#it just never sounds like it does in my head

[animamii]

Part deux of Toji's Valentine's Surprise

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Your body locks up. Your breath stills. Toji—in the flesh—is standing in your living room, looking smug as hell, arms crossed over that broad chest like he knew he just rocked your entire world.

"You should see your face, princess," he chuckles, tilting his head. "Like you seen a ghost."

Your mind is racing. He’s supposed to be locked up. This is impossible. And yet—he’s here. Solid. Tangible. Real. Smirking at you like he didn’t just pull off the stunt of the century.

"You—" You inhale sharply, fists clenching at your sides. "How—" You don’t even finish the question before you smack his chest, hard enough to make your palm sting. He doesn’t even flinch, just grins like he enjoys the reaction.

"Miss me, baby?" His voice drops, smooth and teasing. Still the cocky bastard he's always been.

"Are you insane?" Your voice comes out breathless, uneven. "You’re supposed to be—"

Toji hums, unfazed. "Supposed to be what?" He steps closer, looming over you with that tantalizing smirk he always adorns. his presence thick and heavy—dangerous and intoxicating. "Locked up? Far away from my girl? Mmm, nah. That was never gonna last."

His girl. That shouldn’t make your stomach flip the way it does. Especially after all this time, but it does.

"You’re reckless," you breathe out, but your voice betrays you—too soft, too shaky. You forgot just how little he made you feel, like a little lamb standing in front of the big bad wolf.

"Yeah?" He reaches out, fingers brushing along your jaw, tilting your chin up. "And yet here I am, standing in front of you. Right where I belong." You swallow hard, heart hammering against your chest. His thumb traces your bottom lip, a touch so familiar, so effortlessly possessive, it makes your knees weak.

"Say it," he murmurs, eyes hooded. "Say you missed me."

You hate how easy it is for him to unravel you. How he knows you did. Toji leans in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, "Or do I gotta remind you how bad you missed me?"

Your breath catches. You should shove him away. Should demand answers. Should do anything other than what you do next—fisting his shirt and yanking him down into a teeth clashing kiss.

Toji chuckles against your lips, the sound low and deep, like he expected this reaction all along. His hands—warm, calloused, and oh so familiar—find your waist, pulling you flush against him. It’s been too long, and your body betrays you, melting into his touch as if he never left.

"You’re crazy," you whisper, looking up at him with those wide eyes that he's always loved.

He grins, lips ghosting over your jaw before pressing a slow, lingering kiss just below your ear. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

Your fingers tighten around his shirt, the fabric bunching between your fists. "It is," you hiss, but your body betrays you, tilting toward him when he moves. "You—Toji, you broke out—do you have any idea—"

"Shhh." He silences you with another kiss, deeper this time, his grip tightening around your waist. "We can talk later."

You should be more worried. Should push him away, demand answers, tell him this is reckless and insane. But the moment his hands slip lower, gripping your thighs and lifting you effortlessly, you’re wrapping yourself around him, letting him carry you to the bedroom like you knew this was how tonight would end. It was Valentine's Day after all.

Toji kicks the door shut behind him, smirking down at you as he lays you on the bed. His eyes—sharp, dark, hungry—roam over you like he’s memorizing every inch all over again.

"Missed you," he mutters, voice rough, as his hands slide up your thighs, pushing that silky dress higher.

You swallow, lips parted as you try to catch your breath. "You’re insane," you whisper again, but it comes out weaker this time, more breathless.

Toji smirks, dipping his head until his lips brush against yours again. "And yet," he murmurs, voice thick with amusement and something darker, "you’re still here. Wrapped around me like you never want me to leave."

You shudder. "I hate you."

He laughs, a quiet, knowing sound, before pressing his lips to your throat. "Liar."

Your breath stutters when his lips drag down the column of your throat, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment. Like he knows he has all the time in the world. His grip tightens on your thighs, his body pressed between them, and it’s infuriating—the way he’s taking his time, the way he’s acting like he never left. Like he never spent months locked up, sending you teasing, filthy little letters to remind you he still owned you.

"Toji—"

"Shhh, baby," he murmurs against your skin, voice thick with amusement. "S’been too long. Lemme take my time with you."

He’s impossible. Infuriating. But your body betrays you, arching into his touch, fingers threading through his dark hair as he kisses his way lower. You hate how much you missed him—hate how, despite every part of you screaming that this is reckless, stupid, you can’t bring yourself to stop him.

"You’re a wanted man," you remind him breathlessly, grasping onto some semblance of control, but Toji just grins, his teeth grazing over your collarbone before he presses a kiss there.

"Yeah? And?" His fingers hook under the hem of your dress, sliding it higher. "That stop you from wanting me?"

You glare at him, but the effect is ruined when he tugs the fabric over your hips, leaving you bare beneath him. Your pulse pounds, heat rushing to your cheeks, and Toji just chuckles, gaze darkening as he drinks you in.

"Fuck, baby," he rasps, running his hands up your thighs, rough fingers making you shiver. "Been waitin’ for this. Dreamin’ about this."

You should push him away. Should demand answers. But instead, your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him back down until his mouth crashes against yours. All that could wait for later, right?

Toji groans into your mouth when you pull him down, all teasing amusement vanishing as his body presses flush against yours. His hands are rough, calloused from years of fights and cold aridness of prison, but they touch you with a hunger and gentle warmth that makes your breath hitch. His knee slots between your legs, pressing just enough to make you whimper, and he smirks against your lips.

"Missed me that bad, huh?" His voice is thick with pride, like he knows what he’s doing to you. Like he couldn't wait to make you melt like this.

You glare at him, chest heaving and lips glossy with swapped saliva. "Shut up, Toji."

He chuckles, low and dark, before flipping you onto your stomach in one swift movement. A startled gasp escapes you as he presses his weight against your back, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

"That any way to talk to the man who just risked everything to see you?" His voice is silk and gravel, smooth yet dangerous, sending a shiver straight down your spine.

You swallow hard, pressing your palms against the sheets, heart hammering. "You’re insane."

"Yeah?" His hands slide down your sides, slow, possessive. "And yet here you are, lettin’ an insane man touch you like this."

You open your mouth to snap at him, but then he bites down on your shoulder, just enough to make your breath stutter. You feel his smirk against your skin, feel the way his grip tightens like he’s testing you, waiting for you to fight him, to push him away. But you don’t. Instead, you press back against him, feeling the way his body stiffens for a brief second before a deep, pleased growl rumbles in his chest.

"Fuck," he mutters, voice raspier now. "That’s my girl."

Your stomach flips. Your fingers curl into the sheets.

"Toji—"

His hand slides under your chin, tilting your head just enough for his lips to brush against yours. "Say it." His voice is low, insistent. "Say you missed me."

