#i….. don’t listen to them BUT it’ll be fun!!!

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part twelve

I need y'all to know that I'm writing part 18 rn and it's getting GOOD I can't wait this fic is so fun to write and I'm so happy you guys are loving it as much as I'm loving writing it!!! 🤭💞

Warnings: once again they're...getting along? never fear they still argue though, things are...about to get crazy, (i hope we are picking up on the subtle moments of attraction bc they're only going to get worse xoxo)

After three days of straight paperwork — and one annoying HR meeting because someone from a different department must’ve heard you and Hotch arguing and decided to tattle — you’re going insane. You need something else to do besides sit in a chair staring at files all day, listening to Morgan and Reid bicker, and glaring at Hotch every time you catch him looking at you through his office window.

You’ve heard nothing new from the case in Alabama. Radio silence from the unsub. Radio silence from the police. Nothing new from the sketch Lila helped with, too. Nothing at all, with anything.

You’re going stir crazy. 

You need a new case to come in. Given what Strauss told you in that meeting, you expect a new case to come in any minute.

What you do not expect is to come back from lunch on the fourth day to find Strauss in Hotch’s office, or for them to be arguing. With the door open, for god’s sake, so everyone in departments three floors down can hear.

You don’t think before you haul ass up the stairs, especially not after you hear your own name in the midst of their poor attempts to not shout, turning everyone’s heads. Your mind immediately conjures up the worst case scenario: that they’re arguing about your father, about how Strauss let you seal that part of your file, and somehow Hotch found out that she let you, and now it’s all getting blown out of proportion.

You can’t make out the source of their arguing, though, because they’re just shouting nonsense at one another, bordering on insults. 

Jesus, is this what it sounds like to everyone else when you and Hotch argue?

Strauss and Hotch both stop bickering as soon as they spot you hovering in the doorway. You raise your eyebrows at them like a parent catching two siblings in the middle of an unnecessary fight — which isn’t that far off the mark.

“Ma’am,” you nod to Strauss. “Hotch,” you look over at him. “I heard my name. What’s going on?”

Strauss answers, turning toward you, “Richard Monroe has stopped cooperating with the authorities. He’s said he’ll cooperate again, but he wants to speak with you first.”

“No,” Hotch says firmly, one hand planted on his hip, his other hand pointing an accusatory finger in Strauss’s direction, then at you. “There is no reason for Richard to speak with her.”

“Why not?” you ask, trying to keep your tone on the calmer side, at least while Strauss is present. “If it’ll make him cooperate, I’ll talk with him.”

“Thank you,” Strauss says, relieved, before turning to give Hotch a lethal glare. “See? I told you you’re getting worked up over nothing, Aaron.”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, whether to assure yourself or Hotch, you have no idea. “It’s one conversation. It’s not like I haven’t spoken to him bef—”

“It’s not just one conversation,” Hotch fumes.

“Stop acting like I can’t handle this job,” you argue.

Hotch almost looks offended. “That’s not what I’m—” 

“I don’t care what it is,” Strauss shouts over the both of you. “Agent, you’ll speak with Richard tomorrow. I’ve already scheduled it, and I’ll forward you the details. Hotch, I’ll let them know you’ll be attending as well.”

“Excuse me?” Hotch says.

“What?” you blurt at the same time. “I don’t need him to come with me.”

“Well, you’re not allowed to go alone, and frankly, Aaron, if it bothers you so badly, you should go with her, as Unit Chief,” Strauss says, her phone ringing in her pocket halfway through her sentence. “I’m late for a meeting. This is settled. Understood?”

Hotch looks like he’d rather put his own foot up his ass until he tastes the sole of his shoe. “Understood.”

“Yes ma’am,” you nod, stepping aside to let Strauss leave. “Thank you.”

You don’t bother waiting for Hotch to speak before inviting yourself into his office all the way. It takes everything in you not to slam the door behind Strauss. He yanks the blinds closed with just as much anger, chest practically heaving. You’re surprised he didn’t rip them off the wall with the force.

“What the hell was that?” you hiss. These walls, no matter how much you wish they were, aren’t soundproof, and by now you’ve probably attracted the attention of the entire goddamn floor, let alone your nosy teammates who are returning from lunch.

“I might ask you the same thing,” Hotch fires back, rounding his desk. You know what he’s doing, trying to tower over you and intimidate you. It won’t work, not with you. He should know that by now. “Did you know about this?”

“About Richard Monroe being a manipulative piece of shit? Of course I’ve known— I’m not a fucking idiot, Hotch.”

“I never said you were! Stop putting words in my—” he curses, pinching the bridge of his nose before resting his hand on his hip. “I don’t want you speaking to him.”

“Why?”

“Do I need to remind you what happened in that interrogation room?” Hotch says, voice surprisingly calm for how angry you remember him being that day. “He recognized you and you won’t tell me why—”

“Because I don’t know why,” you shoot back. It’s the honest truth, even if there’s pieces of information you could share. But you don’t want to; you’re not ready. “And I don’t know why you don’t trust me, but it’s grating on my nerves, Hotch. You say I’m a valuable asset to this team, yet you’re acting like I’m not capable of speaking to an unsub that I've spoken to before — for an hour.”

His chest is heaving, but he doesn’t say a damn thing. He just keeps standing there, looking down at you, clenching his jaw.

“I’m going to speak with Richard Monroe tomorrow,” you say, standing nearly toe-to-toe with Hotch. “Whether or not you join me is entirely up to you. But if you’re just going to act like this, then,” you gesture between the two of you, shaking your head. “Don’t bother coming. I’ll get someone else to go with me. You can call out sick for all I fucking care.”

You storm out of his office then, slamming the door behind you so hard you’d be surprised if the window didn’t rattle.

You jump when you realize Rossi is standing in his office doorway, watching you.

“What?” you snap. You don’t mean to take the frustration out on him too, but it’s hard not to when he’s lurking like that. 

Rossi raises his eyebrows, backing into his office without another word. 

You can’t deal with this right now.

Hotch’s door opens behind you and you spin around, freezing when you’re face to face with him. His expression is as unreadable as it always is, but you know he’s pissed at you.

“I’m going home to rest up before tomorrow,” you say, making sure your tone conveys it not as a request but a statement of fact. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Hotch nods once and that’s good enough for you, so you turn and head for your desk, gathering your things.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” you say, flashing a tight smile to the rest of the team. “Bye.”

“Um…bye…?” Reid looks around to be sure everyone is as confused as he is. They are, but they all shrug, letting you leave.

Up the stairs, Hotch watches you go, knuckles white from where he’s gripping the railing. He shouldn’t have let you go so easily, but you both need to cool down, and if you’re really going to do this tomorrow, you need your rest. 

From beside him, Rossi pointedly clears his throat.

Hotch turns his head, following Rossi’s silent request to follow him into his office. He pushes the door closed behind him.

Hotch starts to pace, then stops in the middle of the room, lifting his arm and dropping it in a what the hell gesture. “She’s going to speak with Richard Monroe tomorrow.”

“I heard,” Dave smirks. “And you’re going with her?”

“I have no choice, do I?” Aaron replies, rubbing his forehead. “I’ll have to tell her tomorrow. If he says anything else about recognizing her—”

“Are you sure he wasn’t saying that just to get a rise out of her? She’s a new agent, she’s attractive—” Rossi cuts himself off when he sees Hotch’s glare. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes,” Hotch says. “I know.”

“She doesn’t know him, Aaron,” Dave says. “How would she? He’s a serial killer who’s been on the run—”

“He knows things about her childhood, Dave,” Hotch cries. “If he knows about the kidnapping, and her father, then who knows what else he’s heard— who knows what he’ll do—”

“Aaron,” Rossi shakes his head. “I know you want to help her, but you can’t protect her, and she can take care of herself.”

“I know she can,” Hotch says, dropping his hand in defeat. “I know.” You’ve been taking care of everything ever since he first met you. He knows you’re more than capable.

He just doesn’t want to find out what happens when you face something you can’t handle alone — and if he’s the one who lets you go at this alone, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

He can’t shake the gut feeling that you’re in way over your head and you don’t realize it. Because you don’t even know what you’re dealing with.

+++

You hardly sleep at all, so you’re in a piss poor mood the next morning, and you blame Hotch for it. Naturally.

So, of course, it also irritates the fuck out of you when you arrive at the office and there’s a coffee waiting on your desk. And an apologetic looking Unit Chief standing next to it, identical coffee cup in hand.

You toss your purse down in your chair, glaring at Hotch. “Are you in a better mood today?”

“Peace offering?” he says instead, gesturing to the coffee on your desk.

“Did you poison it?”

He stares at you tiredly.

You pick it up, keeping your eyes on him as you inhale the steam still rising from the hole in the lid. “What is it?”

“Your favorite,” he replies. “Thought it might make the drive easier.”

“Oh?” You smirk. “Am I driving?”

“No,” he scoffs — which oddly almost sounds like a laugh.

You snicker, bringing the cup to your lips. You don’t miss the way Hotch’s eyes follow the motion, or the way they get stuck on your lips before he averts them, like he senses he’s been caught.

It takes everything in you not to call him out on it. You settle for tasting your coffee and letting out a noise of surprise.

“What?” Hotch asks. “Is it wrong?”

“No, it’s good,” you reply quickly. “It’s right. Thanks.”

He nods once. “Good. Um, I’ll be in my office. We’ll leave in about an hour.”

“Sounds good to me,” you nod, raising your cup in cheers. “See you in a bit.”

Hotch heads up to his office without another word, leaving you with a whole world of confusion. 

He’s buying you coffee now? Seriously?

Thank god no one else was here to witness that. You’d never live that one down if Morgan heard all of it.

You shove your purse aside and sit down, putting your head in your hands. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself, continuing the long process of mentally preparing for speaking with Richard Monroe today.

“Long night?” 

You raise your head to glare at Morgan, but it holds no real heat. You’re too tired and you’re not even mad at him. “Don’t even get me started.”

His mouth forms an ‘o’ as inhales sharply. “That bad, huh?” He drops his bag next to his desk, instead coming over to prop himself on the edge of yours. “Talk to me.”

“Morgan,” you sigh, dropping your head back into your hands. “Not today, seriously.”

“What’s happening today?” he asks. “You never did say why you left so suddenly yesterday.”

You lift your head and glance toward Hotch’s office, slightly relieved to find his door closed and his head turned down toward paperwork on his desk. When you look back at Derek, he does the most not-subtle look over his shoulder at Hotch before looking back at you.

“No.”

You lean back, eyebrows furrowed. “No what?”

Morgan starts to grin. “You two finally get your shit together?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I see how it is,” Morgan chuckles, lightly tapping your shoulder. “Come on, tell me. Who made the first move?”

“Get off of my desk,” you say through gritted teeth, shoving his leg. “Nothing happened. I have to go speak to Richard Monroe today and Hotch is coming with—”

“What?” Morgan asks, incredulous. “Richard Monroe? Why him?”

“Because he’s not cooperating with the investigation anymore but says he will if he speaks to me first,” you explain like it’s nothing — because it is. “Strauss told me about it a couple weeks ago.”

“No,” Morgan shakes his head. “I don’t like the idea of this.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your coffee. “Now you sound just like Hotch.”

“Good,” Morgan slides off your desk, shrugging. “‘Cause this doesn’t sound like a good idea. You had a panic attack after talking to him.”

You shake your head. “That’s not—”

“I know what those look like,” Morgan argues. “Whether or not that’s what you call them, that’s what they are.”

“Leave it alone,” you warn.

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright. Just— You know the drill. Call me if you need me. And try not to kill him,” he adds with a quick glance up to Hotch’s office.

“No promises,” you reply, tipping your coffee back.

+++

When Hotch comes down to the bullpen an hour later, you notice everyone’s eyes zeroing in on his coffee, then yours, taking note of the matching cups. Prentiss is first to raise her eyebrows at you. You give her a look that just says don’t. She says nothing, but her smirk tells you she’ll be messaging the group chat about it later.

“Ready?” Hotch asks.

“Yep,” you nod, grabbing your purse and standing. You offer a mock salute to the rest of your team. “See you on the other side.”

Morgan laughs, shaking his head at you. “Try not to kill each other. Please.”

You and Hotch roll your eyes at the same time, freezing when you catch the other doing it.

It takes a surprising amount of effort on your part to not smile.

You swipe your coffee off your desk, downing the last remaining drops as the two of you walk toward the exit. “Thanks for this again, by the way,” you say quietly, tossing your empty cup in the trash can in the hall. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s not a problem,” he replies, tossing his as well while you hit the down arrow on the elevator.

The silence blankets you both inside the elevator as you stand as far apart as possible. Like you both know you need to cherish your personal space before you’re stuck in a car together for three straight hours — one way.

Since Hotch is driving, you head toward where you know his car will be in the parking deck. The spaces aren’t even assigned; he’s just a creature of habit. You, on the other hand, hardly ever park in the same spot. Hotch has always wondered why.

“If this radio turns on and starts playing some classical music bullshit, I’m going to be so disappointed in you, Hotchner,” you tease as you buckle yourself in.

Hotch says nothing as he turns the key in the ignition. A second later, The Beatles’s white album fills the car. Namely, the song “I Will”.

“Seriously?” you grin. “The white album?”

“What’s wrong with it?” he asks, immediately on the defensive.

“Nothing,” you hum, looking out the window. “I’m partial to Abbey Road.”

“Of course you would be.”

Your head whips toward him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “Nothing.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s smiling. 

You narrow your eyes before turning your head, biting back your own smile for the second time this morning.

Maybe you are warming up to each other — slightly — or maybe it means nothing. 

Whatever it is, you don’t have time to think about it today. You have a serial killer who wants to speak with you, who somehow knows who you are despite you having never met him before, and the only explanation must have something to do with your father — who Hotch still knows nothing about.

[samaraxmorgan]

My best friends comin in town for my birthday tomorrow im so excited :)

[unknownarmageddon]

btw you should listen to the no pants dance by nsp

the lyrics are a little strange but the vibes are immaculate

on it boss 🫡

[rosesradio]

.

[luvuomi]

✎ . . . ❝ [ amethos but, epic au! ]❞ .ೃ࿐

dedicated tracks: “the horse and the infant” & “just a man”

though strategic in his battle tactics and a master in the art of war, sethos is not one who particularly enjoys the bloodshed and adrenaline that comes along with it. unfortunately in this day in age, not many would agree. for them, to harbor such skilled yet deathly attributes, should thus be carried with pride. only then, can a man ever wish to become that which is greater than himself. this is how many view the reigning king of tulaytullah.

an adversary that is neither man nor mythical, but one’s darkest moment.

but would his fellow comrades still think the same of him now if they saw him hesitating on striking down his greatest foe? granted.. said foe was nothing more than a mere infant.

a fragile, defenseless being he now cradled in his arms, a familiar gesture that brought forth memories of his own child as he looked into their eyes. how could such innocence be deemed a threat by the gods? to be the bearer of such great calamity?

he couldn’t do it. how can when all he sees as he carries this child are fleeting images of his own son and wife.

where as he stands out on the balcony overseeing a once prosperous nation now set ablaze and ringing with battle cries from his invasion, he imagines for a moment that he’s back home in tulaytullah. even after all the years, away from everything he’s known, he can still see the image of the streets below bustling with vendors as they open up shops and prepare for the day ahead. instead of the smoky air, he imagines the mellow summer breeze that travels through the air of his kingdom, greeting him a pleasant morning.

in this daydream, sethos continues to hold the infant in his arms, having decidedly taken him in to raise as his own. at his right, his own son tugs at him, eagerly wanting to meet his new little brother and on his left, is his wife — amélie . her head resting upon his shoulder while tender eyes gaze upon the infant that she of course welcomed with open arms. it’s a distant future but one that is so picturesque, he almost believes it to be true.

but as the infant’s cries suddenly echo out, everything vanishes as quickly as it came, reduced to nothing more than the ashes that fill the darkened skies.

the world he desires is not awaiting him should he go against the will of the gods.

to have sympathy now would come at too much of a cost. one he can’t afford to lose as a man who’s just trying.. begging to go home.

[fated-normal-767]

The key thing is I don’t want to come across as though I’m going “you should only book people to talk about things we all agree with” like honestly they can book whoever the fuck they want but they should clearly label it so people don’t go see stuff they don’t even give a fuck about . That’s all.

[solxamber]

Pick Us!

In which you have to choose a club and it looks like everyone wants a piece of you.

Part 2 (Choosing a club)

You were minding your own business, dodging Grim's increasingly creative ways to get you to buy premium tuna, when Crowley swept in with his usual dramatic flair.

“Ah, my dear pupil!” he exclaimed, arms wide like a bad community theater actor. “To better immerse yourself in school life, you must join a club. It’s mandatory!”

Before you could protest or ask any clarifying questions, he disappeared in a swirl of his cape, leaving you standing there with nothing but Grim’s unsympathetic shrug.

Naturally, this information traveled faster than you could process it, because the next thing you knew, Ace was practically dragging you by the arm across campus.

The Basketball Club

“Alright, listen,” Ace began, spinning a basketball on one finger and grinning like he just invented the sport. “You’re obviously joining the basketball club. It’s the best. I’m here, Floyd’s here, and even Jamil’s here, so really, it’s a no-brainer.”

“Is that supposed to sell it?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Uh, yeah!” he said, tossing the ball toward you. It immediately bounced off your hands and hit the floor. Ace, undeterred, caught it mid-bounce and gave you a wink. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you. I’m, like, super good at this. Just ask him!”

From across the gym, some poor guy—bless his heart—tried to nod in support, but you caught the nervous look he shot Ace instead.

“Okay, sure,” you said, “but isn’t this just an excuse for you to show off?”

“Maybe,” Ace said with zero shame, dribbling the ball dramatically before attempting a layup. The ball bounced off the rim and into Floyd’s waiting hands.

“Shrimpy!” Floyd called, tossing the ball behind his head without looking (and still somehow making the shot). “Join the club. It’ll be fuuuuun.”

You hesitated, because with Floyd, “fun” could mean literally anything. “Define fun,” you said cautiously.

“Simple! You, me, and Ace crushing people in games!” Floyd grinned, leaning closer to you. “And if anyone tries to mess with you, I’ll squish ‘em.”

Ace groaned. “Floyd, you can’t just threaten people into joining.”

“Why not?” Floyd asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Because it’s weird!”

“No, it’s effective,” Floyd countered, shooting you another toothy grin. “C’mon, Shrimpy, you’re already here. I’ll even let you call the plays. Or, you know, not. Whatever.”

“...You’re just bored, aren’t you?”

“Obviously,” Floyd admitted, leaning lazily against the wall. “But hey, if you join, I won’t let Ace hog the ball. Win-win, right?”

And then there was Jamil, who had been sitting silently on the sidelines, observing the chaos with his usual exasperated expression.

“Are they done?” he asked, finally standing and walking over to you.

“I don’t think so,” you replied, watching as Floyd tried to steal the ball from Ace mid-dribble.

Jamil sighed. “Typical.” He glanced at you, his tone cool and measured. “Ignore them. They’re just trying to drag you into their antics.”

“Antics?” Floyd repeated, offended.

“Yeah, Jamil,” Ace added, narrowing his eyes. “What’re you implying?”

“I’m implying you’re both terrible at convincing people,” Jamil said smoothly. He turned back to you. “If you’re interested in joining the club, you’ll actually get something out of it. Physical exercise, teamwork, strategy. And if you stick around, I’ll make sure you’re not stuck with them during practice.”

“Hey!” Ace protested.

Floyd just laughed. “Jamil’s still salty about the last scrimmage.”

“Hardly,” Jamil said, arching an eyebrow. “I’m just pointing out that if you want to learn how to actually play, you’d be better off with me.”

You blinked. “Are you… offering to train me?”

He shrugged, but there was a faint smirk on his face. “If it means saving you from their nonsense, yes.”

All you can do is sigh and say "I'll think about it"

Track and Field Club

You barely made it out of the basketball club’s gym alive when Deuce grabbed your wrist like his life depended on it. His expression was that unique combination of earnest and panicked—classic Deuce.

