𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙄𝙘𝙚 - N.R

AHH THANK UU!! I was quite unsure if you wanted part 2 from the previous one, but nahh i will give you all a new scenario :) (Big thanks to bestie @starf4lls for the help for this one!! Ily! <3 (thanks for buying me hogwarts legacy, will never forget it)

P: Slytherin!Ni-ki X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Teasing

Synopsis: When you transfer to Hogwarts from Ilvermorny, you quickly catch the attention of Nishimura Ni-ki, a charming Slytherin.

masterlist

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The Great Hall was abuzz with excitement. Students filled the long, wooden tables. The Sorting Hat had just finished placing the last of the first years into their respective houses, when Professor Dumbledore stood up from his ornate chair at the staff table. He raised a hand, and the hall fell silent.

“Congratulations to all our new first years,” Dumbledore began, his voice carrying effortlessly across the room. “We are thrilled to have you join our Hogwarts family. But tonight, we have another special announcement. This year, we have the pleasure of welcoming a new student from one of our neighboring schools, Ilvermorny. Please join me in extending a warm welcome to Y/N.”

The massive doors at the back of the hall creaked open, and all eyes turned to see you entering, flanked by the ever-grumpy caretaker, Filch. Your plain robes set you apart from the others, and you couldn’t help but gaze around in wonder at the majestic hall, the floating candles, and the enchanted ceiling.

As you made your way to the front, the murmur of whispers followed you, a mix of curiosity and excitement. Filch gestured towards a stool where the Sorting Hat sat waiting. “Please, take a seat, Miss,” he said gruffly. You nodded, smiling nervously, and perched on the stool as Professor McGonagall approached with the Sorting Hat.

She placed the hat gently on your head, and you felt it settle over your eyes. For a moment, there was only silence, and then a voice echoed in your mind. “Ah, a transfer from Ilvermorny…interesting. Where to put you, where to put you?”

After what felt like an eternity but was merely seconds, the hat declared your house. The table erupted in cheers, and you made your way over, greeted by friendly faces and welcoming smiles.

You didn’t notice the pair of piercing eyes from the Slytherin table, watching your every move. The gaze was intense, like a predator sizing up its prey. As you took your seat among your new housemates, you felt a shiver run down your spine, unaware that someone had taken a particular interest in you from the moment you stepped into the Great Hall.

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Life at Hogwarts had turned out to be both thrilling and challenging, but you adapted quickly. The first few weeks had been a whirlwind of lessons, new faces, and navigating the sprawling castle. At first glance, you might have appeared aloof, often lost in thought or daydreaming as you strolled through the corridors or took your seat in class. But in truth, you weren’t lost at all. You excelled in your studies, quickly mastering spells and absorbing knowledge at a pace that even impressed your professors. You built a tight-knit group of friends, mostly from your house but with a few from other houses as well.

Still, there were odd moments when you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching you. A tingling awareness would prick at the back of your neck as you walked to class or studied in the library. Yet, every time you turned to look, no one seemed to be paying you any special attention. You’d shake it off, wondering if you were just imagining things, and continue on with your day.

But today, during Charms class, that lingering feeling returned. You were sitting near the front, dutifully taking notes as Professor Flitwick explained a particularly tricky spell. As you wrote, you felt it again—that unmistakable sensation of being watched. This time, instead of turning your head sharply, you let your eyes slowly drift upward, keeping your head down and posture casual.

That’s when you saw him.

Sitting in the back row, partially obscured by a few of his Slytherin housemates, was a strikingly handsome boy. His black hair fell over the left side of his face, casting a shadow over one eye, but the other was locked on you with an intense focus that sent a shiver down your spine. He didn’t look away when you noticed him. In fact, he seemed amused by the fact that you had caught him staring. He tilted his head slightly, and for a brief moment, a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. His gaze was dark, calculating, but there was something exhilarating about having it fixed on you.

You blinked, heart racing, and quickly averted your gaze back to your notes, trying to focus on the lesson. But the curiosity gnawed at you, distracting you from the spells and incantations. With a soft hum, you scribbled a quick note in the corner of your notebook: Who’s the dark-haired Slytherin on the last row to the left?

You slid the notebook toward one of your Ravenclaw friends sitting beside you, a clever boy named Adrian. He glanced down, read your note, then discreetly lifted his gaze to the back of the class. His eyes landed on the boy before he quickly scribbled a response and slid the notebook back to you.

That’s Nishimura Riki, but he goes by Ni-ki.

You read the note and nodded lightly, casting another glance toward the back of the room. Ni-ki was still watching you, his eyes meeting yours as soon as you looked up. This time, you didn’t look away so quickly. Instead, you absently caressed the feather of your quill, feeling a rush of anticipation as his gaze lingered.

Ni-ki, huh? You thought to yourself, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

When class ended, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. As the other students filed out of the room, you packed your things, trying to act as though your thoughts weren’t entirely preoccupied with the tall, dark-haired Slytherin.

You slipped your notebook into your bag and slung it over your shoulder. Heading for the door, you kept your gaze ahead, your heart still racing slightly from the earlier encounter. As you stepped through the doorway and into the hallway, you turned to glance back, almost instinctively.

And that’s when you bumped into something solid—someone solid.

Startled, you looked up, and your breath caught in your throat as your eyes met his. It was Ni-ki, standing impossibly close, his tall frame towering over you. His presence was even more imposing now that he was right in front of you, and for a moment, you were struck speechless.

“Oh—sorry!” you blurted out, feeling your cheeks warm as you took a small step back.

Ni-ki didn’t move, but the hint of a smirk played at his lips, the same one you had seen earlier in class. “Don’t apologize, it’s okay,” he said, his voice smooth, rich with an underlying confidence that made your pulse quicken.

Up close, he was even more striking than you had realized. His sharp eyes were intense, framed by dark lashes that gave him an almost mysterious air. His lips, full and soft, curled slightly as he observed you, and his skin was flawless and smooth.

You blinked, trying to collect yourself, but being this close to him had thrown you off balance. He watched you for a moment longer, his gaze unwavering, as if he was reading something in you that no one else had ever seen.

“Hey you’re from Ilvermorny, right?” he asked, his voice pulling you out of your thoughts.

You nodded, a little too quickly. “Yeah, and you're… Ni-ki?” you replied, your voice coming out steadier than you expected.

“Exactly,” he said, flashing a charming smile that made your heart skip a beat.

Just then, you remembered something. “Actually, it’s Y/n,” you corrected him gently, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

His grin widened, and he leaned in slightly, the distance between you diminishing even more. “I know,” he said playfully, his tone teasing. “But I think ‘Ilvermorny’ suits you better. It has a nice ring to it.”

Your cheeks flushed at the nickname, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re really going to call me that, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “It’s perfect, and it’ll remind everyone that you’re something special. Plus, it’s a good conversation starter.”

“Fine,” you conceded, a smirk playing on your lips. “But only if you promise to call me by my real name sometimes too.”

“Deal,” he said, his voice smooth and confident. “But for now, I think Ilvermorny has a nice charm to it, don’t you?”

Before you could think of how to respond, he took a small step back, giving you some space but not breaking eye contact. “I’ll see you around, Ilvermorny,” Ni-ki said, his voice smooth as ever, as he turned and began walking away, his pace unhurried.

You stood there for a moment, watching him as he disappeared down the hall. The encounter left you feeling oddly exhilarated, your heart still pounding in your chest.

As you turned to head back to your common room, one thought echoed in your mind: Ni-ki is definitely someone to keep an eye on.

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Over the next few weeks, you started noticing Ni-ki’s presence more and more. It wasn’t just in passing glances during classes anymore—he seemed to be everywhere. Whether you were heading to the library, walking down the hallway, or grabbing lunch in the Great Hall, he always found a way to cross your path. And every time, he’d stop to talk, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

At first, it was subtle. He’d give a casual “Hey, Ilvermorny” as he passed by, his eyes locking onto yours for just a second longer than necessary. Then it became more frequent. You’d feel a tap on your shoulder in the corridors, turning to find him leaning casually against the wall, looking at you with that same half-smirk that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

He wasn’t just talking, either. He started doing little things, almost without you realizing it at first. If you were carrying a stack of books that looked too heavy, he’d take them from you with a simple, “Here, let me get that.” Once, when you were balancing your bag and a few loose scrolls of parchment after class, he slid the bag off your shoulder before you even had time to protest. “I’ll carry it,” he said smoothly, his voice leaving no room for argument. And he did, walking beside you as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t just about being helpful either. Ni-ki had a way of complimenting you that felt almost too effortless. “You look nice today,” he’d say, his voice low and smooth as he passed by, sending a shiver down your spine. Or sometimes, when you were deep in thought or stressing over an assignment, he’d lean in close and say something like, “You’re always so focused. It’s kind of impressive.” And his words stuck with you longer than you liked to admit.

The candies were a nice touch too. Out of nowhere, he started bringing you small treats from Hogsmeade—tiny, colorful sweets that were your favorite. He never made a big deal of it, just handed them to you with a casual, “Thought you might like these,” before walking off like it was no big deal. But every time you opened your hand to find another sweet, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, wondering just how closely he was paying attention.

Yet, there was another side to Ni-ki. You started to notice the way his eyes would darken slightly whenever another guy approached you. If a boy from your house stopped to talk with you, asking about class or inviting you to study in the library, Ni-ki’s gaze would turn sharp, though he never said a word. He didn’t have to. His presence was enough to make the others hesitate, sensing the unspoken tension.

And when you’d turn back to Ni-ki, giving him your full attention again, his expression would shift instantly—back to that smug, satisfied look, as though he’d won some unspoken battle. You found it oddly cute, the way he seemed so sure of himself, yet always with that hint of playful arrogance.

One afternoon, while you were walking out of Potions class, a Gryffindor boy from your year had caught up to you, asking about a spell you’d used during the lesson. You were explaining it when you felt that familiar gaze on you. A quick glance over your shoulder confirmed what you already knew—Ni-ki, standing not too far away, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall, his expression unreadable but his eyes locked on you and the boy next to you.

As soon as the Gryffindor left, Ni-ki was there, falling into step beside you. “You sure have a lot of people interested in what you have to say,” he commented, his voice smooth, but there was a teasing edge to it.

You shrugged, smiling. “Maybe I’m just that interesting.”

Ni-ki smirked, his eyes gleaming. “Oh, I already know that.” He glanced down at you, his gaze lingering in a way that made your heart skip. “But it’s nice when you remember who’s been paying attention the longest.”

He didn’t wait for you to respond, just continued walking beside you, carrying your bag without a second thought, like he always did now. You couldn’t help but find it adorable how Ni-ki never seemed to let any other guy linger too long in your space. And the way he always seemed so smug when you gave him your attention? It made you smile, even if you tried to hide it.

Ni-ki was becoming a constant presence in your life, and though he never said it outright, it was clear that he was staking his claim, in his own subtle, confident way. And somehow, you didn’t mind it at all. In fact, you found yourself looking forward to those moments more than you would ever admit.

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It was a crisp, sunny Saturday morning when Ni-ki approached you with that familiar confident smile, his dark eyes gleaming with excitement. He found you in the hallway, casually leaning against the wall as though he hadn’t sought you out deliberately, though by now, you knew better. He always had a reason for being wherever you were.

“Ilvermorny,” he said, his voice smooth as ever, “you coming to the Quidditch match today?”

You looked up from your book, raising an eyebrow. “You really expect me to cheer for Quidditch?”

He chuckled softly, his eyes narrowing in that mischievous way that made your heart race. “Maybe. Or maybe I just want you there, cheering for me.”

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. Ni-ki was relentless, and somehow, you found yourself agreeing despite the obvious conflict of interest. “Alright, I’ll come,” you said, pretending to be reluctant. “But don’t expect me to be super hyped.”

He smirked, clearly pleased. “We’ll see about that.”

Later that afternoon, you found yourself seated in the stands, wrapped in your house scarf, surrounded by your friends who were all eager to cheer. Despite their enthusiasm, your eyes kept straying to the Slytherin side of the pitch, where Ni-ki and his teammates were preparing for the match.

As Madam Hooch gathered both teams in the center of the field to go over the rules, you saw Ni-ki’s head turn, his eyes scanning the crowd. You could tell he was looking for someone—looking for you. When his gaze finally found you in the stands, his expression brightened instantly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He raised an eyebrow, the unspoken question in his eyes clear: You’re really here?

You smiled and waved at him, feeling the warmth spread through your chest despite the cool breeze. Ni-ki's smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with that same smug confidence, as if knowing you were watching had just made his day. He nodded once, then turned back to the game with renewed energy.

The whistle blew, and the game began.

From the moment the Quaffle was released, Ni-ki was in his element. He moved with a grace and agility that made it impossible to tear your eyes away from him. He darted through the air with incredible speed, dodging Bludgers and weaving around the other players with ease. As a Chaser, he was relentless, racking up goal after goal for Slytherin. Every time he scored, the crowd would erupt, but you couldn’t help but feel like his victories were just as much for you as they were for his team.

It wasn’t long before your friends started to notice your divided attention. “Who are you actually cheering for?” one of them teased, nudging you with a playful grin. “Your eyes have been on the Slytherin side for most of the match.”

You laughed, trying to play it off, but there was no denying it. “Maybe I’m just appreciating good Quidditch,” you replied, but the look in your eyes gave you away.

As the game went on, Ni-ki continued to dominate, his skill on full display. And every now and then, between plays, you’d catch him glancing toward the stands, searching for you again. Each time, his smirk would reappear, as if knowing you were watching him gave him even more confidence. You’d wave or give him a small nod, and he’d flash that cocky smile before diving back into the game with even more intensity.

Your friends started giving you a few suspicious looks, but they were too absorbed in the match to question it too much. And besides, it was hard not to be impressed by Ni-ki’s performance—he was a natural on the pitch, and it was clear that he knew it.

By the time the match ended, Slytherin had won, and Ni-ki was at the center of the victory celebration, his teammates patting him on the back and cheering his name. But even in the midst of the chaos, his eyes sought yours once again. And when he found you, standing and clapping in the stands, he shot you a triumphant look, his smirk more self-satisfied than ever.

You couldn’t help but smile back, shaking your head at how effortlessly he had won both the match and your attention.

As the crowd began to disperse, Ni-ki flew toward the stands, clearly intent on finding you. Your heart sped up as he approached, his hair slightly tousled from the wind and the exertion of the game, but his sharp eyes still gleaming with that playful arrogance.

“So,” he said when he finally reached you, his voice low and teasing, “did I live up to your expectations?”

You crossed your arms, pretending to think it over. “I suppose you weren’t terrible.”

He chuckled, leaning in just slightly, his eyes locked on yours. “I saw you cheering for me,” he said softly, the teasing lilt in his voice sending a thrill through you. “You couldn’t hide it, Y/N.”

You blushed but held his gaze. “Maybe you earned it,” you replied, trying to sound casual despite the butterflies swirling in your stomach.

Ni-ki’s smirk deepened, and he straightened up, clearly pleased with himself. “Good,” he said, his tone soft but confident. “Because I expect you to be at every game from now on.”

You laughed, shaking your head, but there was no denying the excitement building inside you. “We’ll see,” you said playfully, though you already knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away.

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Before you knew it, you had developed a little crush on Ni-ki. It crept up on you quietly, sneaking into your thoughts during class and fluttering in your stomach whenever he came around. And as your feelings deepened, you started to tease him back whenever you had the chance, finding joy in turning the tables on the boy who had so effortlessly captured your attention.

You quickly learned that bantering with him was just as entertaining as watching him play Quidditch. Ni-ki would lean down, getting uncomfortably close, pretending not to hear you whenever you asked him something in a crowded corridor. He would arch an eyebrow, a teasing smile dancing on his lips as you felt the heat rise in your cheeks from the closeness. You could see how much he enjoyed it, but what made it even more satisfying was the way a faint pink hue would tint his cheeks when he turned his head, as if he was trying to laugh off the effect you had on him.

One afternoon, as you sat together in the courtyard, discussing your assignments, you decided it was time to give him a taste of his own medicine. Ni-ki was animatedly explaining something, his hands gesturing wildly as he spoke. You feigned interest, letting your gaze drift as you formulated your plan.

When he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to that low, teasing tone, you took the opportunity. With a sudden tug, you grabbed his tie, pulling him down to your level. “What did you say?” you asked, your tone innocent, even as you played with the soft fabric in your hands.

Ni-ki’s eyes widened in surprise, a mixture of awe and disbelief flickering across his face. For a split second, he seemed completely speechless, caught off guard by your boldness. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head as he registered what had just happened. But then, as if recalling himself, he looked away, trying to appear stern but failing miserably. You caught the slight tremor in his voice when he responded, though. “You know, you’re really pushing your luck, Ilvermorny.”

You only smiled, relishing the moment as you leaned in slightly, maintaining the playful banter. “Am I? I thought you liked it when I paid attention to you,” you shot back, your heart racing at the playful challenge in your tone.

His gaze flickered back to yours, surprise still evident in his features. But then he huffed, a smile breaking through the façade. “You’re really something else, you know?” he said, shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

His reaction was everything you had hoped for, the way he looked at you with a mixture of admiration and amusement, his voice softening as he spoke. It was as if you had pulled back a layer, revealing a side of him that he didn’t often show to others.

“Maybe I am,” you teased, the corners of your mouth curling into a smirk. “But that’s what keeps you coming back, isn’t it?”

Ni-ki chuckled, leaning back just a fraction, his expression smug once more. “You really think you’re that special, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling the warmth of the sun on your face. “I’m just saying, you wouldn’t want anyone else getting this kind of attention, would you?”

His smirk faltered for just a moment, a look of genuine thought crossing his features before he leaned closer again, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “No, I wouldn’t. But I wouldn’t tell anyone that. They might get jealous.”

The way he said it made you feel giddy, a combination of excitement and nervousness swirling in your stomach.

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As the weeks went by, you and Ni-ki fell into a comfortable rhythm, filled with playful banter and flirtation that seemed to grow bolder with each interaction. It became a part of your daily routine, whether you were in class, studying in the library, or wandering the Hogwarts grounds.

One chilly afternoon, you and Ni-ki decided to take a walk around the Black Lake, the air crisp and refreshing. The leaves had started to change colors, and the scenery was breathtaking. As you strolled along the water’s edge, the conversation flowed easily, with both of you exchanging light-hearted jabs.

“Bet I could skip this stone further than you,” Ni-ki challenged, picking up a smooth rock and tossing it expertly across the surface. It skipped three times before sinking.

“Please, that was barely a throw,” you laughed, picking up a stone of your own. You focused on your technique, channeling all the concentration you could muster. With a flick of your wrist, the stone flew across the water, skipping six times before finally disappearing. You turned to him triumphantly. “How’s that for a throw?”