Your throat tightens. You hate how easy it is for him to pull the truth from you.

"I—" Your voice shakes, but the words tumble out anyway. "I missed you, okay?"

Toji groans like he felt those words, his hand sliding down your stomach, fingers toying with the waistband of your underwear. "Yeah?" His breath is hot against your ear. "Show me, baby."

And then his hands are everywhere, his mouth pressing desperate, feverish kisses along your spine, and you let yourself get lost in the way he devours you like a man starved. Like he’s spent every second of his time locked up thinking about this. About you.

Toji moves like he owns you—like he never left, like he never spent months locked away with nothing but memories and filthy daydreams of you to keep him sane. His hands are rough, greedy, sliding over your skin like he’s trying to make up for lost time. And maybe he is. Maybe that’s why his mouth trails fire along your spine, why his grip tightens every time you sigh his name.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, fingers digging into your hips as he flips you onto your back again. He looms over you, eyes dark, wild, hungry. "Look at you. Been dyin’ to have you under me again." His dark blue eyes scan over every inch of you, burning it into his memory. The way the silk clings to every curve, the lacy trim that is snug against your breasts, the way one straps slides off your shoulder.

Your breath is uneven, chest rising and falling as he takes his time devouring you with his gaze. He licks his lips, dragging a hand through his messy black hair, and the sight alone makes your stomach tighten. It's as if he spent all his time in prison getting even more sexier.

"Toji," you whisper, fingers ghosting over his jaw, the scar on his lip. He catches your wrist before you can pull away, pressing a kiss to your palm, slow and lingering. Like he needs to feel the warmth and softness of your skin, of your touch.

"Say it again," he rasps. It's music to his ears, hearing it in person rather than through a grainy prison call. Seeing it, the way your pretty lips move as every syllable spills out.

Your throat tightens. "Toji."

He groans, like he felt that in his chest, before surging down to capture your lips again. It’s not just a kiss—it’s a claim, a demand, a promise. He presses himself against you, and it’s impossible to ignore how much he wants you, how much he missed you too.

"Missed you, baby," he mutters against your lips, his hands sliding under the silky slip dress he sent you, pushing it up, baring more of you to him. "Thought about you every fuckin’ night. Couldn’t even sleep without—"

He cuts himself off with a curse, shaking his head like he’s annoyed at himself for admitting it. But the way his grip tightens on you, the way his lips move over your skin, says everything he won’t.

You bite your lip, fingers threading through his hair as he kisses a path down your stomach. "Then why’d you leave me?"

Toji stills. His breath hitches against your skin, just for a second. Then he exhales, slow and controlled, before pressing one last kiss to your hip.

"Didn’t wanna drag you into my shit," he finally mutters, voice rougher now. He lifts his head, meets your gaze. "But guess that was pointless, huh?"

You swallow hard. "Yeah," you whisper, tugging him back up, pressing your forehead against his. "It was."

His lips curl into something between a smirk and a grimace, like he knew this was coming but hoped you wouldn’t say it. He sighs, cupping your face, thumb stroking along your cheek.

"You mad at me, baby?"

You exhale, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Ask me later."

Toji chuckles, low and dark. "Yeah?" He tilts your chin up, kissing you again, slower this time, deeper. "Guess I’ll have to make it up to you first."

And he does.

Over and over again.

Happy Valentine's Day.

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Part twoooo!! I love this sm idk I luv itttt. Requested by the lovely @cheolliehugs

tags ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ @psoycy @yourname-exee @fandomsearcherforcuntymen @universallydepressed13

ꨄ︎ comment to be added to tag list for the lockedup!toji series ꨄ︎

[bi-writes]

ok wait pause i have a question. first date, but like, real, you are my girlfriend date ? or like how'd they define their relationship (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

he's...fun.

it's just sex. mind-blowing, back-numbing, pussy-destroying sex. this man is pushing 40, and you swear you've never felt so out of breath. you convince yourself it's the military thing--he's used to pushing himself, exerting energy, testing the limits of his stamina. but holy shit, you'd think after round four, this man would take a quick nap or something, but no.

he's still balls-deep, hitting it from the back since you can't even keep yourself upright any longer. your skirt lays haphazardly thrown onto the floor, and oh--there's your panties, too, ripped to lacy shreds.

holy shit, this man is more than ten years older than you, and you've never been so out of your fucking mind--

"tha' the spot, love?" his voice is so condescending. he knows he's got you brainless. there's drool staining your lips, and you paw at the sheets for a better grip, but it's useless.

"y-yes, captain."

the low groan that leaves him makes you smile. he might have the upper hand, but if you really wanted to, you could make him come right now, too fast, too much.

you're in bliss. everything is bliss. you're still recovering from what must be the fifth or sixth orgasm--not as good as the second or third one, but still enough to make you cry fat, pleasured tears. you're shaking, in a good way, sinking to your stomach on the bed and pressing your face into his pillow.

"hmm..." your voice is soft and gooey, and when you take a deep breath, you get a long whiff of him. he smells good. clean. earthy. you tasted cigar smoke in his mouth earlier, and you can smell it here, too. just as you relax, you feel the weight of him on your back, and then his lips. he's kissing along your shoulder to your neck and then up your jaw. you tilt your head to give him room, your eyes shutting as his beard scruffs against your skin and his mouth laps at your chin. "i gotta go, john."

you giggle when he lays his entire body on top of yours, trapping you there. you reach up and grip the back of his neck, whining as he flattens his tongue against your jaw and swirls it there.

"john...i gotta go."

"why?"

"mmm..." you thumb at the hair along his scalp, shaking your head. "don't do this, john."

"not doing anythin'."

"we don't sleep over, john."

"what, is tha' some kind of rule? sounds mad."

you turn over a little, looking up at him. you cup his beard in both hands, giving him a chaste kiss.

"don't ruin it, john," you say softly. "this is supposed to be fun."

he tilts his head to the side. he looks so funny without a hat. you've seen him in a beanie, a boonie hat, a cap, you love them all on him. he looks nice like this, too, though--ass naked with his dog tags dangling against his sweaty pecs.

john's eyes twitch a little at your indifference. he settles on his side, leaning over you, and just as you move to get up, he reaches and grips at your face with a big paw of a hand. you clutch at his forearm, big and solid, and your lips pucker as he pulls you closer to him.

"y'r a bad liar, love," he mutters, shaking his head. "fear doesn't suit you."

"i'm not fucking scared."

"who was it?"

you glare up at him, struggling a bit under him. it's a stupid thing to think that you could get away from him. john is not moveable. he's a big fucking tree trunk of a man, with roots that burrow, and you are truly naïve if you think he'll let you up without an answer.