“Wait, don’t decide yet!” he said, already dragging you down the corridor. “You haven’t even seen the track and field club! You might like it better!”

“Deuce,” you began, trying to keep up without tripping. “I haven’t even—”

“Just come on!”

Before you knew it, you were standing on the edge of the outdoor track, blinking in the sunlight as Deuce shoved you forward like he was presenting a prize to a panel of judges. Jack, in the middle of sprint drills, stopped mid-stride to look over at you. His tail flicked once, and he jogged over with that intimidating mix of focus and curiosity he always had.

“You’re trying to recruit them?” Jack asked, crossing his arms.

Deuce nodded, puffing out his chest like he was making the ultimate sales pitch. “Yeah! Track and field’s way better than basketball. No offense to those guys.”

“I take offense,” you muttered, but neither of them heard.

“Plus,” Deuce continued, “we’ve got variety. Running, jumping, throwing—you can do anything. It’s not just bouncing a ball around, you know?”

Jack nodded in agreement. “It’s good for discipline. Builds strength, endurance, and focus. If you want to improve yourself, this is the place to do it.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, glancing at the track. “And what if I… don’t exactly have focus?”

“That’s fine!” Deuce said, grinning brightly. “We’ll help you! Right, Jack?”

Jack nodded. “Of course. We’ll start with basic drills.” He gave you a once-over, sizing you up. “How’s your stamina?”

“Define… stamina,” you said cautiously, because you had a feeling your answer wasn’t going to impress him.

Jack’s ears twitched, and he leaned slightly closer. “How far can you run without stopping?”

“Uh,” you began, nervously shifting your weight. “To the fridge?”

Jack blinked. “...You’re joking, right?”

Deuce coughed loudly, clapping a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about that! Everyone starts somewhere, right? Besides, they’re here because they want to try something new.”

You stared at Deuce. “I don’t remember saying that.”

“Exactly!” he continued, ignoring you entirely. “Think of how awesome it’d be to have us training you! We’ll get you in the best shape of your life. Right, Jack?”

Jack, who was still mildly horrified by your fridge comment, hesitated. “...Sure.”

Deuce, now fully in salesman mode, gestured to the track like it was some sort of holy land. “And you don’t have to worry about teamwork stuff! You can focus on your personal goals and—”

“Unless you’re in a relay,” Jack interjected.

“Right, but relays are cool!” Deuce added quickly. “Like… team spirit, you know?”

You glanced between the two of them, taking in Jack’s intensity and Deuce’s enthusiasm. They were both staring at you with a mix of hope and determination, and honestly, it was kind of endearing.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “If I join, do I get to skip the first practice?”

“No,” Jack said immediately.

Deuce grinned sheepishly. “But we’ll go easy on you!”

“Jack doesn’t look like he believes that.”

Jack tilted his head, his tail swishing once. “You’ll thank me later.”

“I’m not sure I’ll survive later,” you muttered.

Deuce ignored that, clapping his hands together. “Great! I knew you’d love it here! C’mon, let’s give them a quick demo, Jack!”

Before you could protest, the two of them took off around the track, moving at speeds that made you feel dizzy just watching. Deuce kept glancing back to grin at you, while Jack stayed focused, every stride perfect.

You stood there, bewildered and vaguely impressed, wondering if joining any club was a good idea at all. Still, as Deuce stumbled back toward you, sweaty but grinning like a puppy who just fetched a stick, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Think about it, okay?” he said, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. “We’d love to have you here.”

Jack jogged up beside him, barely winded. “You’ll fit in if you put in the effort.”

“Yeah,” Deuce agreed, nodding earnestly. “So… what do you think?”

You hesitated, glancing at the track, then at them. “…I’ll get back to you.”

Deuce grinned like that was a victory, and Jack just nodded approvingly. As they walked back to their drills, you realized you had yet another club to consider—and these two weren’t going to make it any easier.

Board Game Club

Before you could make your escape—or even fully process the events of the day—your wrist was suddenly seized by Ortho, who zoomed in out of nowhere like a missile with a purpose.

“There you are!” Ortho exclaimed with unsettling cheer. His grip was surprisingly firm for someone who probably didn’t even need to touch you to move you. “Big Brother’s been waiting! Come on!”

“Wait—what? Ortho, where are we—”

“No time for questions!” And just like that, he lifted you into the air like you were a deranged package and he was some kind of express courier. You barely had time to flail before he rocketed off, delivering you with precision to the board game club's headquarters.

You landed with an unceremonious thud, right in front of Idia, who nearly fell out of his chair.

“Ortho!” Idia hissed, his flaming hair flaring. “You can’t just abduct people like that!”

“But you said you wanted them to join!” Ortho chirped. “Mission accomplished!”

Azul, seated calmly at the head of the table, adjusted his glasses and smirked. “Well, well. A delivery service—how efficient. Welcome to the board game club.”

You were still processing the fact that you’d been airmailed when Idia slouched lower in his seat, muttering, “Ugh, so embarrassing. Ortho, seriously…”

“Uh,” you began, brushing yourself off. “Hi?”

Azul gestured grandly to the table in front of him, where an array of meticulously organized board games was displayed like they were ancient treasures. “Here, we focus on strategy, intellect, and the fine art of outwitting your opponent. Unlike other clubs,” he said with a pointed glance at the door, “this one doesn’t require you to break a sweat.”

“That’s actually kind of appealing,” you admitted, still wary.

Idia perked up slightly, his hair flickering a little brighter. “See? I told you it’s cool. I mean, if you like, uh, not running around like some NPC.”

Ortho leaned over, nodding enthusiastically. “And Big Brother’s really good at this stuff! He’s undefeated in our club tournaments!”

“That’s because you’re the only other member who’s not a liability!” Idia blurted, before realizing what he’d just said. “Uh—I mean—you’d totally, like, be an asset. Probably.”

Azul cleared his throat, clearly annoyed at being excluded from the compliment. “Allow me to demonstrate. Why don’t we have a quick match? You against Idia.”

“What?” Idia sat up straight, his hair sparking nervously. “No way! That’s not fair—I can’t just—”

Azul gave him a smile sharp enough to cut glass. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of losing, Idia.”

Idia’s face turned pink. “Fine,” he grumbled, setting up the board. “But don’t blame me if I crush them.”

You sat down reluctantly, realizing too late that this was probably a trap. Idia’s fingers moved at lightning speed as he set up his pieces, muttering calculations under his breath. Ortho leaned over your shoulder, giving you completely useless advice like, “Just believe in yourself!”

To your surprise, you managed to hold your own for the first few turns. Idia glanced up at you, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were reevaluating your existence.

“Huh,” he murmured. “Not bad. For a newbie.”

“Is that a compliment?” you asked, moving your piece cautiously.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he said quickly, his face turning red again.

Azul chuckled from his spot at the table. “See? A game of wits and strategy. Isn’t this far superior to running laps or throwing balls into hoops?”

“Hey!” you said, pointing your game piece at him. “Don’t diss the other clubs. They’re passionate too!”

Azul raised an eyebrow. “Passion doesn’t win battles. Strategy does.”

The game dragged on, and by the end of it, you were completely out of your depth. Idia, on the other hand, looked like he’d just stepped out of an anime boss fight, his hair flaring dramatically as he made his final move.

“Checkmate,” he said, grinning slightly.

“Wrong game, Big Brother,” Ortho corrected.

“Whatever!” Idia snapped, but he didn’t look too upset. “It’s over, okay?”

Azul leaned forward, smirking again. “So, what do you think? Ready to join?”

You leaned back in your chair, your brain fried from trying to keep up. “I… I need to think about it.”

Ortho beamed. “That means they’re considering it! Success!”

Idia muttered something under his breath about “too much pressure” and “why is this so stressful,” but you caught a tiny flicker of a smile as he fiddled with one of the game pieces.

Azul, ever the businessman, handed you a brochure as you left. “Take your time. But remember—intellect always wins.”

You left the board game club feeling like you’d just survived a high-stakes negotiation. And as Ortho cheerfully waved goodbye, you couldn’t help but wonder if all the clubs were this intense.

Film Studies Club

You were rounding a corner, still recovering from your latest club recruitment ambush, when a perfectly manicured hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.

Before you could even yelp, you found yourself being gracefully pulled into the Film Studies Clubroom by none other than Vil Schoenheit. His strides were purposeful, his posture impeccable, and his expression…well, let’s just say it was the definition of I’m doing you a favor, peasant.

“Vil?” you sputtered, barely managing to keep up. “What are you—”

“I need to vet you,” Vil said simply, his voice calm but leaving no room for argument. “The Film Studies Club could use some fresh blood, and you look… adequate.”

“Adequate?” you echoed, mildly offended but too intrigued to argue further.

He led you to the center of the room, gesturing for you to stand under a perfectly angled spotlight. “Don’t misunderstand,” Vil continued, crossing his arms and regarding you with a critical eye. “I’m merely evaluating your potential. Our club requires both talent and diligence—qualities that, if I’m being honest, are rare in this school.”

“Uh, thanks?”

Vil ignored you, pulling out a script and flipping through it like he was deciding your fate. “If you can’t pass the audition, you can still join as a backstage hand,” he said airily. “We’re short on those too.”

“Wow, what an inspiring pitch,” you muttered, but Vil’s sharp gaze silenced you immediately.

“Read this,” he instructed, handing you the script and gesturing for you to begin.

You hesitated, glancing at the lines. “You’re serious? Right now?”

“Do I look like someone who jokes about art?” Vil asked, raising a perfectly sculpted brow.

Point taken.

Clearing your throat, you started reading, trying to put some effort into it. Vil watched you intently, his expression inscrutable. He occasionally tilted his head, as if mentally dissecting every word you spoke, every movement you made.

When you finished, you looked at him expectantly, waiting for his verdict.

Vil tapped his chin, his eyes narrowing. “You’re not hopeless,” he said finally, in a tone that made it sound like a compliment. “Rough around the edges, yes, but I’ve seen worse.”

“Gee, thanks,” you said dryly.

“Don’t be smug. You’ll need work,” Vil continued, ignoring your tone. “But I suppose you have potential.”

“And if I didn’t?”

Vil gave a delicate shrug, his expression cool. “Then you’d still be useful behind the scenes. But consider this your opportunity to elevate yourself. Being part of my club means striving for excellence—no exceptions.”

You couldn’t help but smirk. “Is this really about me, or are you just desperate for members?”

Vil’s eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of amusement there. “Desperation has nothing to do with it. I’m simply ensuring that my club remains unparalleled. If you happen to benefit from my guidance, so be it.”

“Well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse? I'll think about it.”

Vil’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles. “Smart choice. Now, don’t make me regret it.”

With that, he turned on his heel, leaving you standing there wondering what exactly you’d just signed up for—and if Vil’s idea of “elevating yourself” involved a complete personality overhaul.

Science Club

You barely had time to process Vil's dramatic exit when a familiar voice whispered theatrically, “Ah, my muse! Fate conspires to bring us together!”

Before you could react, Rook Hunt appeared—swooped, really—out of nowhere and expertly whisked you away from the Film Studies Clubroom. It was less like being led and more like being caught mid-flight by an overly enthusiastic bird of prey.

“Rook?!” you yelped as he practically danced you down the hallway. “What is happening?”

“Mon ami,” he declared, his eyes glittering with fervor, “you must see the science club! A world of wonder awaits you!”

“Wait—science?” you echoed, incredulous. “You’re in the science club?”

“Ah, oui! Science is but another stage upon which the beauty of nature and humanity performs its eternal dance! The experiments! The cultivation of life! The creation of culinary masterpieces! All expressions of art, no?”

You weren’t sure if he was describing scientific principles or poetry, but before you could argue, Rook had dragged you into the science clubroom.

The room was a chaotic mix of activities. One corner housed a vibrant garden under grow lights, another had chemistry equipment bubbling away ominously, and a third corner smelled suspiciously like freshly baked bread. Trey Clover stood near a counter, pulling cookies out of an oven as if this were the most normal thing to happen in a science lab.

“Ah, there you are,” Trey greeted, smiling warmly. “Rook said he’d bring someone by. I’m guessing you’re deciding on a club?”

You glanced between Rook, who was already gesturing dramatically at a rack of test tubes, and Trey, who held up a tray of cookies like a peace offering. “I… guess I am?”

“Bien sûr!” Rook exclaimed, sweeping an arm toward the greenery in the corner. “Behold! We grow life itself here! Tomatoes, basil, flowers—anything your heart desires!”

Trey added, “We also bake and cook as part of our activities. It’s a great way to learn about chemistry and make something useful at the same time.”

“And explosions!” Rook chimed in enthusiastically. “Occasionally, there are explosions.”

Trey shot him a look. “Not… intentionally.”

Rook turned back to you, his expression radiant. “Think of the possibilities, mon ami! With science, you can cultivate beauty, create masterpieces, and perhaps even unlock secrets of the universe! And, of course, I am here to guide you—to nurture the artistic soul that dwells within!”

“Also,” Trey added, far more pragmatically, “we’re not picky about what activities you want to try. It’s a flexible club, so you could do a little bit of everything.”

You considered this as Trey handed you a cookie. It was warm and delicious, which admittedly swayed your opinion a little.

“Hmm,” you said thoughtfully, “so I could garden, bake, and blow things up all in one club?”

“Exactly!” Trey said with a smile.

Rook leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a stage whisper. “And think, mon cher—if you hone your talents here, you could support Vil in creating the cinematic beauty he so envisions! Science and art, united in harmony!”

You blinked. “Wait, are you trying to recruit me for this club and help Vil at the same time?”

Rook grinned. “Nature does not limit itself to one purpose, mon ami, and neither do I.”

Trey sighed but didn’t deny it.

“Well, this is definitely… something,” you said, nibbling on the cookie. “I’ll think about it.”

“Ah, a maybe!” Rook clasped his hands together like you’d just promised him your soul. “A victory in itself!”

Before you could say anything else, Rook twirled you toward the door, clearly ready to drag you to your next destination—or possibly just keep talking about “the poetry of chlorophyll” until you gave in.

Pop Music Club

Just as you were beginning to suspect Rook was about to wax poetic about “the lyrical mysteries of yeast fermentation,” a sudden voice interrupted.

“Oh-ho, what’s this?”

Before you could even react, Lilia Vanrouge materialized out of thin air, practically glowing with chaotic energy. “Ah, my dear friend! You’re far too bright a star to waste away on science experiments! Come with me—pop stardom awaits!”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

And just like that, you were swept up in Lilia’s whirlwind. He dragged you down the hallway with a skip in his step and a mischievous laugh, leaving Rook and Trey in his dust.

“Lilia, I can walk, you know!” you said, stumbling to keep up.

“But where’s the drama in that?” Lilia replied, cackling as he pushed open the doors to the Pop Music Clubroom.

Inside, the room was a cacophony of sound and color. Disco lights spun, a half-finished banner reading ‘Next Big Thing!’ hung lopsidedly on the wall, and Kalim was gleefully banging away on a drum like it owed him money. Cater sat cross-legged on the floor, scrolling through his phone and periodically snapping selfies with sparkly filters.

“Oh, hey!” Kalim greeted you, waving so enthusiastically he almost hit himself with the drum stick. “You’re here to join us, right? This club is the best! We have music, dancing, and it’s all just super fun!”

Cater glanced up from his phone, his grin wide and just a little too calculated. “You’d fit right in! Think of all the magicam-worthy moments we could create together. Plus, the followers you’d get? Off the charts.”

“Followers?” you echoed, glancing at Lilia.

“Ah, but of course!” Lilia said, flinging his arms wide as if presenting you to an adoring crowd. “The Pop Music Club isn’t just about music—it’s about presence! Charisma! The ability to captivate a room with a single note or a dazzling smile!”

“It’s also about having a good time!” Kalim added, spinning in a circle for no reason other than sheer joy.

Cater nodded, holding up his phone. “And don’t forget—every moment is a potential viral video. You, me, Lilia, and Kalim as the dream team? We’d own the algorithm.”

You hesitated. “Uh, I don’t even play an instrument.”

“Neither does he!” Lilia said brightly, pointing at some unfortunate bystander.

“Hey!” he protested. “I play the Kalimba!” He promptly tried to play a note, missed the rhythm entirely, and Lilia laughed like it was the funniest thing ever.

“See?” Lilia said, unfazed. “Talent is optional here. All we need is your spirit!”

Cater stood, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. “We also dabble in choreography, so if you’ve got two left feet, don’t worry—we’ll teach you how to make them look intentional.”

“Come on, join us!” Kalim said, grabbing your hands and bouncing up and down like an overexcited puppy. “We could totally use your energy!”

“What energy?” you asked, deadpan. “I’ve been dragged between clubs all day—I barely have any left.”

“Exactly!” Lilia said with a wink. “We’ll channel what’s left into a glorious crescendo of pop music excellence!”

You weren’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or just surrender entirely to the chaos. Lilia’s grin was practically infectious, Kalim’s enthusiasm radiated like the sun, and Cater was already adjusting the angle of his phone to catch you in the best light.

“Well,” you muttered, “at least it sounds… lively.”

“Lively is an understatement,” Cater said, snapping a selfie with you and Lilia in the background. “Hashtag PopStarsInTheMaking! You’re gonna love it here.”

“Let me guess,” you said dryly. “You’re already planning to upload that, aren’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Cater said with a wink.

Lilia clapped his hands, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “So, what do you say? Ready to unleash your inner star?”

“I… will think about it,” you replied, edging toward the door.

“Think fast!” Kalim called after you. “The bass is calling your name!”

You bolted before anyone could shove an instrument into your hands.

Equestrian Club

As you hurried down the hallway, still reeling from the pop music chaos you'd just escaped, you nearly collided with a flash of red.

"Ah, there you are!"

You blinked up at none other than Riddle Rosehearts, who looked as though he'd been scouring the entire school for you. His eyes narrowed, and his voice carried a tone of stern authority mixed with subtle relief.

"I've been looking for you," Riddle said, crossing his arms. "Ace and Deuce mentioned that you’re considering which club to join. As housewarden, it’s my responsibility to ensure you make a proper choice."

You blinked, still processing. "Oh, uh… thanks?"

"Enough dilly-dallying," Riddle said briskly, taking your wrist with surprising firmness. "You're coming with me to the Equestrian Club."

"Wait, what—"

Before you could finish, Riddle had already begun marching you toward the stables. You were half-dragged, half-guided, catching snippets of his lecture along the way about the merits of horseback riding, discipline, and poise.

When you arrived, the warm scent of hay filled the air, and the sound of soft nickering greeted you. The stables were pristine, the horses sleek and well-groomed. Standing nearby were Silver and Sebek, both tending to the horses.

"Riddle, you found them" Silver greeted you with his usual calm demeanor. He gave you a faint smile as he gently brushed a dappled gray mare. "Perfect timing—we were just about to go for a ride."

Sebek, on the other hand, straightened like a soldier at attention, his voice booming. "THEY WILL JOIN US, OF COURSE! IT IS ONLY FITTING FOR AN INDIVIDUAL OF WORTH TO EMBRACE SUCH A NOBLE ART!"

"Sebek, indoor voice," Riddle said sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I AM OUTDOORS!" Sebek retorted, though he did lower his volume slightly.

You glanced nervously at the horses. "Uh, I don’t know if I’m… horse material."

"Nonsense," Riddle said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Riding teaches discipline, focus, and responsibility. It’s the perfect club for fostering growth—and for avoiding unnecessary distractions like some less dignified clubs."

"Pop Music Club?" you guessed.

Riddle sniffed, his expression sour. "Among others."

Silver walked over, still holding the brush, and gave you a reassuring nod. "Don’t worry. The horses are gentle, and we can teach you everything. It’s a peaceful activity once you get used to it."

"Peaceful!" Sebek exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. "It is a pursuit befitting the greatest warriors! EVEN LORD MALLEUS—"

"Sebek," Riddle interrupted, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Focus on the matter at hand."