Ni-ki feigned a dramatic gasp, placing a hand on his chest. “I am in the presence of a stone-skipping champion,” he said with a smirk, his dark eyes gleaming mischievously.

“Don’t get too cocky; you’ll never beat me,” you teased back, reveling in the thrill of competition.

Another afternoon, you found yourself in the library studying for an upcoming exam. As you sat at a table, trying to focus, you felt Ni-ki slide into the seat next to you. “Mind if I join?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Sure, as long as you’re quiet,” you replied, but you couldn’t hide your smile.

“I can be quiet,” he said dramatically, pressing a finger to his lips. “But only if you promise to let me steal some of your notes later.”

“Nice try,” you said, shaking your head. “You’ll have to earn those.”

For the next few minutes, you both pretended to study, though you were acutely aware of the way he kept glancing over at you, a playful smile lurking on his lips. Finally, unable to hold back any longer, you looked up. “What’s so funny?”

Ni-ki leaned in closer, his voice low. “I just can’t believe you’re actually studying. It’s not like you need to, with how smart you are.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Are you trying to butter me up for my notes?”

“Maybe,” he replied, a teasing glint in his eye. “Or maybe I just genuinely enjoy watching you work. It’s kind of cute.”

You felt your heart flutter, and you struggled to maintain your composure. “Cute, huh? That’s not exactly the word I’d use to describe my study habits.”

“No, but it’s definitely how I’d describe you,” he said, his tone sincere now.

You could feel the warmth creeping into your cheeks again, but instead of shying away, you leaned in slightly, enjoying the closeness. “Flattery will get you nowhere, you know.”

Ni-ki chuckled softly. “Oh, I know.”

As the days turned into weeks, you found countless moments to continue your playful interactions. Whether it was competing over who could create the best potion in Professor Snape's class or seeing who could guess the most spells correctly in Charms, your friendship flourished, and the teasing evolved into something deeper.

One evening, as you both wandered through the castle after dinner, Ni-ki grabbed your wrist gently, stopping you. “Hey, I have a question for you,” he said, his tone suddenly serious.

You looked up, curiosity piqued. “What is it?”

He hesitated for a moment, searching your eyes as if weighing his words. “What’s your favorite thing about Hogwarts?”

You thought for a moment, your heart racing slightly. “I’d have to say… the magic. It’s all around us, in everything we do. But you know what? The people make it even better.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting into one of playful suspicion. “Are you talking about me?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

“Good choice,” he replied, smirking. “Because I was going to say my favorite thing is how you make it feel less lonely here.”

You stopped, surprised by his sincerity, and for a moment, the teasing atmosphere dissipated, replaced by something more profound. But before you could respond, he playfully nudged you with his shoulder, breaking the tension. “But really, we both know I’m the best part of your Hogwarts experience.”

“Full of yourself, aren’t you?” you replied, shaking your head, but you couldn’t help the smile spreading across your face.

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As you sat in the bustling Great Hall, the chatter of students mingling with the clinking of cutlery filled the air. Plates were piled high with food, laughter echoed around you, and you were enjoying the lively atmosphere when a flurry of movement caught your eye. The owlery was busy today; several owls swooped in and out, delivering letters and packages to their respective owners.

You watched as your owl flew in front of you, dropping a letter and a small, beautifully wrapped gift. Your heart skipped a beat as you caught them both expertly, the soft rustle of parchment against your fingertips bringing a sense of nostalgia. You recognized the wrapping immediately—it was covered in shimmering blue paper, a telltale sign of a certain someone from Ilvermorny.

You scrunched your nose in distaste, knowing exactly who had sent it. A gift from Harrison, who had developed a notorious reputation for his over-the-top romantic gestures. You set the gift aside, hoping to forget about it for now, and turned your attention to the letter.

Unfolding it, you smiled as you recognized the handwriting of your friends back at Ilvermorny. As you read through the familiar banter and inside jokes, a warm feeling spread through you. Each message carried a piece of home, reminiscing about shared memories and moments.

The letter read:

Dear Y/N, We miss you like crazy! It’s just not the same without you here, especially during the big Quidditch matches. Everyone keeps asking where you are, and we have to remind them that you’re off being a star at Hogwarts. We can’t wait to hear all about your adventures, so make sure to write back! P.S. Harrison still hasn’t gotten over you. You know how he is with those ridiculous gifts. We tried to tell him to stop, but he thinks you’ll finally notice him this way. Good luck!

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at the antics of your friends. Just then, one of your housemates, Clara, leaned over, pointing her turkey leg at the gift you had set aside. “Aren’t you going to open that?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“No,” you replied, glancing at the box with mild annoyance.

“Oh well, don’t mind if I do,” she declared, snatching the present before you could stop her.

“Wait, Clara—!” you started, but it was too late. She ripped open the wrapping, revealing a heart-shaped chocolate box adorned with a delicate ribbon.

“Ooh!” she exclaimed, her excitement palpable. “This looks amazing!”

“I wouldn’t eat those if I were you.”

“Why not?” she asked, tilting her head in confusion as she pried the box open, the rich smell of chocolate wafting toward you.

“They probably have Amortentia in them,” you replied matter-of-factly, your expression serious.

Clara raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but skeptical. “How do you know?”

You leaned in, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “Because the guy who sent that has put the potion in the treats before. I wouldn’t trust it if I were you.”

She paused, glancing at the chocolates, a flicker of doubt crossing her features. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you said, crossing your arms.

You watched as Clara set the box down, a look of mild disgust replacing her earlier enthusiasm. “Thanks for the heads up,” she said, chuckling nervously. “I was really going to eat one of those.”

“No problem,” you said, feeling a sense of satisfaction at having saved her from a potentially embarrassing situation. “Harrison’s just trying too hard to win me over.”

“Sounds like he’s got it bad,” Clara commented, glancing at the letter in your hands. “What else did your friends say?”

You chuckled, holding the letter up. “Just the usual. They miss me, and they’re trying to keep me updated on the drama back home. It’s nice to hear from them.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

It started gradually—first a few letters, then more frequent parcels from Harrison, each one wrapped with a level of detail that made it clear he was still determined to win you over. Every time an owl dropped something in front of you, your frustration grew. You had hoped that your move to Hogwarts would finally make him understand that you weren’t interested, but apparently, Harrison hadn’t taken the hint. Not after countless rejections, nor after the awkward conversations where you’d tried to make it clear that you weren’t interested in him romantically.

Now, each letter and gift felt like a weight, dragging your mood down. Every time a package arrived, your heart sank. Today, in the courtyard, the annoyance had finally reached a boiling point.

Another letter had come—this time with a box of enchanted roses that sang love songs in annoying, high-pitched voices. You barely glanced at it before casting Incendio, watching the parchment curl and burn in your hand, the flames crackling as they consumed the letter. You stood there, arms crossed, muttering under your breath about how thick-headed Harrison must be.

"Another one, huh?" came a voice behind you.

You turned around quickly, startled by the voice, and found yourself face-to-face with Ni-ki. He stood there with his usual air of confidence, but you could tell something was different—there was a glint of concern in his eyes as he glanced at the charred remains of the letter in your hand.

"You’ve been doing that a lot lately," Ni-ki said, his voice low as he nodded toward the ashes. "Who keeps sending you these?"

You sighed, running a hand through your hair in frustration. "It’s from this guy, Harrison," you admitted. "He went to Ilvermorny with me. He’s been… persistent. Really persistent. I thought moving to Hogwarts would make him stop, but he just doesn’t seem to get it."

Ni-ki’s expression shifted from casual curiosity to something more serious as he stepped closer. "How long has this been going on?"

"Years," you confessed, your voice quieter now. "He’s been sending letters and gifts for a while. I’ve turned him down so many times, but he just doesn’t listen. I thought leaving would be enough, but clearly, he doesn’t know how to take a hint."

For a moment, Ni-ki was quiet. His usual playful smirk was gone, replaced by a hard, focused look. His sharp eyes darkened with a seriousness you weren’t used to seeing from him. “That’s not okay,” he said, his voice firm. “Has he ever done anything else besides sending letters and gifts?”

You shook your head. “No, just… this. It’s annoying more than anything. But it’s getting worse. Every time I think it’s over, he sends something else, and it’s like I can’t escape it.”

Ni-ki clenched his jaw, his hands tightening at his sides. "And you don’t want anything to do with him?"

"Not at all," you answered without hesitation. "I’ve told him that so many times, but he’s just… I don’t know. Stubborn? Or maybe he just doesn’t care. It’s like he thinks if he keeps trying, I’ll suddenly change my mind."

Ni-ki’s eyes narrowed, his protective instinct kicking in. "He’s harassing you, Y/N. That’s not stubbornness—that’s ignoring your boundaries. You shouldn’t have to deal with that."

You blinked, taken aback by the intensity in his voice. You’d always seen Ni-ki as playful, and maybe a bit smug, but seeing him like this—serious and genuinely concerned—threw you off guard.

"It’s fine, Ni-ki. I’ve handled it so far," you tried to reassure him, though even as you said it, you felt the weight of the situation settling on your shoulders.

Ni-ki shook his head, stepping closer until he was standing right in front of you. He was tall, and the way he looked down at you with those serious, sharp eyes made your heart race. “It’s not fine, and you shouldn’t have to deal with it alone. He’s not respecting your space, and that’s a problem.”

His protectiveness was unexpected but comforting. You felt a wave of relief wash over you, realizing that you didn’t have to keep brushing it off as something small.

“Listen,” Ni-ki continued, his voice softening but still laced with a steely edge. “If he keeps this up, you need to tell someone—McGonagall, Dumbledore, anyone. But I’ll also make sure he doesn’t bother you anymore.”

You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow. “And how exactly are you going to do that?”

Ni-ki smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes this time. “Let’s just say I have my ways. If he keeps trying to reach you, he’ll have me to deal with. And trust me, he won’t want that.”

You laughed lightly, though a part of you believed him. Ni-ki had always been protective, even in his teasing ways, but this felt different. He wasn’t joking—he was genuinely upset at the thought of someone bothering you. And in that moment, you realized that Ni-ki wasn’t just teasing or flirting anymore. He cared about you deeply, enough to step in and make sure you were safe.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, feeling a little overwhelmed by how much his concern meant to you. “I appreciate it.”

Ni-ki reached out, gently taking your hand in his. “You’re not alone in this, okay? If you ever need anything—anything at all—you come to me.”

You squeezed his hand, feeling a warmth spread through you. “I will.”

With one last look at the ashes of the letter on the ground, Ni-ki nodded resolutely. “Good. Because I’m not letting this Harrison guy get away with thinking he can mess with you.”

You had no idea what Ni-ki had planned after learning about Harrison’s persistent harassment. In fact, Ni-ki had been hard at work behind the scenes, determined to send a message that Harrison would finally understand.

It started with Ni-ki reaching out to your old friends from Ilvermorny. He’d always been clever, resourceful even, and after hearing everything from you, he had a plan in mind. A letter from him had made its way to your Ilvermorny friends, explaining the situation and his idea. To his surprise—and relief—they didn’t hesitate to help. They were as fed up with Harrison as you had been, and they quickly agreed to assist Ni-ki in making sure Harrison knew it was over for good.

But there was one particular evening that made Ni-ki’s plan easier to execute—though you had no idea how much you’d helped.

That night, you’d been studying in the library, trying to cram for an upcoming exam. But the weight of everything, the sleepless nights, and the stress of school had caught up with you. Without much thought, your head had gently rested on your open book, and soon after, you’d fallen fast asleep, your arms crossed on the desk.

Ni-ki had been lucky to find you in that state. He had wandered into the library to check on you, noticing you hadn’t been around for a while. When he saw you peacefully asleep, your face resting on the book, a small smile spread across his face. He didn’t hesitate to quietly grab a blanket, gently placing it over your shoulders. His movements were careful, not wanting to wake you, and for a moment, he simply stood there, watching as you slept soundly.

His next move had been far more mischievous.

With a grin, Ni-ki pulled out his wand and, with a quick flick, summoned his camera from his bag. He moved in closer, leaning down beside you. His face hovered right next to yours, his lips gently brushing your cheek as he kissed you softly, snapping a picture at that very moment.

It was perfect. The picture showed Ni-ki as he kissed your cheek while you slept, completely unaware. And it was exactly what he needed to complete his plan.

Without a second thought, Ni-ki sent the photo, along with a very threatening letter, straight to Harrison. The letter was brief but left no room for misinterpretation:

Harrison, She isn’t interested and never will be. Stop sending letters, gifts, or anything else. This is your final warning. From here on out, she’s got someone looking after her. Do yourself a favor and back off, or things will get ugly.

The message was crystal clear, especially with the attached photo showing Ni-ki close to you, practically staking his claim. He knew it would rile Harrison up, but that was the point. There was no room left for Harrison to misinterpret anything now.

And after that, to your great relief, Harrison’s letters and gifts stopped. You thought, maybe, he had finally understood that you weren’t interested and had backed off. You hadn’t given much more thought to it, just grateful that the ordeal was finally over.

It wasn’t until you found yourself in the owlery one quiet afternoon that you learned the full truth. A letter had arrived from one of your friends at Ilvermorny. You smiled, opening it with excitement, eager to hear from them. But as you read the letter, your eyes widened in shock.

Dear Y/N, Hey! We heard about what Ni-ki did. That guy really knows how to handle things, huh? Harrison needed that wake-up call, and we were more than happy to help Ni-ki out. We're so glad you're not getting any more of those creepy letters. You deserve to enjoy your time at Hogwarts without that hanging over you. By the way, you looked adorable in that photo he sent. Ni-ki’s a keeper, just saying! Take care, and write back soon! Love, your friends.

You stared at the letter, your mouth slightly open in disbelief. Ni-ki had done what?

As you stood there, shocked, two photos slipped out of the envelope and fluttered to the ground. Bending down, you picked them up and examined the first one. It was a picture of Harrison sulking in class, his shoulders slouched and his expression defeated. You breathed out a sigh of relief—he had finally gotten the message. But when you turned your attention to the second picture, your heart skipped a beat.

The photo showed Ni-ki in the library, leaning down and kissing your cheek while you were fast asleep. Your fingers instinctively went to your cheek, where he had kissed you.

"Oh," you whispered to yourself, still processing the moment.

"Hey, Ilvermorny!" a familiar voice called from behind you.

You jumped, startled, and quickly turned to see Ni-ki standing at the entrance of the Owlery, a relaxed smile on his face. He must have just arrived, but his sharp eyes immediately noticed your expression—and the photos you were holding. As he approached, he raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

"What’ve you got there?" he asked, though the smirk on his face told you he already knew.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Your mind was still reeling from the image of him kissing your cheek. Ni-ki glanced down at the photos in your hand and chuckled.

"Guess he finally realized," Ni-ki said with a grin, nodding toward the first picture of Harrison. Then his gaze shifted to the second one, and his smirk softened into something more playful. "Ah, so you saw that one too, huh?"

You stood there, frozen for a second, your heart racing. "You… you kissed me while I was asleep?"

Ni-ki chuckled, scratching the back of his neck casually. "Couldn’t resist. You looked too cute, and, well… I figured Harrison needed a clear message." He winked, his tone teasing, but there was an undercurrent of sincerity in his words.

"And what if I had woken up?" you asked, trying to sound stern but failing as a smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

"Then I would’ve played it off and told you it was a dream," Ni-ki replied smoothly, his smirk growing wider. "But you didn’t wake up, so… I guess you’ll have to take my word for it."

You shook your head, half-amused and half-exasperated. "You're unbelievable."

"Is that a bad thing?" he asked, stepping closer until he was right in front of you, his gaze warm but mischievous.

"No," you admitted quietly, unable to keep from smiling. "It's not."

Ni-ki’s eyes sparkled, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The air between you felt charged, like something unspoken was hanging in the balance.

"So," he said after a beat, his voice softening. "No more letters from him, huh?"

"Yeah, no more letters," you confirmed, feeling the weight of that relief settle in. "Thanks to you."

Ni-ki shrugged, his grin turning softer. "I told you I’d handle it. And honestly? I’d do it again."

"Well," you said, trying to keep your voice steady, "Next time you want to kiss me, maybe let me be awake for it?"

Ni-ki’s eyes widened in surprise at your bold comment, clearly caught off guard. His usual confident smirk faltered as he stared at you, the realization of your words settling in. Slowly, a blush crept up his neck, spreading to his cheeks and even the tips of his ears. You watched in amusement as the typically smug Slytherin boy, always so composed and quick with his teasing remarks, suddenly found himself at a loss for words.

Sensing his flustered state, you decided to push further. With a mischievous smile, you reached out and grabbed his green tie, giving it a gentle tug. He didn’t resist, allowing you to pull him down until his face was close to yours again. The tie twisted around your hand as you toyed with it.

You glanced up at him, your other hand moving to brush his dark hair aside, revealing more of his sharp, handsome features. His breath hitched slightly at your touch, his eyes locked on yours, completely entranced. His gaze softened, and you could swear that if hearts could literally appear in someone’s eyes, they would be in Ni-ki’s right now. He was utterly, completely captivated by you.

"You know," you began, your voice teasing as you let your hand slide down from his hair to his broad chest, your fingers lightly tracing the fabric of his robes, "for someone who's always teasing me, you sure do get quiet when the tables are turned."

Ni-ki swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he tried to maintain some semblance of composure. But the blush deepened on his face, and his mouth opened as if he wanted to respond, only for no words to come out. You could feel the tension between you two building, his gaze never leaving your lips as he remained perfectly still, letting you take the lead.

"You look so cute like this," you murmured, your voice low and teasing as you leaned in just slightly, your lips hovering near his ear, "I didn’t think I’d ever see you blush, Ni-ki."

His breath hitched again, and you noticed his hands twitch at his sides, clearly resisting the urge to pull you closer. He was melting at your every word, at your every touch. You could feel it in the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the world he cared to focus on right now.

"I—" Ni-ki finally tried to speak, but his voice came out shakier than you’d ever heard it. His usual cocky demeanor was completely gone, replaced by a boy who was hopelessly wrapped around your finger.

"What’s the matter, Ni-ki? Cat got your tongue?" you teased, your grin growing wider.

Ni-ki let out a shaky breath, finally regaining enough of his composure to smirk, albeit weakly. "You really like testing me, don’t you?" he murmured, his voice low and rough, though the blush on his face betrayed just how affected he still was.

You shrugged innocently, your hand still resting against his chest. "Maybe. You make it so easy."

He let out a soft laugh, finally reaching up to gently take hold of your hand that had been toying with his tie. He brought it to his lips, brushing a soft kiss against your knuckles, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I think you’re the one who’s going to be trouble," he said, his voice soft but filled with warmth, his blush still faint on his cheeks as he smiled at you. "But I wouldn’t have it any other way."