"shut the fuck up, john," you spit at him, but all he does is raise a brow. he's immune to your bite. he's not phased by your sour attempt at insulting him. in fact, it's what drew him to your bed in the first place--certified brat-tamer, captain john price. "you think you're so fucking smart. think you know everything, just because you've got a few years on me, well let me tell you, john--not everything is a fucking lesson learned. you're a military muppet with a decent cock, and that's all you'll ever be to me."

"tha' right?"

"you'll never put me first. you've got one woman, and that's the job, and that's fucking fine, john, but don't make this something it's not. you're lonely, and old, and your failed relationships don't make you wiser, they make you delusional for thinking that doing this again could ever--"

your breath falters when he kisses you. he squeezes your jaw a little harder, forcing your mouth to open, and you moan, squeezing your thighs together when he licks into your mouth and holds you there for him to play with.

"i do have other obligations. my men, the job..." he brushes the hair out of your eyes, and he presses his forehead to yours when he sees the tremble of your bottom lip and the wet look in your eyes. "but i don't do casual, sweetheart. it's all or nothing f'me."

your hand grips his wrist, squeezing tight, and you blink up at him. he's so close. he's right here. blue eyes, greying beard, a sad expression. he's not afraid of dying alone, but he is afraid of wasting time.

"please don't do this to me, john." your voice cracks, and he shrugs. he's sorry, but he's not sorry enough. not enough to let you go--and you're not strong enough to tell him no. it has to be him, but it won't be.

"it's alright," john whispers, but he knows it won't be. he's known you not but a few weeks, but he's made up his mind. he doesn't understand casual. even from the moment he saw you in that bar, it wasn't fleeting, it was definitive. it would be his. you would be his.

even if you were actually someone else's. even if you were bound to someone else. even if you weren't alone, it was already decided.

john's teeth are stuck here, right here, in the hollow of your throat. his fingers are twisted between the chords of your heart and in the spaces between your ribs. if he lets go, he'll break you apart.

so he's never going to let go.

[aikuwrld]

men who are DEVOTED munchers becoming a stuttering mess when you ask to give them head… they look at you like you just asked the most incredulous question in existence. you? give him head? right now? he’s so used to servicing you— the thought of you giving him head already had him shamefully twitching in his pants and dizzy with need.

“are you sure, my love? no, i mean, you don’t need to… i mean—”

poor baby can barely put a sentence together even before the touching has even happened. don’t get him wrong, it’s not that he doesn’t want it. he’s indulged— matter of fact, he’s stroked a few ones out at the thought of you sucking him off. on your knees, pretty glossy doe eyes looking up at him while you struggle to take all of him in your mouth. it’s just that he’s always been a little shy. too embarrassed to ask you. it’s pathetic— hilarious even that a burly, bulking man of his stature couldn’t bring himself to ask his darling little wife something so simple. he was devoted to you. the man worshipped you. he knew his purpose. it was clear as day in fact. to service and care for you. to follow you like the smitten fool he was. he knew that he was meant for nothing else the moment he had laid his eyes on you. he was yours.

your husband’s putty once you begin leaving behind the softest of kisses down his chest and trembling stomach. the smell of his skin and the hushed whimpers every once in a while leaving his pretty lips dulling your senses. you had to pull away to admire the sight— your hungry eyes drinking in the mesmerizing sight of your man. the contour of his prominent muscles; the number of ruthless hours he’d managed to put into training never failed to impress you. the tank he wore now bunched up and resting on the swell of his pecs; buds glossed over with drool while his chest heaved with every shuddering breath he took, and god, the trail of thick hair leading down to his veiny lower abdomen.

he’s practically a pathetic puddle of moans and drool while you attempt to push another inch of his twitching length down your throat minutes later, the tuft of hair on his abdomen tickling your nose as your mouth painfully stretches to take in his fat girth. your tousled hair not going unnoticed as he begins to comb it back, chivalrous as ever while he holds it back with one shaky hand, the other draped over his burning face.

“ah, hnng..! fuuuuck… just—just like that, pretty…”

he drools out, a fucked out mess of groans and praises just for you as he bucks his shaky hips into your mouth involuntarily, apologizing hastily at the sound of your gagging. but oh, how you could practically live off this rare sight. your panties soaking wet at the sight of your husband selfishly chasing his high. you suck in your tear stained cheeks, hallowing them out as his fat leaky tip hits the back of your throat. you were no better than him; a slobbering, gagging perverted mess as you begin to massage and stroke the base of his wet cock.

“gonna… oh— oh, god… don’t… please, baby, i’m gonna…”

he strains out, his hips twitching up as his head presses back against the arm of the couch, his bulging biceps flexing from the iron grip he has on your hair as he thrusts into your mouth once more. you pull away from his thick girth to catch your breath, eliciting a whine that you swear had you ascending. sticky gloss and spit trailing down his cock and connecting from your lips as you push his cock against his tense stomach to lick at the veiny underside. you allow the tip of your tongue to massage against a vein before leaving behind sloppy kisses at the thick shaft down to his twitching balls. he jolts forward in shock, heels digging into the plush surface of the couch. the veins straining underneath the thin skin of his large hands, almost like they were ready to burst with how tight he fingers were interlocked with the roots of your hair.

he can barely control himself, at this point mindlessly babbling on about how lucky he is to have you, how much he loves you, how close he is to cumming. you begin to massage the base of his sticky cock once more before sliding the wet shaft past your lips, slurping shamelessly as you begin to bob your head back up and down. it doesn’t take another second before he shoots his thick load right down your warm, wet cavern. riding out his orgasm as you massage and you pull your head up with a pop, gasping for air as he begins to wipe at your mouth, praising you for taking him so well. he definitely didn’t mind a bit of spoiling here and there. especially from you.

⟢ reiner, erwin, choso, nanami, sendou, niou, noel, tokimitsu, yukimiya, diluc, sanji, zack, aki, vash, sanemi + your favs . . (〃ω〃)

[rebelfell]

Sooo this started out being all cute and fluffy but veered over the edge into the flangst canyon…my bad. 💌 1.8k

Thinking about bestfriend!eddie who shows up your boyfriend on Valentine’s Day.

Unintentionally, of course.

It was never something he planned to do. 

He just happened to be in CVS the night before, blazed out of his mind and wandering aimlessly while the guys argued about what snacks to get. And when he made the mistake of turning onto the designated holiday aisle, he was met with a barrage of pink and red glitter and sparkles and hearts exploding off every shelf—an absolute affrontal assault to his cynical sensibilities. 