"Apologies!" Sebek barked, saluting.

Riddle turned back to you, his expression softening just a fraction. "The Equestrian Club isn’t just about riding horses. It’s about elegance, partnership, and understanding. You could benefit greatly from it."

"And the horses are great listeners," Silver added.

"Unlike some humans," Sebek muttered under his breath.

You bit back a laugh as Riddle gave Sebek another glare.

"What do you say?" Riddle asked, stepping aside to let you see one of the horses—a chestnut with a kind, inquisitive gaze. "This is Vorpal. Perhaps a ride would convince you?"

The horse whinnied softly, and for a moment, you considered it. There was something appealing about the tranquility of the stables, the camaraderie of the club members, and the undeniable charm of working with such majestic creatures.

But then you remembered the drum chaos, the science experiments, and Vil’s dramatic vetting process.

"Let me, uh… think about it?" you said, taking a step back.

Riddle sighed, though he looked more exasperated than disappointed. "Very well. But don’t wait too long—indecision is unbecoming."

"Yeah," you mumbled. "Got it."

As you made your escape, you could hear Sebek booming, "RIDING A HORSE WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE!"

You weren’t sure about that, but you were certain that escaping club recruitment was starting to feel like an Olympic sport.

Magift Club

As you staggered away from the stables, thoroughly frazzled by Sebek’s enthusiastic yelling and Riddle’s intense lecture on discipline, you barely had time to catch your breath before—

“Yo, gotcha!”

A pair of hands grabbed your shoulders from behind, and you let out a very undignified yelp. You turned to find Ruggie grinning up at you like a mischievous hyena that had just found its next meal.

“Ruggie! What—?”

“No time for questions, boss,” he said, practically dragging you down the path. “Leona’s orders. He told me to bring ya to the Magift Club.”

“The Magift Club?” you repeated, already sensing disaster.

Ruggie nodded, smirking. “Yup. Let’s go, let’s go!”

“But—wait—I don’t even have magic!” you protested as he hauled you toward the field.

“Details, details,” Ruggie waved off, his grip on your arm firm.

Soon enough, you were dumped unceremoniously on the sidelines of the Magift field. Leona was lounging on the grass under the shade of a tree, looking entirely too comfortable for someone allegedly trying to recruit you. Epel was nearby, aggressively practicing his throws while muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “I’ll show ‘em.”

Leona cracked one eye open lazily as Ruggie dropped you off. “’Bout time,” he drawled.

“Leona,” you said flatly, “why would you want me in the Magift Club? I don't even have magic.”

He yawned, looking entirely unbothered. “Yeah, I know that. You’re still better than the other herbivores running around. You can be the manager.”

“Manager?”

“Yup,” Ruggie chimed in, plopping down next to Leona. “You’d handle all the boring stuff—paperwork, schedules, snacks, makin’ sure Epel doesn’t throw a fit when he gets tackled.”

“I don’t throw fits!” Epel yelled, narrowly missing a hoop with his throw.

Leona smirked. “Sure you don’t.”

You crossed your arms, unconvinced. “Why me, though? You’re telling me I’m the best candidate for this?”

Leona sat up slightly, his sharp eyes locking on yours. “I’m sayin’ you’re the least annoying option. I don’t need some herbivore manager who’s gonna cry every time I take a nap instead of practicing. You’re not useless, so quit whining.”

Ruggie leaned in conspiratorially. “Basically, you’re the only one Leona doesn’t feel like chasing off the field after two days.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a ringing endorsement.”

Leona shrugged. “Take it or leave it. Makes no difference to me.”

At that moment, Epel ran up, panting slightly from his practice. “C’mon, you should join us!” he urged. “You don’t need magic to be part of the team. And if you ever wanna learn some tricks, I can teach ya!”

Leona gave him a lazy side-eye. “Don’t scare them off.”

“I’m not scarin’ ‘em! I’m convincin’ ‘em!” Epel shot back, glaring at Leona before turning back to you. “Seriously, we could use someone like you. The club’s fun, I promise!”

Ruggie snickered. “Fun’s a stretch. It’s more like… survival of the fittest with a ball involved.”

“And napping,” Leona added with a smirk.

Epel crossed his arms. “Well, maybe if someone practiced instead of nappin’, we’d win more games!”

Leona waved him off with a scoff.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know, guys. This sounds like a lot of chaos.”

“Chaos is half the fun,” Ruggie said with a grin. “C’mon, boss, think of all the free food we get during games. And you’d get to boss Leona around as the manager. Ain’t that worth it?”

Leona snorted. “Good luck with that.”

You glanced at the trio—Epel brimming with determination, Ruggie radiating mischief, and Leona looking like he didn’t care but also somehow cared just enough to try. It was… weirdly tempting, in its own way.

“I’ll… think about it,” you said finally.

“Fair enough,” Leona said, already reclining again. “Don’t take too long, though. We’ve got a game next week, and I’m not filling out paperwork.”

Ruggie winked. “Don’t worry, you’ll come around. Everyone does.”

As you left the field, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just been almost recruited into something much more taxing than a simple club.

Mountain Lovers Club

Before you could escape the Magift field and all its potential paperwork, you took a sharp turn—only to smack right into what felt like a wall of polite menace. A soft, knowing chuckle sounded above you.

“Oh dear, do be careful,” came Jade Leech’s unmistakably smooth voice.

You took a step back, already dreading the conversation. “Jade,” you said warily, “what are you doing here?”

His sharp smile grew ever so slightly. “Waiting for you, of course. Word travels fast, and I’ve heard you’re in the market for a club.”

“Oh no,” you muttered. “You’re not here to—”

Before you could finish, he was already guiding you away, his hand light on your arm but unyielding, like a vice hidden under a silk glove.

“Come now,” he said, his tone as polite as ever, “I simply must show you the Mountain Lovers Club.”

“The what now?” you asked, bewildered.

“The Mountain Lovers Club,” he repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“And… who else is in this club?”

“Why, just me.”

You stopped in your tracks. “It’s just you?”

“Yes.” Jade smiled serenely, as if this were not a glaring red flag. “I am the founder, leader, and sole member. But with your arrival, that could very well change.”

You blinked at him, unsure if you’d misheard. “Wait, so you’ve been running a one-person club this whole time?”

“Indeed.” His expression didn’t falter in the slightest. “The Mountain Lovers Club is dedicated to the appreciation of all things mountainous. Hiking through beautiful terrain, foraging for wild plants, observing unique ecosystems, and—on occasion—befriending the local fauna.”

“Befriending?”

“Examining, petting, observing closely…” His eyes gleamed. “Perhaps all three.”

You shook your head, trying to process. “So… why me?”

Jade clasped his hands together, the picture of poised enthusiasm. “You strike me as someone who appreciates unique experiences. The Mountain Lovers Club offers a chance to explore the great outdoors, expand your horizons, and develop a deeper appreciation for nature’s wonders.”

“And by ‘great outdoors,’ you mean mountains?”

“Precisely.”

“And it’s just you?”

“For now,” he said, his tone warm but his gaze uncomfortably intense. “But every great journey begins with a single step. Yours could be joining this club.”

You gave a nervous laugh. “Uh… I don’t think hiking through mountains is really my thing.”

“Ah, but how do you know unless you try?” Jade’s smile widened. “Besides, I’ll be there to guide you every step of the way. No need to worry about getting lost… or encountering anything unexpected.”

The way he said “unexpected” made you want to run for the hills (ironic, given the circumstances).

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but—”

“I insist,” he cut in smoothly, his tone polite but with a note of finality. “At least allow me to show you the club’s activities. Perhaps a short hike this weekend? I’ve already prepared a route.”

You stared at him. “You’ve already…?”

“Of course.” His gaze was calm, calculating. “Preparation is key. I’ve even packed a lunch.”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Jade, I—”

He tilted his head, his smile remaining perfectly composed. “Surely you wouldn’t refuse without at least giving it a chance? I’ve put so much thought into this.”

“Why do I feel like I don’t have a choice?” you muttered.

Jade’s smile was razor-sharp and utterly unrepentant. “Because you don’t.”

You sighed in defeat. “Fine. One hike.”

“Excellent,” he said, his tone soft and victorious. “I’ll see you this Saturday at dawn.”

“Dawn?!”

“Oh yes,” he said, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. “The mountains are at their most beautiful in the early morning light. You’ll love it.”

As he sauntered away, leaving you to process your fate, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just agreed to something far more treacherous than a simple hike.

Gargoyle Research Society

The moment you finally reached Ramshackle Dorm, exhausted from the whirlwind of club-hopping and increasingly bizarre sales pitches, you let out a long sigh of relief. The day had been nothing short of chaotic, and all you wanted was to collapse onto your creaky old bed and forget the words “club activities” ever existed.

But just as your hand touched the doorknob, a familiar voice, deep and regal, called out from the shadows.

“Child of man.”

You jumped slightly, spinning around to see none other than Malleus Draconia emerging from beneath the pale light of the moon, his presence as imposing and enigmatic as always. He stood by one of Ramshackle’s crumbling stone walls, his expression calm but his eyes bright with an unreadable intensity.

“Oh, Malleus,” you said, your voice tinged with weariness but also a touch of warmth. “Didn’t see you there.”

He tilted his head ever so slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “I was merely admiring the architecture of your dorm. It has a certain… wistful charm.”

You smiled faintly. “I guess that’s one way to put it.”

Then, with the sort of graceful confidence only Malleus could manage, he stepped closer, his presence looming but never threatening. “I have heard,” he began, his tone soft and deliberate, “that you have been seeking a club to join.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “How did you—”

“The winds carry whispers,” he said cryptically.

“Right,” you muttered, deciding not to question it.

Malleus folded his hands neatly in front of him, looking every bit the picture of regal sincerity. “If you have not yet made your decision… I would like to invite you to join my club.”

Your brain, still reeling from Jade’s mountain escapades and Leona’s managerial demands, stalled for a moment. “Your… club?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice brimming with quiet pride. “The Gargoyle Research Society.”

“The… what now?”

“The Gargoyle Research Society,” he repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I am both its founder and sole member.”

Of course, he was.

Malleus seemed oblivious to your stunned silence as he continued, his expression softening into something almost earnest. “The society is dedicated to the appreciation and study of gargoyles. We explore the campus, observing their intricate designs and marveling at their history. There is so much beauty in their silent watch over us.”

You blinked. “So… you just walk around and look at gargoyles?”

“Precisely,” he said, his tone unironically enthusiastic.

“And… that’s it?”

Malleus nodded solemnly. “Indeed. It is a noble pursuit, one that nurtures both the mind and the spirit.”

For a moment, you were at a loss for words. Of all the clubs you’d encountered today, this might just take the crown for most niche.

Malleus, however, seemed utterly earnest. His eyes bore into yours, his expression sincere and unguarded. “I understand if this does not align with your current interests,” he said, his voice softening. “But should you ever feel the call of the gargoyles… know that you are always welcome.”

There was something so genuine in his tone, so quietly hopeful, that you felt a pang of guilt for even thinking about brushing him off. You sighed, offering him a tired but sincere smile. “You know what? I’ll definitely consider it.”

Malleus’s eyes lit up, his calm demeanor giving way to a flicker of pure joy. “Truly?”

“Truly,” you said, nodding.

“Then I shall look forward to the day you join me,” he said, his voice as soft as a promise.

With that, he gave you a small, graceful bow before disappearing back into the night, leaving you to wonder how you’d managed to end the day not only agreeing to a potential club but also feeling oddly flattered by the idea of studying gargoyles.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “What a day…”

Masterlist

Part 2: Choosing a club

a/n: it completely slipped my mind that ortho is in film studies sorry :(

[savanir]

DP x DC prompt [3]

during one of the final psych evals at Arkham right before he gets to be released, the whole thing wrapped up so tidy, just a little relapse which involved a robbery. Getting sent back to Arkham, but he got to stay at the asylum so long that he no longer has to serve a prison sentence, score!

But during that eval his overseeing psychiatrist recommended him to have a change of scenery, some fresh non polluted air.

Riddler was rather convinced the guy was making this recommendation to everyone in Arkham in their own weird way to convince them to just leave Gotham and become someone else's problem. should he notify Batman about it somehow? nah, it’ll be more interesting to see how this is gonna turn out in the long run.

But can he leave the state? Can he even leave the city? he never really bothered to look into it, at least not legally, up until now if he felt he needed to leave for one of his plans he just did it.

Turns out he can, it’s a whole hassle and a half though, first a judge and then a probation officer and he’s pretty sure both were like “what the hell is this psychiatrist guy thinking!?” but at the same time, shrink probably knows what he’s doing (WRONG) so he’s allowed to go visit out of state family or whatever.

he had to wear this nice ankle monitor though, Wayne Enterprises™ tech, not overly bulky but still very present. real fancy, and a fun extra challenge heh.

now as for a good reason to leave New Jersey he’s going to need distant relatives, and he finds some, great grandpa walker also has a son, who had a son who had a daughter Madeline, who married some guy Jack Fenton, and she lives somewhere out in the boonies Illinois. great he’ll visit her.

far enough away in all sense of the word that there is no way she knows anything about him. it would be best to call her first though, be polite about it.

“hello, you have reached Fenton works, this is Maddie speaking” 

“Riddle me this-” ah whoops, habit, oh whatever, “we don’t share parents, but certainly a part of your life, from laughter to strife. Who am I?”

there is a pause …  he’s going to be a bit disappointed if she hangs up if he’s honest.

“cousins~” comes the cheery reply.

“correct! the name is Edward Nygma, we are distantly related you and I and well-”

“oh you simply must come visit!” 

well this was rather easy, perhaps a little too easy, but she lives in the midwest so maybe just going with whatever some guy says over the phone is normal there? stranger danger not really a thing in a small town where everyone knows everyone?

things start to make a little more sense once he gets there and he’s starting to think some things might run in the family. like a preference for the colour green and weird hyperfixations and genius bordering on insanity. Though that remains to be seen, Jack does not seem like a very bright light after his very enthusiastic welcome.

their kids however are observant and sharp. young Jasmine is wasting no time trying to psychoanalyze him. and the boy, Danny, he had not really meant to and he swears he’s sticking with calling the kid Danny so he wouldn’t seem overly familiar, but he might have called him little bird a couple times now.

but that’s all whatever, he’s playing nice here. and he doesn’t even have to worry about his eccentricities tripping him up because this place is insane.

There actually is a local teen vigilante active but he seems about as loved as he’s disliked. and the ghost boy’s enemies are basically all his own kind, which another crazy thing to now know about. ghost. they are real actually, how is Gotham not completely overrun? and how do they even work? and where do they keep coming from?

Edward might be getting a little sidetracked here. He had fully intended to sneakily get his next big game plan underway all the way out here, ankle monitor be damned. but he hasn’t made any progress at all.

Instead he’s been listening to Madeline and Jack to maybe figure out what the deal is with these ectoplasmic entities, he has to know, at this point he might go crazier if he doesn’t. 

He’s making Jasmine promise him not to get her doctorate in Gotham, he’s going back and forth with space riddles with Danny.

so yeah the whole thing kinda just became a vacation, maybe the psychiatrist had the right idea after all? hmm nah, probably not. but this is fun. He’s thinking about recommending this place to some of the others.

It's different enough to get the vacation feel, but enough crazy shit happens to make it all feel like home.

it is not until Maddie wants to talk with him about potentially switching the position of godfather of Danny to him rather than some weird rich friend of theirs that Edward realizes he might have lost the plot somewhere

Apparently the little bird basically begged them with a powerpoint presentation on how he likes Edward so much more than that Vladimir guy. 

And honestly, the fellow sounds like a Dracula Lutho so even if it’s kinda sad Edward can understand why he’d be considered a better option. Even if the guy has more money and a huge company that makes him said money. And it’s not like the Fentons know about his Riddler activities.

Thinking it over, Edward does think that Danny would like Gotham and Wayne has that space program thing right? The kid is definitely smart enough for that (Nygma certified), and yeah Edward does quite like their space themed back and forth. So, fuck it, why not, what is the worst that could happen?

He doubts Maddie and Jack are gonna kick it any time soon anyway out here in the boonies, it’s just a title thing, a stamp of approval or something.

he should have known he was going to eat those words later… he had this whole beautifully elaborate trap set up for the whole Batclan, and he was just getting to the good part when his phone went off.

Had to put the whole thing on pause cause that particular contact wasn’t gonna get ignored. He did promise to be available.

If the whole thing he had planned now went tits up he could at the very least laugh later at the reactions of the bats as he told them to “hold up one second, I have to take this.” while they were all in various perilous positions. 

Sadly he did have to go, he had a very distressed godson to pick up.

[cherrynflowergarden]

જ⁀➴ we listen and we don't judge || matt sturniolo

sturniolo masterlist taglist

it started with an innocent suggestion. “babe, let’s try this tiktok trend,” she said, holding up her phone as she settled onto the couch.

matt raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “what trend?”

“you know, the ‘we listen and we don’t judge’ one. people tell their unhinged stories, and we just… don’t judge.”

he smirked, leaning back with his arm lazily draped around her shoulders. “you’re gonna judge them. you’re the queen of side-eye.” “i will not,” she said indignantly, though the hint of a smile gave her away. “come on, it’ll be fun!” “fine.” he adjusted his hoodie and nodded. “but if this gets outta pocket, don’t look at me like it’s my fault.”

she clicked record, grinning at the camera. “okay, so we’re doing the ‘we listen, we don’t judge’ challenge. i have a bunch of these to say. ready?”

“born ready,” he replied, though the confused glint in his eyes suggested otherwise.

she took a deep breath and said aloud “‘i used to fake passing out during pe class so i didn’t have to run laps. one time, they called an ambulance, and i had to pretend to wake up ‘confused’ just to keep the lie going.’”

he blinked at her, then let out a sharp laugh. “nah, that’s crazy. you’re telling me they had the whole ambulance rolling up, lights flashing, for fake fainting?!”

“babeeeeee! we’re not judging!” she scolded, though she was giggling too.

“i’m not judging—i’m… i’m admiring. yeah. that’s commitment. but also, imagine having to keep that up for the rest of the semester.” he mimicked a dazed expression. “‘oh no, i can’t run laps. what if i pass out again?’”

she shoved his shoulder playfully. “stop. your turn”

“okay so one time in high school this girl won’t stop asking me out, so to avoid her i pretended to be nick.” she blinked, shocked at this revealed fact. “…woah?” matt laughed at her stated and gestured her to continue.

“fine so you remember your favourite hoodie that ‘got lost’? yeah well it’s lying in my cupboard right now and i use it whenever i miss you.” she said innocently. matt gasped loudly, “you thief! but it’s kinda sweet actually.”

“moving forward, i became obsessed with your skincare products after you did my skincare once.” he confessed. she let out a huge dramatic gasp hearing this. “so this is the reason i keep running out of the products!”

“hey no judgement.”

“urg so i keep on raiding your secret chocolate sash and blame it on chris every time you ask me” before he could even react and loud “what” was heard behind the camera from the youngest brother. the video cut to next scene where matt sided eyed his girlfriend before he said the last confession of the challenge.

“i download your voicemails and listen to them when i—”

before he could finish the sentence, a flying pillow was thrown his way cutting off the inappropriate thing he was about to say.

“mattew there are children on the app” she gasped. “you said no judging” matt said, faking confusion.

“that was before you broke the rules of decency.” was the last thing the camera could capture.

view comments

user1

HELLOOO THE LAST PART????????

→ user2 RIGHT LIKE MATT EXPLAINNN🌝

user5

mama y papa

user6

user7 could be us but you playing me😔

→ user7 i'm just playing video games?

→ user6 still playing me😔

→ user7 i'm so confused babe?

yourusername

user6 n user7 are my otp😇

chrissturniolo

dada

→ yourusername ...woah?

→ chrissturniolo 😹

user13

faking fainting is insane

→ user12 so is faking identity

user4

they're so 😕😕😕😕💔💔💔💔

user8

do you need a dog i can bark WOOF WOOF

→ user9 dude?