He then leaned in even closer, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. Your breath hitched, and almost instinctively, you bit down on your bottom lip, unsure of where this was heading. The playful banter that had filled the air moments ago dissolved into something much heavier, more intense.

Ni-ki's eyes lingered on your lips, and for a brief moment, the entire world seemed to fall away. The distant hoots of owls and the rustling of wings around you faded into silence, leaving only the sound of your breathing and his. His proximity sent a thrill through you, and you swallowed hard, suddenly feeling nervous under his intense gaze.

"Please..." Ni-ki whispered, his voice low and breathy, barely audible but enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You blinked up at him, feeling your chest tighten with anticipation. "Yes," you murmured, the word slipping out without a second thought.

That was all it took.

In an instant, Ni-ki’s hand came up to cradle your cheek, his fingers soft and warm against your skin. Then, before you could process it, his lips were on yours, soft yet firm, capturing you in a kiss that sent a shock of electricity through your entire body. The world seemed to stop for that moment as you melted into him, your heart racing as if it could burst from your chest.

His other hand slid around your waist, pulling you closer, and you responded instinctively, letting go of his tie and slipping your arms around his neck. The kiss deepened, slow and intoxicating, like it was something the two of you had been waiting for all along.

Ni-ki kissed you as though he’d been holding back for ages, his lips moving gently against yours, exploring, savoring. The intensity of the moment took your breath away, and you found yourself completely lost in him, every sense heightened as his scent, his warmth, and the soft press of his lips consumed you.

When he finally pulled away, you both stood there, faces inches apart, breathing heavily, neither of you speaking right away. His forehead rested against yours, and you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

"That was…" Ni-ki began, but he trailed off, his voice catching slightly.

"Yeah," you whispered, not needing him to finish. You knew exactly what he meant.

He brushed his thumb lightly across your cheek, his gaze lingering on your lips once more before he smiled—a small, genuine smile that made your heart flutter.

"I’ve been wanting to do that for a while," Ni-ki admitted, his voice low and rough with emotion.

You smiled back, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Me too."

He chuckled softly, his eyes lighting up with that familiar playful glint. "Guess I should thank Harrison for pushing me to finally make a move, huh?"

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help laughing along with him. "Yeah, maybe. But don’t tell him that."

Ni-ki grinned, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly. "Trust me, I won’t."

Just then, a loud hoot echoed through the Owlery, breaking the enchanting atmosphere between you and Ni-ki. You both turned around to see your snow-white owl, Yuki, perched on a wooden beam above you, her feathers fluffed up as if she were trying to make herself appear larger.

The way she stared at you both, with those big, knowing eyes, made you feel like she was judging the situation. You swore that if an owl could look smug, Yuki would have been the picture of it.

Ni-ki chuckled softly, breaking the tension as he glanced at your owl. "I think she approves," he said, a grin spreading across his face as he straightened up, brushing off the lingering awkwardness.

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a laugh as you crossed your arms, looking up at Yuki. "Oh, don’t you start too," you said, feigning exasperation. "I already have enough pressure without you acting like my guardian."

Yuki hooted again, her head tilting slightly, as if she understood every word. It was almost as if she was telling you to go for it, to embrace the moment with Ni-ki.

“Seriously, though,” Ni-ki said, taking a step back, still chuckling at your owl’s antics. “Is she always this judgmental?”

You nodded, still laughing. “Every time I try to have a moment, she swoops in. It’s like she’s a personal bodyguard or something.”

“Maybe she just knows you deserve the best,” Ni-ki teased, a hint of admiration in his voice as he leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “I think she’s just trying to make sure I’m good enough for you.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Well, she has pretty high standards, so you better step up your game, Ni-ki.”

He smirked, the playful spark returning to his eyes. “Challenge accepted. I’m up for anything if it means keeping her happy.”

“Good luck with that,” you replied, shaking your head playfully. “She’s not easily impressed.”

Just then, Yuki fluttered down from her perch and landed on your shoulder, nuzzling her head against your cheek. You laughed at her affectionate gesture, and Ni-ki watched the interaction, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Looks like you have a wingwoman,” he said, his gaze shifting between you and the owl.

You smiled, feeling a little shy under his gaze. “Or a winged guardian,” you corrected, running your fingers gently over Yuki’s soft feathers. “Either way, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sneak around with her watching.”

“Good,” Ni-ki replied, stepping closer again, his gaze earnest. “I’d rather have her around to keep an eye on things anyway.”

You felt your heart flutter at his words, the earlier tension bubbling back up between you two, even with Yuki perched there. The way he looked at you now, a mixture of admiration and mischief.

“Looks like you’ll have to share me with Yuki,” you teased, nudging Ni-ki playfully with your shoulder.

He laughed, the sound warm and inviting. “I don’t mind sharing, as long as I get my time with you too.”

[httpsserene]

𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐩 (𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩) | 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐱 𝐚𝐥𝐛𝐨𝐧

summary: a random man breaks your phone and runs away before you can even yell at him. he becomes your archenemy when you learn that you lost hundreds of photos of your children. and by “your children”, you mean pups—seal pups.

pairing: alex albon x seal specialist! fem!black!reader

from, serene: do not post any gifts you get on social media. that's how people get robbed /srs. i'm trying to make my reader's have different personalities but i think i failed with this one. i'll try on the next smau. happy reading, loves xxx

⌕ join taglist | feedback & requests | upcoming chapters | table of contents | seal you later toc | next ↻

messages • yn -> coral (yn’s coworker)

twitter • alex_albon

twitter • sealteamsix

messages • max please unmute us gc -> alex

twitter dm’s • alex -> yn

messages • yn -> coral

twitter dm’s cont. • alex -> yn

messages cont. • yn -> coral • alex -> max please unmute us gc

igstory • seallygirlyn just uploaded!

[caption1; optimus prime being a very brave boy while being weighed][caption2; cutely decorated suspicious packages are about to be unboxed. if i'm inactive just know alex_albon is responsible!]

alex_albon: his name is optimus prime 🥹🤧 seallygirlyn: it's adorable right? seallygirlyn: when he first got rescued he was fighting with another pup named megatron, so the naming was easy lol

coral: that looks like a lot more than an iphone 🤨 seallygirlyn: i told him to keep it reasonable! but i fear he went too far,,,

user: wow he was really serious about finding you. lwk kinda sweet. it's giving loverboy. 🤭 seallygirlyn: loll don’t read to far into it! he’s just a generous guy ☺️ user: if you say so….

messages • yn -> coral • twitter dm’s • yn -> alex

instagram • seallygirlyn • august 26th

liked by alex_albon, georgerussell63, coral, and 17,364 others

seallygirlyn when you ask a man to replace your phone that he broke, he might buy you the newest phone and a bunch of other things (you told him not to get !!) you can't buy my favor, yk? fish says thank you for the stuffie. thank you from me too, alex_albon. this is seriously too much to give for a broken iphone.

view comments

seallygirlyn: going to miss using a flip phone lwk...tysm alex_albon i made it look all pretty in the basket in hopes it fixes your lightly ruined public image

➥ alex_albon: am i forgiven? ➥ seallygirlyn: i already forgave u alex, i told you this 🙂 ➥ alex_albon: just wanted you to say it where everybody can see it! they're still slandering my name ➥ seallygirlyn: you can replace my phone and my dying ipad but, you can never recover my lost seal photos :( ➥ alex_albon: i will pay for your icloud storage from this point forward until my dying breath ➥ seallygirlyn: i need that in writing with a signature ✍️

coral: i told you alex is a good guy! that's why he's been my favorite since f2!!!

➥ seallygirlyn: he's been moved from biggest adversary to occasional nemesis status ➥ alex_albon: that's improvement, i'll take it! thanks for supporting me from before the start, coral! dedicating my next points to both of you! ➥ coral: imgoingtofaint 😵‍💫

georgerussell63: ah. this must be why alex made me pay for his mcdonalds the other day. he spent all of his money on you

➥ alex_albon: GEORGE PLEASE 😟😣 ➥ user1: george is such an instigator. he lives to stir shit up i swear ➥ user2: russell, george. professional cockblocker extraordinaire.

user3: it's a little odd that a man would buy a woman he has no romantic interest in so many expensive gifts....

➥ user4: lol these gifts aren't expensive. the cost was nothing to him, he's an f1 driver and she's nothing compared to him 😒 ➥ user5: jealous little girl alert user4 🚨 ➥ user6: she's nothing compared to him? the woman who works tirelessly to rehabilitate seal pups and release them back into the ocean—the woman who's actively conserving the ocean and protecting marine life, is nothing compared to him? the man who drives an f1 car in circles? try again, girly. you're just jealous any RESPECTABLE man wouldn't give you the time of day. ➥ user7: CLOCK IT ➥ user8: read you like a book user4 🤣

user9: you have an orange cat named fish 🥺

➥ seallygirlyn: yes! isn't he the sweetest boy to ever exist? ➥ user9: i'd kill for fish 🫶🏻

user12: fish and his stuffie are the cutest!!!! i just wanna bite him

➥ alex_albon: not as cute as seallygirlyn ➥ seallygirlyn: ...who asked you? are you calling fish ugly?? ➥ alex_albon: what? NO !!! i was calling you cute?! ➥ user13: that was difficult to read ngl ➥ user14: mission failed. we'll get 'em next time.

general taglist (ask to join):

@saintslewis/@cherry2stems/@lorarri/@mindless-rock/@biancathecool

@barnestatic/@darleneslane/@lovingaphroditesworld/@smoothopz/@vetteltea

@tallrock35/@spideybv28/@loomiscorpse/@hiireadstuff/@namgification

@gg-trini/@multi-fandom-rando/@landoslutmeout/@love-simon/@iloveyou3000morgan/

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@evermoreandroyalblue/@riveristhebest1/@xylinasdiary/@ashiekins/@flowergirl1134

@hearts4robs/@c-losur3/@bloodyymaryyy/@awritingtree/@lammys-thinking

seal you later taglist (ask to join):

@poppysrin@everythingabby101@mangotaitai

© httpsserene 2024 — photos used from pinterest. do not re-upload.

[rebelspykatie]

The Gift That Keeps on Giving - Part 1

AO3

Steve’s always been generous with gifts. Growing up, he had access to money that allowed him to dote upon his friends and loved ones. His ex hated it, said he was flaunting his money, but Steve just liked showing people he cared. It wasn’t about the price of the gift, it was about how he listened and remembered their interests. It just benefited him that he never had to worry about the cost. 

He’s never hesitated to follow through on his gut instinct before, whether something will be too extravagant for the receiving party. Even when he got Jonathan that fancy new camera he wouldn’t shut up about, or Nancy that vacation to Singapore for Christmas after two years together. Even when it ended in breakups both times. He still looks back and remembers the appreciative smiles on their faces when they realized he was listening. He may not have been the right person for either of them, but he was still a good boyfriend. 

There’s no way he’s going to let this year be the first year he lets someone down. His current partner is a little eccentric. Steve was going for something different, he never really intended to find a local metalhead that was into his preppy, jock looks, but it’s been nice having so little in common. Every day he learns about something new, some new band or movie that even Robin hasn’t heard of before. It keeps things interesting. 

So when this hot new metal band Corroded Coffin comes onto the scene, it’s all Steve hears about for months. The album is on a constant loop in the car. The lead singer’s face is practically burned into Steve’s eyelids from how many times they’ve watched the music video for their radio single. He knows when they announce their first tour, he absolutely has to get tickets to the show. What are the odds that they’re playing in Indy and it’s right before Christmas? It’s perfect timing for Steve to make this the best Christmas ever for his boyfriend, who doesn’t have the extra cash lying around for an expense like that. 

Except, when he went to buy tickets, he got the date wrong. He should’ve set an alarm, instead of relying on his shitty memory. The presale happened the day prior, and tickets are gone. Resell prices for tickets are astronomical, something even Steve isn’t willing to fork out for what might not even be a legitimate ticket. He’s been burned before with scalpers, he won’t make that mistake again. He starts scouring the internet, trying to find another source for the tickets. Tries calling the venue to see if there are any available if he physically goes down to the ticket office. Nothing works. 

As the date creeps closer, Steve gets desperate. Robin throws out the idea of messaging the band to see if they’re sympathetic to his story. He never expects anyone to respond when they drunkenly reach out to the band, but he wakes up groggy to a message sitting in his inbox. He stares at his phone in disbelief when he sees the message came from the official Corroded Coffin account. 

Steve doesn’t even remember what he said in the messages from the night prior. He reads back over them and cringes. A not so coherent ramble about how he couldn’t become the worst boyfriend ever at Christmas of all times. Just word vomit everywhere about how this guy might leave him if he doesn’t get the tickets. Which is absurd, because his boyfriend doesn’t even know he’s trying to do this. Maybe he’s got some insecurities from past relationships. At least he didn’t bring up Nancy. 

The reply simply reads ‘Slow down there, pretty boy.’ 

He shakes off the last vestiges of sleep and responds ‘Sorry, I was a little drunk and didn’t think anyone was going to see or respond to this.’ 

The little grey dots pop up right away. ‘You weren’t the only drunk insomniac last night.’ 

Steve huffs a laugh. ‘How crazy do you think I am?’ 

He wonders where they are right now, if it even is one of the band members answering. They probably have someone running their social media accounts. He snaps back to reality when he gets another message. ‘I don’t think it’s crazy to want to make your boyfriend happy. I wanna help.’ And that’s how it starts. 

They trade messages back and forth. He finds out it’s not an intern running their account, that they all have access to it, but only one of them enjoys it. The lead guitarist Eddie Munson is apparently the one responding to him. He sent a picture of his guitar with a hand wrapped around it painted with black nail polish. The same hand that wraps around it in their music video, decked out in a dazzling array of chunky rings. 

He’s never talked to a rock star before. Sure, he’s met famous people through his dad, but they were the boring kind of famous, senators and CEOs. Eddie talks about the tour they’re on. It sounds grueling, like their record took off faster than they expected and now they’re on this whirlwind tour that they love, but it’s daunting having people clamoring over you just a few months after anonymity. 

Before long, they’re talking every day. To the point that Steve feels like he hears more from Eddie Munson than his own boyfriend. He realizes how much of a problem it is when Robin catches him smiling at his phone and makes a joke about being in the honeymoon phase, but he’s not texting his boyfriend. He’s messaging Eddie. How did he get so wrapped up in all of this that he didn’t even see how distant they’ve been? He looks back at the messages with his boyfriend and they haven’t text each other in five days. He can’t even count how many messages have been shared between his account and Corroded Coffin’s since then. There’s too many to go back and tally up. 

Is it emotional cheating if he didn’t realize it was happening? One day he barely knew who Eddie was, the next he was grinning in the car when his music came on, thinking of the silly thing they were messaging about last night. Their messages took a turn from him asking for something to getting to know everything about Eddie Munson’s life as a guy raised in a small town and catapulted into the spotlight, and Steve’s attempts to claw his way out of his father’s grasp and build a family he could call his own. The guilt slaps him in the face. He’s been messaging with one of his boyfriend’s favorite band members, and he has no idea. Telling Eddie Munson things he’s never admitted to his boyfriend. Laid all his fears, hopes, and dreams out there to the wrong person. 

He’s lost sight of what he even started this for, to win over his boyfriend and give him the best Christmas ever. It feels weird to bring it up now in conversation with Eddie. To ask for something like a desperate fan and remind Eddie that he’s a commodity to the public feels cheap. This all spiraled out of control so fast. There’s only one thing he can do. End it. Before this gets worse and he falls stupidly in love with some rockstar he’s never seen in person.

Part 2

[angel-munson]

stevie doesn't know

warnings: 18+ smut, unprotected p in v, fingering, oral (fem. receiving), use of petnames, cheating, phone sex (kinda), slight use of "daddy", choking, multiple orgasms, protective eddie with his fuck buddy

pairing: eddie munson x female (afab) reader

summary: your boyfriend steve cheats on you all the time. your vengeance comes in the form of eddie, who you're secretly hooking up with. when the phone rings during one of your sneaky sessions, a three-way call might be the way stevie finally finds out...[6.8k]

—inspired by "scotty doesn't know" by lustra—

a/n: i had this idea while listening to this song and HAD to write it. this is one of my first times writing smut, i'm still practicing! enjoy ♡

Your boyfriend Steve couldn't help but be a douche sometimes. Most times, actually.

You should have known dating Hawkins' most infamous ladies man might be problematic before you even started. His stupidly perfect hair and ability to smooth talk made you believe he might be different with you.

The first time you caught him with another girl, you didn't want to believe it. And because you were naïve and try to see the best in people, you stayed with him.

Unfortunately for you, there was a next girl. And another. And then another one after that. The cheating reached a point where you almost expected it to happen and even grew apathetic to it.

You stayed with Steve out of fear of being alone, and because that's all you knew how to do. That was until you became acquainted with the notoriously odd and intimidating Eddie Munson.

It started one night when you were buying weed from him. He'd told you to come by the trailer he lives in, claiming that he kept his "good stuff" there. You were surprised to find out how funny and kind the older male was.

He was a total flirt, making you smile and laugh in ways that King Steve never even came close to. That's how smoking a joint with him turned into the best sex you ever had, each having an earth-shattering orgasm on his stained mattress.

That one-time thing turned into a routine, squeezing in a quickie any chance you got. His place, yours, his van in the school parking lot, under the bleachers...

You and Eddie were addicted to each other, drawn together like magnets. The connection only got stronger the more time you spent together. He made you feel more than just physical pleasure...he made you comfortable.

After a shitty day, you went by the tattooed male's place hoping to forget your troubles. You ended up crying in his arms and telling him about everything on your mind. Eddie cared, he really cared about you.

That's why his blood was boiling when you told him about Steve. He could never believe that the douchey brunette got to have you, the coolest girl in town; hearing how he was treating you made him want to "rearrange Steve's face".

Slowly, you became more than just fuck buddies. It was a complicated situation, especially with how passionate the sex got at some points. Fingers laced together, longing gazes into each other's eyes, tender kisses, and sweet nothings.

You felt guilty for cheating on Steve even though he had been doing worse to you for about a year. Eddie encouraged you, never letting you feel bad about it. And how could you argue when he was inches deep inside you, calling you pretty and making you feel amazing?

He was doing exactly that now, thrusting in and out of your sopping cunt as he knelt behind you. Your upper body was limp against the bed, back arching as Eddie held your hips up. He gave your ass a firm smack, watching the recoil with a groan.

"Mmn, fuck, Eds," you moaned, face down in your pillows. The laud only spurred him on, encouraged him to pull you back against his fat cock.