But then he picks up this one card that catches his eye. It’s got a watercolor painting of this cute little porcupine who’s holding a heart-shaped box of chocolates, and there’s a speech bubble at the top that says “I Porcu-PINE for you!”

Eddie absolutely loses it.

He stands there making these stuttering giggling sounds and they’re coming out way louder than he intended, and the pimply and dead-eyed clerk behind the register leans over to give the laziest evil eye Eddie has ever seen. He does his best to stifle himself, but more little snickers still eke out as he picks up the envelope that goes with the card, and starts scanning the shelves for the Valentine’s variation of your favorite candy.

(Because it would be weird just to do the card, right? If he throws in some other stuff too, maybe it’ll be less conspicuous. Yeah? That makes sense, doesn’t it? Yeah, totally it does.)

Before he knows it, he’s collected a whole armload of crap. Two bags of the candies (they’re 2 for $5, that just makes good business sense), a little plushie with giant sparkly eyes (its stare is hypnotizing in an odd way, it kind of reminds him of you), and a small (tiny, honestly) bouquet of daisies wrapped in crinkly cellophane (he knows you like those way more than you like roses.)

He puts it all down on the counter and gets another withering glare from the cashier after he’s rung it all up. Eddie wonders if this guy is judging him; thinks he’s some lazy, loser boyfriend buying a bunch of junk gifts at the last possible minute. But Eddie doesn’t have the mental capability at the moment to explain that he’s not even buying these for a girlfriend—they’re all for his best friend, who he sometimes, occasionally, has some slightly inappropriate thoughts about, which yeah, is kind of inconvenient in a lot of ways, but it’s cool, he’s fine with that—

There’s another huff from the cashier as he repeats the total due, and Eddie realizes this guy doesn’t give a shit that Eddie might be a crappy boyfriend, he’s much more annoyed by the fact that he has yet to take out his wallet. And as he scrambles to do so, the rest of Corroded Coffin comes up to the front, still loudly arguing about the snacks they’re carrying in their hands.

They all give Eddie a funny look when they see what he’s getting, Grant being the first to bluntly ask who it’s for. They fall silent, exchanging wary glances when Eddie mumbles your name under his breath as he hands over a creased and wrinkled bill to pay at long last.

“That’s super weird, man, don’t do that,” Jeff argues immediately. “Just give it to Gareth, and he can give it to Annie instead. Problem solved.”

“Excuse me,” Gareth snaps, “but I’ve gotten my girl her gifts and they’re a hell of a lot better than this crap. Er, uhh…no offense.”

Their drummer winces, and his eyes dart guiltily between Eddie and his purchases.

“No—” Eddie’s face scrunches and he shakes his head defiantly. “They’re not, like, serious gifts. It doesn’t mean anything. And she’s dating that rich asshole, I’m sure he’s gonna bury her in expensive shit. This is barely gonna land on her radar,” he insists, now clutching his bag in his fist.

“So then why bother?” Jeff asks, widening his annoyingly perceptive eyes under arched brows. 

But Eddie doesn’t respond. He just stomps out to the parking lot and waits by the car. All the while thinking about all the things he can never quite manage to say out loud when it comes to you.

The next day, Eddie’s rethinking everything.

Sober now and staring down at the offerings piled up in the van’s passenger seat, he can’t help but think this might be the stupidest thing he’s ever done in his life. And that’s saying something.

He talks himself in and out of going through with it about twenty times just in the ten minute drive it takes him to get to your apartment. And even as he climbs the stairs and raises his hand to knock, he has yet to decide if this is a good idea or not.

He came over semi-early, figuring you’d likely be busy later getting ready for some fancy dinner at some restaurant where Eddie probably couldn’t afford to order so much as a glass of water. 

But when you open the door, he can’t help but frown at your appearance. You don’t look like you are getting ready to go out, if anything you look like you’ve retired for the evening before 5pm.

Your face is bare except for a couple spots of zit cream, and you have on an old headband pushing your hair back out of your face. You’re swathed in the kind of baggy, oversized clothes he only sees you in when you’re ass deep in a cold or some other similarly debilitating illness. 

You don’t look sick, though. Just…sad?

How can you be sad on Love’s birthday?

“Hey, uhhh,” he says, forcing a tight smile. His palms start to sweat around the plastic handles he’s clutching behind his back. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” you reply.

There’s no sharpness to it, yet it still comes out kind of flat. Like you’re trying not to sound upset. But Eddie doesn’t push it as he follows you to the kitchen, sliding into his usual seat at your bar.

“What’s that?” you ask, eyes falling to the bag he plopped down on top of the counter.

“It’s stupid,” Eddie starts, “just some dumb little things I picked up.” For you, he adds in his head.

A small smile finally breaks the thin line your lips had been set in since he arrived and Eddie’s back broke out in a cold sweat under his leather jacket as he bashfully pushed the bag over to you.

He then watches, choking on his own heart, as you start pulling things out one by one.

You grin at the daisies, bringing them to your nose to sniff even though they probably smell more like weed than flowers after spending all night in the trailer. You squeal over the plushie, holding it up next to your face and squishing it. You hum excitedly at the first bag of candies, and laugh when you pull out a second one.

Then you get to the card.

Your eyes roll, but you can’t help smiling when you see Eddie’s nickname for you scrawled on the front of the envelope in his chicken scratch. And you’re still smiling as you slide your finger under the flap to tear through the bright red casing.

Then you read it, and your smile falls.

Your whole face does, in fact. It starts with a minute tremble of your chin that escalates into your brow pinching and your mouth crumpling into a frown. And you seem to clench every single muscle in your face to stop yourself from crying, but you just can’t keep it from happening.

“Hey, hey, wait, no, no, nooooo—”

Eddie doesn’t think, he doesn’t take a second to consider doing anything differently, he just jumps to his feet and comes around the counter to your side. He puts his arms around you automatically, letting you bury your face in his chest as you cling to him and try to settle yourself.

“I’m so-sorry, I’m s-so sorry, I’m sorry,” you babble, blubbering through the words.

“No, I’m sorry, sweetheart. I swear, I just thought it was cute, I didn’t mean to—”

“It is cute,” you wail as tears stream down your cheeks, “It’s fucking adorable!”

“Okay, then what’s the problem?” Eddie chuckles, pulling back slightly and ducking his head to look you in the eye, trying to get you to smile back.

You sniffle a few more times before you manage to collect yourself and swipe your fingers under your eyes to smear the wetness of your tears across your cheeks. Eddie’s fists clench at his sides to stop them from reaching up to do it again for you when you miss a stray one.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve been in such a weird funk all day since Matt, um…”

Your voice wobbled again and Eddie’s expression turned stony, scolding himself inwardly for letting even a tiny bit of excitement rise in his chest at the thought that you might have broken up.