→ user8 grETA GET OUT

mattsturniolo

🫶🫶

user3

i hate happy couples 🤗🤗🤗

an; it's 5 am rn and i had the sudden motivation to write just now :D

tags: @eirianna @thebasicbiatch @katamcauley @wxnyzie @lilmear-blog @vrlixlia @star-fuck-off @embonbon @idkversace @annawilk @r0nnsblog @weluvwbb @c1ydessturniolo @vintagebishx @maddie-bell @timmdmdm @happydiplomatshepherdspy-blog @crispycitrus @faith-f1 @escapentropy @florscons @carlossainzwho @luckylampzonkland @lewisroscoelove @mudryklover @rageshots @dontworryaboutit007 @chair-things @myangelbaby555 @sheesh1311 @f1lovely @silia1raf @blahbel668 @my-dinos-life-is-good @ssturniolo92 @lilly6110 @lou-larcher5 @arminluvrr @mxryxmfooty @gabri3la-sturns @bellsboops @f1-and-shiz @emely9274 @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @kayla-hearts4sturniolo @unx100to @strnlslut

@mattslovergirlie @sarakpalsd @sweetobservationface @shadowthesim @mattslolita @cupiidk1lls @urloveanaa @t1llysblog @meatball10 @fiowerbeds

[mywritersmind]

ALL’S FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR - LN4

↳ pt.1

summary : Its the vacation of your dreams! With your best friends, rich men, live music, and flowing drinks, nothing can ruin it. Even if a certain Formula 1 driver (who seems to have an affinity for annoying you) is there every step of the sandy way.

listen up : suggestive themes! swearing! ‘enemies’ to lovers. probably my last sunny vacation fic for a while! get ready for winter fics!! cmt to be tagged in pt. 2 <3

word count : 4570

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“Y/n!” Kika throws a pillow onto me. I groan in response, pulling the blanket over my head, “Get up! Get up! We’re leaving in thirty!”

I fall off the bed and start my rushed process of getting ready, we’re in Marmaris, Turkey for a little holiday. A holiday that I've been promised is for friends, yet every friend I have is with a man.

Kika, Alex, Rebecca, and Lily promised they would act like single ladies with me! That’s clearly not true because of the love they have for their boyfriends and how those same men never leave their sides.

The only other addition is someone I don’t want to talk about. Someone who’s a pain in my ass and the construction to my headache.

I’m instantly in a better mood when my friends and I start taking photos and making tik toks. I’m in a light blue dress and sandals, my skin is practically yearning to be tan but that will start tomorrow.

I have my own hotel room which I intend to spend no time in unless I'm hooking up with a hot turkish man. Lily holds my hand as we start walking. The guys said they would meet us there and I’ll never not treasure time with my girls.

The sun has already set but the sky is still a dark blue and orange. Lily squeals next to me, she’s in the cutest white mini dress, “I can’t believe we’re here!”

Kika laughs in a long yellow dress, “The trip literally made it out of the group chat!”

I eye them, “More like it was infiltrated by another groups chat!” Alex laughs and puts her hand on my arm.

“I promise it’ll be fun. I know you’re a little sad but we’ll find you someone!”

“It’s not even that- I just want to be with you guys.” They all seem a bit sad about it. It’s not like I don’t like their boyfriends, I consider them my friends too! It’s just that I was really looking forward to some much needed girl time.

“You are with us!” Alexandra frowns.

Lily swings are hands, “You’re with us and five other idiots who have money!”

This makes me laugh as we make it to the restaurant. It’s beautiful, part of the hotel, and looking right over the water.

The guys are already sitting. Charles, Pierre, Alex, Carlos all smile at me, kissing their girls as we sit. There is one missing, though. It’s hard to ignore but I'm definitely not complaining.

Drinks are ordered and our thoughts about the hotel is passed around. I became friends with this group through Lily, we grew up together and when Alex suggested I should come to a grand prix, I was hooked.

The other girls took to me immediately and were so excited to have another friend that they actually like. I don’t travel as much as them, but I do see them often enough.

We haven’t gotten together in a group like this though in forever!

I sip on my cocktail and talk to Carlos as his eyes stray past me. I turn to look at what he’s distracted by and have to fight the urge to roll my eyes.

You know those people who just really piss you off? The type that just irks you even though you’ve tried to hear your friends out?

That is how I feel about Lando Norris.

He strolls up to our table as if he isn’t late. He’s in blue jeans and a white button down that’s definitely not buttoned enough. His hair is messy and looks like he just woke up, “Hey.” Is all he says before plopping down next to Carlos and sipping his water.

Rebecca already sends me a look that screams, ‘Leave it.’ So I do, I order my food and talk to my friends while avoiding the man two seats down from me.

It’s not just that Lando bugs me, It’s that he’s repeatedly cocky and flat out annoying. He teases me any chance he gets and it never fails to ruin my day. He knows it too.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Pierre asks as he puts his arm around Kikas chair, everyone’s food is nearly gone and I'm more than ready to climb into my plushy hotel bed.

Alex holds Lily’s hand, “Beach, explore, eat? That’s also my plan for every day of our trip.”

Charles nods, “My buddy has a boat out here that he said we can borrow one day.”

I smile and lean my head on Kika’s shoulder, “I'll be anywhere you guys go, with a book and an apple.”

“You still into that?” His voice already pisses me off. I look at Lando who’s staring at me, “Reading.”

I blink. “Are you still into being illiterate?”

Charles covers his laugh with a cough as Alexandra shakes her head, “Hey! You two need to keep it civil this trip.”

Carlos eyes Lando pointedly as he groans, “Why? I didn’t even do anything! The witch said I was illiterate!”

I sit up straighter immediately, leaning over Carlos as my friends talk in a haze around me, “You really wanna see a witch, Norris, I’ll fucking show you!”

“The worst thing you could do to me is throw sand in my face!” I groan as he rolls his eyes and Kika pulls me back into my seat.

“This is what we’re talking about!” When she whispers is when I realize the people dining around us are staring.

“It’s one week!” Pierre shakes his head, “One week of peace!”

I don’t dare look at Lando, my arms crossed.

He gives in peace, “I won’t start anything if she won’t.”

“Perfect, I'll have a great trip of silence.” Fine by me. I can ignore him for a week, easy.

Lily and Rebecca exchange looks as Lando speaks again, “It’ll be nice not hearing your-” Carlos slaps his arm and he shuts up.

I sigh in my seat, this is going to be an interesting week.

⋆༺

I start off my first full day with breakfast. I’m up early and decided to make the most of it by enjoying my food with a beach view.

I grin when I see that there’s two pieces of bacon left, grabbing them swiftly and plopping it onto my plate just when someone goes to reach for it.

I look up to see Lando. He’s sweaty and in running clothes, looking at me annoyed per usual, “Seriously? Who takes the last two pieces?”

I raise a brow, “Me. You literally just saw me do it.”

He gives me a bored expression, “Didn’t you ever get taught manners?”

“I got taught how to get what I want.” I bite into the piece of bacon just to watch him flinch. “Weren’t you taught that it’s not nice to be insufferable?”

“Can’t you share? It’s one piece.” I take another bite, pretending to think.

“Hm… No!”

“We’re supposed to be civil. Friends even!” He steps closer, “I know you would give the piece to Lily.”

“You’re too greedy.” I finish the first piece of bacon and start to walk away. He scoffs and follows me.

“Me!? Greedy?” He scoffs, plate still in hand. I eye it, it’s mostly empty except for a nutella crepe, “You know what- never mind.”

I nod, “Great job being civil, Norris. I’m so proud of you and you for giving up.”

He does not find this funny, “I can’t stand you.”

“Then sit.” His eyes narrow at my words.

“Fuck it, Free will!” and with that, he grabs the piece of bacon off my plate and runs!

“Norris!” I yell after him but when he turns, he’s smiling with a mouth full of bacon. “Dickhead.” I mumble to myself and continue getting my food.

⋆༺

I’m warm, I'm tipsy, and I'm listening to live music. I don’t think life could get any better. I sit up on my beachside chair, lifting my sunglasses to see Lily, Alex, Charles, and Alexandra playing chicken in the water.

Kika stirs next to me, she was asleep on her stomach but slowly sits up when she hears our friends laughing.

I watch Lando and Pierre floating and Carlos swimming towards them. Rebecca went to get drinks so that just leaves Kika and I.

“How’s the whole ‘civil’ thing going?” She’s in an orange bikini that makes her look unfairly tan.

I shrug, “Bad? I just can’t imagine talking to him normally. We always fight.” I sip my drink, the glass coats my hand in condensation but it cools me down.

“Maybe you should just fuck.” I choke on my drink. She doesn’t even attempt to hide her laugh, “Sorry, Sorry!”

“Kika!” I slow my breathing, “Why would you say that!?”

“It makes sense! You’ve got a lot of pent up energy… I’m just saying!” I shake my head, pulling my sunglasses back on and laying down again. “I know you’re attracted to him.”

I pray that she thinks my cheeks are red from the sun, and not from her words. “I am not.”

“You can't lie to me!” She laughs, “It’s not a bad thing, Y/n. You both just need to shut up for two seconds and get eachother shirtless.” Lily walks up right as she says that.

She plops down onto the sand, “Whatever this is about- I agree!”

“She’s trying to get me to- Nope! I’m not even going to say it!” I can’t have that manifestation in my life.

“I think she should hook up with Lando.”

“Completely agree. Just make it quick.”

“If he’s with her, he’s gonna be quick.” Kika jokes and I actually laugh at that one.

“Okay enough! I’m not taking any advice from you two!” I stand, pulling my hair tie out of my hair and starting down the beach.

“Think about it!” Lily yells as I flip her off.

Now all I can think about is hooking up with him. I mean, I hate the dude, but I’m not blind.

Lando is fucking fit. But it’s hard for me to see past his assholeness. So the probability that i’m going to fuck him, is slim. Very slim. Like ZERO.

Just as I'm off in my Lando Norris shirtless world, a shirtless Lando Norris walks up to me. He’s exiting the ocean, pushing his wet curls back as he laughs with Carlos.

I look away as soon as I get a glimpse of his torso. The cool water feels great on my legs as I walk in the ocean. I sink down and dunk my head, opening my eyes underwater, I see the tiny fish and shells.

I reach down and grab a handful of sand, when I get air again, Carlos and Lando are next to me. I push the sand off my hand to reveal some shells and a tiny crab, “Aw!” I smile at it, showing it to the boys.

Carlos raises his brows, “Looks harmful.”

“Harmful?” I glance at him, “He’s a baby!” I hold it closer to him and he backs away like it’s going to jump on him.

I turn to Lando and do the same, he backs away as well, “Pussy.” I say it to his face and he clearly takes it as a challenge.

He holds his hand out and snatches the crab right from my hand, “Are you just a thief by nature?”

He gives me a look before bringing his hand closer to his face to examine the sea creature. I step closer to see it, “It’s adorable.”

“It’s a crab.”

“Thank you, Norris, for your insightful words of wisdom.” I go to take it back from him but he jumps and throws his hand down.

I let out a huge laugh when I realized it’s holding onto his thumb, “Shit! Ow!”

I keep laughing as Lando panics, swinging his hand around to try to get it off. Carlos is long gone by now, not amused by his friends' antics.

The crab finally unclips itself from Lando and he looks like he was just betrayed. I grin, “Maybe I am a witch!”

He looks me up and down, holding his hand and thinking. “If you call me a bitch that crab won’t be the worst thing that hurts you today.”

And then something weird happens.

He smiles.

He just smiles and walks away.

⋆༺

LANDO

Marmaris is stunning. The water is clear and besides me getting bitten, I'm having a great time. We end up going into town to get lunch and I'm faced with the issue of Y/n’s ass in my face as we walk up what feels like a million stairs.

I really feel like she’s doing this on purpose but I could be thinking that to just make myself feel better about checking her out.

She’s in tiny low waisted jean shorts. I can see her bikini bottoms peeking out from the sides. Her top is a crocheted cover up so her sliver of a bathing suit is still on display.

Carlos pushes my back when I slow down on the steps, I turn around to swear at him but he’s giving me an all knowing look so I close my mouth.

After what feels like hours of staring at Y/n’s backside, we make it to the lunch place. It’s hidden quite far up and we all get cramped into the room with a huge window and a view of lemon trees.

With our stupidly coupled up group, I'm forced to sit with Y/n. She’s across from me, sipping on her water and leaning on the table with her arms crossed.

When she notices I'm staring at her, she glares at me. I can tell she’s about to say something snappy, but eyes our friends and shuts her mouth.

As much as she pissed me off, I find it fun to annoy her. I like the way her cheeks heat and how her lips press together, but I would never admit that to her.

“Did you go for a run this morning?” Carlos asks me while shoveling food into his mouth.

“Yeah and the gym- it’s nice.”

“And quiet?” I nod, knowing what he means. Five Formula 1 drivers on vacation together is pretty hard to miss. But besides a stare or two, no one has said anything to us.

Lily claps her hands together, “Who wants to go golfing with me on wed-”

Y/n groans, putting her head in her hands, “No!” Kika looks horrified at the suggestion as well.

“Yes!” Carlos and I say at the same time. Lily has been a great addition to our golfing group and by far the best out of the three of us.

Rebecca laughs, “I’m with Y/n on this one. I’m feeling… spa?” This immediately perks Y/n up.

“That sounds perfect!” Alex smiles, “Girls day! Minus Lily because she’s actually good at a sport.”

Charles eyes us all, “I wanna go to the spa. I hate golfing.”

⋆༺

YOU

When Rebecca suggested we take a cooking class, I thought it was a great idea! I’m not the best cook so why not learn something? I had a bad feeling as soon as we entered and the room was decorated with hearts.

“Welcome! Welcome!” A man ushers us in along with two other groups. The room is large with one wall completely open and facing the beach. “Everybody get a table and we shall begin!”

“I knew I missed something on the website…” Alex cringes as we stare at the tables set for two, “Sorry? Lando, careful with Y/n and knives!”

A couples cooking class!? You’ve got to be kidding. I look at Lando the same time he turns to me, “Well, love… Let me handle the sharp things. I value my life.”

This is going to be the longest hour ever.

“My lovely people in love!” The man is short, with gray hair and the biggest smile I've seen in a while, “My name is Ali and today we begin making the dough for Kemal Pasha!” Apparently the kind we’re making is sweet balls of dough with a very delicious sounding syrup.

I’m standing next to Lando who’s struggling with his apron. They have huge heart pockets and his is bright green. As fun as it is to see him struggle, I want to start cooking soon.

“Give me that.” I swat his hands away and step behind him, taking the pieces of fabric and tying a knot.

“Thank you, Sweetness.” I suspect that this teasing won’t end soon, considering the man teaching the class asked everyone what their names were and put a name tag on each table of the couples ‘ship’ name.

I tie it tight and he flinches, “Hey my girl is trying to kill me!” I roll my eyes and loosen the bow, listening to the man and thanking the woman who’s walking around to make sure everything is correct.

I pour in all the ingredients and Lando starts stirring. I look around at all the couples, they’re doing everything together while looking all lovey dovey.

It makes me miss my ex. Which is weird because we barely acted like this alone. But still, seeing Alex and Lily laugh with flour already on their faces makes me sad.

“Angel!” Lando calls for me again as I put my hand on my hip. He has his hand out that’s covered in white powder, “C’mere!”

“No!” I back up but he’s already pulling me in and squeezing my face. I frown, my face squished between his hand as he laughs. I can feel the flour covering my face. I put on a slow smile when he drops his hand, “Aw, love bug!”

Nothing about my tone is loving and I can tell he’s not excited by the way his face drops. “Now darling…” He backs away as I pour some of the flour from the container into my hand, “I told you i’ll let you lick food off of me later, not here!”

I scoff at his audacity and throw the flour right into his face. When he opens his eyes, I slap my hands over my mouth. His whole face is white and when he breathes out, some comes out of his mouth.

I hold back a laugh as he stares at me, along with the rest of the room, “Oh baby… you’ve got a little.” I motion to his whole face, “Just a little something right there.”

“Er…” The man blinks at us, “True love comes in many forms!” He laughs uncomfortably as we get back to mixing our dough.

“That was not a fair move, Love.” Lando whispers to me as I knead the dough between my hands. His face is wiped off but the flour still resides a bit in his hair and cheeks.

“All's fair in love and war.” I say sweetly.

“Alright ladies, If your man isn’t helping you with his big strong muscles…” Ali eyes us, “Remind them who you are! Men, help your women!”

I turn back at Lando, looking up at the driver, “Do you need reminding?”

He just bites his lip and turns me back around, his hands on my waist. That, I did not expect. My hands go back to the dough in the bowl and his arms move into view, copying the other couples and massaging the treat with me.

I swallow and eye the veins in his arms that go all the way to his hands. His very big hands. The same hands that softly reach over mine.

His touch is surprisingly gentle as he matches my movements. I try to not think about how close he is to me, and focus on the dough but fuck that because I can feel him behind me.

I move back a bit unconsciously and his hand goes to waist to stop me, “Do you need reminding?” His voice is deep in my ear and I fight the urge to roll my eyes even though I know my cheeks are hot.

I thank god when Ali says we will be moving onto rolling the dough into little balls.

I swiftly move away from Lando and don’t dare look at Alex or Kika who I know is looking at us. I start rolling the dough in between my hands.

Lando glances at me, his balls sort of uneven and too small, “Your balls are ugly.” Lando chokes on air and whips his head around to look at me.

“Excuse me?” I roll my eyes at his suggestive tone and show him one of mine, “Ah so you’re a ball expert? Working from experience?”

He’s so childish it makes me want to throw one of these at him. Sadly, I'm not above acting suggestively, “Never worked with any so small.” I shrug as he stares at me. That shuts him up really quick as we place them on a round baking sheet.

We take a short break while they bake and I venture outside, looking over the balcony to the sea far below us.

My skin feels rejuvenated by the sun, I’m tanner and I swear the air is just different here. Alex appears next to me, he looks quite happy, “Having fun?”

I shrug and realize that I actually have been. “Uh… yeah.”

“You know, I think everyone else thinks you’re a real couple. It’s cute.” I gape at him. Is Alexander Albon betraying me right now?

“It is not cute. He’s bullying me.” He just snorts.

“Sure…”

I frown when Ali calls us back in. Lando and I are mostly quiet while stirring our syrup. As it boils, he nudges me. I look up to see him watching another couple.

They’re practically making out and feeling eachother up. I let out a laugh that his eyes widened at, “You’re so not inconspicuous.” He whispers, leaning down a bit.

“They are definitely not paying any attention to me…” They’re so wrapped up in each other that they don’t even notice when Ali turns their mini stove top off so their sauce doesn’t burn.

He looks down at me one last time, sending me a tiny smile. I think it’s the first time I'm genuinely attracted to him when his shirt is still on. Shit.

⋆༺

LANDO

Besides Y/n trying to kill me with the dessert we made, we were civil throughout the rest of the class. We get to take home a small box which leaves everyone in a good mood.

“Here, pretty, I don’t think I can eat that without feeling sick.” I don’t mean to call her that, but I just say what comes to my mind. I hand her the box and takes it without any change of expression.

I’m ready to leave but Ali claps his hands together one more time, “My lovebirds!” Y/n gives me a look that I laugh at, “One more gift for a very special couple of… well, couples!”

He pulls out three pieces of paper. Handing one to the couple that was making out he says, “Most affectionate!”

Then he turns to Pierre and Kila and hands them one, “Best dessert!” I realize these papers are some typos of superlatives.

I think he’s going to go to Charles and Alexandra, but he turns to Y/n and I. A big grin on his face, he hands me a paper. I read it before he says it and my eyes widen, “The most authentic love!” I don’t look at her, I can’t.

“I hope one day you all come back!” And with that, we’re ushered back and stripped of our aprons.

Y/n is already walking down the marble steps with Lily and Rebecca next to her. Carlos just shakes his head and slaps his hand on my shoulder, “Man… Congratulations!”