"Yeah? You love being fucked like this, baby?" he grunted deep from his chest. The pet name made your walls clench around him like they always do. It drives Eddie crazy.

The slapping of your skin together halts when he pulls your ass flush with his hips, making the bulging tip of his dick push the soft spot inside you. You whimpered and reached back, searching for somewhere to hold on. Your sweaty hand found Eddie's forearm and you squeezed it firmly when he started gyrating.

The rolling motion he's making with his hips allowed him to fuck you insanely deep without ever leaving your pussy. His ringed hand slid down beneath you to your clit, three calloused fingers working it perfectly as he's done thousands of times.

"Oh my god," you pant, feeling a warmth tingle in your lower abdomen. "'M gonna cum. P-please, please."

The sound of you begging even though Eddie always gives you what you want made him chuckle darkly. He pulled out his dick merely a couple of inches, looking down at where you were swallowing him in. A creamy ring surrounded the base of his length, a sight that made him twitch as he pushed all the way back in to continue his motion.

Just as your whining picked up and you were about to cum, your phone rang loudly on the bedside table. Eddie's hand on your clit stopped and he slowed his thrusts as you groaned, annoyed.

"Does that asshole have to ruin everything for me?!" you bitched, already knowing it was your shitty boyfriend. You pushed your ass back, hoping to fuck yourself on Eddie although your climax was already ruined by the shrill ringing. "He can wait."

The curly-haired boy watched the part of your face he could see, laying against the pillow with reddened cheeks. He read the frustration on your face and bent down to kiss your shoulder blade. His hand slithered up your body, pinching at your hardened nipple.

He hummed a pleased noise when you clamped down around his length. When he was about to start back up, the phone sounded again.

"Oh my fucking god," you hissed, reaching to unplug it from the wall.

Eddie took hold of your bicep, stopping you. When you looked back, the expression on his face was one of deviance. He smirked from beneath his dark, fringed bangs and your heart sank.

"Answer it."

"What?" You couldn't believe what he'd said.

"Pick up the phone," he began, and his voice took on a devilish tone. "Have a conversation with your boyfriend."

"That's it?" you questioned. "No catch."

"Only one. I want you to be quiet. Don't give it away."

"Give wha-" Your words were snatched away when Eddie pulled his dick out with a wet schlick, plunging two fingers in as the replacement.

A high-pitched scream tore through your throat as he began to fuck you filthily with his digits. They weren't as thick as his cock, but the ferocity of his movements made you require a moment to recover.

"Pick up the phone and talk, sweetheart," he spoke with a steady voice, a talent of his you were consistently amazed by. He brought his face down to kiss the plush area around your ass and hips. When you didn't grab the telephone fast enough for his liking, he brought his teeth down on the skin.

You squealed, biting your lip and regaining your composure as you lifted the phone to your ear.

"Hello?" You swallowed thickly, hearing your heartbeat thundering in your ears.

"Hey, babe. Sorry I forgot to call yesterday." You rolled your eyes at Steve's lie. "What are you up to?"

"Me? Oh, nothing much, just-"

Eddie began to scissor his fingers inside you. His lips pressed to the unoccupied area of your slick sex, lapping up the juices as quietly as he could. Your free hand slammed onto the mattress on its own accord, grabbing a handful of the floral sheets for purchase.

"Talk, baby," Eddie breathed against your core. He licked a stripe up your fold and blew on it before introducing a third finger in your swollen hole. You pulled the phone away temporarily to whine.

"Just watching some TV and working on homework," you lied, letting the words out a little too quickly.

"Oh, that sounds fun." Steve's totally not listening to you. "I saw that 'Risky Business' is playing at the drive-in this weekend."

"Cool. That's the one with Tom Cruise?"

Eddie chuckled when you squirm as he removed his fingers, creating a sinful noise. He saw the way your thighs were shaking and pushed your hips down to level you flat on the bed. He hovered over you, caging you beneath him as he moved his face to where you could see him.

You met his eyes that were hooded with a teasing hunger you can't stand. He sucked on the fingers that were just inside you, cleaning your slick off as he moaned quietly enough that Steve didn't hear.

"Yeah, that one," Steve's voice sounded, though it's impossible to focus on anything but Eddie.

"I was thinking we could go see it. It'd be like old times."

As Steve started to detail the date, Eddie crawled back down to part your legs with his large hands. You brought your hand from the sheets to your mouth, covering it as his plump lips start to kiss their way up the insides of your thighs.

"We could park in the back, bring some booze..." Steve's voice rambled on as Eddie's lips finally connect where you want him most.

He began to eat you out from behind, sucking and swirling his tongue in combinations that had you grinding yourself on the mattress, desperate for some more friction. Your mind went blank when he flattened his long tongue on your clit.

"Are you listening to me?" Steve snapped.

"Y-yes. I'm listening," you struggled to respond back. "Go ahead."

Hearing this makes Eddie laugh, vibrating against your dripping cunt. The sensation shot you closer to your orgasm and he could tell from the way your hole gaped around nothing.

"Pretty pussy," he spoke against it, though you can barely hear him. "Needy for her daddy, huh? So naughty. Gonna cum on my tongue while she talks to her boyfriend."

You caught the last part and made a fist, biting down as Eddie prodded his long tongue into your slit. And because he's greedy and wants to taste your orgasm, his thumb skillfully circled your clit.

"No one can see us so we don't really need to watch the movie..." Steve chuckled and you would surely roll your eyes if they weren't already back in your skull from Eddie's ruthless assault on your pussy.

"Sounds like you just wanna get in my pants, Stevie," you shot back, voice steadier than it had been because he was really bothering you. This made Eddie growl an animalistic sound.

He knows he shouldn't be jealous, but he is. Especially now when he's buried in your cunt, the one you've told him he owns so many times before. He knows Steve can't make you feel half as good as he does, can't fuck you the way he does, can't love you the way he does.

With a final slurping sound, he abandoned the idea of pulling an orgasm out with his mouth. He lost all self-control; he needed to be as deep as you can take him rightfuckingnow. You barely had time to register the fact that he stopped licking you before he roughly tugged your ass back up in the air.

"I didn't mean it like that, I just...We haven't gone past second base in forever." Steve's ridiculous words were drowned out when Eddie slammed back into your pussy.

It welcomed him, wet and stretched out from everything he'd given you so far. He faced hardly any resistance stuffing his generous length all the way to the end of you. The backs of your thighs smack his pelvis as he started to drill into you with an unforgiving pace.

You screamed, loud and high-pitched into the receiver. Your upper body sank and you attempted to hold yourself up on your elbows. This only added to the pleasure as your blushed nipples rubbed the cotton sheets, tits bouncing with every thrust.

"Babe? What was that?" Steve stopped mid-sentence to question you.

It was a challenge trying to straighten out your thoughts when you could feel Eddie in your throat. He's hitting such a delicious angle, one that prods the spongey end of you so forcefully it's teetering on the edge of pain.

"N-no..." you stuttered, holding out the vowel as you fail to soothe your boyfriend's suspicion. "Nothing. Something f-fell off the shelf and scared me."

The words came out rushed, all weaved together in one single breath. Each time the metalhead thrust in and out, he stole away your oxygen. His large, rough hands squeezed onto the fat of your thighs to pull you against him. His thick cock was splitting you apart, emptying and filling you to bust at the seams at a frantic speed.

A dark chuckle spilled from the plump lips of the male behind you and he could still taste you on his tongue. The realization made him groan, dropping his head back as sweaty tendrils of cocoa hair tickled the backs of his shoulders.

Without warning, he slowed suddenly. You were about to whine at him before Steve's droning voice on the phone reminded you of the secrecy you were beginning to fail at maintaining.

The metal of Eddie's rings bit your skin when he squeezed firmly on your left hip. This was one of his signals for when he wanted to switch positions or have you take over.

He was able to guide you without words, your heated body pliant beneath his dominant touch. His cock never left your pulsating core as he relaxed his position back, kneeling on the mattress.

Your legs bent around his as you sat back against his lap. His chest pressed flush against the curve of your spine as you wriggled, adjusting your seating. The position would allow you to reverse ride him using the strength of your thighs.

The curled cord of the phone was stretched out to reach where you were. The douchey brunette on the other line was telling a story about some party he and Tommy had gone to, laughing at his own words as he recalled the memory and tried to omit the parts about him hooking up with other girls.

Eddie's one hand settled against your hip while the other smoothed its way up your side. It started at the soft pooch of your tummy, up to your heavy tits to tweak the hardened peaks, and finally to a gentle grip on your neck. His long fingertips reached up to tilt your chin forward as he clamped around the thundering veins near your throat.

As you breathed a strangled gasp under his touch, he forced you to look up where the reflection of you two stared back in the mirror atop your dresser. The sight of his hand of rings wrapped around your neck as you were seated on his cock made you moan, a noise that was cut short by the pressure from his choking.

You weren't sure who looked more fucked out, you or him. Usually, Eddie was great at keeping his composure, but the look he had in his eyes when you met them in the mirror was...feral. Rabid, exhausted, lustful, on the brink of losing it.

He took in the sinful sight of you. The way your head was hanging limply on his shoulder, drool glistening at the corner of your lips from the aggressive pounding you'd just taken. Your grip on the telephone was weak, leaving it to slide low on your neck as your sweaty hand could barely stay up.

"Come on, pretty," he rasped hotly in your ear. "Take what you need from me."

       With a breath in for preparation, you lifted yourself up slowly. As you hollowed out, your cunt drooled down every inch of him and onto his balls, heavy and wound tight with his impending release. You cried out when you dropped your ass back down, spearing his bulging tip into your guts.

You began a steady pace, bouncing yourself on his dick and swallowing the whimpers that came when he stretched your hole continually. Eddie thrust his hips upward to meet your movement. This only wedged him deeper into your sex, nudging your uterus and launching you toward climax.

       Steve was ranting about how much he loved having a pretty girlfriend and that he'd make it up to you for how busy he's been lately. You pulled the phone away, clamping a hand over the lower speaker as you switched to gyrating your hips in circular motions.

"F-fuck, Eddie. So good, so, so..." you babbled.

His rugged hand clamped over your mouth, silencing the pornographic noises you were making. On your neck, his hot mouth sucked and nipped.

"Gotta stay quiet, sweets. Pick up the phone and keep talking," he ordered.

"But, da-"

"Don't be a brat," he barked. A particularly sharp thrust upward punched the air from your lungs. "Don't you wanna be good for me? Want me to let you cum?"

You nodded with such vigor Eddie thought it must've hurt your neck. He removed his hand from your mouth and smacked a wet kiss onto your temple.

"That's my girl."

       Your cunt fluttered around him, giving you away.  You loved how possessive he could get and he knew it. Maybe it was because he cared and wanted you to be his...that was more than your actual boyfriend ever did.

Taking a deep breath in, you brought the phone back up to your ear to find Steve finishing up his ridiculous ramble.

"How are you gonna make it up to me, big boy?" you uttered, exerting all your effort to sound natural.

The tattooed male grunted beneath you and encased both your hips with his large hands. He used his strength to lift you up and drop you back down on his fat cock. It was a challenge keeping the sound of slapping skin to a minimum, especially when his brain was this fuzzy.

His dark eyes kept darting between the mirror and his lap. One allowed him to watch himself pumping in and out, your cunt stretched wide around his girth and soaking down to the coiled tufts of hair at his base. Your ass jiggled each time and the skin reddened from the roughness.

       The mirror was his favorite view: you, coming undone from how incredible he was making you feel. Your body was littered with love bites, places he'd nipped at for hours that evening. The sight of your breasts, full and flushed as they swayed with the motions, was making him lose it.

When he ever looked at your pretty face, Eddie had to tighten the muscles of his abdomen to hold off his orgasm.

Your head was lolled back into the crook of his shoulder. Sweat-damp wisps of hair were glued to the sides of your pink cheeks. Your eyebrows were knit together, creased in the middle as you worked to stay quiet. Saliva glistened where it trailed down from your swollen lips, stuck open with small breathy pants.

He needed to make you cum now because it was growing impossible for him not to.

       Steve was spewing some bullshit about flowers and taking you to Enzo's for dinner. You nearly laughed thinking about how the last time he did that, he flirted with the waitress and ogled at her ass right in front of you. It blended into white noise when Eddie increased his efforts.

He leaned back slightly, the sticky skin of his chest leaving your back to allow a needed swath of cool air. Two calloused fingertips pressed to your sensitive nub and begin to play you like his most prized guitar. That alone was pushing your stimulation to the brink of exploding, but he wasn't done yet.

The lanky male returned to thrusting upward into you again with more fervor this time. Rather than just stroke straight up, he used his hips to direct himself in different directions, at multiple angles.

His massive cock pioneered its way into places you'd never felt him before. You could feel the thundering of his veins as he stretched out new channels in your pussy.

"H-hmn," you bit down on moans. "Mmn, hngh."

       It didn't take much more for you to lose yourself. The band in your stomach that had been pulled taught since before the phone even rang finally snapped. A pathetic whine rose from your chest as your body quivered, seizing up and then falling limp.

"Oh, fuck," Eddie spat, about to come undone himself. His throat choked up as he continued to ram upward, quickly chasing his own orgasm as you became a rag-doll in his lap.

Your juices trickled down his skin as he pumped into you a few more times. His whimpering blended with your heavy-breathed panting as he came deep inside your cunt.

The sound of his ragged moans and sharp cussing was almost inaudible over the ringing in your ears. When you came back down to earth, he'd already recovered from his climax.

"Shh-shh," Eddie soothed. Your slit throbbed as the milky mess you two made warmed where you remain connected. He pulled your back flush to his inked chest. "Took me so well, honey. I've got you."

The bad boy being that sweet to you though he fucked you so ruthlessly made you melt into his touch. Your eyes drooped and a single tear streamed down. The sensation inside your chest was red-hot, passionate; deeper than something you should be feeling for your fuck buddy...

       Coming had caused such a blackout in your mind that you didn't register Steve speaking to you until he shouted through the phone.

"Hello?! Did you hear what I said?"

"S-sorry." You struggled to hide the exhaustion in your voice. "What?"

"What the hell was that noise? Are you watching porn or something?" he pushed, clearly irritated.

You weren't sure what to say...he had definitely heard your keening as you came, probably Eddie too. Would he be dumb enough to believe a lie?

"It's just the TV. Some overdone sex scene, I dunno," you responded.

Eddie wrapped his strong arms around you to help you relax against him, giving your worn-out body a rest. Your abused cunt fluttered upon feeling his warm release spilling out around his softened length.

"Oh. Okay. Well, turn it down," Steve requested. Wow, he is dumb enough to believe it.

       Miraculously, your boyfriend went right back to blabbering. He loved to talk when it was about himself; he switched to the topic of how his dad was forcing him to get a job at the mall for not getting into college.

You almost felt bad since he doesn't really have anyone to talk to. He always dumps it on you, and you let him no matter how shitty he is to you.

Your mind doesn't have time to wander that way as the metalhead picked you up, pulling out and admiring the mess you made. The hollow feeling as your gaping hole clenched on nothing made you wince.

Eddie's soft hands laid you down with your back on the mattress. It felt nice to be horizontal again, able to let yourself settle in with limbs that felt like Jell-O. You rolled your head to the left, trapping the phone between your ear and shoulder so you didn't have to hold it up anymore.

With heavy eyelids, you glanced up at where the long-haired boy was. He was standing at the foot of the bed, taking a long drag of the cigarette he'd abandoned in the bedside ashtray. You two held gazes as he blew out a grey cloud.

"Want some?" he mouthed to you. You nodded, eyes blown open with luster. The springs of the mattress creaked beneath his weight as he leaned on a knee, outstretching his tattooed arm.

"What about The Gap? Or Herman's Sporting Goods?" you suggested to Steve's need for a job.

After the words left you, Eddie held the filtered end up to your lips. You laid a gentle hand on his forearm and swept the pad of your thumb over the freckled skin. The deep inhale of tobacco was a welcome indulgence after the body-shaking orgasm you had.

The sight of you was trouble, however.

Eddie could feel the blood rushing back to his crotch again already. As he backed up, you caught sight of his cock, red and hardening. His sex drive never failed to impress you; that's why most times you left his place being unable to walk.

He couldn't handle it. How beautiful and fucked-out you looked laying there. Your body, every curve and dip, was glimmering with a sheen of sex. His marks were all over you: from hickeys to bruising indents of his rings, to his cum dribbling out of your sweet center.

His heart was throbbing, perhaps even more painfully than his dick was.

       It stood upright against his toned stomach as his gaze dragged across you. The Harrington boy recounted his failures of the jobs he'd already applied for while you twisted the rubber-coated cord around your finger.

The image of the older male needy for you again had you rubbing your bare thighs together. He was undeniably the most attractive guy you'd ever seen. Never before had you had this level of sexual chemistry and spark with someone. It's like he unlocked something in you, took away your fears, and maximized your pleasure in all things.

"Jesus," he muttered.

       You two moved in sync, your hand traveling up your own body as he brought an uneasy hand down to palm himself. His tip glistened with pearlescent pre-cum when your red-painted fingernails cupped your breast. You squeezed down just enough for the fat to spill between your knuckles, putting on a show.

Apparently, your stamina had built up since being involved with Eddie. You beckoned him closer with a curling pointer finger.

"Need you," you let the words ghost out. And because he would do anything you say, the boy crawled atop you so his frizzed curls hung down around your face.

You gripped the midsection of the phone to secure Steve's increasingly-irritating voice against your ear. The lower speaker pressed into your shoulder, hopefully an effective agent for muffling noise.

Two of your nimble fingers hooked around Eddie's dangling necklace to pull him down. His mouth was gentle on yours, a newfound softness to ease back in. It was a nice break from the rushed heat of the past hours and still turned you on an immense amount.

       There wasn't much foreplay this time. Eddie's diamond-hard cock sank inside you easily as you made out lazily. You whimpered at the sensitivity of your puffy cunt, a pathetic sound that he swallowed as you passed it onto his skillful tongue.

"Do you think Coach would be one of my references?" Steve's questioning intonation snagged your attention before it got too foggy. You hummed against Eddie's lips and your unspoken language got him to pull away.

"Mm, maybe...who else do you have?" you mumbled. As you turned your head to the receiver, the long-haired male kissed your cheek and temple. He then nuzzled his face into your neck.

It was a momentary break for him, pausing to breathe in your scent and become intoxicated with you. It was something he did when he was feeling clingy, needy for you; a confusion in his mind on why he felt so intimately connected to his friend with benefits.

"Perfect girl. He doesn't deserve you," Eddie slurred with hot fanning breaths. "Gonna make you forget him. Gonna fuck you so good you can't remember his dumb name..."