“Is everything okay?” he asked. “I mean, did you guys…are you…”

“No, nothing like that,” you inhaled shakily. “He just…he doesn’t really do Valentine’s Day. And it feels so stupid to get upset over it. Like it’s just a dumb holiday, and I don’t need, like, presents or a dinner or flowers or anything like that. I just…”

Your arms crossed, as if you were trying to hug yourself. Eddie wished he could do it for you.

“I don’t know, I thought we’d do something,” you finally add quietly.

“He’s not even coming over?” Eddie scoffs. Suddenly the outfit made more sense. “At all?”

Your eyes closed in a pained wince. “Don’t make me feel worse, please,” you beg him somberly.

“No, I—” Eddie sucks in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to upset you. Honest.”

His head dropped guiltily, eyes glued to his sneakers that stood out against the tile in your kitchen. He glanced one last time at all the stupid stuff he bought now strewn across your counter.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you told him firmly. “That was really sweet, Eddie. Seriously, like the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Your hand reaches out for the plushie again and you cradle it in your palm as you swoop in to drop a light peck on his cheek. The warmth of it makes Eddie’s whole face hot and he feels his neck tense from how much he wishes he could turn his head to the side and allow for his lips to meet yours. 

But of course he doesn’t. He wouldn’t dare.

He sure would think about it, though.

Eddie was still staring at his feet, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off you for long. He glanced back up to see you pushing through all of the extraneous things you were feeling to give him a smile, small as it was. He nodded and opened his arms, welcoming you back into them.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispered into your hair. Too quiet even for you to hear him.

I thought for a while about whether or not this is them, but I think this might be an entirely different set of idiots.

also is it just me or is v-day particularly oppressive this year?

[gold-onthe-inside]

debriefing

v. def. the systematic questioning of individuals to procure information to answer specific collection requirements by direct and indirect questioning techniques.

who? spencer reid (s7) x analyst!reader summary: the one where you finally confront the thing between you and spencer content warnings: none word count: 2.5k

You couldn’t sleep, restlessly turning in bed as flashes of Spencer torment you - vaguely remembering his hand on your ankle as he slid your heels off, kneeling in front of you with his hands grasping yours, his firm grip on your arm, his hand on your lower back, guiding you downstairs. “The team knows that my priority is you.”

You feel like a teenager trying to decipher whether a boy likes you. More importantly, you have to go back to work in 5 hours, and if he doesn’t like you the way you think he does, then there’s no point losing sleep over it. A wave of frustration washes over you, stuffing a pillow in your face as if that could remove the imprint Spencer’s made on your brain.

The pillow falls to the side, leaving you staring at the ceiling with a desire to kill or kiss Spencer, and since neither of those were options to you, you did the next best thing. You knocked on the partition between Penelope’s room and the living room. She had dragged you through Lord knew how many thrift stores and flea markets to put together this magical room that was a cross between Turkish royalty and California in the 60s. The woman, your best friend, bless her heart, woke up with a slight grumble, pushing the unicorn kitty eye mask up (apparently it reduced dark circles, and seeing as she didn’t have any while you were left to suffer, it must work) to attend to your distress.

“Honey, it’s 2 in the morning, can we talk about this in daylight?” Penelope asked, her saccharine voice a soft rumble in her sleep.

“It’s about Reid,” you said, hearing how pathetic you sounded, standing on the step to the raised platform that led to her bedroom. But it seemed to perk her up, and she got up faster than you’ve ever seen her wake in the 10 years you’ve known her.

“I’ll put on a pot of tea,” she announced, moving to the kitchen.

“I-I don’t need tea,” you said uselessly to the whirlwind you called your roommate, trudging across the floor to the kitchen.

“Do you even remember the last time you came to me with boy problems?” Penelope asked you, grabbing her teapot and dropping bags of masala chai in it before setting it to boil on the stove while you parse through your memory, coming up empty. “That’s right. Never. Not once in the entire history of our friendship have you ever come to me about a boy,” Penelope continued and you sink into a seat on the bar stool.

“Because there’s never been anyone worth talking about,” you replied, rubbing your face. “God, how did I let this happen?”

“Let what happen?” Penelope asked, sitting next to you.

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely. “I don’t lose sleep over guys, and it’s like Spencer just… snuck up on me and now he just lives in my brain or something.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“Yes, it’s horrible and embarrassing and—”

“You really like him,” Penelope finished for you, watching your hands fall to the kitchen island.

“I really like him,” you admitted, letting out a disgruntled sigh as you dropped your head into your hands.

“Sweetie, it’s okay,” Penelope assured you, trying not to laugh as she rubbed your back. “And for what it’s worth, he’s a really good guy. A little nuts, but a really good guy.”

“He’s not nuts,” you muttered and Penelope really wants to laugh. The idea of you defending a boy from Penelope’s words was such a far stretch from who you were as a person…

“He also really likes you,” Penelope told you, tilting her head to try and find your eyes. “Seriously, he was hounding me the other day asking if you were into that Jack Ryan-esque new guy or not.”

“He was hounding you?” you asked, looking up with a skeptical brow.

“As in took up residence in my office until I gave it up,” Penelope clarified and you sighed, rubbing the back of your neck as the teapot whistled. You watched as Penelope poured you a cup of tea with a little milk, just the way you like it.

“What if it doesn’t work out?” you asked, taking the cup and slowly spinning it as you waited for it to cool. “I don’t want to have to avoid him forever. Or put you in a weird position with me and him.”

“What if it does work out and you fall in love and have adorable genius babies?” Penelope countered, making you furrow your brow.

“That sounds so much scarier,” you muttered and she sighed.

“Look, sweetie, as much as it pains me to admit it, he makes you the happiest I’ve ever seen you,” Penelope told you. “Seriously, I have video footage.”

“Delete it,” you tell her immediately, putting on your most serious face, but after 10 years, she’s grown immune.

“You’ll never find it,” she sings, sipping her tea. You suck your cheek in, staring at your tea.

“So… what, I just… tell him?” you asked and you looked so clueless that Penelope had to giggle just a little. “Don’t laugh.”

“I swear to God, you two are so meant for each other, it’s written in the stars,” Penelope said, laughing. “Yes, baby doll, you tell him. Because Lord knows he’s not gonna tell you. He’s been dancing around his feelings so long, he could be Kevin Bacon in Footloose.”

“But I don’t want to,” you protested childishly. “Can’t I just ignore it?”

“Not if you want to sleep at night,” Penelope said, tucking a stray hair behind your ear and you pursed your lips.

“I hate this.”

“Yeah, that’s what being in love is,” she replied. “Welcome, it sucks.” You hummed, disgruntled, and sipped your tea.