I eye him as Alex laughs, “I’m framing that!”

⋆༺

YOU

Six hours later, i’m in a tiny white dress, my hair curled and makeup done, and on my way with Rebecca and Alex to a club.

Everyone’s already left but Alex took extra long to slick back her hair. “So!” Rebecca grins as we walk past the beach, “Plan for tonight? Hook up with a local? Make out on the beach?”

I laugh at her enthusiasm, “I’ll see where the night and vodka takes me! I really just need a hot dance partner and a good drink.”

And that’s exactly what I get. I get my drink and well.. many hot dance partners! My friends and I scream the lyrics of the songs we know, holding hands and jumping around.

The club is part of the resort we’re staying at. It’s half on the beach and half in the beach bar that has a 24 hour drink service. I laugh at the guys who are awkwardly waiting for their girls to join them again.

“Okay, go, go!” They leave me at the bar and as soon as they’re gone, a man approaches me.

He’s very tall and very blonde, “Hi.” he’s got an accent but I can’t tell from where, “I couldn’t help but notice you dancing…” I listen to the same line that a hundred guys have fed me before. “Could I buy you a drink?”

Now this is what I like! Ten minutes later I'm dancing with him and a vodka lemonade. His hands are on my waist as I laugh.

He’s hot against me, his hair sweaty and salty. His name is Leon and he really likes my dress. I have a feeling he would like me without it too.

“Are you staying at the hotel?” He asks, screaming in my ear.

I nod, “Are you?”

“I’m staying in town with a friend!” I nod and sip my drink as he talks, “Do you know him?” I frown at his words, turning to see who he’s talking about.

I roll my eyes at Lando who’s standing with a pretty girl but staring at me. I turn back to Leon, “No!”

He looks like this annoys him, “Well i’m not surprised! You’re hot!” I nod as the music continues and keep dancing with him.

He turns me around so he’s staring at my ass instead of my face. But I just slip my fingers into my hair and keep dancing. I open my eyes to see Lando again. The girl is still talking but he’s still staring at me.

I run my middle finger around the rim of my glass, the sugar lifting onto my skin. His expression stays dark and focused on me as his hand goes to his jeans pocket. I lift my finger to lips, licking off the sugar without breaking eye contact.

He brings his drink to his lips and that’s when I realize I've had a bit too much to drink because he looks too damn hot.

He’s in a light blue shirt, his silver rings and LN4 necklace sat on his skin like it belongs there. His hair is damp with I don’t know with what… sweat, water, or the air, I don’t care. His jaw ticks at Leon’s hand moves from my waist to my stomach, my head dropping back on his shoulder, and spinning back around.

He kisses me, it’s messy and drunken but I don’t care. It’s only when he whispers, “Let’s get out of here.” When I'm massively turned off.

I end up back with my friends, Lando nowhere in sight and a smile on my face as we sit at the bar and drink.

pt.2

[void-my-warranty]

Ghost Cleans You Up (18+)

Pairing: Simon Riley/Fem Reader/Johnny MacTavish Content warnings: Intimate touching, PIV sex Word Count: 4k

Service Dog Johnny Part 12 (full part list here)

So, you don’t actually get a week of sex.

What actually ends up happening is you’re woken up in the middle of the night by Johnny moving his arm out from under your neck, and Simon hurrying to get dressed and grab his go bag.

You can hear their low voices on the other side of the door, while you pull on some pajamas because apparently you fell asleep naked. The two men are speaking in that clipped, concise way that lets you know they’ve already shifted to work mode.

Except… surely Johnny’s not going. He’s still hobbling around.

Sure enough, Johnny’s still shirtless when you join them to see off your boyfriend. Damn, you didn’t even get a week with him. Why can’t the world behave, and let you have him for just one week?

“Can’t tell you where,” Simon conveys while he gulps down some pills. “Don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“Alright.” You try to keep the disappointment out of your voice for his sake. This is just a thing that happens sometimes. Maybe he’ll get a longer stretch of home time after this.

Your boyfriend hooks his arm around your back while you hug him, his other hand gripped onto his duffel. “Fuck me,” he mumbles into your hair, voice rough with not enough sleep. “I already miss you.”

Your chest clenches in an answering sort of pang, but there isn’t time to do more than see him out the door and watch his car vanish down the darkened street.

And then it’s quiet. Unusually quiet, considering Johnny’s still there.

You know what he’s thinking, even before you turn to look. He’s thinking it should be him leaving as well. He’s thinking that maybe his shoulder isn’t too bad, and if he hadn’t hurt his ankle, perhaps Simon wouldn’t be going alone right now.

It takes a few seconds for Johnny’s eyes to wander from the door Simon just walked out of, to your face.

“It’s not fun,” you admit, taking a step forward to squeeze his hand. “But this is how it feels.”

Maybe it’ll feel worse when Johnny heals up, and it’s both of them leaving.

“I’ll be getting going,” Johnny tells you with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You don’t have to.”

“Nah, I do.”

Suddenly feeling out of place, you fold your arms over your braless chest to cover yourself while he gets ready to leave, and you prepare yourself to be alone.

It’s not the worst deployment, but it’s definitely not the best. You get to text each other, and the occasional video call, so that’s nice. It’s weird catching Simon up on your mundane day-to-day when he’s out there doing who knows what insane stuff, but he always listens, and asks you about it, even though he’s wearing the mask.

He’s gone so long that Johnny heals up enough to join him, and you’re glad for that. You hate the idea of Johnny being stuck on base doing paperwork or whatever they have him doing, and going back home to an empty place every night. It feels a little less lonely somehow, knowing they’re together.

And then on a random Wednesday morning, you get the text from your boyfriend that you’ve been fantasizing about for weeks:

Simon: Taking off from Spain heading home

That’s all you need. You hurry to get as much work done as possible, get your coworker to fill in for your can’t-miss appointments for the rest of the week, and then you let your boss know that you won’t be in the office again until Monday.

When you get home that night, you take an everything shower. You paint your toenails and do your hair extra pretty, shave and lotion and basically make yourself as edible as you can be, because your baby’s coming home.

The deadbolt clicks open around midnight, and it instantly jolts you awake. You yank yourself upright so fast that you almost fall off the couch, and still half asleep, you squint at the blob that is your boyfriend’s exhausted body shuffling through the door. Automatically you glance over his shoulder as if you’ll see Johnny there with him, but of course you don’t, because he’d tell you if he was bringing company, and oh my god, Simon’s home.

Suddenly you’re on your feet, sliding a little in your socks as you rush to meet him. He’s just finished flopping his bag onto the floor when your arms wrap around the most familiar, safe body you know, and then you’re home. He’s real, and solid, and you can feel the rapid pounding of his heart as it’s pressed tight to your cheek.

His movements are so sluggish, it’s like they drained him of all his energy over there. Unusually heavy on your head, his hand smoothes over your hair and then rests on your shoulder, as if he can’t spare the energy it takes to lift it again.

“Bed,” you command, pulling away to let him walk.

“Shower,” he mumbles, “and a cuppa.”

“Snack,” you counter, “and some water. I’ll get it ready while you clean up.”

His answering grunt is an agreement - he really doesn’t need more caffeine - so you part ways to get his needs taken care of as efficiently as possible.

In bed later, your boyfriend starts falling asleep halfway through chewing. You have to shake his shoulder to get him to swallow down the rest of the choking hazard, and then bully him into taking a few drinks of water. The pillow is still damp from his hair when you grab his phone to turn off any alarms, and then turn out the light.

You crawl into your fresh, clean sheets, and tuck yourself back into the curve of Simon’s body. This is the only time he can sleep with physical contact, when he’s so fatigued that he can barely roll over. You’re not sure that he’s actually awake when his hand slides to your chest and stays there, curled into a loose fist between your breasts and sort of pressing you into him as if you were a pillow.

Your baby’s home.

You wake up gradually, feeling extra safe, but not yet comprehending why. There’s a little light coming in through your closed blinds, so it must be morning, and you’re safe. You’re safe because there’s a muscled chest behind you, slowly lifting and falling with relaxed breathing, and Simon’s clean scent surrounds you in the sheets.

He must have slept like this against you all night. How unusual. Your eyes slide closed again, not actually intending to fall back to sleep, but having no real reason to fight against it. Your consciousness fades so gently that you barely register that any time has passed when you wake up again some time later.

Simon’s hand is on your stomach, his fingers slowly caressing the skin that’s bare from your shirt riding up in your sleep. You make a drowsy, happy noise, glad that he’s awake. Now it’s worth it to wake up. Now you get to have him all to yourself.

“You smell fucking good,” he says into your hair. His voice isn’t thick with sleep, so you guess he’s been awake for at least a little while.

You’re not quite conscious enough to switch from the sensory world to the logical one, so you just lay there limp and happy, and your skin feeds you a wash of warm honey at the feeling of his hand. Unthinkingly, you arch your back a little to give him more room to stroke his fingers down your belly. The movement makes your ass press to his hips, and you feel something decidedly hard back there.

“Sorry,” you mutter, returning your ass to where it was before.

Except his hand takes hold of your hip, and draws it back against him. He breathes your name into your hair, and you almost wonder if you’re dreaming, as his hips roll a little against your ass. You groggily close your eyes again to enjoy it, to submerge yourself in this nice dream where your boyfriend grinds himself against your body and asks if he can fuck you.

Wait.

Your eyes spring open and your mind focuses with sudden clarity. That is what he said. Simon just said, ‘“Can I fuck you?”’

You must be taking too long to reply, because he explains in a hushed voice, “My head’s quiet, and you feel so fucking good, I just… want to try.”

“Yeah,” you croak, still a little stunned. “Yeah, yes, of course you can, baby.”

You feel his hand come around, the roughness of his palm dragging against your skin while he pushes your shirt up above your breasts. Your nipple catches on his fingers as he lowers his hand back down your body, and all of a sudden your brain comprehends exactly what’s happening. It’s not just words any more, it’s a reality.

Holy shit.

You quickly reach down to shove your shorts and underwear off, and you can feel him adjusting his own clothes behind you, and then you feel his bare cock against your bare ass. You have just enough presence of mind to smother your gasp, as his hand comes around and envelops your breast, and he buries his face in your neck.

“I won’t be able to touch you first,” he admits, and you can feel the motion of his hard swallow from the way his throat has contact with your shoulder.

“There’s lube in the top drawer thing,” you answer back, heart galloping.

“Stay there.”

The warmth of his hand fades from your skin when he rolls away and reaches off the side of the bed. You keep your head on the pillow just like he asked, and listen to the nightstand drawer slide open somewhere behind you, and then the click of a plastic cap. A large, familiar hand comes from behind, finding the space between your legs, parting your folds and smoothing cold lube onto your pussy.

You’re grateful for the stark reality of that sensation. This isn’t a dream, this is real, and everything is happening so fast, you can’t even manufacture any anxiety about it. Although, maybe that’s the point. For him, at least.

You hear the cap again, and then the slick sound of him putting some lube on himself. You want to watch. God, you want to twist your head around and see him, you want to be face to face for this, but you need to do what’s best for him. You have to just lay here on your side with your knees drawn up a little, and trust that he knows what he needs.

All of a sudden you feel him against you again, his knuckles shifting behind your thighs while he lines himself up. You arch your hips back a little, lift your knee to help him find your pussy, and then you let out an appreciative noise when something warm and thick begins to ease itself inside you.

He’s bigger than Johnny. Bigger than anyone you’ve had before, you’re pretty sure. He seems to realize this, seems to know that he’ll need to give it to you slow, even though he’s practically panting behind you with the effort it takes to keep it controlled.

“That’s good, baby,” you murmur, not sure what he needs to hear from you. “That feels good.”

He’s inside enough now that he no longer needs his hand to guide him. You’re getting wrapped up in his arms again, one coming under your head to give you a bicep to rest on, and the other finding your breast again, in a clumsy way that makes you think he’s concentrating very hard on something else. He holds your tit like he’ll fall from a height if he lets it go, and with a firm roll of his hips, you feel him push all the way inside.

The storm of sensation momentarily locks up your lungs — the slightly painful stretch, the tight hug he’s got you in, the gorgeous, ragged gasp he does when he finally experiences what it’s like to be inside you. His whole body goes tight with engaged muscle while he pulls out a few inches, and then you get filled up again, harder this time.

You barely even comprehend how big he is, with how big this event feels in your heart. Your body doesn’t register this moment as sexual, as you lay there and make yourself available to him. Your eyes are turning wet and your throat is burning, but you keep it to yourself. You keep your breathing even and your body relaxed, and your pussy gets what it’s wanted for what feels like forever.

Simon groans, going motionless deep inside you. “I’m— fuck— m’gonna cum.“

“Cum, baby. It’s okay, just cum.”

His forehead drops to your shoulder, and in the space of a thrust and a half, that’s exactly what happens.

You’ve never heard him experience pleasure before. Never even seen his cock like this, and now it’s jumping and throbbing inside you while he makes desperate sounds through his teeth.

He did it.

Your tears start silently spilling out, over your nose, down your cheek, onto his arm. It’s not until you feel his shoulders shake that you dare to turn your head and look at him. Propping himself up on an elbow above you, he pulls his trembling hand off your body to cover his eyes, emotion wracking through him in a silent sob before his cum even has a chance to start leaking out.

“Baby, that was so good,” you whisper-croak, swiping at your own eyes. You don’t know what to tell him. You’re so caught up in the tornado of your own feelings, all you can do is stay there and witness his vulnerability while you cry.

“Bloody hell.” He scrubs at his eyes, screws them tightly closed and pushes a thumb and fingers into his eye sockets like it’ll plug up the flow. He’s trembling behind you now, lost to whatever cocktail of chemicals his body is giving him.

You twist your upper body around just enough to reach for his wrist, ignoring the flinch he does to run your thumb across it while you whisper that you love him.

Simon coughs and snorts that way men do when they’re embarrassed of having feelings, and then shakily lowers his hand down to guide himself out of your body.

Uncaring of the mess, you turn to face him. “Cuddle?”

He firmly shakes his head, wiping at his eyes some more, and making some deep noises that you guess are him internally crying.

So it’s bittersweet, seeing the aftermath of his success. You know it’s got to pain him, losing the control on his body and mind that he holds to such a standard in every other aspect of his life. He could have gone for years more, keeping a tight handle on things, dismissing the trauma and projecting that insecurity onto everyone else in unhealthy ways.

But he didn’t. He’s here, unable to even tolerate your touch just yet, with his lungs spasming and his eyes leaking in a way his father would find unforgivable. A grown man, coming to terms with his reality and letting others see his failings, people who love him. People he can depend on, not because of blood relation, but because he’s worked tirelessly to build and earn that deep kind of trust.

You stay there silently through it, and the storm passes. He’s able to open his eyes again, and though he can’t quite look at your face yet, he takes your hand and brings it to his mouth. You rest on your respective pillows with a few inches between your bodies, and he runs your hand against his mouth. Your fingertips, your knuckles, your wrist, he closes his eyes again and works to calm his breathing, dragging his lips against your skin and kissing the middle of your palm.

The self soothing turns slower as his breathing evens out, and by the time he opens his eyes again, you’ve finished wetting your pillow with a few more happy tears.

“Alright, you?” he asks, the phrase and the steady tone of his voice so familiar that it almost makes you cry again.

You smile at him. “I’m great.”

“Good.”

He kisses your fingers and exhales deeply against them. “Fancy a shower?”

“Yeah.” Sharing a shower sounds heavenly right now.

“Don’t leave, alright?” Simon’s eyes finally lock onto yours, as if it’s imperative that you understand. “If you have to use the toilet, I’ll… turn around or something, but don’t leave.”

“Okay, baby.”

You gingerly sit up and do your best to keep the cum dripping down your thigh instead of onto the bed. God, that’s Simon’s cum. That’s the best cum in the world right there.

Naked, he follows you into the bathroom and then busies himself getting the shower going while you pee and do a quick clean up of your leg. Soon you’re shivering a little in the corner of the shower, your heart growing lighter and lighter while you come to terms with the enormity of what happened, how the space of just a few minutes changed everything.

All those little experiments, those hesitant half steps, and it was enough to build a diving board to jump. You almost can’t believe it still, keep going over the memory in your head, more and more relieved that it really, finally happened.

Simon must be ready for touch again, because he pulls you to him in the shower. He lifts you up his body and slides your legs around his hips, and turns so your back and shoulders get first dibs to the hot water.

It’s heaven. You bury your face in his neck and make a happy sound, firmly planted in the moment. You have to remember this, you have to make this day as clear and vivid in your mind as you can. You raise your head to get a look at those beautiful brown eyes, and to your delight he leans forward to kiss you.

You kiss in the shower like that for a long time. Long enough that your pussy starts to get tingly and you’re very aware of your breasts brushing against his chest hair. God, you just fucked. You just fucked Simon.

“Can I wash you?” he asks, sliding his hand under the sheet of wet hair on your neck, and then stroking his thumb against your skin there.

“Mhmm.” Is he wanting to wash your hair or something? That’s awfully romantic.

He lowers you down to the floor, keeping you steady on the slippery surface until he’s sure you’ve got your legs under you.

“Which one?” He asks, fingering your various soap bottles in indecision.

“For my hair?”

“For… between your legs.”

Oh. Oh.

“Um. That one.”

He grabs the one you point to, setting it on a convenient ledge and then positioning you under the water again, facing the shower head this time. There’s not a moment where you don’t have contact with him, your shoulder against his bicep, your back pressed to his chest, his hand smoothing down your stomach.

Your pussy instantly heats when his fingers find it. You widen your stance a little to help him out, and his hand is steady as it follows the path of water down your body, and his fingers slide between your folds.

“I’m not… doing something,” he says, when you make a little noise. “I just want to clean you.”

“Okay, yeah.” You swallow, watching the top of his hand move between your thighs.

He stops to reach for the soap, squeezing a little bit into his hand, and then angling the shower head down so it won’t immediately wash everything away.

Okay, just relax. It’s not sexual, it’s just some… thing he wants to do. Just let your head rest back on his pec, and breathe.

“Hold onto my arm,” he instructs, as he bends one of your legs forward and lifts it into the air by the back of your knee.

Shit. Okay. You reach down and steady yourself on his forearm just as he begins to run his hand between your legs again, slow and gentle.

Oh. That’s nice.

Fuck, that’s really nice.

His hand looks so good between your legs, that wide palm and strong fingers that could probably break you in a heartbeat if he wanted to. But instead he’s here, dipping his head to kiss your cheek while he runs his soapy fingers over every fold you have, cleaning up the mess he left there as if it’s his job to do it.

He does it far longer than necessary, but you don’t think it’s because he’s trying to turn you on. It does turn you on, but you think it’s more to acclimate him to the contact. A non-sexual kind of way to normalize his hand on your pussy in his own mind. It’s sweet, even if it gets you a little wet and achy.

Simon reaches up to adjust the shower head again, and puts the same amount of care and attention towards gently rinsing you off. He fucked you for less time than he’s devoting to this. You wonder if he’ll do it again, if you ever have sex after this. If this is a one time thing, or might become some kind of cute ritual he does.

God. An after-sex ritual with your boyfriend. Who you may or may not have regular sex with at some point. This is insane.

“Is… that alright?”

You blink yourself out of your happy haze when he lowers your foot back to the floor. “Oh, yeah, that’s the best shower it’s ever got, for sure. Thank you.”

You start to turn and face him, but he stops you and clears his throat. “Give me just a moment.”

Oh shit. He’s hard.

If you thought your relationship dynamic before was difficult, it’s nothing like this. This is the absolute torture, standing here with a warm pussy and not begging him to fuck you again.

Fuck it.

“Do you… want to do it again?” you offer hesitantly.

“I don’t think so. Er… maybe… I’ll text Johnny.”

“Not for sex,” you insist. “Just if you want to see him.”

There’s a prolonged silence after that, as you stare down at the water circling the drain.

“Was it—“ he starts nervously. “I know it wasn’t… good… but was it—“

“It was good,” you quickly tell him, blinking at the blank shower wall.