       As he grumbled in one of your ears, Steve was in the other, justifying that he used his mom as a reference. You urged him to think of other people and asked him about places in town that he thought would be fun to work at; you knew this would send him into more verbose blabbing.

Your purposeful inquisition worked and your boyfriend's words became garbled nonsense as you shifted attention back to the pretty boy on top of you.

He had begun to thrust, slow and sloppy. The movement was enough to increase your two's breathing and arousal. He accompanied it with wet kisses along your neck, suckling the tender skin every so often.

"More," you huffed. Your fingers twisted in the roots of Eddie's hair and tugged softly, emitting a groan from his throat.

"More what, sweets? Hm?" he urged, lifting his face up to see you. He was super talkative in the bedroom, so it was killing him trying to tone it down since you were on the phone.

"M-more Eddie."

       He puffed air through his nostrils in amusement and forced his cock a tad deeper in you. His hips continually met yours as you felt every veiny detail of him gliding inside. The whine that left you was unintentionally loud, neediness pricking momentary irrationality in you.

Hearing you asking for more him had Eddie's world spinning and cock pulsing.

"'M gonna give it to you, but you gotta be quiet for me," he grunted. "Just a little longer."

You gave him agreement by stretching your neck up to meet his lips, kissing him into a wet mess. He adjusted his legs, slightly kneeling to give him better leverage to fuck you. As his hips picked up moving again, a thought struck his fuzzy mind. He broke the kiss.

"Baby, need you to do somethin'," he uttered in that deep bass his voice takes on during sex. "When you cum, be as loud as you want."

"E, he's gonna hear." You emphasized the words quietly, gesturing with your head to the phone you held with a clammy hand.

"I know" was all he said before snapping back and stuffing his cock meanly into your sopping pussy. Your hand was jostled from his hair to the broadness of his back, muscles strong beneath taught pale skin. You had to dig your nails in for grip, trying to hold on and not scream from how incredible he felt.

       Missionary was not a position you two used often. It was too romantic, though you blamed it on its "vanilla" reputation; nothing was vanilla when Eddie was as huge and skilled as he was.

In fact, being able to see him up close in the position was launching you toward your orgasm so quickly that you couldn't even think. His eyes were like polished cedar, brown and glossy as he maintained an unbroken gaze.

The curled mess of his hair hung around his broad shoulders and strands of his bangs stuck to his forehead with sweat. Pink, plump lips that kiss you just how you need him every time were parted to let out throaty breaths. His cheeks, flecked with faint spots and a tiny vertical scar, had flushed the most delectable red hue.

It was impossible to conceal the small uh's and hah's that slipped your lips. Eddie couldn't get enough of them, fueled to fuck you harder so he could hear them louder.

       You loved being able to hear him too. He was no doubt the one in charge, but you had the ability to make him fall apart with such ease. There was a longing in your chest to hear him praising you, something he was holding off on since Steve was still a third party to this.

Normally, the older male would be coaxing you to your orgasm. He always hit this point where you were squeezing him so tight that his mind got lost, absolutely drunk on you and how you felt.

Feel so fucking good, babe. Jesus, you're fuckin' tight. Wanna hear those pretty noises when you cum for me. Perfect pussy squeezin' me just right. Gonna fuck you like this forever, beautiful girl.

He was biting his tongue now, only letting flat huffs and the occasional groan fly free. But you knew the things that drove him crazy.

       You lifted your hips, wrapping your legs around his waist to keep him closer. It made you suck his thick cock even more, pussy suctioning him to its limit. The angle had his tip spearing into your stomach and he could feel it. He hissed through his teeth.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he groaned. Your warmth was gripping him like a vice and it had the muscles in his abdomen tightening. His thrusts stuttered only a second before they increased in intensity.

Harder, deeper, faster.

"Fuck! Eddie, Eddie," you gurgled, tongue twisted and mind entirely mush. Reckless abandon took over you, leaving Steve entirely forgotten. "Oh my-hah-ah...Baby, baby please!"

The pitched whininess to your voice was a telltale sign of your climax. Eddie stroked a hand up your side, thumb rubbing your tummy.

"Let me hear your pretty sounds," he purred. "Let go, baby. Cum for me."

You were a goner.

       With the sensitivity of your cunt, you came suddenly, harshly. A flash of white light overtook your vision and your head pushed back into the pillow. As Eddie continued grinding himself deep into you, your back arched up off the mattress to press your body against his chest.

The noise that rattled your throat was somewhere between a sob and a moan. As your body seized up, the plastic phone dropped into your shoulder. Your fingernails dug further into the reddened lines they scratched on Eddie's toned back.

Your juices mixing with the cum he was fucking back into you made a wet squelching as he continually rammed in. He thrust through your high as his balls tightened and he couldn't take any more. His rings pinched your skin as he clamped down on your hips for leverage.

"Pretty girl takin' me so good." Eddie began the mindless ramble he often does as he unravels. "Pussy was made for me. Pretty...fuck, 'm gonna cum. Gonna cum inside my girl. My sweets-"

       Despite your exhaustion and subspace blankness, you gasped at the sensation of the hot flood of his cum coating your walls. His cock throbbed as you squeezed him for every drop. Eddie panted in heavy breaths as he continued to slackly thrust.

He let his sticky body rest on yours gently while his dick softened inside you. Your legs dropped onto the mattress and you relaxed, letting your breathing regulate.

The wordless recovery was one of the best parts of sex with Eddie; both of you making dulcet sounds, bodies pressed together...just you and him in a cloud of euphoria and heat.

       That peaceful moment was cut terribly short when Steve's furious voice boomed through the phone speaker. He was loud enough that you both could hear him even as the landline lay in the crook of you.

"Are you having sex right now? You're fucking some other guy?! Answer me, (Y/n). I swear to God..."

Eddie lifted his head up from your chest to clutch the phone, believing you were too out of it. As he was about to scream back at your boyfriend, your small hand encased his large one. You nodded at him and took the phone.

       Though you appreciated his protectiveness of you, this was yours to handle. Steve Harrington had screwed you over, treated you like shit too many times.

No more.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is that wrong of me to do?" you began. You didn't know tonight would be the night you duke this out with him, but here you were.

"Are you fucking kidding?!" Steve snapped, obviously fuming. "You're cheating while you're on the phone with me!"

"You wanna talk to me about cheating, Steve? That's hilarious. Really fucking ironic, don't you think? I'm not an idiot. Heather, Tina, Linda, Tracy, god damn Carol!"

       The words you spat made him shut up. You took a moment to breathe, the anger toiling inside you mixed with the heat of sex. Eddie collected your tangled hair to lift off your neck, preventing you from overheating.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Steve deadpanned. "I knew you could be a real bitch, but slut trumps that by a long shot."

The phone was ripped out of your grasp before you could reply. Eddie had heard and he was fucking seething. In the low lamplight of the room, you swore you saw fire in his eyes.

"Talk to her like that again and no girl will ever want to be seen with your reconstructed face," Eddie threatened. His voice was booming, full of venom.

"A cheating, classless, daddy's money douchebag like you could never take care of a girl like her. Don't worry, 'cause I've got it covered. Fuck you."

       You flinched at how hard he slammed the phone back onto its holder. His shoulders broadened as he inhaled a deep breath and released it, shaking with anger.

However, when he brought his face back to you it was soft and kind...those eyes cradling you inside their vision like the most precious thing he's ever seen. Without thinking, you used two slim fingers to brush back his hair with a tender touch.

"Are you okay?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned his weight onto his left side, hip meeting the mattress. His soft length remained inside you, plugging up the creamy mess you two made. Your body moved with his, angled just slightly as he used a grip on your waist to keep you ever so close.

"Mhm," you hummed, closing your eyes momentarily. You were dazed, worn from going at it for hours with Eddie and exerting the rest of your energy on Steve.

The tattooed boy tipped your hips as he pulled out, making you wince at the sensation. Feeling that empty after being stuffed full all night had you tingling. He kissed your cheek with saliva-shined lips and reached blindly around the bedside. Your eyes blinked open slowly upon the contact of him wiping you clean with his bandana.

Mindlessly you ran your hand up and down his warm bicep. He swiped the cloth delicately over your swollen folds, taking care not to hurt the sensitive area.

       As he cleared the wetness, you watched his eyes, glossed and mesmerized that were glued to your sex. You breathed a hum of amusement; he was still shamelessly addicted to your pussy, even when he was showering you with the tender aftercare he did every time.

"Thank you," you expressed. It was an innocent utterance into a room heavy with sweat and lust. Eddie's gaze met yours and you blinked, tiredly.

"I told you before, you don't have to thank me for cleaning up, sweetheart." He scrunched his nose cutely.

"I didn't mean for that."

"You don't have to thank me for making you cum," he remarked with a cocky smirk.

"Not that either, you dork." You poked your red-varnished fingernail into the black ink on his peck. As your round-cheeked smile faded, the eye contact between you two intensified.

       For fuck buddies who keep one another secret, you sure do look at one another with a lot of endearment. Maybe it's because of how intimately you know one another from the sex. Deep down you both know it's more than that; you just don't want to admit it and ruin what you have.

"I meant thank you for helping me finally get rid of that jerk," you mumbled. It made him smile genuinely with those dimples that charmed his way into your pants many months ago.

"Fun way to do it, wasn't it?" he teased, wiggling his eyebrows. He circled you in his arms, one slipping beneath your neck and the other wrapping around your back.

Both your hands rested on his chest when he tugged you closer. Naturally, your legs tangled into a jumble as your bodies were constantly magnetized to be as near as possible. It was a state of calm that you never felt with anyone else.

"I couldn't handle hearing you cry over him anymore," Eddie admitted. His voice rumbled under where your palms were flattened. "He never deserved you and you didn't deserve to feel like that."

       The wavering breaths you released tickled his pale skin, still burning. He seemed to always have the right words and the ability to make you feel good. You scooted your face closer to his on the silken pillow.

"I feel a lot better now," you murmured.

"I bet you do," he smirked. "I think that big finale was the loudest you've ever been. 'Oh, Eddie! Oh, baby!'"

His teasing mockery of your moaning made you roll your eyes, but his big dimply smile got you. You burst into giggles as the inches between you closed and his nose bumped yours.

You didn't need Steve; you never did. It was your friends with benefits, your fuck buddy, your dirty little secret who finally made you realize it.

       A blissed smile formed on your plumped lips when Eddie kissed your forehead and hugged you against him. Relaxation soothed your sore muscles as you had nothing left to worry about.

Not then, anyway. It was just you and this perfect boy who respected you and made you scream with pleasure.

Cuddling in the afterglow with him, it wasn't long before you were both fast asleep, velvet skin pressed warmly together as you rest your tired bodies.

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reblogs & feedback are appreciated! thanks for reading♡

[justagalwhowrites]

Bane of My Existence - A QZ Joel Miller One Shot

You and Joel Miller have never gotten along, always at odds whether working together or avoiding each other. But when a smuggling job goes bad, you discover that there might be more to his harsh demeanor than meets the eye.

Pairing: QZ Smuggler!Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Enemies to lovers; Joel is bad with emotions; hurt/comfort; canon typical violence; injury that's probably poorly handled because I don't medicine; vague threat of SA (not by Joel, not made to reader); unprotected vaginal sex. Joel carries reader but look... My Joels are all 6'5" and strong as hell, especially in life threatening situations. Man can carry anybody. I'm in love with him because he's a big strong man. No description of reader.

Length: 8.9k (sorry)

A/N: A lil one shot gift for my beautiful bestie @dundienominee :)

Full Masterlist | AO3

“Hell no.” 

Of course Joel Miller said hell no to working with you. Of course he did. 

You weren’t surprised at Joel’s reaction when his smuggling partner, Tess, brought you to their safe house in the QZ. He’d never been the president of your fan club. 

“Joel,” she sighed. 

“Fuck no,” he said. “Not bringin’ her anywhere, she’s a goddamn liability.” 

“Joel,” she said again, sterner this time. 

You, however, just smirked, watching him pace and glare at you, his face getting flushed as he did. 

“She takes stupid fuckin’ risks,” Joel said. “She’s cocky, she’s…”

“Saved your ass from infected?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. 

You knew you were adding fuel to the fire. Tess glared at you for it. Your smirk grew. 

“Wouldn’t have been near the fuckin’ infected if it weren’t for you,” he snapped. “Not. Goin. With. Her.” 

“Well, you don’t have a choice,” Tess said, standing up a little straighter and crossing her arms, staring her partner down. “She’s the one with the contact, they agreed to two people meeting them and she has to be one of them…” 

“How the hell’d you make a contact?” Joel turned his full attention to you, his eyes molten hot and angry. “Anyone you touch ends up fuckin’ dead…” 

“Oh fuck off,” you snapped before you regained your composure. “Don’t get pissy with me because big bad Joel Miller isn’t the top of the smuggling heap in the QZ…” 

“I ain’t pissy!” 

“…Not the top of the heap in anything at all, really…” 

“That’s it!” Joel stalked over, looking like he wanted to slug you. Instead, he just put his finger in your face, a slightly unhinged look in his eyes. “You think I’m doin’ a goddamn thing with you…” 

“You don’t have a choice, Texas,” Tess came and stood beside you, her arms crossed as she looked to Joel. “You burned the bridge we had with the FEDRA officer I need to buy off to get our next round of pills inside, I can’t go on this run because I have to deal with the mess you made when you couldn’t keep your shit together. We want to actually be set before shit gets snowed in for winter? We need her connection. So. You’re going, you’re leaving tonight, and you’re not going to fuck this up. Got it?” 

His jaw tightened. 

“Got it.” 

“Good,” she looked to you. “Your contact knows you’re coming?” 

“They do,” you said, serious now and completely ignoring the wall of muscle who was still standing uncomfortably close to you. “The walk back is going to fucking suck but it should be worth it. Good with the split?” 

“Good might be a strong word for 60/40,” Tess said, shaking her head a little but grinning all the same. “But I’ll take it.” She looked between you and Joel. “Trusting you two to not kill each other out there. Don’t make me regret it. See you in a few days.” 

She left the two of you there in the threadbare apartment without another word, Joel’s glare practically drilling a hole into your skull. 

“Together again, eh Miller?” You smirked at him. 

He didn’t respond. He just went and sat heavily on the worn couch before lying down and closing his eyes. 

“What, didn’t get enough sleep?” You asked, going and standing over him. 

“Slept fine,” he said, eyes still closed. “Just would rather spend the few hours we have before we leave the QZ not listenin’ to you.” 

You rolled your eyes but took a moment to look at Joel when he wasn’t glaring at you. 

It was a rare occurrence, seeing him when he wasn’t scowling and pissed. He let himself relax down into the cushions and the lines in his face eased. As much as you hated to admit it - and you did hate it - Joel was beautiful. Frustratingly so. What’s worse, he’d somehow gotten better looking in the years you’d known him. Jerk.

You’d first met him before you came to the QZ, almost 10 years ago now. You were holed up in your own little corner of Boston, doing your best to stay out of the way of FEDRA, infected and raiders alike. 

It was basically a full-time job, even more so since you’d become the last person standing. A job that you failed at the day you met Joel Miller. 

And, as much as he liked to blame you for it, he was the one who showed up in your corner of town. You’d been napping through the worst of the afternoon heat in mid-July when you heard a clatter: someone tripped one of your alarms. 

“Fuckin’…” 

He swore loud enough that you heard him from your perch and you watched him shake glass out of the wrinkles of his shirt. 

“Someone’s here,” the second man said, much quieter. “That ain’t no accident…” 

The two men moved slowly, cautiously, their rifles raised as they searched for whoever it was who set that trap. When you thought they were far enough away, you started to move, slowly and quietly, going to sneak up on them and take them out before they could do the same to you. 

But as you drew close, you heard it. The clicking. 

You gasped, close enough to the strange men that they heard it and close enough to the clickers that they did, too. 

“Move!” The larger man snapped out of his moment of shock first, shooting forward and grabbing you and throwing you to the side before shooting at the incoming infected. You scrambled to get back up, fumbling to get the knife you’d been readying to thrust into that man’s back. 

It turned out, you didn’t need it. At least, not for the infected. The two men made quick work of the clickers and turned to you, your knife raised and ready to take at least one of them down with you. 

“The fuck are you doin’ out here?” The larger man said instead. 

“The fuck do you think?” You snapped. “Go on, do it! Kill me, take my shit, whatever it is you’re going to do…” 

“Don’t much like killing women,” he said, looking to the other man, their guns still in hand but pointed to the ground. They looked alike, these two. Like they could be related. 

“What, because I’m a woman you think I’m not a threat?” You asked, brows raised before realizing that you probably shouldn’t be egging on the large, armed men in front of you. 

“Not really, princess,” the younger man said, voice teasing, and you considered throwing your knife at him. 

“Should count yourself lucky that we don’t,” the older man said. “Why don’t you come with us, out pickin’ up just a few things and then headin’ back to the QZ…” 

“Right,” you scoffed. “Because I really wanna live under fucking FEDRA.” 

“Guessing you want to live,” he said. “Got news for you, princess. Even we’re steerin’ clear of this area of Boston after this. Lot more infected than we bargained for. Your little hideout ain’t gonna be safe much longer. Assuming you want to keep on living, QZ’s your best bet.” 

“And you’re just, what, inviting me along out of the goodness of your heart?” You scoffed. “Please.” 

“Don’t much like killing women and don’t much like leaving people to die, either,” the other man said. “Seem capable enough. Come with us, at least out of this part of the city. Would rather not have you added to the infected population.” 

You ground your teeth for a moment, considering. They could easily over power you. You were out numbered, out gunned and they were both large and strong. 

But… you had been noticing more and more infected lately. You hadn’t left your hideout in almost two weeks and you were low on supplies. Part of the reason you hadn’t dared venture out in so long was the seemingly constant press of infected you could see from the best vantage points in your building. You’d been starting to worry that you wouldn’t have a good opportunity to leave for supplies again. And, if you did, you were starting to worry your home would be overrun when you got back. 

These two were the closest thing you had to a safe option out. 

So, you took it. The pair introduced themselves and you were right, they were related. Joel and Tommy Miller, smugglers who lived inside the Boston QZ. They were strong, smart, capable. Handsome, too, not that it really mattered. What mattered much more was your ability to keep each other alive. 

And, it turned out, you were useful to them. Enough that they wanted you around as help for other runs outside the QZ. It made sense, you knew certain corners of the QZ better than anyone else seemed to. It had been your territory - at least, in some way - for a long time. 

Then, it happened. You’d taken to calling it ‘the incident’ for lack of any better word. You were out on a smuggling run with Joel and another man, Harvey. In spite of the fact that you’d been working together for years, Joel had never really warmed up to you. He tolerated you at best and it seemed like growling was his preferred form of communication where you were involved but you always made it back to the QZ in one piece when you went out together. You watched each other’s backs - you were proud that your kill count was higher than his and that you were almost positive he’d be dead by now if it weren’t for you. 