You’re close to clocking out for the day when Penelope’s heels clack against linoleum, rapidly approaching your cubicle. “The time is now,” she hissed and you frowned immediately, pressing the back of your hand to her temple.

“Are you okay?” you asked and Penelope shook her head.

“Morgan’s setting Reid up on a double date, I couldn’t talk him out of it,” Penelope said rapidly.

“Wait, what?” you asked and Penelope growled in frustration, pulling you out of your desk and towards the elevators.

“You remember the blonde girl who worked with us last year, her father was a serial killer, she transferred to Swann’s unit? Ashley?”

“Yeah,” you said hesitantly. You’d helped Penelope bake cupcakes for Ashley’s graduation from the Academy — and swatted Kevin when he tried to swipe more than he was given.

“Yeah, well, Morgan’s got a date to this Hitchcock Festival, and he wanted to make it a double date—”

“Why? Double dates suck,” you interrupted, completely missing the point and Penelope shook your shoulder.

“Do you hear the words coming out of my mouth? Spencer is going on a date and it’s not with you.”

Passers-by look at the two of you strangely before walking off and you pressed the button to the lift in an attempt to look normal.

“So what?” you asked half-heartedly. “I’m sure Ashley’s a great person.”

Penelope looked like she wanted to pry open the lift doors and throw you down the shaft. “Her father is the Redmond Ripper, is that what you want for Spencer? For his future father-in-law to be a serial killer?” she demanded, the last few words coming out as a hiss and your lips part. Words, you remind yourself.

“It wouldn’t go that far,” you said, sounding weak even to yourself as you both step inside the lift.

“You don’t know that,” Penelope retorted. “Maybe they go on one date, maybe two. Next thing you know, he’s asking Charles Beauchamp for his daughter’s hand in marriage.”

You’ve just been following Penelope’s lead, and it doesn’t strike you that you’re headed to the BAU until the lift opens again and you’re standing face to face with half the team. Spencer’s brow furrowed as he recognised you, JJ glancing at Penelope curiously and Derek grinning at the both of you.

“Hey, what are you doing up here?” Derek asked, with a lot more charm and casualness than Spencer could have mustered.

There’s a shove from behind you, Penelope pushing you out as she chirped. “She wants to talk to you,” she said, ambivalent to your horrified expression as she pointed at Spencer.

“Me?” he asked, meek and slightly alarmed, going through every interaction of the past 7 years to check if he’d done something wrong. Derek and JJ shared a glance, with every intention to stay and listen, until Penelope pulled them both inside the lift.

“Bye!” she chirped, immune to your glare, waving as the lift closed. You stared at the lift, your escape route disappearing before your eyes, Spencer’s glued to you. His fingers drummed on the belt of his satchel, lips pursed in anticipation, heart hammering in his chest as you take a breath and look at him. Of course he had to wear purple today.

“Um… Penelope said you were going on a date,” you started slowly, hands sliding into your pockets despite your sweaty palms.

“Yeah, Morgan kind of roped me into it,” Spencer said, his expression turning pained. “We had this practical joke war and the truce agreement means I have to go on a double date with him. It’s a… whole thing, what did you want to talk about?”

You sucked your cheek in, a telltale sign that something was making you anxious. “So… you don’t want to go on the date?” you asked, tentative and Spencer furrowed his brow.

“Not… enthusiastically, but Seaver’s- I mean, Ashley’s nice, so…”

“But you don’t like her,” you reasoned slowly, gauging his responses so analytically that you could have your own desk here.

“I don’t not like her?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling more and more as the conversation went on.

“Right,” you said quietly, having run out of questions. “Cool, so… I’m gonna go. Have fun on your… date?”

He’s never seen you this unsettled, this flustered, especially around him, and cute as it is, it worried him, his hand reaching out to nudge your elbow before you could run off. “Are you okay?” he asked, deeply concerned.

“Yeah, no, Penelope’s just… um…” You closed your eyes, took a breath, and internally went, Fuck it. “If you don’t like her, don’t go,” you said, looking at him again. Bad decision. You really want to kiss him.

“Okay… But I kind of already agreed to go,” Spencer said, shifting where he stood nervously.

“I… I don’t want you to go,” you said, hoping he would extrapolate the meaning, but of course he doesn’t. He just narrows his eyes in confusion.

“You don’t—”

“I’m asking you not to go,” you insisted, your heart in your throat. You might actually cry if he goes anyway. A beat passed, Spencer just looking into your pleading eyes.

“Okay,” he said eventually, moving to press the lift button, and it’s your turn to frown.

“Okay? That’s it? I asked you not to go and you’re not going?”

“Pretty much,” he replied casually, moving to call up the lift. “Besides, Hitchcock movies don’t really have the same appeal after you know who the murderer is. I mean, it’s nice to appreciate the cinematography of the whole thing, but once you know who the killer in Psycho is, there’s only so many times you can rewatch it before it becomes predictable. Now, if it was something like a novel, that’s a different story, because literature can be interpreted so many ways, and Arthur Conan Doyle still appeals after the third or fourth time you read—”

“You’re not going?” you repeated, standing there, completely struck by him and he looked at you, as though puzzled that you were still stuck on it.

“You told me not to,” he said, concerned again. “Are you sure you’re okay?” His hand flitted up to press against your temple and you freezed, his hand drifting down to your neck to check your pulse, which fluttered when he touched it.

“Why would you just… I mean, how can you just listen to me like that?” you managed to ask and he dropped his hand, slightly amused.

“You’re impossible, you know that,” he said, the lift opening and he waited for you to get in first, his arm keeping it open. “I mean, I don’t listen to you, you argue with me. I listen to you, and you’re still arguing with me. Is there any way to win with you?”

You ignored the easy avenue into a catfight, still looking at him. “She could be the love of your life and you’re just not gonna go because I—”

“She’s not,” he said, his voice plain and firm. “Will you get in so I don’t have to hold this forever?”

“You don’t know that she’s not,” you continued, frowning at him. “She could be the woman you spend your life with—”

“She’s not,” he said again, just as firmly as before. Fact. Not opinion. Not doubt. He looked at you intently, your throat moving as you swallow, not that there’s anything there with your mouth completely dried out.

She’s not the love of his life.

The team knows that my priority is you.

Whatever happens next, I am here. I won’t leave, not unless you ask me to.

You have people. Even if you can’t see them.

How many times had he told you how he felt without saying it? “I’m such an idiot,” you murmured, shaking your head. “I have no business calling myself an intelligence analyst when you…” He frowned at you as you trailed off, still holding the stupid lift open. Penelope was right. All along, she was right. You crossed the foot between the two of you. “Spencer Reid, will you go out with me?” you asked, your voice calm, finally finding yourself on even footing with him. “Properly, I mean. On a date.” No more cryptic codes to decipher, no more dancing around each other. Everything had been decoded, deciphered, plain to see.