“D’you not want to get off?”

You do want to get off. You glance down at your pussy, which has recently been visited by his cock and his fingers, so it’s quite awake and aware at this point. “I guess I feel like it’s not that important, compared to what you did just now.”

A beat of silence, then, “It’s important to me.”

“It wouldn’t bother you if I fuck Johnny today?” you ask in a small voice. You can’t imagine that would feel good, seeing someone else get you off in a way he didn’t.

“Darling, you need to let me worry about my own head.”

So that’s what you do. You finish up your shower with Simon, and brush your teeth, and put on your cutest underwear for getting fucked later.

You don’t see him texting anyone, but you do hear a knock on the door a little while later, while you’re in the kitchen making breakfast. Your boyfriend sets down his tea to answer it, and it takes a minute or two before you can turn off the stove and step away, wandering over to the entryway to greet Johnny. You’re actually quite happy to see him, and a little relieved that Simon didn’t listen to you.

You round the corner of the hall, only to see the door still wide open, and your boyfriend with his head bent down, resting on Johnny’s shoulder. Johnny has an arm wrapped around Simon’s head and another around his shoulders, fisting his shirt and holding him tight.

“That wasn’t a small thing,” Johnny’s whispering, cheek to cheek with his friend. “That wasn’t a small thing, mate.”

Art by peachjellypackets

Next Part

Dividers by @the-aesthetics-shop

Chronological Read-Through Path

[digitaldaydreamm]

unspoken claim

rafe x childhood friend!reader

| summary | you tried the 'ick' trend you saw on tiktok out on rafe to see how long it would take to annoy him

warnings: cursing, reader annoys rafe and he's a little drama queen about it

a/n: i just love making hot men angry :p

masterlist

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

You could tell Rafe wasn’t exactly thrilled by your idea, but that never stopped you. The ick challenge had been floating around for a while, and today, you were determined to annoy the hell out of him. You had the perfect plan—make a list of the most ridiculous icks you could think of and see how far you could push him before he snapped.

You pulled your phone out, aiming the camera at the two of you. “Alright, Rafe, let’s do the ick challenge. I'll just say a few things you do that annoy me. It’ll be fun.”

He looked at you, eyes narrowed in irritation. “This is fuckin’ dumb.”

“Come on,” you insisted, already grinning. “Just one round. A couple icks.”

Rafe groaned but gave in. “Fine. But this is the last time I’m doing something this stupid with you.”

You pressed record and turned the camera back on both of you. “Okay, so first... You always have to give me a lecture about how to ‘be safe’ when I go out. I’m a grown-ass woman, Rafe. I know how to look both ways before crossing the street.”

Rafe shot you a look like you’d just cursed him out. “You never listen to me. Don’t act like I’m over here telling you to wear a helmet and knee pads to go to the grocery store. I’m just lookin’ out for you.”

You could see the annoyance bubbling beneath his tough exterior, but you pressed on. “Sure, sure. But also, you never let me carry anything. We’ll be out and about, and you’ll just grab the bags, even when I’m totally fine carrying them.”

“Because I don’t want you strainin’ yourself,” he growled. “If you weren’t so damn stubborn, you’d let me do it.”

You smirked, loving how easy it was to get under his skin. “Right, I’m sure it’s all about you being ‘helpful,’” you said, sarcasm dripping from your words. “Next thing, you hold the door open for me because you’re ‘polite' and get mad if i open my own door."

Rafe scowled. “I am polite. What’s your point?”

You shook your head with a dramatic sigh. “Okay, well, you have this whole routine when you get home. You take off your shoes by the door so slowly. Like, what is that? You’re literally just taking off shoes, Rafe, not preparing for battle.”

“Don’t make fun of my routine. It’s called not tracking dirt into my place, alright? I’m not some slob.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” you said, crossing your arms. “You always put your hoodie on the back of the chair and it stays there all day. It’s like you think it’s a coat rack.”

Rafe rolled his eyes. “You know I don’t want to wrinkle it. It’s not like you don’t leave your shit everywhere either.”

“Okay, okay,” you shot back, loving how he was getting a little worked up. “You always ask me if I’m ‘good’ when I’m just sitting on the couch. Am I supposed to be doing something? I’m literally just chilling, Rafe.”

“Because you act like you’re about to pass out or something. I’m making sure you’re not about to fall asleep in the middle of the day.”

You threw your hands up in mock disbelief. “Oh, but wait, there’s more! You get so mad when I eat my food before you. Like, it’s just a fucking sandwich, Rafe. You’ll give me this look like I’ve just committed a crime.”

“I’m just sayin’, you’re supposed to wait for me,” he muttered, clearly annoyed.

You leaned in closer, trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Also, you always wear those damn golf shorts. Seriously, what’s up with that? Are you carrying a golf club in those pockets?”

“They’re comfortable, alright? You're one to talk, you dress like a grandma sometimes,” he fired back. “You’ve got those goddamn oversized sweaters with a billion pockets in ‘em.”

You giggled. “Touché. But speaking of clothes, you’re obsessed with making me wear your shit. I don’t need your hoodie every single time I come over, Rafe.”

“You’re literally freezing when you come over. I’m not lettin’ you freeze your ass off just because you think you can tough it out.”

“Mmhm, right,” you teased. “You always act like you’re too good to eat fast food. It’s just a burger. Stop acting like you’re above it.”

"Because I don’t need to eat that shit. You eat fast food, you turn into fast food. Simple as that.”

You raised an eyebrow, shaking your head. “Oh, but the best one, the absolute best one? You literally can’t ever let me do anything without you hovering like some kind of damn helicopter. I’ll be putting my shoes on, and you’re right there breathing down my neck.”

“I’m making sure nothin' happens,” he shot back quickly, the vein in his neck tightening. “You need help with everything.”

“Right, of course,” you said innocently, loving every second of his escalating frustration. “Okay, last one: You always text me like twenty times a day to check in. ‘What are you doing? You okay? Where are you?’ I’m not a child.”

“You think I don’t know what could happen out there? People are crazy, alright?” Rafe shot back, his tone suddenly rougher. “And I don’t trust anybody with you. That’s why I check in.”

You smirked, leaning back to take in his response. His brows were furrowed, jaw clenched, but there was something else behind his eyes that made you pause. You didn’t quite know if it was pure protectiveness or something darker, but it had your attention.

Before you could think about it too much, Rafe snatched the phone off the table with a growl, stopping the recording. “Alright, that’s it,” he spat. “You’ve had your fun. I’m done with your little games.”

You blinked, trying to figure out if he was really mad or just messing with you. But the way he looked at you—like he was holding back—made you hesitate.

“Rafe, come on, I was just—”

He tossed the phone onto the couch. “Next time, don’t push it. If you keep testing me, you won’t like what happens next.”

You swallowed hard, realizing this was one of those moments when maybe, just maybe, you pushed a little too far.

“Okay, okay, no more icks, I promise.”

Rafe stared at you for a beat longer, then a smirk crossed his lips. “Damn right.”

[moonstruckme]

Helloo lovely, hope you're having a good day!

I just wanted to leave a teeny tiny request for a poly!marauders x reader where reader has never tried any alcoholic drinks before but she wants to try and she trusts her boys about the drinks and about taking care of her if she feels drunk (not that she would recognize the feeling, I guess)?

If you've done this before or not feeling like writing it, just feel free to ignore it 💙

Hope tumblr doesn't eat my request this time, for some reason it really likes to eat anything I send when they are sent as anon 🤦🏻‍♀️

Thanks for requesting, angel <3

cw: alcohol

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 533 words

“Baby.” Sirius is laughing, pink-cheeked and sparkly-eyed while he detaches his mouth from a straw. His legs are pulled up with him onto the armchair, you sitting cross-legged on the couch with James. “You’ve got to give it more of a chance than that.” 

“Leave off her.” James comes to your defense, taking the drink from your hand into his own custody. Your boyfriends have benefited greatly from your discards tonight. “Maybe she’s just not a vodka girl.” 

“Everyone is a vodka girl! And flavored vodka is the best kind!”

“It’s just so…” You pucker your mouth, trying to get rid of the taste. “Sharp.” 

Both of them laugh, James wrapping an arm around your shoulders to smooch your cheek. “That’s alcohol, m’love,” he says fondly. 

“It all tastes like that?” 

“It doesn’t have to,” Remus assures you, coming in from the kitchen with another glass. (You’re really going to need to do the dishes tomorrow, you owe it to them after all this.) This drink is promisingly pink. “Are you alright to try another?”

“Please.” You reach for it, smiling at the twirly straw he’s stuck in there for you. 

“Is that a dirty Shirley?” James’ eyes light as he looks into your glass. He looks excited when Remus nods. “Angel, if you don’t like it, give it to me.” 

You close your lips around the straw, trying to ignore the attention of your boyfriends as you take a tentative sip. It doesn’t make you gag, at least. 

“This is good,” you say, almost warily. “What’s in it?”

Remus looks pleased with himself. “Sprite, grenadine, and malibu.” 

“Malibu?” Sirius elbows Remus as the taller boy folds into the armchair with him, aghast. “That’s cheating!”

“It is not,” Remus says primly. “She needed something less strong.” 

“Am I drunk yet?” you ask, having slurped down half the glass in your relief to finally be drinking something palatable. 

“Oh, hey, slow down, sailor.” James hooks a finger around your straw, gently tugging it from your mouth. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” 

“You’ll know if you’re drunk, sweetness,” Sirius tells you. He’s grinning like he can’t wait. 

You frown. “How will I know?” 

“You’ll know,” he promises. “Everything feels rather different.” 

“Like, good different?”

Sirius hesitates, and Remus cuts in. “That’s up to you, dove. Not everyone likes it, but we won’t let it be awful for you.” 

You falter, slowing your sips from your straw cautiously. James laughs and plants another kiss on your cheek. If your boyfriends are anything to go by, being drunk is a lovely time. 

“We won’t let anything happen to you,” he says, thumb denting into your cheek affectionately. “It’ll be fun, scout’s honor.” 

“You weren’t actually in the boy scouts, Jamie,” Remus reminds him. 

“Yeah, but I totally get what they were about. And I live by those values, Moons, so I’m practically an honorary scout. Scout’s honor, get it?” 

You listen to this rigmarole with something between wariness and amusement. “Is being drunk going to be like that?” you ask Remus. 

He grins as he picks up a drink from your collection of discards, but it’s Sirius who answers. 

“We should all be so lucky, babe.”

[v1sexual]

another actor au where reader gets injured on set and ofc the others being worried af ☹️ (vi and caitlyn being the most worried 🫶)

sticks and stones ; caitvi x reader

note : omg my first ask yay! anyways, i just wanted to say how much i love this omg. just imagine, caitvi fussing over you, giving you the princess treatment *explodes* this is lowkey poorly written tho, it's my first time writing with two love interests. i mean i could have made it platonic but where's the fun in that.

content warning : blood, minor injuries, swearing,

“cut! get the medics in here right now!”

you had no idea how this happened. a second ago, you were literally in the middle of acting a scene out with ekko in the firelight hideout. next thing you know, you twisted an ankle and fell 10-15 feet to the ground. thankfully, the leaves and branches from the tree (of the firelight hideout) broke your fall, leaving you with a few scrapes, bruises, and possibly a broken ankle.

when vi saw your body hit the cold hard floor she bolted, shouting for someone to get any medical professionals on the set. it took cait a couple of seconds to register what just happened, when it finally dawned on her she immediately followed vi. if people didn’t take notice that something was going on between the three of you, well… they’d probably notice it now. vi kneeled beside you, her hands cupped your cheek gently as she checked your head for any injury. thankfully, you only had a couple of cuts on your cheek and nothing too serious (you also may or may not have a small bump on your head that can be taken care of with some nice cold compress).

“is she okay?” cait exclaimed, she was out of breath and was ready to dial 911. before vi could answer, the medical team finally arrived. they ushered cait, vi, and your cast mates away as they loaded you on the stretcher and into the make-shift clinic tent on set.

it’s been almost an hour since vi and cait camped out of the tent. the two were practically about to explode, they were just so worried about you. the fact that it’s been an hour and still no news about you and how you’re doing concerns them. when the doctor examining you finally exited the tent (and quite literally almost bumped into them), they wasted no time bombarding the doctor about your condition.

“she’s doing fine ladies,” the doctor smiled. “just a couple of scratches, a bruise here and there, and a sprained ankle.”

vi’s face fell and cait was practically chewing nails.

“how long will it take for her to recover?’ cait asked worriedly.

the doctor gave her shoulder a pat, “it’ll take two to three weeks for the ankle to heal. then another week for her to get used to walking on it again.”

“how should we treat the ankle? does it need cold or hard compress?” vi demanded, poor girl was stressing the fuck out.

“use a cold compress for a week or until the swelling has gone down, then hot compress to help with blood flow. elevating the sprained ankle helps minimize the pain as well.” the doctor added before heading out, leaving the two girls to enter the tent.

watching the scene unfold was ekko and powder. they hung out beside a food truck next to the medical tent, fully overhearing the conversation that just unfold. “i sure hope (name)’s doing alright.” powder murmured, resting her head on her boyfriend’s shoulder. ekko nodded in response, “i sure hope so. i imagine dealing with those too will be much more painful than dealing with the sprain.”

powder let’s out a laugh and shook her head. “ekko! that’s so mean.”

“it’s true though,” ekko shrugged then rested his head on powder’s. “i swear, those three have a weird relationship.’

“we listen, we don’t judge ekko.”

when the doctor left the tent to give you some privacy, you almost burst into tears. the cuts didn’t hurt, the bruises didn’t hurt, and the sprain was bearable. it’s the fact that filming will have to be pushed back a bit due to your sprain. you wouldn’t be able to stand on that foot at all until it heals, the doctor already made a note that you need at least a month and a half to fully recover. the director and producers weren’t pleased, but they did understand and didn’t want to push you since you are one of the most hardworking actors on set.

the tent flap rustled open, pulling you away from your thoughts. caitlyn and vi entered the tent, both had worried looks on their faces. they sat on opposite sides of the stretcher where you laid.

"how are you feeling?" cait asked, taking your hand and holding it. you sighed and shrugged. you didn't want to talk, especially to vi and caitlyn. you just know that the moment you open your mouth the dam will break, you already feel sorry for yourself and crying will make it worse.

"cupcake," vi said as she cupped your face in her hand. she tilted your head to look at her. "you know you can tell us anything right?"

you closed your eyes as you leaned into vi's touch, your hand gripping caitlyn's a little bit tighter. "i just- if i talk about it i'll cry and it'll make feel worse." your voice sounded so small and hurt, it made cait and vi's heart ache.

cait pressed a kiss to your hand, "if you don't want to talk we won't force you, but you need to let it all out eventually. bottling your feelings isn't healthy at all." vi nods in agreement, she squeezed your cheeks before bending down to press a kiss on your forehead. "if you need to cry, cry. you have our shoulders to cry on, cupcake."

you closed your eyes and let the tears fall.

caitlyn and vi stayed true to their words, they comforted you and stayed in the tent until they were kicked out by the producers. when you were finally alone, a smile adorned your lips. your girlfriends were right, letting it all out did make you feel ten times better.

after today's shooting was done, caitlyn and vi took you home. cait went ahead and started cooking dinner while vi carried you to your room, making sure your foot was elevated. for the next month and a half, they barely left your side (unless they were needed for filming). they never let you do anything, you were basically confined to your room. as much as you hated being useless, your protests were ignored by cait and vi. it didn't matter though, at least you're ankle is almost healed and being babied by your girlfriends felt good anyways.

note : well that sucked LMAOOOO sorry anon

[halfvalid]

Hiii! If its no trouble could I have a zoro and reader fic with the one bed trope? The others know about their crushes on each other so they force each other to share a room? Anyway they end up cuddling and its all cute (the others will tease them forever about it lol)?? Thankss

intertwined ribbons

ABOUT

alternate title: opla zoro makes my hated tropes less hated

rating: general audiences/teen & up

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader | live action!nami | live action!straw hats ensemble

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 4.9k

description: unbeknownst to you, your crush on zoro is reciprocated. the rest of the straw hats take it upon themselves to get you together by locking you in his bedroom overnight.

tags: strawhat!reader, only one bed, forced proximity, confessions, no use of 'y/n', nami is a true instigator, cuddling, soft zoro, humor

author's note: thank you so much for the request and i hope it meets your expectations!! fun fact i actually used to hate the 'only one bed' trope, so i decided to challenge myself in writing this. and i think it's one of my fave tropes now lol

(you have an inner spirit that helps you make decisions except it’s just nami.)

“I just think that maybe you should stop avoiding him,” Nami started. You bit your cheek, ignoring her as you tied up the last of the ship’s rigging into a careful knot. Nami had been going on for the past few minutes, and you’d zoned out exactly three seconds in, when the name Zoro had first been spoken. Because of this reason you weren’t really listening, so you blinked up at her in confusion. 

“Sorry? Who am I avoiding?” 

“You’re impossible,” Nami grumbled. “And you know exactly who I’m talking about.” Which, well, fair. The math added up: you heard the word Zoro, you stopped listening, Nami continued talking until she realized you’d stopped listening. “Especially since you’re, you know—” she gave you another look, eyes rolling over to stare dead into yours— “Avoiding him.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said innocently. Nami sighed, leaning over to tug the rope dangling from your hands out of your grip. You tried to reach back for it, but she didn’t let you. “Hey!” 

“Yes, you do. Face it. You’re avoiding Zoro.” 

You made a face at her. “I think there are ropes on the foredeck that I can attend to.” 

“No, there aren’t,” Nami answered. “Now stop changing the subject. There’s this wild concept called communication. It works wonders.” 

“Says you,” you muttered, though your arms crossed defensively across your chest. You noticed the action after a split-second and unwound your arms with a scowl. “Look, I just don’t see the point. And I haven’t been avoiding him.” 

You were, in fact, avoiding him. Ever since that dreadful night a week ago when Nami had gotten you tipsy and stuck her hand in your chest cavity fishing for secrets, you’d been avoiding him. The other girl was ridiculously good at prying truths out of you, and during the conversation, you’d accidentally spilled your crush on the Straw Hat crew’s resident swordsman. 

You’d managed to keep the secret for the months you’d been together, wherein the unfortunate feelings had developed, and you should’ve figured once somebody knew they wouldn’t leave you alone about it. Because Nami refused to talk about literally anything else. You’d expected this sort of behavior from Luffy, or maybe Sanji, but Nami? The world was more amatonormative than you'd thought. 

Nami cast you a look. “You’re blushing.” 

“Am not.”

“Are too. What’s the harm in talking to him?” Nami demanded, one hand on her hip as she stared you down. You gaped at her. 

“Um, literally everything? One, Zoro can’t talk about feelings or emotions for shit, so when he rejects me it’ll be in the most excruciating, offhand manner that will probably leave me at the bottom of a barrel of rum, two, after being rejected I’m going to have to leave the Straw Hats, three—”

Nami rolled her eyes, looking increasingly fed up with you. “For someone so obsessed with not telling our resident grass-headed swordsman about your feelings for him, you’re talking rather loudly.” 

You shut up, snapping your jaw closed with a glare. “Stop it,” you hissed. 

“Besides, who knows if he actually will reject you?” Nami turned to work on the next section of rigging, glancing over her shoulder at you. “You’re catastrophizing.” 

“I’m being realistic,” you snapped. “Okay, fine. He reciprocates my feelings. Then what? We date, we break up because all relationships eventually end, it becomes awkward, and—voila—I’ll have to leave the Straw Hats anyway. It’s a bad idea all around.” 

Nami just let out a huff of breath, the exhale laced with irritation. “Catastrophizing,” she repeated. 

“I am not—”

“Sure. Go help Sanji with dinner.” 

You gave her an exasperated look, but at this point Nami wasn’t paying attention anymore, so you stormed off into the underbelly of the Going Merry. Speak of the devil, apparently, because once you entered the kitchen you spotted not only Sanji occupying it but also Zoro. He was lounging at the table, swords strapped to his waist and a bottle of something he was nursing in hand. 