The three of you were at the edge of the city, heading to rendezvous with someone from a small settlement in New York State when you heard it, the first, distinctive shriek of infected. 

Suddenly, there were dozens of them, maybe more than 100, far more than you were capable of handling even if you had unlimited ammunition. 

And, like a fool, you froze. 

You’d scouted ahead and saw no signs of them, no indication of anything more than one or two strays that had been ambling around. You had no idea where they’d come from or how they’d come to be here but that didn’t matter. They were here, they were bearing down on you and you couldn’t seem to make your body move, the shock of the sight making you completely shut down. 

It was Joel who saved you. 

“Move!” He’d grabbed you by the collar of your shirt and thrown you behind him as he fired at the infected, pressing back as quickly as he could while laying down cover fire. Harvey joined him, their guns up and blazing as you tried to force your body to listen to you. “Fucking run!” 

Your limbs decided to obey then and you moved as quickly as you could, turning and firing behind you when it felt like you had a moment to spare. 

But you misjudged that moment once. Just once, but that’s all it took. Infected were closer behind you than you realized and Joel dove in between you and the reaching, groping thing. 

“Joel!” You shrieked, desperately trying to get a shot off that wouldn’t hit Joel as he strained to hold back the runner who was snarling near his throat. You were about to shoot when Harvey tackled the creature, knocking it off of Joel but into the mass of infected that was closing in quickly. 

They swarmed him and he screamed and you took aim as Joel scrambled to his feet. He shoved you on before you could fire and you stretched to shoot around him but he nearly threw you away from the swarming monsters and your screaming companion. 

“He’s gone!” Joel yelled as you stared at him, aghast. “He’s gone, we have to fucking move, now go!” 

You kept turning, looking back toward the sound of the snarling and the screams. 

“We have to go back!” you said. “We can’t just leave him like that, we have to at least shoot him we can’t just leave him, we…” 

“You should’ve thought of that before you fucked up!” He kept pushing you forward, toward the QZ. “No point in gettin’ us killed to save a man who’s already dead.” 

Joel had gone from seemingly finding you to be a nuisance to hating you then. He refused to even be in the same room as you let alone leave the QZ with you again. 

It took you a long time, after that split, to figure out how to survive. You’d become dependent on the cards you got from smuggling to get by but you couldn’t leave the QZ on your own and expect to make it back in one piece, not with how things had devolved with raiders and infected in recent years. You found a small group who was going out from time to time - which is how you met Tess - and you cobbled together a living. 

You never worked with Joel again. 

At least, not until now. 

You sighed and perched in the window, watching the QZ go by and thinking of the best way out of the city once the sun went down. You tried not to think about the likelihood that Joel would kill you while you were outside. 

It was a long walk ahead of the both of you, 30 miles each way through infected no man’s land, not that raiders hadn’t been trying their damndest to get a foothold. But you had a connection there who had been growing marijuana and had a hell of a crop they were willing to trade for plenty of ammunition and antibiotics. You’d been orchestrating this trade with Tess for weeks, both of you carefully avoiding the sore subject of Joel. The initial plan had been you and her heading out but then Joel beat the shit out of a FEDRA guard for some imagined offense and they were suddenly without the connections they needed and suddenly, Joel became part of the plan. Lucky you. 

Once darkness started to fall, you picked up a little stone that was stuck in the frame of the cracked window. You took careful aim and flicked it, watching it sail to hit Joel square on the forehead. He twitched in his sleep, grimacing, but he didn’t wake. 

You looked around a moment, searching for something else to use against him. You found it in the form of a wad of paper that you had to stretch to reach but you did. You tightened the ball and aimed, throwing it. It didn’t make it quite as far, bouncing off his hands as they sat folded at the base of his chest. He didn’t even flinch at that. 

“Dammit,” you muttered, looking around again. You found a rubber band then, perking up a little as you picked it up. You arranged it carefully on your fingers, pulling it back and aiming it like a gun, targeting Joel’s nose. His oddly beautiful nose. Not that you ever really thought that way about him, of course. You shot the rubber band and it flew, snapping right where you’d aimed it. He jerked awake and you turned quickly so it seemed like you were just looking outside into the night. 

“Wha…” He mumbled. 

You turned your head to look at him as he sat up, seemingly disoriented. 

“You hit me with somethin’?” He asked. 

“What would I hit you with, Joel?” You asked. “I was about to come wake you up, though. Can’t get a late start because of your lazy ass…” 

“Show you lazy…” he muttered, hefting himself up off the sofa. “Let’s move.” 

You gave Joel this much, the man was efficient. You’d forgotten just how efficient in the years it had been since you’d last worked together. He cut through the QZ quickly and smoothly, the knowledge of routes run by FEDRA guards seemingly innate as he knew exactly when and where to avoid and how to do it. In what seemed like no time at all, you were outside the walls and starting into the ruins of the city. 

“Got a safe house about an hour’s walk,” he said, setting an almost punishing pace as you moved alongside him. “We get there, wait for daylight, press on in the morning.” 

“Oh, because you’re the decision maker?” You asked, brows raised, even though you agreed with him. “Just expect me to fall in line…” 

“You know what, princess?” He rounded on you, forcing you back into the wall of a building you were passing. “You’re lucky I came out here with you after the shit you’ve pulled…” 

“Shit I pulled? I fucked up!” You all but yelled at him. “I know it! I think about that all the fucking time, that he’d still be alive if it weren’t for me! I don’t need you to fucking remind me, I know what I did and I’m sure you’re fucking perfect and that no one’s ever died because you fucked up…” 

“You don’t know a goddamn thing,” he growled, pressing closer to you for a moment and his eyes were dark and dangerous. For a moment, you thought he might kill you. Or kiss you. He didn’t do either. Instead, he just stepped back, looking you up and down once. “Keep your shit together this time. Don’t want to die because of you.” 

Tears burned your throat and eyes and you swallowed them and walked a few steps behind Joel, trying to keep an eye out for signs of infected and raiders and trying to make sure that Joel didn’t die. Even if it was just out of spite. 

The next day was easier than you expected, too. You made it quickly out of the safe house in the morning and dodged a hoard of infected, skirting around the writhing mass of them lying on the street. You didn’t really feel like you could breathe until you were outside the city, where the air was cleaner and you didn’t feel the specter of what happened years ago looming over you. 

You and Joel mostly ignored each other, watching the tree line as you kept an eye out for whatever might be lurking for you there. But, every now and then, you thought you caught Joel looking at you out of the corner of your eye, his head snapping around the moment you seemed to take notice. 

After walking for most of the day and covering 20 miles, the two of you stopped and made camp, Joel deeming it safe enough to make a small fire. You watched him after the two of you had eaten and settled, the light casting flickering shadows on his face. 

Joel, you were almost loathe to admit, was an incredibly good looking man. There was a roughness to him that you found almost comforting in the world you were both trapped in but there was beauty to him, too. The symmetry of his features, the plush of his lips, the cut of his jaw. You wondered what he was like before all this, not just when he was younger but before this world had a chance to sink its teeth into him. Maybe you would have been friends then. Maybe something more than friends. 

“How’d you end up smuggling?” You asked, not able to keep sitting here in silence any more. 

“What?” He asked, looking up from where he was cleaning his gun. 

“Smuggling,” you said. “Doubt you were born a smuggler and you don’t seem like you were a drug mule or something in the before times. How’d you end up doing it?” 

“How does anyone end up doin’ anything?” He asked. “Needed cards, people needed drugs. If people want to pay me for ‘em, I’m not about to argue.” 

“So that’s it,” you said. “You woke up one morning and thought to yourself ‘I think I’m going to tell FEDRA to fuck off today by running drugs’ and started a whole new career.” 

He sighed but didn’t say anything. 

“I don’t buy it,” you continued, sitting back against the tree you were propped against. “There’s something else…” 

“Not your business if there is.” 

“So there is something else!” You said, almost smug. “I’m on the right track, excellent.” 

“You always this nosy?” 

“Usually,” you said. “Let’s see… Maybe Joel Miller just likes an excuse to hit things.” He scoffed but didn’t say anything. “Not that? Interesting… Maybe Joel Miller gets off on breaking the rules. Is that it? You have authority issues?” 

“Can we go back to not fuckin’ talking?” He asked. 

“Not authority issues then,” you nodded, ignoring him. “Well, that leaves just one other theory.” 

You were quiet, looking away from Joel and fighting the urge to smirk as you did. It only took a minute of silence before he sighed. 

“Goddammit,” he said. “What. What’s your theory.” 

You let the smirk happen then, looking back at him. 

“That Joel Miller doesn’t feel alive unless he’s about to die,” you said. “And that Joel Miller needs to feel something so he decides to do the thing that almost kills him because what else is there to have?” 

He watched you for a moment, his eyes hot and angry, before he looked back at his gun. 

You laughed once. 

“So predictable…” 

“And why do you do it?” He asked, looking up at you, the rage barely contained on his features. “Must have a reason, right? Livin’ outside the QZ as long as you did, fuckin’ around outside it now, what is it? You got some kind of death wish?” 

“Yes,” you said, looping your arms around your knees. He blinked at you in surprise for a moment and you laughed a little. “I’m not nearly as mysterious as you, it’s not some secret…” 

“Why?” He cut you off, gun set aside now. You frowned but he pressed on. “You got a life, why do you want to just throw it away…” 

“You call what I have a life?” You asked, brows raised. “Never thought you’d be so generous in regards to anything related to me…” 

“Ain’t it?” He asked. “Sure, it’s not what it was before, can’t just do what we did then but…” 

“You think that’s it?” You gaped at him. “That I miss being able to go to fucking happy hour with my coworkers or grab dinner at Chili’s so I might as well drop dead?” 

“That’s not…” 

“I lost people, Joel,” you snapped. “I know everybody did but when I say I lost people, I mean I lost everyone. By the time you and Tommy found me, there wasn’t a single person left on Earth I knew. My parents turned in the outbreak, they bit my brother and his wife and their daughter. I survived with my fiance for a while but he got shot by a FEDRA officer when we were trying to make our way to the fucking QZ and then I was alone. I stayed out there because, what, was I supposed to go live with the people who killed him? No thanks. What the fuck is there? So yeah, you know what? I smuggle shit. I like the risk. I like telling FEDRA to fuck off. I like being able to handle myself because I’m the only thing I can count on. Don’t act so fucking surprised that I’m not thrilled with life in the QZ just because you brought me there.” 

Joel was quiet for a moment and you just squared your jaw and looked away, arms crossed tightly over your chest. You knew you shouldn’t let Joel get to you the way he did - especially not after you’d picked at him and pushed him here - but he got under your skin the way no one else left alive really seemed to. You hadn’t spoken to anyone about your fiance, not in years. It was a wound you’d long set aside, a casualty in the war on humanity that had hollowed you out so much that it seemed like you couldn’t really feel anything unless you were on the edge of your own destruction. Or, apparently, picking a fight with Joel fucking Miller.

“Could be worse,” he said eventually. 

“Yeah, well.” 

“M’sorry.” 

You looked at him then, brows knitted together. 

“What?” 

“Said I’m sorry,” he said, voice a little gruff. “Didn’t… didn’t know. Wasn’t trying to… I’m sorry.” 

You blinked for a moment, trying to get your bearings. Of everything you’d expected to hear out of Joel Miller’s mouth, I’m sorry wasn’t it. 

“I’m sorry, too,” you said eventually. “If you want to talk…” 

“I don’t.” 

“Right,” you nodded. “Well…” 

“I got first watch,” he said, picking his gun back up. “Get some sleep.” 

The next day, you reached the trade you’d arranged, the woman you’d run into a few times when outside the QZ there with her partner. They hauled so much marijuana out - wrapped tightly in old newspaper - that they had to use wagons to carry it all. You unloaded your haul and the trade went smoothly, Joel lurking toward the back and standing guard, keeping a surly watch over the whole proceeding the entire time. It took some doing to pack all the pot into your bags but you managed it, thanking the couple and starting back toward the QZ. 

You were close to where you’d stopped the night before when it happened, the snarl of infected crawling over your skin. 

“Fuck,” you slung your rifle down from its place over your shoulder and turned to where the sound was coming from, seeing a cluster of at least a dozen infected moving for you. You shot, catching the first in the head and you watched it drop. 

“Go!” Joel yelled, planting his feet and taking aim. 

“Fuck you!” You snapped, ignoring him and shooting. “I can handle myself.” 

He growled at that but didn’t say anything else. Instead you stood with him, side by side, trying to pick off the group that was charging for you. For a moment, you thought you’d done it, that you were in the clear. 

And then, Joel’s gun jammed. 

You realized it when you didn’t hear any more gunfire coming from beside you as the remaining infected drew closer. 

“Joel!” Your eyes darted his way and you saw him trying to force the lever back, to no avail. He looked to you and the infected and back to you, his jaw squared. 

“Get back to the QZ,” he said, not giving you a chance to respond. Instead, he charged forward, gun held not like a firearm but a staff and he swung it, hard, so the butt of it slammed into the skull of an infected as three others dove for him. 

“Fuck!” You yelled, ignoring him again. Like hell he was going down out here like this, like fuck you were letting this asshole die for you. You took careful aim, taking down infected that you were confident you could headshot without putting Joel at risk, just one bullet going wide and exploding on the bark of a nearby tree, the rest finding their mark. And then he was on the ground, just one infected left, too close to him for you to be able to shoot and it wasn’t that you chose to do it, not really. It was more like instinct, flying forward, shedding your backpack and dropping your gun as you did, wrenching your knife from its place at your hip and jumping onto the back of the creature, your arms going around its neck as you yanked back on it, hard. 

Your weight threw it off balance and it shrieked, starting to claw at you, twisting in your hold to see if it could sink its teeth into your skin. It bit as best it could at your arms but the thick of your coat kept it from getting any further and you struggled to adjust your knife to drive it into the thing’s neck but you couldn’t get it, not without letting it go.

“Goddammit!” Joel was panting for breath and you could barely see him out of the corner of your eye as he scrambled to his feet. You tightened your grip on the infected, the stink of the rot of it from the inside out making you gag, and it slammed you back into a tree, catching you off guard. You barely registered the sound of your skull hitting the wood before you passed out. 

***

You didn’t listen. You never fucking listened, why could you never fucking listen? 

You were the single most infuriating person Joel had ever met. Stubborn as hell, independent to a fault, seemingly desperate to pick every fight you could find. Of course you didn’t fucking listen to him. You never had before, why would you start now? 

Seeing you that close to infected - again - was terrifying. 

This was why he didn’t want to go out like this with you. This, right here. Because he knew you wouldn’t listen, he knew you’d wind up in this situation, knew he’d have to deal with the fear and the pain of you dying when it was his fucking fault why couldn’t you just fucking listen?

He’d thrown himself at the infected to give you a chance. One of you was probably going to die out here and he wasn’t about to let it be you. Not when he’d already done so much, gone so far to try to make sure you fucking survived. Because dammit, if he couldn’t make sure one of the few people he actually cared about actually lived, what was the damn point? 

But did you take the chance he was giving you? No. Of course you didn’t. 

And all he could do was watch in horror as the thing you’d jumped on top of slammed you into a tree with a sickening thud, one he could hear above the snarling and snapping of jaws. Your body went limp and you slid from its back to the earth, landing in an unnatural looking way. No one who was in control of their limbs fell like that. His blood was ice and he moved without considering, roaring as he ripped his knife from his belt and tackled the infected who was turning to go after your throat. He hit it so hard he rolled with it, the creature’s mouth reaching for him as he held it back. They came to rest on the ground, that thing on top of him and Joel slammed his knife into its neck again and again, until it went quiet and still and Joel was bloodied and panting for breath. 

He shoved it off him and he half crawled to you as he got to his feet, not willing to wait until he was standing to start moving. You were still when he reached you, your head thrown back, half on your side, mouth open. 

“No, no, c’mon,” he pulled your coat open to get at your chest to try to do what he thought was CPR - not like there were fucking certifications for it in the QZ - but, when he did, he realized you were breathing. He lowered his head near your mouth and could hear the soft, shallow sound of your life and he sat back on his heels, taking a deep breath. 

So he hadn’t gotten you killed. Not yet, anyway. At least there was that. He let himself sit with the relief for a moment before checking you over, looking at your throat and wrists for signs of a bite but didn’t find any. Another lucky moment. 

“Alright princess,” he said, tapping your cheek lightly. “C’mon. We gotta get movin’, let’s go.” You stayed still. His stomach twisted. “Know you like to fuck with me but now ain’t the time, we need to get out of here, time to wake up…” 

He half expected you to respond then. You’d love this, the fact that he was damn near panicking because you were hurt. He knew you’d want to draw it out. 

But you wouldn’t be stupid about it. You wouldn’t put them at risk, not really. 

“Fuck,” he swore, adjusting your limp body as best he could before lifting you to his chest. The hair at the back of your head was matted with blood. He tried not to think about what that might mean. “S’alright. You’re gonna be fine, just… You’ll be OK.” 

He kept thinking that, over and over, as he carried you, looking for somewhere he could protect you for a while. 

It took him time to find it, a farmhouse with overgrown fields that looked like it hadn’t been touched in years. The door was hanging open, creaking on its hinges, and Joel brought you to the kitchen island, setting you gently on the dust-covered formica. 

“Stay there for a minute,” he said, leaning against the counter to recover his strength and his breath for a moment. “Gotta… gotta make sure we don’t got company.” 

He went through the house room by room, barricading the doors on the ground floor and pleasantly surprised to find most of the top floor intact, no holes in the roof or broken windows. He gathered some blankets from the main bedroom and carried them down to where he’d left you. He propped your head up gently, pouring some water on a cloth and cleaning the cut there with care before covering you with a quilt and pulling a kitchen chair up beside you. He checked to make sure you were still breathing before sitting down, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, hands folded almost in prayer. 

He should have told Tess to fuck off. He knew better, when it came to you. There was a reason he’d avoided you ever since that day everything had gone wrong. Hell, he’d been avoiding you before that, too. 

From the moment he’d met you, he liked you a little too much. You were the exact kind of woman he’d gone for before, one who was capable and strong and a total fucking smart ass. He liked a woman who challenged him, one who made him think. You did those things, you did those things like it was second fucking nature, all while being one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, before the outbreak or after. 

He knew he had to keep his distance from the beginning, that he’d get too attached if he let himself. But you were a valuable partner, so he did his best to keep you at arm’s reach while going on runs with you and his brother. He thought that had been enough, that he’d done a good job of protecting himself from the disaster that waited at the end of any form of attachment in the life he led now. 