“I…” He blinked at you in surprise. “Really?” he asked, almost in disbelief, then checked down the hall like someone was watching him.

“Not a practical joke, I promise,” you said, your heart settling back in your chest. “We could get a drink, see a movie, I couldn’t care less what we do, I just… Spencer, I like you. A lot. And if you don’t want to, which, I mean, fair enough, your call, but—”

He crosses whatever gap is left between the two of you, pressing his lips to yours and grasping your jaw and your hands emerge from your pockets, holding his waist as he takes your breath away. His fingers threaded into your hair, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world, and you kissed him back, pulling away only when your lungs ached for air. His eyes are bright and dilated when he looked down at you, lights glittering in his clear gaze. “I want to,” he murmured, a slight rasp. “Very much.”

[00valentina-writes00]

giving hickeys to ambessa?

♡♥︎Marked by You♥︎♡

Warnings: marking, dry humpin

Morning light filters through the silk curtains, casting soft golden hues over the expanse of Ambessa Medarda’s body. She lies beneath you, bare as always, her chest rising steadily, the deep bronze of her skin illuminated by the warmth of the sun. She looks every bit the conqueror even at rest—broad shoulders relaxed, powerful arms resting at her sides, muscles carved into every inch of her form.

But you don’t want her resting.

Your lips are at her throat, trailing soft, teasing kisses over the firm, unyielding expanse of her neck. She smells of clean linens and something distinctly her—a scent you could drown in, one that lingers in your sheets, on your skin, inside you.

You press harder, parting your lips against her pulse point, sucking slow and deliberate.

A quiet grunt rumbles from her throat, her fingers twitching against your hip where they rest, heavy and possessive.

“Determined this morning, aren’t you?” her voice is low, thick with sleep, carrying that amused lilt she always gets when she knows you’re up to something.

You hum against her skin, refusing to break your focus. Dark as she is, marking her is a challenge—a challenge you meet with fervor, with teeth grazing, with lips sucking just hard enough to leave a shadow of your presence on her. You want her to feel it, to wear it, to carry it with her even as she stands in all her authority.

Another low noise escapes her, more exhale than sound, but her fingers tighten on your waist, gripping you as if to still you—but you don’t want to be stilled.

You move lower, dragging your lips along the strong column of her throat, finding another place to claim. She shifts beneath you, muscles tensing, thighs spreading slightly as you press your weight into her.

“You do realize how futile this is?” she drawls, tilting her head slightly to give you better access even as she mocks you. “You could spend all morning and no one would see a damn thing.”

That only makes you work harder.

Your teeth scrape her skin before you suck again, harder this time, your tongue soothing over the spot, feeling the way her body reacts despite her unbothered tone. You know better than to think she doesn’t enjoy this. Ambessa Medarda does nothing she doesn’t want—and right now, she’s letting you have her like this, letting you take from her.

“It’s not for them to see,” you murmur against her skin, “it’s for you to feel.”

That earns you a low chuckle, one that’s cut off the moment you press your hips down, grinding against her thigh.

Her hands tighten immediately, fingers digging into your waist, her breath sharpening just slightly. “Ah, so this is what you were after.”

You grin against her skin but don’t answer. Instead, you shift again, the fabric of your underwear dragging against the firm muscle of her thigh. Even like this, barely moving, the friction is intoxicating. You exhale shakily, hands bracing against her chest as you roll your hips, feeling the warmth of her beneath you

“Tsk.” Her fingers slide lower, gripping the curve of your ass, guiding your movements even as she pretends to chastise you. “Impatient little thing.”

You whimper at that, at the sheer size of her hands, at the way she doesn’t even have to try to control you. You grind down harder, your clothed clit catching just right, pleasure sparking up your spine.

Ambessa watches you through lidded eyes, her smirk infuriatingly knowing. “Look at you,” she murmurs, “so desperate for me, rutting against my leg like some spoiled little thing.”

A sharp whine slips from your lips, your pace stuttering as you lose yourself in the friction, in the heat of her body beneath you.

“Good girl,” she praises, voice smooth, rich, devastating.

It sends you spiraling, your body trembling as you chase your pleasure, grinding harder, faster, your breath coming in gasps. Ambessa watches you with rapt attention, her grip never faltering, holding you firm as you take what you need.

And when you finally break, pleasure crashing over you in waves, she tilts her head and murmurs against your ear—

“Now, are you done? Or shall I show you how it’s really done?”

[katsu28]

sent and delivered

pairing: bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader

summary: after your scheduled coffee date with bradley, your friendship progresses into something more over time. (7k)

part 2 to return to sender

warnings: swearing, some use of Y/N

a/n: hello again my tgm family!! went a little overboard with this, but thank you to my sweet @familyvideostevie, who came up with this beautiful friends to lovers plotline for a part 2 literal ages ago, and the lovely @starryeyedstories for putting me in my rooster feels again <3

You shouldn’t be so nervous for coffee with Bradley as you are right now. You’ve already changed your outfit at least twice, sifted through your pantry for a suitable accompaniment to coffee so many times you’ve lost count, and as the clock ticks its way to noon, genuinely debated on making an excuse to bail. 

A few careful deep breaths clears your mind a little, reminds you that no, you aren’t going to bail on Bradley. You’re going to see this thing through if it’s the last thing you ever do, fight or flight response be damned. 

You’re a jumble of nerves as you finally make your way over to his apartment, just like the first time you met him.

Only this time it isn’t because you were afraid he was an asshole (you know now that he was the in fact opposite), but because your crush on him has grown tenfold just overnight. 

See, you’d spent a good chunk of the time you were meant to be asleep last night on the phone chatting with him about anything and everything, never a lull in the conversation until the sun started to peek through the curtains and the birds began their daily morning song.

He’d sounded sad when you announced you had to grab a few hours of shut eye, but murmured a soft see you later that had your heart thudding a little faster in your chest. 

Maybe you even buried your face in a pillow and squealed a little the moment you hung up, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

You knock on his door firmly, shifting the package of Oreos from hand to hand nervously as you wait. 

The door swings open to reveal a smiling Bradley, and suddenly all your worries seem to fade away. 

He’s wearing jeans and a well-fitting Hawaiian shirt this time, which would’ve looked tacky as hell on anyone else, but Bradley found a way to pull it off. He still looks way too damn good for someone who’d been up the whole night. 