You averted your gaze from him, head running a million miles a minute. Had he noticed you’d been avoiding him? You’d tried to be furtive about it, but if Nami had noticed, maybe—

“Well, hello there,” Sanji called from where he was in the midst of dinner preparations. “Come to help?” 

“Nami sent me,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “I think she’s appointed herself queen of the Going Merry.” 

“Oh, she did that long ago,” Sanji chided. “You’re only noticing it now. Pick up a knife, then. I’d like some help dicing the carrots.” 

You stiffly moved over to the counter, ignoring Zoro as you went even as you felt his gaze following your figure. You picked up the first knife you found, positioning yourself in front of the cutting board to start dicing the vegetables already laid out for you. Abruptly, Zoro stood up. 

“Heading out,” he muttered. “Call me when dinner’s ready.” 

With that, he left the room, leaving you and Sanji to exchange looks. “He’s moody today,” you said. 

“Probably ‘cause you’ve been avoiding him.” 

You felt the familiar pinprick of a blush starting to warm your cheeks. “You too?” 

“You’re rather obvious about it,” Sanji said with a raised eyebrow. “But enough of that.” Weirdly enough, he didn’t seem to question why. There was no way Nami had told him, so you were left confused, but no matter. The point was that for now, you were safe. 

The hour dipped to evening, and soon the moon was glowing in the sky, a shining beacon of white amidst the ocean of stars and shimmering sea. You suppressed a yawn, busing the dishes from dinner as the rest of the crew got up from their respective seats to dissolve to their own rooms. Zoro had already retired for the night—if you were avoiding him, he seemed to be doing the exact same—so at least you didn’t have that to worry about. 

“Ah, wait,” Nami said, after you’d finished washing the dishes and was ready to head out. “Zoro wants to talk to you.” 

You jolted, glancing nervously around you before grabbing her wrist. “What did you do?” you hissed. Nami just laughed. 

“Calm down. I didn’t do anything.” Off your glare, she relented. “I promise. And I swear it’s not about feelings or emotions or whatever. Even though it’s obvious you’re avoiding him, you know Zoro wouldn’t say anything.” 

You were still suspicious, but you dropped your hand. “What, then?” 

Nami shrugged, tilting her chin up just so. “I guess you’re going to have to find out.” 

“I don’t trust you,” you muttered. There was that look in her eye, the one she got whenever she was thinking of something truly devious. Still, you couldn’t figure out what she was up to, so— “Fine, I’ll go to his room. Walk me.” 

Nami rolled her eyes, but she fell into step with you as you made your way across the ship. “You should bring it up to him, you know,” she started, but silenced after your sharp glare. “Okay, okay. I get the point. I’ll stop bothering you about it.” 

You stopped by the mouth of Zoro’s door. “Wait, really?” 

“Yes, really,” Nami said with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. She leaned against the wall beside the door, arms crossing over her chest. “I’ll leave you alone about Mr. Prince Charming over there. Knock.” 

“You can't call him Mr. Prince Charming,” you said, though you did knock. “Prince’ is already a title.” 

Nami gave you a look. “Okay, smart-ass.” 

The door creaked open before you could give your response, and you turned, heart pounding in your throat as Zoro stared down at you. His arm was propped up by the open doorway, the other hand still clutching the doorknob. “What.” 

“Um, Nami said that you wanted to talk—” you swiveled your head towards the other girl, but before you could finish your sentence, Nami was raising up your arm and unceremoniously shoving you into the room. 

You shrieked in surprise as you fell into Zoro’s figure, stumbling into him and causing him to lose his balance. Your head shot up in offense, only to see the gleam of a golden padlock in Nami’s hand before she was yanking the door closed.

A dull click echoed through the room. The only thing you could hear for a few seconds was your own heavy breathing and the sound of Zoro gathering himself.

“Did she just—” You gaped at the closed door. “Lock us in?” 

Zoro swiftly pushed past you, jiggling the doorknob for a few moments before giving up. Sure enough, Nami had sealed it with the padlock from the outside, so there was no possibility of either of you getting out of the room. You could vaguely hear sounds from the outside—dull thuds and scrapes—and watched as Zoro started banging on the door. 

“Nami,” he called, voice dangerously low. “Let us out.” 

“Sorry, Zoro!” Your jaw practically unhinged from your skull once you heard your captain’s familiar voice, all bright and cheerful like always. “We’re putting barrels in front of the door, so don’t even try breaking it down. Have a good night!” 

“Luffy? What are you—” Zoro’s knocking quickened in pace, his voice getting increasingly louder. There was no response from outside, though you could hear snickers that sounded suspiciously like Usopp. What was going on? 

You kicked into action, joining Zoro by the door and trying the door handle again. “Nami!” you yelled. 

Nami’s soft laugh came from outside. “Sorry!” she called. “We’ll let you out in the morning.”

You gaped at the door, only aware of Zoro’s gaze sliding down to you as you dropped your hand from the doorknob. There were some more tigers from outside, and then receding footsteps. Zoro tried knocking one last time, but it was evident that the rest of the crew had all but abandoned you. 

“Okay,” Zoro muttered, moving away from the door. “I need a drink.” 

You watched him move across the room, picking up a glass from his bedside table that was only slightly full. He knocked it back in one swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. “Um, what now?” you asked uncomfortably. 

“Nothing. Whatever,” Zoro said, turning to glance over at you. After a moment’s thought, you noticed that he refused to look you in his eye—his gaze was firmly trained at a spot beside your head. He turned away, stripping off his sword scabbard and setting them on the floor. 

You glanced around nervously. Zoro’s room wasn’t that different from yours, really—less decorated, but the constitution was the same. There was the bed, a wardrobe, a desk with various paraphernalia across it, and a little couch in the corner too. “You can look through the closet for something to sleep in. I’ll take the chair.” 

The words didn’t register at first, and you were left standing there, staring as Zoro kicked off his shoes and assumedly started getting ready to sleep. “Um, what?” 

Zoro glanced over his shoulder. He still wouldn’t look you in the eye. “They’re not letting us out until morning,” he said slowly. “You can take the bed. Might as well sleep.” 

“It’s your room,” you started, crossing your arms. “I can sleep in the chair. I’m smaller than you, anyway, so I’ll fit it better.” 

Zoro regarded you with such a reproachful look you almost wanted to laugh. “That’s ridiculous. Change.” With that, he turned around, leaving no room for discussion. You stared at him for a second before giving up, moving to his wardrobe and opening it up to search for something to sleep in. 

“So, uh, any ideas on why they stuck us in here?” You asked, although you already knew the answer. Whatever Nami thought locking you in a room with Zoro would achieve, you were stubbornly not going to let her be right. God, you were so going to kill her once you got out of there. 

“Nope,” Zoro said, with such a degree of finality you figured it wouldn’t be safe to question him further. “They’re just stupid.” 

“I mean, I feel like they would have a motive?” You rifled through his clothes, trying very hard to detach them from their owner. Wearing Zoro’s clothes was not something you wanted your mind to linger upon. Eventually you found a shirt of his that would undoubtedly be oversized on you, and you hastily changed into it, satisfied to find it draped well to your knees so you weren’t exposing too much skin. 

You stole a glance over your shoulder at Zoro, only to catch him in the action of peeling his shirt off. The stretch of the muscles in his back gleamed in the dim light of the room, and you tore your gaze away, heat rushing to your face. “Um. Anything?” 

“Nope,” Zoro repeated. Carefully, you closed the wardrobe door, lingering in one spot with your hands clenched together. Once you heard him start moving again, you deemed it safe enough to turn towards the rest of the room. He’d changed into a loose tan shirt, and had settled back into the chair. 

“I said I’d take the chair,” you told him hotly. 

“Yeah, and I said no,” Zoro said, tone dismissive. He had his eyes closed, and you stared at him in disbelief. 

“I’m not sleeping in your bed,” you said, and then, just to emphasize your point, plopped down on the floor. Zoro cracked an eye open and stared down at you. He sighed. 

“Get up. Don’t be stupid.” 

“I’m not being stupid,” you said. “It’s your room. It’s your bed. You will sleep on it. If you’re not giving me the chair, I’ll sleep on the floor.” 

Zoro let out a long sigh, closing both his eyes as if he was contemplating all his life decisions. “I’m not sleeping in the bed, you know,” he said. 

“Okay, so neither of us do.” 

Zoro’s brows creased, and he opened his eyes to glare down at you. “Seriously? At least take the chair, then. I’ll sleep on the flo—”

You gave him a sharp look. “Zoro.” 

“This conversation isn’t getting anywhere,” Zoro muttered, and finally got up from his chair. You glanced up at him expectantly. “What can I do to convince you to take the bed?” 

“Uh, nothing.” 

“We can work out a compromise,” Zoro said with a sigh. “I want you on it, and you want me on it, and neither of us are willing to take it ourselves.” He paused, brow creasing as an idea seemed to form in his head—one he didn’t seem to be a giant fan of, but an idea nonetheless. “How about.” His lips pursed, before he parted them again to finish his sentence. “How about we both take it?” 

It felt like someone had hit you square in the chest, air kicking out of your lungs and leaving you gasping for breath. Your windpipe was all raw, and you had to fight to tear any words out from your throat. “Ex—excuse me?” 

“It’s big enough,” Zoro said stiffly, though his hands were clenched at his sides. “I can take one side and you can take the other. Since you’re so dead-set on me sleeping on it.” 

“I—” You cut yourself off, suddenly far too aware of Zoro’s eyes fixed on you. Watching your every move. Oh, Nami was in for it now. How were you supposed to survive sleeping in the same bed as—you didn’t even want to think about it. 

“Well?” Zoro prompted. 

“Fine,” you agreed hastily, ducking your head lest Zoro catch any of the flush that was undoubtedly rising steadily up your cheeks. It was bad enough you were stuck in his bedroom and wearing his clothes—but this had quickly become your own personal circle of hell. “Good enough for me.” 

“Finally.” With that, Zoro climbed into bed, settling himself on the very edge of its side. Your throat had gone dry, and you stared at him for another second before hurriedly turning away to flick the lights off. You approached the other side of the bed with an extreme lack of enthusiasm, staring at the empty sheets like they were cackling up at you. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

Eventually you slid into the bed, busying yourself with arranging the blankets around your figure. Zoro’s breaths were steady and deep from beside you. You didn’t know what to do for a second, but then Zoro’s voice was cutting through the darkness. “You’ve been avoiding me.” 

You jolted, then suppressed your sigh. “Have not.” 

“Yes, you have, and everyone knows it, and you’re not very subtle,” Zoro said, sounding almost bored as he rattled off the words. “Why.” 

“I haven’t—”

“Don’t.” 

You ran your tongue along your teeth, sucking at the valleys between them in annoyance. “It’s not important.” 

Zoro paused before speaking, like he was mulling over asking the question. “Did I do something?” 

“What? No.” You shook your head, despite knowing he wouldn’t be able to see. The sound did well enough to indicate the action to him, though—he scoffed, a low murmur from his chest that buzzed through your nerves. “I don’t want to talk about this. You’re giving the rest of the crew what they want.” 

“They definitely did not lock you in here to talk about why you’re avoiding me,” Zoro muttered. Now it was your turn to scoff, because if only he knew. “Are you sure I didn’t do anything?" 

“Positive. It’s all me.” 

“Okay, so why?” Zoro prompted. You swallowed hard, trying to dodge around the subject. “Are you sure—”

“Please just stop talking,” you said, one hand reaching out to grip his arm as if the physical contact would make him shut up. There was a stagnant moment of silence, your breath catching as your brain caught up to your body. Your hand was on Zoro’s arm. Your hand was on Zoro’s bicep, and you were in his bed. 

You cleared your throat, a panicked choke bursting from your lungs. “Um.” Your eyes skittered sideways, and then you finally turned on your side to stare at him. To stare at where your hand was still clutched around his arm.

You could just barely make out the angle of his jaw in the darkness, but you could see it was clenched, the vein along his neck protruding just slightly. Hastily, you removed your hand, the skin of your fingers tingling like you could still feel him underneath the tips. “Sorry. Why—why are you so certain that you did something for me to avoid you?” 

There were a few moments of silence that ticked by, nothing but the rock of the ship interrupting it. Finally, Zoro spoke. “Because the reason they locked you in my room is because—”

“What? The reason they locked me in your room is because of me,” you said. Zoro finally moved from his position, head tilting to face yours so you were eye-to-eye. You swallowed. “Nami, um—Nami specifically forced me in here so I would… talk to you.” 

There was a question evident in Zoro’s voice. “About?” 

Your lips parted, and then closed again. “Um.” 

“We can just sleep, if you want,” Zoro muttered. 

“What if they don’t let us out in the morning because we haven’t talked, though?” you hissed. Zoro let out a low laugh. 

“You realize you’re giving them exactly what they want.” 

“So you’d be more comfortable if we just… fell asleep?” you asked. Zoro shrugged. Since you weren’t exactly averse to the idea of not confessing, you nodded in agreement, heart beating a million miles a second. “Okay. Fine by me.” 

You settled back into your pillow, but soon came to realize that, due to the fluttering butterflies in your stomach and the fact you were very aware of the man of your affections being barely a foot to your right, you could not sleep. Evidently Zoro felt the same way, because he kept shifting around under the blankets—your hands brushed against each other a few times before he jolted away like you’d burnt him. 

“Sorry,” you muttered. Zoro didn’t say anything in response. Somewhere in the back of your head, you could hear Nami hissing at you—I didn’t shove you in a room with Mr. Prince Charming just for you to not take advantage of the opportunity. You tried to get her out of your brain—it was a bad idea all around—but the words kept reverberating around in your mind until you found yourself suddenly speaking. “Zoro?” 

“Hm?” 

“Nami stuck me in here so I would tell you that, um—” 

“You don’t have to say it,” Zoro murmured, and you shivered, his voice sounding suddenly closer. You squirmed, your hand brushing against Zoro’s again, except this time it took him a delayed moment to drift away. He had gotten closer—or maybe that was you, instinctually leaning towards the dip in the middle of the bed when you’d been lost in thought. 

“The reason they locked me in here with you is so I would tell you about my feelings towards you,” you blurted, the words slurring together, consonants and syllables all in one rush. “Because I have them. Feelings, I mean.”

Zoro’s voice was very low when he spoke. “Excuse me?” 

You sat straight up, the blankets previously nestled around your chin falling to your waist. “I have feelings for you and that’s why everyone locked me in here.” 

“I—” Zoro coughed, and then coughed again, ridding his throat of whatever was preventing him from making full sentences. He slowly sat up, and you stared down at the blankets in your lap as you saw him rise to his full height beside you. And oh, this was it. He was about to reject you in the most excruciating, offhand manner that would probably leave you at the bottom of a barrel of rum. “That’s not possible.” 

“Why is that—” you decided to shut up instead of finishing your sentence, allowing him to speak instead. There was a soft burning starting at your skin, all red hot, and your brain buzzed, regret filling up your lungs and making it hard to breathe. 

Zoro didn’t say anything, but you heard his hand before you felt it. It slid across the bedsheets before finally resting beside yours, fingertips grazing against your knuckles. “Zoro?” you whispered. 

“The reason they locked you in here with me is so I would tell you about my feelings towards you,” Zoro said blankly. You blinked. It took you a moment to realize that he wasn’t just quoting you—that he hadn’t switched the pronouns accordingly. Your heart dropped. 

Your voice was very faint when you spoke. “What?” 

“I like you,” Zoro said carefully. Languidly, the words dripping off his tongue all saccharine-sweet like molasses, or honey. You shivered, your hand accidentally knocking against his, and he took the opportunity to draw it in closer, fingers pushing up your palm, just a hair’s breadth away from interlacing with yours. “Luffy unfortunately found out. He doesn’t know how to keep a secret and told the rest of the crew.” 

You gaped at him. “I like you,” you said, dumbfounded. You could feel yourself trembling, fingers sliding against Zoro’s hand with every shake. “Nami yanked it out of me. Which is why I’ve been avoiding you for the past week.” 

“I thought you were avoiding me because you found out I liked you,” Zoro muttered. His fingertips brushed against the pads of your hand, and you swallowed, mouth all dry. “So.” 

You tentatively lifted your gaze, finding Zoro’s eyes even amidst the darkness. They were shining, a slight glint from the moon coming in through the window reflecting along the shadows of his face. Carefully, his hand slid fully into yours, fingers lacing together, and it was like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place. 

Zoro slid back down onto his back, tugging you along with him. You settled back on your pillow, using your other hand to pull the blankets back over your chest. For a full stagnant minute the two of you lay there, hands intertwined in the space between. 

You were the one who made the first move, then, thumb running up and down the length of his index finger. Zoro ran with the action, tugging your hand just slightly until you were leaning into the dip of the mattress, gravity pulling you closer to his body. 

He lifted your entwined hands, tugging you towards him until your back was pressed right to his chest. Then he settled your arms back down again, the back of his palm resting against your belly. 

You swallowed hard, able to hear the sound of your throat in the utter silence. Zoro exhaled, his breath softly brushing against your neck. “Good night,” you whispered. 

Zoro pressed a soft kiss to the nape of your neck, a ghost of something that left tingles fluttering down your spine, the drunken butterflies in your stomach swaying at the action. “Good night,” he murmured, and your breath caught. 

He was warm, oh so warm, like a campfire with licks of flame that softened your hands in the dead of night. And even though you wanted to speak up, question when he’d started liking you, if he was lying or not—you were content to stay here in his arms and drift off to sleep.

So you did, settling back into his embrace with your head spinning and senses murmuring, all dizzy like you were caught in a dream. Eventually, your tiredness got the better of you, and you felt your senses fading as the world around you darkened to black. 

The two of you jolted awake to the knocking and the very unpleasant hum of Nami’s voice. “Rise and shine!” she called through the door, and you blinked, bleary eyes adjusting to the light as you suppressed your yawn. 

Zoro jolted up beside you, practically giving you whiplash as his arm was still comfortably around your waist. Your fingers tingled, and you realized that you’d fallen asleep with your hands laced together. 

“Nami,” you grumbled, about to rise out of bed before Zoro stopped you. You turned towards him in question, only to stop short as you registered the look in his eyes. His gaze was deep, piercing; those butterflies rose up again in your stomach, apparently awake after they’d passed out from their drunken stupor. You swallowed. “Hi?” 

“Hey,” he murmured. “They locked you in my room.” 

“I’m going to knock Nami over the head with a rowboat oar,” you said blandly, eyes flickering towards the door, which Nami was still pounding on. You vaguely heard shuffling sounds, like the crew were working to move the barrels they’d stuck in front of the door to free you from your prison. “You can have the rest of them, if you want.” 

“I’ll take you up on that offer,” Zoro agreed. “But first…” 

“First?” you prompted. 

Zoro brought your hands—still intertwined—to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss along your knuckles. “Good morning,” he said, voice low and awkward, like he wasn’t used to letting the words out of his mouth. He let your hands drift to his lap, leaning forward until his forehead brushed against yours.

A faint sigh escaped your lips when he finally kissed you. It wasn’t rough or hard; it was a soft press, like your hands had been just a few hours ago. There was a degree of finality to it; a held-in breath that’d exhaled from your lungs, one you hadn’t realized was building up that much pressure until you finally let it all go. 

The door flung open, and you jolted away, but Zoro tilted your head back towards him before you could. At the mouth of the room, Luffy had started screaming. “Aww,” Nami cooed. Behind her, Usopp and Sanji were gripping onto each other like they were watching a particularly engaging fight. 

A steady blush rose along your cheeks, but Zoro was absolutely shameless, the hand not held in yours raising up to give them the finger. “Get out of my room.”

“Told you it’d be okay,” Nami sing-songed, and then you really did break away from Zoro, picking up the object nearest to you and barrelling towards her. She shrieked, dodging out of the doorway as Zoro laughed from behind you.