And then he saw you freeze in the face of infected. 

He was so afraid in that moment that it shocked him how fast he made the call. The decision to put his body between you and the infected was an easy one. He wanted to make it back to the QZ, to his brother he’d found some reason to live for over the last few years, but he wouldn’t want that if you didn’t come back, too. But you didn’t fucking listen then, either, too busy trying to do the same damn thing he’d have done in your position. If you hadn’t been with him, he’d have tried to save Harvey. He was a good man, he’d watched Joel’s back plenty, Tommy’s too. He deserved a better end than the one he got. 

Joel just couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk you. 

He let himself rage at you about it. Even though it wasn’t your fault, none of it had been. He’d known it then but even more so after. Years later, outside the QZ, he watched as a large hoard worked its way south for the winter, just passing through. You couldn’t have seen them coming, no one could have. 

He never told you that. Because, after the day you froze, he was far enough away from you that he wasn’t going to have to watch you die and he wasn’t going to have to carry the blame if you did. He couldn’t do that again. He knew that much of himself, he knew what he wasn’t capable of surviving. If you were out of reach, he’d have room to breathe. 

But you were still leaving the QZ. He hadn’t known that, at first. He’d just assumed you’d stay put and take the shitty jobs FEDRA offered to get by. He hadn’t even known that Tess knew you, not for years. It wasn’t even her that told him you were still smuggling, it had been a FEDRA guard. He’d overheard your name when Tess was handling a trade and put two and two together. He damn near marched over to your apartment that second and demanded to know what the fuck you were thinking. But he didn’t. He kept it together, he kept listening for news of you, kept waiting for the day that he knew was waiting for him, the one where you didn’t come back and he’d find out about it from some other smuggler or some asshole guard who found out when you didn’t show up with his supply of pills.

And then your name came up when he was trading with a FEDRA guard. It was a small deal, some pills for cigarettes and liquor, just enough for one guy. He was a new client of Joel’s, one he was happy to have. His demand was low and he was good leverage for bringing shit through the gates, turning a blind eye for a good deal on drugs. He just hadn’t seemed to learn quite yet that Joel wasn’t a friend. 

“You know other smugglers, right?” He asked, glancing at Joel as he counted the pills out in his palm. As though Joel was stupid enough to short change a fucking FEDRA officer. 

“Suppose,” Joel shrugged. “Why?” 

“There’s this one…” he talked about a woman who was coming and going, one who was cocky and beautiful and hadn’t caved to his demands for sex the last time she came through and he tried to blackmail her. Joel ground his teeth but kept quiet as he prattled on, eventually pocketing the pills and handing over the cigarettes and booze. “Anyway, wondering if you think she’s the type who’ll give in or should I stop wasting my time and just take it?” 

Joel’s hands curled into fists. 

“Take it?” Joel asked. “Take what, exactly.” 

He looked at Joel, incredulous. 

“C’mon,” he said. “You know. They never fight too hard against a uniform but it’s more fun when they’re at least a little willing.” 

Joel’s punch came so quickly the man didn’t have time to put his hands up. He took him to the ground fast, blow after blow raining down on the man’s face until the air smelled like copper and his knuckles were split. The man gargled on his own blood below him, desperate gasps that sounded something like “please” but he couldn’t be sure. Joel grabbed him by the collar, his head lolling limply to the side as he tried to breathe. One of his teeth was hanging on my a thread.

“Keep your fuckin’ hands to yourself,” Joel panted. “Tell your fuckin’ friends. I hear about any of you messing with women around here? I’ll kill you.” 

Joel dropped him back to the ground and flexed his fingers. He thought he might have broken part of his hand. Wouldn’t be the first time. At least this one was worth it. 

“Pleasure doin’ business with you,” he said, fishing around in the man’s pocket and taking a pill from him. He popped it in his mouth, chalky and bitter on his tongue. “For my trouble.” 

He left the man there in the alley, knowing full well that he’d just shot his whole team in the foot. He didn’t much care. 

The irony that it had landed him here, outside the QZ with you unconscious and your haul on the forest floor was almost too biting. Maybe he deserved it. Maybe he’d been doing this wrong all along. 

You groaned and Joel’s head shot up as you started stirring on the counter, your hand going to the injured part of your skull. 

“Easy,” he said gently, getting up slowly so he wouldn’t startle you. “Took a nasty hit to the head, you were out for a while.” 

“Ow.” 

Joel laughed a little at that. 

“Glad you think it’s funny,” you said, sitting up. He rushed to help you and you gave him an incredulous look as his hands found your back and your hand. “Jesus, I feel like I got put through a meat grinder…” 

“Well, s’long as you ain’t bitten, think we can handle that,” he said, taking his hands back now that you were sitting up. 

“Amen to that,” you said, stretching a bit before looking him over and then looking around, a small frown on your face. “Where are we?” 

“Farmhouse,” Joel said, shoving his hands in his pockets just to give them something to do. “Think about a mile from where we were. Can find our way back OK. I’ll have to, your pack is still out there.” 

“Shit,” you said. “Yeah, we can’t afford to come back without it, I traded my entire stash for my share of the pot…” 

“We’ll find it,” he said. “Don’t think anyone else is comin’ through here any time too soon.” 

You nodded slowly before looking back to him, your eyebrows knitting together before you flinched, your hand going to the back of your head again. 

“Will you actually listen for a change and take it easy?” He asked, going to check the wound. “Jesus, bane of my fuckin’ existence, not doing a goddamn thing I tell you…” 

“Why are you still here?” You asked, ignoring him yet again, fingers finding the gash on your head and tugging at it until it started bleeding again. Joel sighed before pulling your hand away. “Hell, why’d you bring me here at all? You just said I’m the bane of your existence, why the fuck did you go through this much trouble? You could have just left me there, taken my pack, kept all the haul for yourself…” 

“You really think I’m capable of that?” He asked, brows raised. He knew he hadn’t exactly been kind to you over the years but fuck, he didn’t think it was that bad. He pressed the wet cloth to your head again, watching as the red filtered over it. 

You shrugged. 

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Yeah, alright, you piss me off more than… shit, about anyone else I’ve ever met. You’re the bane of my existence…” 

“So…” 

“Will you let me talk?” He snapped. “Fuck, woman, always gotta be right, always gotta have the last damn word, always gotta do whatever’s gonna get you into the most trouble…” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry that I managed to save your fucking life today,” you snapped back. “Please forgive me!” 

“I don’t want you saving my life if it costs you yours!” He yelled. 

You pulled back from him sharply, eyes wide as you blinked at him in shock. He shook his head and pulled the cloth away from your skin. At least the bleeding had stopped again. 

“Don’t fuck with it anymore,” he said, dropping the bloody fabric to the counter. “Gotta leave it alone so it can start to heal, head wounds bleed like a motherfucker…” 

“Joel,” you said quietly, watching him. 

“What.” 

“Joel,” you said again, eyes still on him. “You… What did you mean you don’t want me saving your life if it costs…” 

“I don’t…” He cut you off before he took a deep, centering breath. “I don’t want anybody dying for me but… Christ, it can’t be you. Yeah, you’re the bane of my existence, you piss me off so much sometimes I swear it’s like you got a goddamn degree in just how to do it but you make me feel more alive than anything else left and I can’t…” His heart was pounding so hard it felt like a bruise. “I can’t lose you, especially not when I could stop it. Not when I could save you. I need you to stay alive, OK? I don’t want anyone else to piss me off the way you do, I want you to be the one getting under my skin every goddamn day…” 

“Joel…” 

“Still not gonna let me finish?” He gaped at you. “Fuck, I’m tryin’ to…” 

You didn’t let him finish that time, either. Instead, you kissed him, your arms going around his neck and pulling him roughly against you, your lips so soft and warm and demanding on his that it felt like you were trying to swallow him whole. 

It was like the logical part of his mind only worked for half a second after that. He knew, in that moment, that he should probably hold you back. Talk things out, make sure you didn’t hurt yourself - you’d just had a head injury for fuck’s sake - but that part of him vanished, consumed by you and the way you kissed him like you were trying to climb inside his skin. 

His arms went around you, pulling you to the very edge of the island so your pussy was pressed tight against his quickly hardening cock. 

He couldn’t help but grind himself against you, the zipper of his jeans harsh contrast to just how soft he knew your pussy would be and the last bit of resolve he should have held snapped. Your fingers fumbled at the snaps on his coat, pulling it open before going to the buttons on his shirt and he did the same, desperate to get at your skin and suddenly not caring that it was nearly freezing or that the two of you had nearly died not all that long ago.

His hands found your breasts, sliding inside the cups of your bra to cradle the soft warmth of them and you moaned into his mouth when his thumbs found your nipples, gently brushing them before working them in little circles as they pricked against his skin. 

Joel had tried to not think about this with you. It was tempting, always tempting, but he knew better. He tried to limit his thoughts of you to frustration and anger but he often failed at that. He had failed at it often enough that he had an idea of how you would feel in his hands, how you would taste on his tongue. He thought he would have known enough to be prepared for it if it ever happened. 

He wasn’t. 

You were, somehow, so much better than he’d ever let himself imagine. You were so goddamn soft, like the whole of you had been spun out of silk, tenuous and tender. There was something almost inherently wrong in how he was touching something as soft as you but he shoved that nagging guilt aside, too obsessed with feeling more of you. If this was how your tits felt in his hands, how your lips felt on his, how your hands felt in his hair, he had to feel inside you. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to think about anything else if he didn’t get to be inside of you, his mind would always be trying to create the way you would feel, to know how warm you would be, how safe he would feel in you and how calming it would be to know that you were safe, too, because nothing could reach you if he was there inside you, nothing. 

His hands reluctantly left your breasts and slid down to your waist, finding the button on your jeans. You quickly, clumsily kicked off your boots and lifted your ass from the countertop so he could slide your jeans and panties down, leaving you all wet and swollen and bared for him. 

“Fuck,” he panted, looking down at you for a moment before reaching one callused finger forward and almost reverently tracing your dripping slit. You groaned, your head going back in pleasure, your hips almost jumping toward him. 

“Joel,” you whispered, voice so goddamn needy. The sound went straight to his cock, skin stretched tight and balls aching. “Please…” 

“I’ve got you baby,” he said, opening his pants and tucking his jeans and underwear below his throbbing sex. “Make you feel so good, just…” 

He took his cock and brushed the head against you and you looked down to where he was about to push inside you and gasped. 

“Holy fuck,” you panted, looking at him, your eyes wide. “Joel, you’re… Are you going to fit?” 

“I’ll fit, baby,” he said, looking down again and notching the head of him inside your wet heat. You groaned as you stretched around him, fingers digging into the skin at his nape. He pushed the first inch of himself inside and stopped, looking back to you. He took your face his hand and your eyes searched his, desperate longing written there. “Just watch me, I’ve got you.” 

You didn’t say anything, you, just nodded quickly. His other hand went to the small of your back, angling you just so as he started to thrust into you, pushing in a little and then pulling back before going again, claiming more and more of you with each stroke until he was fully within you. He stilled inside you and pressed his forehead to yours, your eyes on his own, close enough that he could feel the warmth of your breath on his skin. 

He’d been right. Inside, you were fucking perfection. He could feel how you stretched over him, how your body perfectly took and held his own. You were so soft there it seemed impossible, like the world should have destroyed anything this delicate and supple. But you felt so like you, too. The heat of you was almost overwhelming, the strength of you sharp and clear when your cunt fluttered over him, already nearing your orgasm with telltale little spasms holding him tight.  He wanted to consume you and be consumed, devour and be devoured and he needed to fuck you deep and hard and leave part of himself inside of you or he might never think of anything else ever again. 

“Fuck, Joel,” your breaths were sharp and shaky. “I’m so… you’re so big, I’m so full, I… You have to move, I need you to fuck me, please fuck me, please, I need…” 

“I’ve got you, baby,” he said, gently angling your head just so. “Give you just what you need.” 

He kissed you as he started fucking into you, setting an almost punishing pace as he moved inside you. He drank down your desperate groans, savored the way your fingers scrabbled over his shoulders and neck and back, got lost in the spread of your thighs as you kept trying to take him somehow deeper. As if there was more of you for him to take, as if there was more of himself to give. 

Your channel grew tight over him and he knew he wasn’t going to last once you came but he was afraid he wasn’t going to even make it that far. He’d already given up on pulling out, he’d deal with the whatever fallout came from filling you up, but he had to feel you come when he was inside you. He was desperate for it, needed to feel how you’d draw so tight over him and pull his come from his body into yours, he needed it. He drove deep and found the spot inside you that made your legs clench a little tighter, fingers clutch a little harder. He pressed into it and held himself there, more rocking into you than fucking into you, grinding the head of him into the very softest part of you as your cunt drew tighter and tighter over him and you pulled away from his lips to cry out as you came. You throbbed around him and he could feel every part of you there, the pulsing of your body and the satisfaction of your cries damn near ripping his own orgasm from him. 

He pulled you close and tight as he came, feeling like his whole being was pulled down low and sharp inside him as he spilled deep into you. Your arms loosened on him but you still held him gently as he all but collapsed into you, his head on your shoulder as he panted for breath. 

“Fuck,” he managed after a moment, still deep inside you. 

“Yeah,” you laughed a little. 

He sat back from you, eyes searching yours again now that you’d both started coming back down to Earth. You reached up and ran your fingers through his curls, brushing them back from his face as he started to notice the cold air again for the first time. 

“Bane of your existence, huh?” You asked, teasing lightly. 

“Yeah,” he said, smiling a little. “My whole damn existence.” 

You smiled a little back. 

“Think I can work with that.” 

[lvrxly]

ִ ࣪𖤐- An Odd Feeling

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

summary: your neighbor, Simon, is a single dad. and you frequently babysit his son, Oliver. You've grown to love Oliver, buying toys for him, planning play dates, and even offering to babysit him while his dad goes on a date..wait what? You really thought after all of this Simon would choose you, but maybe he will..?

cw: simon is somewhat oblivious at the beginning >:((, mdni - smut, slight age difference (Simon is in his mid-30s while the reader is in her mid-20s), unprotected sex, breeding kink on Simon's part, oral sex (f receiving), Simon can't help but want another kid after seeing how you treat his :((

a/n: sorry this took so long to get posted! and i apologize for any grammar mistakes, i don't have the energy to edit this right now ;( (it's almost 4am).

hope you enjoy lovies ;)

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"Thanks again for this love, I should be back around 9pm, please try and get him to bed before then," Ghost says frantically as he passes his son over to you along with his diaper bag and favorite blanket.

There was that damned nickname again. 'Love'. Simon always seemed to call you love, it was almost infuriating how that little pet name could make your heart race and your cheeks heat.

Simon had a date with someone a friend of his set up for him, Soap, you think was the guys name. From a photo Simon showed you, she was pretty, gorgeous even. Slim and tall, long blonde hair, and seemingly put together.

"Yeah no problem. Have fun, try and get laid. You definitely need it," You say with a dry laugh, bouncing his son, Oliver, over to your other hip. Why the fuck would you say that? 'Get laid?' Why would you even suggest such a fucking thing knowing you can barely stomach watching him go out on this date in the first place.

He cleans up nice, a fitted pair of dark grey khaki pants with a white button up shirt, the sleeves rolled, revealing his tattooed forearms, and his sandy blonde hair slicked back out of his face, making him less shaggy looking than you were used to.

Simon laughs and waves goodbye as he turns on the heels of his dress shoes and hops down the steps of your front porch. You wave at his back, shutting the door with a heavy sigh. You turn around and set Oliver down, watching as he bolts toward the little corner of your living room which you had designated as his play area for when he comes over.

Your heart feels heavy as you walk over towards your couch, tossing Oliver's diaper bag and blanket onto one of the cushions. You flop down onto the other cushion, kicking your feet up on the coffee table that is placed in front of your couch.

Oliver looks just like his father, from what you could see anyways. Dirty blonde hair, gunmetal blue eyes, and a small dimple on his left cheek. He was an adorable kid, an easy one to babysit too.

Oliver runs up to you, a toy tractor in his hand as he holds it up to you, his other hand rested on your knee as if to help him balance better. "Tac-tar!" He exclaims.

You smile at him, taking the toy he was offering you, and touching your fingertip on his nose, causing the little boy to giggle. Enough about Simon. Oliver was your date tonight. Your own play date buddy.

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It was a little after 9pm, maybe just about 9:47, when Simon got back. He had knocked on your door for a good 5 minutes before he gave up and decided to let himself in.

He used the key that you would poorly hide under your doormat. The two of you would get into arguments about the placement of the key.

"It's the most obvious spot, love, you're gonna end up getting robbed on of these days." Simon had said the day you told him where it was, he was always worrying about your safety. You knew he was an ex-military Lieutenant, but then again that might just be the dad in him talking.

After unlocking your front door and pushing it open he begins to speak, "Sorry I was a little later than I thou-" But he cuts himself off after his eyes land on your couch.

There you laid on your back, an arm falling off the couch and a leg propped up on the back cushion, snoring lightly. That position couldn't have been that comfortable. But that's not what made him freeze. It was how his son was laying on your chest, fast asleep with his favorite blanket draped over his back. You looked as if his son was your own.

His breathe is caught in his throat as he stares at the two of you, slowly shutting the door behind him as he makes his way over to the couch.

A small smile paints his face as he stands behind the small and slightly sad turquoise couch, bending down so his forearms rested in the back cushion. He watches you sleep, his eyes dragging up and down your frame. After a moment he uses a single finger to brush a stray piece of hair off of your face, tucking it behind your ear.

His smile never falters as he pets the back of his sons head, his long blonde hair slightly sweaty from how hot it probably was being all nuzzled up to you.

You stir in your sleep, your eyes fluttering, only for them to end up shooting wide open in shock. You gasp and clutch the back of Oliver, sighing after realizing who was really watching you sleep.

You sit up, cradling Oliver in your arms, careful not to wake him. "Do you normally watch people sleep?" You say with an annoyed look on your face as you rub your eyes, sleep still attempting to pull you back in.

After regaining most of your consciousness, you stand from the couch, your clothes wrinkled and Oliver's little head on your shoulder as you hold him in your arms.

"Eh, define normally," Simon says, a joking tone noticeable in his voice. Was he trying to make a joke? Since when did Simon Riley ever makes jokes? What the hell happened at the date?

"Your in a good mood. You didn't really end up getting laid right? You know what..? I don't think I wanna know." Your words are frantic and slightly irritated. Why did you feel so...odd right now? Simon is a single man. He has the right to go on dates with beautiful women. Unfortunately.

You bounce around your kitchen, rocking your hips side to side to keep Oliver asleep for as long as possible. You can't help but notice how Simons eyes follow your hips as they move. And..what was that? Did he just groan? No no, that would be crazy.

"No I didn't get laid," He finally replies. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding in. Almost like a breath of relief.

"If I was getting laid I would have gotten back a lot later..It takes more than 30 minutes with me, love.." Simon was suddenly behind you, his breath hot on your neck as his hands hover above your hips, heat radiating off of his tatted skin, almost scorching the flesh of your thighs through your pants.

You stop bouncing his son, glancing over your shoulder at Simon and..holy shit he was close, almost too close. Those damned eyes were pulling you under and you didn't know if you wanted to be saved.

Oliver shifts in your arms, waking up slowly. His tiny hands rub his eyes, rubbing the sleep out of them. Once he's awake and spots his dad he immediately makes grabby hands towards him.

You gladly hand him over to Simon, anything to get away from the man that was way way wayyyy to close for comfort. You give Oliver to his father and take a large step away from Simon. You see his smile falter but he quickly regains his composure when his son calls his name, his tiny hands on Simons cheeks.

"You have fun while I was away buddy?" He asks his son, to which Oliver responds with a vigorous nod. He then begins to blabble on about his trucks and snacks he ate, but you space out, your eyes still locked on the two of them.

Simon looked so good with a kid, he was a good dad. You can't help but imagine how good he must have been to his wife while she was pregnant. Her lose for leaving him. He's a great guy. Unfortunately, that means women probably throw themselves at him. Hot, ex-military, AND good with kids??? Yeah, they definitely do. And you would to, if you were so full of self doubt.

"Love?" You hear Simon say, his eyes now focused on you as Oliver was seemingly put down to go play for a little longer.

"I asked if you're free this weekend? Oliver is going over to his grandparents for a few days and I was wondering if you'd like to do something?" His voice was shy...that was weird. It's almost like-

"Are you asking me on a date?" You say, a teasing smirk playing across your lips.

"No no, well- no it's not like that. Just as friends, you know- without the ruckus of that one running around." When he says "that one" he points towards Oliver, who was currently crashing two tractors together and making a crash sound with his mouth.

"You know what? Sure Simon. I'll see you then."

He smiles, nodding softly as he runs his hands through his hair, the gelled effect must have worn off because it was back to its shaggy state, almost getting to the point it reached his eyes. He needed a haircut, but it's not like you didn't like the shaggy look. It was unexpectedly sexy.

Maybe it was just your hormones talking but everything about this man was unexpectedly sexy. His tired eyes from sleepless nights and early mornings, his tatted arms, a few of the tattoos colored in with what seemed like marker from Oliver, and his tall frame, almost towering over you to the point you had to look up to see his face.

You did suggest that he should get laid, but maybe you're the one who really needed the action. It's been who knows how long, and your getting so desperate that you literally can't look at him without butterflies fluttering in your stomach as well as..further south.

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After sending Simon and his son home, you immediately ran to your bedroom, quickly stripping out of your clothes and hopping into the warm water of your shower. With your back to the water and your hands in your hair, you can't help but let your mind wander back to your neighbor.

What was he doing right now? Was he helping Oliver brush his teeth? Was he just getting into the shower too? Was his shower water warm or cool? Did he have tattoos elsewhere? What did the soap look like running down his chest and down his legs..?

Okay, you need to go to bed. Sleep would do the trick. Right?

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Wrong. Sleep 100% didn't do the trick. Two full days of almost nothing but sleep and this man has been filling your head with thought of him, some more naughty than other. He had crawled into your dreams, your thoughts, and your daily life in general. You cant even pour creamer into your coffee without seeing his smug ass face in your mug.

It was now the weekend, around 7pm on a Saturday. The sun had already gone down and you were sitting in your living room, a random cheesy rom com on the television as you scrolled on your phone. You scrolled through your feed, seeing videos of your college friends out partying, drinking, and having fun. Then there was you, sitting at home with day old mascara on your lashes and sleep evident on your face.

There was a heavy knock on your door, with a raised brow you hop up from your couch and make your way over to the door, peaking through the peep hole to see who it was. And to your surprise, it was exactly who you were thinking of.

There Simon stood, a bottle of champagne and a single red rose in his hands as he bounces on his heels, he was back to his regular shaggy look, unkempt hair, white t-shirt, blue jeans, and his silver dog tag hanging from his neck.

Quickly, you open the door with a smile and invite the man in. As he walks in towards your kitchen counter you quickly become aware of your appearance. Old makeup on your face, and crinkled clothes that you couldn't be bothered to iron.

However, at this point the two of you have seen each other at your worst, hell you've seen Simon running off of two hours of sleep with a sick little Oliver who wouldn't stop crying and coughing.

"Champagne and a rose? This feels like a date to me.." You tease running a hand across his shoulder as you pass him, earning a shiver from the man. you stand on the opposite side of the kitchen island as he takes a seat on one of the barstool chairs you have, sliding the bottle towards you.

"Take it however you want love." He laughs, running his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his face, his bicep flexing in the process, and holy fuck.

You shake your head and pop open the bottle of champagne. "I'm glad I know you and Oliver, he's a good kid."

"You're such a big help with the little guy, I honestly don't know what I'd do without you. He loves you a lot." Simon is more soft spoken than usual as he twirls the rose between his fingertips.

You're frantically searching your cabinets for those champagne glasses you got all those years ago but have never used. You swear you still had them.

"It's no biggy. He's a joy to have around and probably one of my only friends!" You laugh, sighing after you cant find those dumbass champagne glasses and grabbing two mugs out of the cabinet instead. Not quite what you'd normally drink something like champagne out of, but it would have to work.

"So I'm not considered a friend? I see how it is," Simon fakes a hurt expression as he takes a mug from you with a raised brow. His shoulders shake in silent laughter after he looks at the mug to which it read "Male Tears" in big black lettering.

You laugh along with him, "Eh, I kinda like your son more than you, he's less broody," You tease, pouring the champagne into each of your mugs. Your mug saying "Reading is Sexy" with blue lettering.

There the two of you sat, at your kitchen island drinking cheap champagne out of coffee mugs with a single red rose placed between the two of you.

-

After a few hours and an entire bottle of champagne, the two of you sat on your couch together, a movie on your tv.

You sat with your legs draped across Simons lap, his hand resting on your knee as his fingers gently rubbed circles into your skin. It tickled, but in a good way.

You fought sleep, your eyelids slowly shutting and reopening. Your breath was calm and slow, a comfortable silence had fallen between the two of you.

"Gettin' sleepy love?" Simon asks with a chuckle, his deep blue eyes lingering on you as he rubs up and down the length of your leg.

You don't bother answering verbally, you don't have the energy. You shake your head in a quiet and small 'no', your hand coming up to rub your eyes. What time was it? It couldn't be that late.

With a groan, you sit up and grab your phone off of the coffee table, tapping your screen a few times for it to turn on. Your screen nearly blinds you, a curse falling from you lips as Simon merely chuckles next to you. 11:57. Almost midnight already? You thought, there's no way.

Simon peaks over your shoulder and shakes his head, running his hands over his face with a yawn. "Surely I haven't been here all that long, it's definitely past our bedtimes," he teases as he moves your legs off of his, standing from the couch with a stretch, his shirt lifting, showing off a fucking happy trail. This man was too hot for his own good. It had to be a crime at this point.

You stand next to him, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you yawn, making your way lazily towards the direction of your bedroom.

"I better get ta' goin'-" Simon begins, before you cut him off.

"Oh please, theres no way in hell you came over here just to hang out as friends, Simon." Your voice is low as you stand before him, your bodies mere inches apart as you stare up at him. Messy hair, sleepy eyes, and those god damn dimples shining through as he smirks down at you. You fuckin' knew it.

His arms wrap around your waist, his face nearing yours as he walks you backwards into your kitchen, your hips hitting the kitchen island. "I've been caught."

His breath smelling of cheap champagne and cigarettes as his lips grazed yours. His lips are soft as he finally kisses you, fitting perfectly against yours.

Simons hands remove themselves from your waist, landing on the kitchen island, trapping you between him and the counter. You deepen the kiss, standing on your tippy toes to match his force, earning an audible groan from the blonde man in front of you.

When the kiss ends, nothing but heavy panting and quiet curses fill the air. "Fuckin' hell love.." he whispers against your neck, his lips leaving a trail of kisses up and down your warm skin.

Quiet whimpers leave your lips as his lips work their way up to your ear, where he whispers a phrase that makes your knees want to buckle. "Get on the fuckin' counter doll, I've waited far to long for this and my tongue is tingling for your taste.."

Obviously, you do as he says, hopping up onto the cool granite. "Atta girl," he says, his voice raspy as he tugs the waistband of your pants down, pulling them off your legs as if he's been craving you for years. Maybe he has been..

In a swift motion he pushed you onto your back, earning a quiet yelp from you as your back touched the cold surface. With his eyes glued on your panties and his hands on your plush thighs you can't help but whimper, letting your head fall back onto the counter top.

"Fuckin hell lovie, you're already so wet..." Simon says through gritted teeth, the pad of this thumb rubbing slow circles against your clit, the feeling of the pressure over the fabric of your panties was enough for you to clench around nothing.

"Simon please-" you whimper, your hips rolling against his touch, eager for more. This draws a chuckle from the man in front of you, he pulls his hand away with a smug smirk on his lips.

Not another word is shared between the two of you before Simon is kneeled on the tile flooring and he has your legs over his shoulders, his face at perfect height with your core. He pulls your panties to the side, groaning at the sight before him. He was so fucking hard right now, straining against the zipper of his pants.

He blows a cool puff of air against your cunt, watching as it flutters before it, his smirk never falters as he runs his thumb over your cunt, coving his finger in your juices.

"Riley I swear to the gods, if you don't stop playing with your food-" you begin, getting cut off with his tongue against your slit and his thumb rubbing circles against your sensitive bundle of nerves. His tongue works in and out of you, flicking and sucking, the noises that fill the kitchen are positively hypnotic. Your whimpers and moans mixed with the wet noises of Simons tongue between your legs. And to top it off, every time you buck your hips against his face he moans, a low growl like noise that makes you absolutely drip.

Simon is only using one hand to hold open your legs, his right hand has traveled down to his pants, unzipping his jeans and finally giving himself that oh so needed friction that he's been deprived of. His tongue goes flat against your cunt, his head shaking side to side, flicking his tongue every so often, just enough to catch the tip of your clit.

He palms himself through his boxers, rutting into the palm of his hand. "You like that baby? You're gettin' louder.." he teases as he sucks on your clit, causing your back to arch off of the counter top and your hands to fly to his hair, tugging on the blonde strands, pressing his face into your greedy little cunt even more.

"Simon! Right fucking there, please please please..." You moan, your thighs threatening to close around his head as your legs shake with pleasure. Your breath is quick and your moans are loud as Simon god damn Riley holds your legs open, sucking and licking your clit, you were about to fall apart right then and there, but after he shoves two fingers into your cunt you absolutely crumble.

The orgasm rushes throughout your body, your grip on his hair tight. He doesn't stop though, his tongue stays glued to your clit, his fingers moving at a pace that makes your writhe, drawing out this heavenly orgasm as long as he can.

You're already fucked out as he pulls his fingers out of you, kissing your fluttering cunt, kissing up your torso and tugging your shirt over your head to kiss all the way up your lips. This kiss was everything passionate, the taste of you still lingering on his lips.

Your eyelids are heavy and your chest rises with a quick pace, still trying to come down from your high. Sweat glitters your skin, your panties hanging from your ankle and your mascara running down your cheeks. "So beautiful, so fucking gorgeous baby.." Simon whispers as he kissed you on the forehead, running his hands over your cheeks. "But we're not done yet, no no no, this night isn't over until I fill you up so full that Oliver will have a fucking sibling by tomorrow.." His voice is deep and sultry, pulling you up off the counter by your wrists and tossing you over his shoulder like a damn sack of potatoes.

With a yelp from you, Simon gives a little smacks to your ass. His quick strides make it to your bedroom in no time at all. He tossed you on the bed, you landing on your back, your toes bouncing along with the mattress, earning a low curse from the man in front of you. He stands at the end of your bed, quickly pulling his pants and boxers off of himself. He can't go another fucking second without being inside of you.

The image of this man crawling on top of you, his ink covered arms on either side of your head and your legs on either side of your hips as he pressed against you. It was all so much, your cunt was dripping, and from what you could see so was the tip of his cock.

Holy shit his cock, it was huge, veins running up and down the length of it. You figured he was from the start, but now that it's in front of you, how the hell will it all fit?

His hands reach for your thighs, pushing them up so your knees neared your ears, the tip of his cock teases the entrance of your cunt, the bead of pre-cum smearing all over your clit. You wiggle your hips, eager for something, anything but this fucking torturous teasing that this man seems so obsessed with.

"Simon.." You moan, earning a groan from the man. His eyes have not left you this entire time, his gaze wandering up and down your figure with a look of biting desire.

"Moaning my name like that..fuck," He groans through gritted teeth, pressing the tip of his cock inside, fucking finally.

You suck in a breath through your teeth, biting down on your bottom lip as you grip the sheets.

Simons eyes shut with pleasure as he pushes into you. Only to open once again to watch your face, watching for any looks of displeasure, he makes it about half way when your eyebrows furrow and your hand flies to his torso, pressing against his abdomen as a way to tell him to stop for a second.

"It's okay lovie, breath, you're taking me so well.." He whispers, leaning down to kiss your cheek, kissing away a single stray tear that had seemingly rolled down your cheek. Slowly, he continues to push into you, the two of you share a mutual moan as he finally bottoms out, his stomach pressed flush against your clit.

"Good girl, my good girl baby, yes.." He moans, his hands under your knees as he holds one leg over his shoulder and the other off the the side.

Your whimpers, his groans, and the smell of sex fills the bedroom. You rock your hips, indicating the need for friction. With pleasure, Simon gives you what you needs, rolling his hips and pulling out about half way before slamming back inside you. Your loud moans and pleases for more, more, more fill the room, causing Simon to let out a guttural groan, hai cock twitching inside of you.

Simon shifted his hips, dragging his cock out of you. It glistened with your arousal, and it made his face grow hot. He bit back a whimper when he pushed inside you once more. You gasped, and he did it again. Again and again until he had a set a rhythm that had your entire body on fire, writhing against the mattress.

"Yes yes, fuck Simon, makin' m' feel so good, I-" You whimper, your legs shaking and your eyes squeezed shut out of pure pleasure.

Simon had reached a hand down and was now rubbing circles on your clit. Your words had his brain swimming, his thrusts deepening and pace quickening. The tight ball of pleasure was drawing tighter and tighter in the base of your tummy, your cunt fluttering around his cock.

"Fuck baby, you feel so good..wanna put a fuckin baby in you lovie..." His voice is low, his groans turning into whimpers as his thrusts become sloppy, he's nearing his own climax. Your own peak is nearing, your cunt fluttering around his cock, clenching and squeezing as he moves at a pace that is absolutely intoxicating.

"Come for me, baby," he whispered. "Come on my cock. That's it, baby, yeah– good fuckin' girl."

His finger moves quickly against your clit, rubbing as his cock bullies in and out of your greedy little cunt. The force of his thrusts make your tits bounce, earning deep and needy groans from the back of Simons throat.

You came around his cock with a sob of his name, your cunt squeezing him tight as the ball of pressure snapped in your tummy. Your orgasm was hard, slamming over you and rendering you breathless, your head floating. Your clit pulsed beneath the movements of his fingers.

The tightness of your cunt earned a fucked out moan from Simon as he slams in and out of you, reaching even deeper than before. You wanted to scream. He was so deep. You were so full.

"Such a good girl, suck a greedy little cunt— so tight I don't think I'll be able to pull out-, yes baby.." He blabbered helplessly as he becomes utterly pussydrunk, his head lolling back and his eyes closing with pleasure.

"M'gonna come in this tight cunt," Si whispered, almost too quiet for you to hear. He spoke louder when he continued his sentence. "You want my cum, baby? You want me to come inside you? Want me to fill you up, fill this pretty tummy?"

"Yes! Please—!" You practically scream.

"I will— I'll fill you up with all of my fuckin' cum.." He moans, his thrusts sloppy and his grip on your thighs bruising. "Take it all like a good girl," he moaned. "Get you–fuck —get you pregnant. Fill you up with my kids. I'd look after you, baby."

You were basically screaming.

And with that Simon cums, your name falling from his lips as the white hot liquid spills from his cock into you. He doesn't pull out, tugging you up so that you straddled his hips, his hands on your as as he holds you up, him leaning back against the heels of his feet. The two of you share a tender kiss, his lips softly kissing your lips, cheeks, and neck.

"Fuckin' hell love.." He laughs, his voice raspy. He finally pulls out, a deep groan slipping from his lips as he watches his cum drip out of that sweet little cunt. Carefully, he lays you back down on the mattress, staring down at you with low eyes and a small smile on his lips.

"You were so good just now, you know that? So beautiful, so fuckin' hot-" He moves so he's laid beside you, his chest pressed against your back as he rubs small circles on your hip with his finger. "-I loved your moans, and the feeling of your pussy..just stay like this with me for a second, yeah?" His hand runs up and down your side, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence as his breath tickles the back of your neck.

What an odd feeling. It all felt as if everything had always been like this. As if the two of you were meant to be, and this was all just natural.

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Simon and You sit in your living room together, his hand on your thigh and Oliver running back and forth with a superman action figure in hand making a 'swooshhh' sound with his mouth.

The promise ring on your finger sparkles as you look down at it, you can't take your eyes off the damn thing. It's been a week since he's given it to you, but every time you eye catches the little piece of jewelry you can't help but stare.

Three years of crushing and helping him raise his kid. One night of his name being moaned and orgasm after orgasm. Two weeks form that night he asked you out. It's been four months since he asked you to be his girlfriend. Everything seemed to be moving so quickly. But not, at the same time. It feels like you've know each other forever so it was natural. Nothing odd about falling in love so quickly.

Or maybe the love has always been there, it was the commitment and the confessions and the confusing mixed signals that were messing with the process.

But in the end everything had fallen in place. Simon still lives next door, but that is gonna change soon. He spends more and more time over at your place than his own. Both his and Oliver's clothes litter your laundry, and instead of one lonely toothbrush in the bathroom, there's now three.

Pink, Blue, and a tiny red one for Oliver.

This was how it was meant to be. Simon, Oliver, and you. And possibly another one. Simon is pretty eager for that addition. Now that was a little fast even for you.

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a/n: not to singledad!simon anymore. <33

p.s.- i tagged everyone who i saw asked to be, sorry if i missed ya! and thank you all so so much for all the love. i love all of ya so so much! <33