“Wait!” she stopped you from whacking your pillow against her head, raising up her arms in defense. “I was right. I saw you two—” 

“Nami,” you started, dangerously low. “You locked me in his room.”

“Yeah, to help you!” she cried defensively, slowly taking backwards steps as you gained on her. “Come on. We can talk about this.” 

“Good luck,” Zoro called out from behind you—you turned around, catching his gaze. He had gotten up, leaning against the doorway and watching you with a sparkle of fondness in his eye. “You’ll need it.” 

You blew him a kiss, ignoring the long groan it pulled out of Luffy from beside Zoro in the hallway. And then you turned around. Nami had darted off, taking the time you’d been distracted to run off. “Oh no you don’t!” you yelled, and then lunged after her with Zoro laughing all the while. 

Maybe it hadn’t been such a bad thing, you thought. But you were still going to beat Nami’s ass. 

© halfvalid 2023

[paxtito]

grey sweatpants

parings: tara x reader (g!p)

word count: 4048

warnings: smut 18+, swearing, reader has a dick, oral sex, fingering and p in v

summary: tara’s tiktok feed has been filled with people buying their partners grey sweatpants, it’s supposed to exaggerate certain… features. she drags you along to the shop to buy a pair and let’s just say, she definitely likes it

a/n: wrote this while listening to the car by arctic monkeys, i will not tolerate hate towards their newer stuff- apologies in advance for any mistakes

MASTERLIST

You’re barely two steps inside the store when Tara’s hand closes around your wrist, dragging you through the aisles with a surprising amount of strength for someone so small. Her eyes are lit up with that determined gleam that usually spells trouble—or something about to become very memorable. You’re not sure which it’ll be, but you follow, grinning.

“We’re not leaving until you’ve tried on at least five pairs,” she declares, her voice laced with mischievous excitement.

“Five?” you laugh, letting her pull you deeper into the clothing section. “Don’t you think that’s a little…excessive?”

“Nope,” she says, without even a second of hesitation. She looks back at you with a smirk. “You need options. And I need the perfect pair.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Perfect pair for what?”

She stops in front of a display of grey sweatpants, eyeing them like they’re some sort of rare, mythical artifact. Tara’s fingers brush over a pair of heather grey joggers, and she glances up at you with that mischievous glint you’ve come to know all too well.

“For…reasons,” she says cryptically, shooting you a playful wink that makes your cheeks warm.

“Oh, I see,” you tease, crossing your arms. “This has nothing to do with all those TikToks about guys in grey sweatpants?”

She shrugs, pretending to look innocent, but there’s no hiding the tiny grin tugging at the corner of her lips. “Well, maybe I’ve been…inspired.”

“Maybe?” you echo, raising an eyebrow. “Tara, you’ve been obsessed with those videos ever since we started dating.”

She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Okay, fine, I have! But can you blame me? I mean, just imagine…” Her voice drops to a whisper, her gaze drifting downward suggestively.

You follow her line of sight, realizing with a jolt of heat under your skin exactly what she’s talking about. You can’t help but chuckle, shaking your head at her antics.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so excited about sweatpants before,” you say, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

“That’s because these aren’t just any sweatpants,” she insists, her tone serious despite the blush creeping up her cheeks. “These are…strategic sweatpants.”

You blink, trying to hide your amusement. “Strategic?”

She nods vigorously. “Yeah! They’re supposed to be like…the perfect fit. Not too tight, not too loose. Just enough to, you know…highlight the goods.”

You can’t help but laugh at her bluntness, even as your heart flutters at the thought of her wanting to showcase your assets like that.

“And you think these ones will do the trick?” you ask, motioning towards the display.

Tara grins, already reaching for a pair in your size. “Oh, definitely. Trust me, Y/N, once you put these on…you’ll understand why I’m so excited.”

You watch as she practically skips towards the changing rooms, holding out the sweatpants for you to take. There’s a glint in her eyes that promises mischief and fun, and you can’t help but smile, following her lead.

Tara practically bounces on her toes as she waits for you outside the changing room, clutching the sweatpants to her chest like they’re a precious treasure. You can hear her humming to herself, a tune that sounds suspiciously like the jingle from one of those infamous TikTok videos.

Finally, you emerge from the changing room, feeling a bit self-conscious as you model the grey joggers for her. They fit snugly around your waist, tapering down to a comfortable width at the ankle. The material is soft against your skin, and you have to admit, they feel pretty good.

But it’s the reaction on Tara’s face that really catches your attention. Her eyes widen, her mouth falling open in a perfect ‘O’ of surprise. For a moment, she seems at a loss for words, which is a rarity for her.

Then, slowly, a grin spreads across her face, growing wider and wider until she’s practically beaming at you.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, stepping closer to get a better look. “Y/N, you look…wow.”

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks at her obvious approval. It’s not often that you’re the center of attention like this, and Tara’s undivided focus is both thrilling and a little intimidating.

“What’s so ‘wow’ about them? I’m starting to think you’re going mad.”

Tara giggles, shaking her head. "Trust me, you look amazing. I mean, seriously, how did I get so lucky?"

She reaches out, running her fingers along the waistband of the sweatpants. Her touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you suddenly find yourself acutely aware of just how close she is standing.

"It's like... they were made for you," she murmurs, her voice low and appreciative. "They just...highlight everything so perfectly.”

You feel your face flush even hotter at her words, a mix of embarrassment and pleasure coursing through you. Tara's gaze is fixed on you, her eyes dark with a hunger that makes your breath catch.

"I'm serious, Y/N," she says, her tone turning playful. "You could give those TikTok guys a run for their money. I might just have to keep you in these pants all the time."

She winks at you, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. You laugh, shaking your head at her antics, but there's no denying the way your heart races at the thought of her wanting to keep you close.

"Alright, alright," you say, holding up your hands in mock surrender.

"Alright, alright, I guess these sweatpants are a keeper then," you chuckle, giving in to Tara's persuasive charms. "Let's go pay for them so we can get out of here." You say, disappearing back into the changing rooms.

Once you return, Tara's face lights up with pure delight, and she practically skips towards the checkout counter, clutching the sweatpants to her chest like a prized possession. You follow behind her, amused by her enthusiasm and finding yourself caught up in her excitement.

As you wait in line, Tara can't seem to stop touching the fabric of the sweatpants, running her fingers along the waistband and smoothing out the legs. It's almost like she's memorizing every detail, committing it to memory for later.

"I can't believe we found them," she says, glancing up at you with a grin. "I mean, it's like fate or something, right? Like the universe knew exactly what I needed and put them right in our path."

You roll your eyes, but you can't help the smile tugging at your lips. "Sure, Tara. The universe is totally conspiring to make you happy."

"Hey, don't knock it," she says, nudging you playfully with her elbow. "Sometimes the universe just knows what's up."

As you finally reach the front of the line, Tara practically vibrates with anticipation, her eyes darting between you and the sweatpants like she's afraid they might disappear at any moment. When the cashier rings them up, Tara practically lunges for her wallet, eager to make the purchase official.

"There," she says triumphantly, clutching the bag with the sweatpants inside like a lifeline. "Now they're mine. All mine."

You can't help but laugh at her dramatic flair, but there's a part of you that's touched by her enthusiasm. It's not often that someone gets so excited about something so simple, but with Tara, everything feels special.

"Alright, let's get out of here," you say, looping your arm through hers. "I think you've had enough excitement for one day. Crazy girl.”

As you leave the store, Tara clutches the bag containing the sweatpants like a precious treasure. She can't stop grinning, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous light that makes your heart skip a beat.

"I can't wait to see you in these," she says, her voice low and sultry as you walk side by side. "I mean, seriously, Y/N, you're going to look so hot. I might not be able to control myself.”

You feel a blush creeping up your neck at her words, a mix of embarrassment and excitement coursing through you. “You just saw them on me, dumbass.”

Tara can't help but laugh at your comment, her eyes crinkling with amusement. "Yeah, but that was in the store. I want to see you in them in...private."

Her voice drops to a whisper on the last word, and you feel a shiver run down your spine at the implication. Tara's hand finds yours, her fingers intertwining with yours as you walk.

"Come on," she says, tugging you gently towards the car. "Let's go back to my place so you can model them for me properly."

You let her lead you, your heart racing with anticipation. The drive back to Tara's apartment is filled with playful banter and stolen glances, the tension between you growing with each passing minute.

When you finally arrive, Tara practically drags you inside, her eagerness palpable. She kicks off her shoes and tosses her keys on the table by the door, then turns to you with a grin.

"Alright, Y/N," she says, her voice teasing. "Show me what you've got."

You feel a surge of confidence wash over you as you slip into the bedroom, the sweatpants hugging your curves in all the right places. When you turn to face Tara, her eyes widen, and she lets out a low whistle of appreciation.

"Damn," she breathes, taking a step closer. "I was right. You look absolutely incredible in those."

Her hands come to rest on your hips, her thumbs rubbing small circles against the fabric. You can feel the heat of her body seeping through the thin material, and it takes everything in you not to shiver.

"I think I might have to keep you in these forever," Tara murmurs, leaning in close. "Just so I can look at you like this all the time."

You can feel Tara's eyes roaming over your body, taking in every curve and every contour. There's a hunger in her gaze that sends a thrill straight to your core, and you can't help but squirm a little under her scrutiny.

"You know," she says, her voice low and husky, "I think these sweats were made for you. Like, specifically designed to show off every inch of your body."

You feel your face flush at her words, a mix of embarrassment and excitement coursing through you. It's not often that someone looks at you like this, like they want to devour you whole.

Tara's hands slide up your sides, her fingers tracing the lines of your body through the fabric of the sweatpants. You can feel the heat of her touch even through the thin material, and it makes your breath catch in your throat.

"I mean, look at you," she continues, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You're fucking perfect, Y/N. Every single inch of you."

Her hands come to rest on your hips, her thumbs rubbing small circles against your skin. You can feel the pressure building inside you, a need that's growing stronger with each passing second.

"Tara," you breathe, your voice trembling slightly. "Please..."

She doesn't need any more encouragement. In one swift motion, she's pushing you back onto the bed, her body covering yours. Her lips find yours in a searing kiss, and you moan into her mouth, your hands fisting in her shirt.

Tara breaks the kiss, trailing her lips down your neck, her teeth grazing your skin. You arch into her touch, desperate for more.

"Fuck, Y/N," she groans, her hand sliding down your body, cupping you through the sweatpants. "You're so hard already. I love how much you want me."

You gasp as she strokes you through the fabric, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through your body. Your hips buck up into her hand, seeking more of that delicious contact.

Tara's hand slips under the waistband of your sweatpants, her fingers brushing against the hot, hard length of your cock. She groans at the feel of it, her hand wrapping around you and stroking slowly from base to tip.

"God, Y/N," she murmurs, her breath hot against your neck. "You're so fucking perfect. I can't get enough of you."

Her other hand works at the button of your sweatpants, tugging them down over your hips. You lift up to help her, eager to feel her skin against yours.

Once your pants are off, Tara takes a moment to drink in the sight of you, her eyes dark with desire. "You're so beautiful," she whispers, her hand stroking you again, slower this time. "I can't believe you're all mine."

She leans down, her tongue flicking out to taste the tip of your cock. You gasp at the sensation, your hips bucking up into her touch. Tara smiles against your skin, her lips wrapping around you and taking you deep into her mouth.

You moan, your hands fisting in the sheets beneath you. Tara's mouth is hot and wet, her tongue swirling around you in a way that makes your toes curl. She bobs her head, taking you deeper with each pass, her hand stroking what she can't fit in her mouth.

Tara looks up at you with a question in her eyes as you gently push her away. She releases your throbbing length with a soft pop, her lips glistening with your precum.

"Y/N?" she asks, her voice a mixture of confusion and concern. "Is everything okay?"

You swallow hard, trying to gather your thoughts. The sight of her kneeling between your legs, her hand still wrapped around your shaft, is almost too much to bear. But you force yourself to focus, determined to give her the pleasure she deserves.

"Everything's perfect," you murmur, reaching out to cup her cheek. "But I want to focus on you for a bit. I want to make you feel good."

Understanding dawns in Tara's eyes, and a slow, sultry smile spreads across her face. "Oh, is that so?" she purrs, leaning into your touch. "Well, far be it from me to deny you."

She shifts back on her knees, allowing you to sit up. Your cock twitches at the change in position, bobbing heavily between your legs. Tara's gaze is drawn to it, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

"Fuck, you're so hot," she breathes, her hand reaching out to wrap around you once more. "I can't believe I get to have you like this."

You groan at her touch, your hips rocking forward into her grip. But you force yourself to pull back, needing to maintain control. You reach out, gently pushing Tara onto her back, your body hovering over hers.

"Shh, just relax," you murmur, your lips brushing against her ear. "Let me take care of you."

You start by kissing her deeply, your tongue delving into her mouth to taste her. Tara moans into the kiss, her hands coming up to tangle in your hair. You trail your lips down her neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin.

Tara arches beneath you, her breasts pressing against your chest. You can feel her nipples hardening, even through the fabric of her shirt. Your hand slips beneath the hem, your fingers skimming over the soft skin of her stomach.

Tara gasps as your hand slides higher, your fingers brushing against the underside of her breasts. You can feel the heat of her skin even through the fabric of her bra, and it makes your mouth water with the desire to taste her.

"Y/N," she breathes, her voice thick with need. "Please, touch me."

You don't need any more encouragement. Your hand cups her breast, your thumb brushing over her nipple and making it harden even more. Tara arches into your touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

"Fuck, that feels good," she gasps, her hips bucking up against you. "Don't stop."

You switch to her other breast, giving it the same treatment. Tara's hands fist in the sheets beneath her, her body trembling with pleasure. You can feel the heat building between your legs, your cock throbbing with the need to be inside her.

But you resist, determined to make this about her pleasure. Your hand slides down her body, over her stomach and down to the waistband of her sweats. You hook your fingers under the fabric, tugging it down slowly.

Tara lifts her hips to help you, and soon she's lying before you, completely bare. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of her, her skin glowing in the soft light of the room.

"You're so beautiful," you murmur, your hand sliding back up her thigh. "I can't believe I get to touch you like this."

Tara's cheeks flush at your words, a shy smile spreading across her face. "I'm glad it's you," she whispers. "I trust you, Y/N. I know you'll make me feel good."

Your fingers brush against her core, and she gasps, her hips bucking up into your touch. You circle her clit with your finger, feeling it grow harder under your touch.

"Oh fuck," Tara moans, her head falling back against the pillow. "That feels amazing."

You continue to tease her, your fingers dipping lower to brush against her entrance. She's wet and ready for you, and the knowledge makes your cock throb with need.

Tara's hips buck up against your hand, her body begging for more. You can feel her wetness coating your fingers, and it takes every ounce of willpower you have not to plunge them inside her.

Instead, you focus on her clit, circling it with your thumb while your fingers tease her entrance. Tara's moans fill the room, her hands fisting in the sheets beneath her as she arches into your touch.

"Please, Y/N," she gasps, her voice strained with need. "I need more. I need you inside me."

You can't resist her pleas any longer. Sliding two fingers inside her, you groan at the feel of her tight heat surrounding you. Tara cries out, her walls clenching around your digits as you pump them in and out.

"Fuck, you're so tight," you murmur, your thumb continuing to work her clit. "I love how you feel around my fingers."

Tara's hips move in time with your thrusts, her body taking you deeper with each pass. You can feel her getting closer, her breathing growing more ragged with each passing second.

"Y/N," she moans, her head thrashing on the pillow. "I'm gonna... fuck, I'm gonna come."

You redouble your efforts, your fingers moving faster, harder. Tara's body tenses beneath you, her walls fluttering around your fingers as she teeters on the edge.

"Come for me, baby," you encourage her, your voice rough with need. "Let go. I've got you."

With a cry that's almost primal, Tara comes undone. Her body bows off the bed, her back arching as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over her. You continue to stroke her through it, prolonging her orgasm until she's a boneless heap beneath you.

As she comes down from her high, Tara looks up at you with hazy, satisfied eyes. "Holy shit," she breathes, a lazy smile spreading across her face. "That was incredible."

You grin down at her, feeling a sense of pride at having brought her such pleasure. But you’re still throbbing with need, and it won’t be go anywhere any time soon.

As the haze of post-orgasmic bliss starts to fade, Tara's gaze drifts down to your still-throbbing erection. Her eyes widen slightly, a mix of hunger and concern flickering across her face.

"Y/N," she murmurs, her hand reaching out to wrap around your shaft. "You're still so hard. Do you... do you want me to take care of that for you?"

You groan at her touch, your hips bucking up into her grip. The feel of her soft hand wrapped around your sensitive flesh is almost too much to bear. But you force yourself to take a deep breath, knowing that there's something important you need to address first.

"Wait," you say, gently removing her hand from your cock. "Before we go any further, we need to talk about protection."

Tara blinks up at you, a little confused. "Protection? What do you mean?"

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. This isn't exactly the sexiest topic, but it's a necessary one. "I mean condoms, Tara. We can't just jump into having sex without them. It's not safe."

A flicker of understanding crosses her face, followed by a sheepish grin. "Oh, right. Of course. I wasn't thinking straight."

You smile at her, relieved that she's on the same page. "It's okay. It's easy to get caught up in the moment. But we need to make sure we're being responsible.

Tara nods, her hand reaching for the nightstand drawer. She rummages around for a moment before pulling out a foil packet. "Looks like I'm prepared after all," she says with a wink.

You take the condom from her, tearing it open with your teeth. Tara watches as you roll it down over your shaft, her eyes darkening with desire at the sight.

"Fuck, that's hot," she murmurs, her hand wrapping around you once more. "Seeing you take charge like that."

You grin at her, giving her hand a squeeze. "I'm glad you approve. Now, where were we?"

Tara's eyes sparkle with mischief as she pulls you towards her, guiding you to lie on top of her once more. "I think we were right about here," she purrs, her legs parting invitingly.

The heat of her core radiates against your protected length, making you shiver with anticipation. You line yourself up with her entrance, teasing her with the tip of your cock.

"Are you ready for me?" you murmur, your breath hot against her neck.

Tara nods, her hips lifting in a silent plea. "I've never been more ready for anything in my life," she breathes, her nails digging into your shoulders.

With a slow, deliberate thrust, you push forward, feeling her tight heat envelop you. Tara gasps at the intrusion, her walls stretching to accommodate your size.

"Oh fuck," she moans, her head falling back against the pillow. "You're so big, Y/N. It feels amazing."

You groan at her words, the sensation of her tightness driving you wild. You start to move, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in, setting a steady rhythm.

Tara meets your movements, her hips rising to greet each thrust. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, punctuated by your shared moans of pleasure.

"Harder," Tara gasps, her nails raking down your back. "Fuck me harder, Y/N."

You oblige, increasing the speed and force of your thrusts. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall with each powerful drive of your hips.

Tara's legs wrap around your waist, her ankles locking at the small of your back. The new angle allows you to go even deeper, and you feel her tightening around you, signaling her impending release.

"Y/N," she cries out, her voice strained with pleasure. "I'm gonna come again. Don't stop, please don't stop."

You redouble your efforts, pounding into her with abandon. The feeling of her walls fluttering around you is almost too much to bear, and you can feel your own release building.

Tara cries out, her body arching off the bed as another orgasm rips through her. Her walls clamp down around you, milking your cock for all it's worth. The sensation is too much to bear, and with a final, guttural groan, you come undone.

Your hips stutter as you empty yourself inside the condom, your body shaking with the force of your release. Tara holds you close, her fingers threading through your hair as she whispers sweet nothings in your ear.

As you both come down from your highs, you collapse onto the bed, your bodies tangled together in a sweaty heap. Tara nuzzles into your neck, placing soft kisses along your jawline.

"That was incredible," she murmurs, her voice hoarse from screaming. "I've never felt anything like that before."

You grin at her, pulling her closer. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," you say, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Because we're definitely doing that again.

Tara laughs, the sound bright and carefree. "I wouldn't have it any other way," she says, her fingers tracing patterns on your chest.