“Hey!” He exclaims, beckoning you inside with a smile. You mirror his smile, but before you can return his greeting, he brings you into a hug. He smells of fresh laundry and sea breeze and something heady that you can’t quite put your finger on but like nonetheless. “Long time no talk.” 

You let out a huff of amusement. “Right, because seven hours is just such a long time.” 

“Sure felt like forever,” He replies, reaching around you to shut the door. His arm grazes against the small of your back as he does, a fleeting touch that still manages to make you shiver. Maybe Bradley notices, because he lets his hand linger for another second, expression shifting into something softer as he eases the cookies out of your hands. “This for me?” 

“Uh, yeah! I hope you like Oreos, ‘cause it’s really all I had,” You say sheepishly, folding your arms around yourself in an awkward attempt to seem normal. 

“I love Oreos. Thank you.” He bobs his head quickly. “Anyways, welcome, come on in, make yourself at home.”

Bradley’s apartment has the same layout as yours, but other than that it looks like a completely different place. 

While you’d decorated your space with all sorts of odds and ends, posters and paintings and a plethora of knick knacks adorning your shelves, Bradley’s is…kind of empty, save for a few sports posters and some workout gear scattered in the hallway leading to the bedroom. A piano sits over by the window that gives the place some character, but other than that it doesn’t really look like this is anyone’s home. 

It’s as if he feels you taking in your surroundings, because he chuckles awkwardly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “It’s plain, I know. Definitely won’t be winning any awards for interior design.” 

“Oh, I dunno, the minimalistic look is really in these days,” You hum, shrugging nonchalantly. 

“You’re too nice to me. I’m not here a lot of the time, so I haven’t really done the whole ‘making it feel like home’ thing yet. I’ll get to it though.” He admits, kicking aside a lone pair of shorts. “Anyways, uh—forget this, why don’t we keep moving on into the kitchen?” 

The kitchen is much more interesting than the rest of the apartment, mainly the wall of postcards and photos next to the fridge that catch your eye immediately.

“Now, this is more like it!” You gasp, beelining for the wall to look at them. Postcards of sandy beaches, snowy mountains, and everything in between. Pictures of a younger and current Bradley with whom you assumed were his fellow Navy buddies, smiling wide for the camera like he’s having the time of his life. A few more older photos of a woman and a man who looks just like Bradley with a kid who you assumed was Bradley. 

You feel Bradley’s presence come up behind you, hear him inhale a sharp breath. “Those are my parents.” 

“You look just like your dad.” 

“Yeah, that’s what everyone says.” 

“And your mom is beautiful.”

“She was.” You know better than to pry any further than that. One day, maybe, but not any time soon. He sniffs once, then clears his throat. “You, um, you want some coffee?” 

You leave the wall to come settle on one of the barstools across the counter from him, propping your chin up in your hand as he pulls open a cabinet.  “Ah, the infamous coffee maker! Damn that thing is huge.”

“Don’t come for me, but I’ve still only figured out how to make one thing,” He warns, pointing at you with a mug. “Hope you like black coffee, ‘cuz that’s all you’re getting.”

“Black coffee is perfect.” 

“I have milk if you take yours with some. Only almond milk though. Supposed to be better for the bones, according to Hangman.” Bradley nods his head towards the fridge. “S’in there if you need it, help yourself.” 

“First the machine, now the milk—this Hangman must be a trustworthy guy if you take all your coffee tips from him.” 

Bradley laughs, a loud belly laugh that sends a tumbling feeling through your chest. “Dude’s a total knucklehead, but he means well. I think you’d like him.” 

“What’s that thing they say about a person’s friends being a reflection of themselves?” You muse teasingly, tilting your head. 

“I know you didn’t just call me a knucklehead!” 

“Your words, not mine.” You lift one shoulder, letting it drop with a look of feigned innocence. 

“Funny.” 

As always, conversation with Bradley is never dull. Even though you’d talked for hours on end the night before, there is no shortage of stories to be told, life stories shared over coffee and Oreos like you’ve known each other forever. 

Somehow you wind up here, talking about how you both ended up in the same apartment complex. You’d found this place on your own and were immediately sold on it. It was affordable, not too small but not too big, and quiet enough for you. Seemed like a perfect deal had fallen right into your lap. 

Bradley, on the other hand, had found it a completely different way. His friend Nat had been going out with a total douchebag of a guy who just so happened to be looking for a place at the same time Bradley had been, sharing his apartment hunt findings with her. 

She found out he’d been seeing another girl behind her back the whole time, kicked his ass to the curb, tipped Bradley off on the open spot in the complex, and Bradley swooped in to nab the place before the cheating son of a bitch could even blink. 

“You did not!” You gasp, covering your mouth with your palm in shock. 

“I did!” Bradley laughs, nodding enthusiastically. “Never liked the guy anyways. And what was he gonna do, confront me about it? Dude was a total coward, he wasn’t gonna come accuse me of jack shit!” 

“You’re smart, Bradshaw, I’ll give you that.” 

“Apparently not smart enough to know that my mail was being sent to the wrong apartment for months. Again, I’m really sorry about that.” 

“It wasn’t a big deal, I keep telling you that,” You insist, shaking your head. “I didn’t mind, really.” 

“How come you didn’t tell me earlier?” 

“Honestly? I thought you were kinda scary,” You admit sheepishly, ducking your head in embarrassment. 

It feels silly even admitting it, knowing now who Bradley actually is doesn’t fit your perception of him by a long shot. But at the same time, admitting it feels somewhat freeing, like you’re letting go of someone you never knew to make way for someone you’d really love to get to know more. 

Bradley’s eyes widens, mouth falling open just the slightest bit in shock. “Scary? Me?” 

“Yes, you! I dunno if you’ve seen yourself from another person’s eyes, but you look intimidating! You’ve got that whole big tough guy look going on, and I’m not great with confrontation.” 

“And what do you think of me now?” He asks softly, settling his chin in the palm of his hand as he meets your gaze intently. There go your nerves again, swirling in the pit of your stomach like a whirlpool threatening to suck you in. 

You inhale a deep breath, letting it come back out as a sort of breathy chuckle. “I think you’re not at all what I thought you’d be.” 

“In a good way or a bad way?” 

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Anything I could do to sway the odds in my favor?” 

Your mouth is suddenly drier than a desert despite all the liquid you’ve been downing, palms clammy against the ceramic of the mug clutched in your grasp. 

You aren’t ready to answer that question, even though you already have an inkling of the things he could do. So you do the only thing you could think of to get yourself out of this situation. You change the subject. 

“I…um—I really loved the chandelier when I took a walk through of the place,” You blurt, jerking your chin over at the sleek fixture above the dining area to draw Bradley’s attention to it. “Really brings the whole place together. Or, it would if mine would stop flickering all the damn time.”

His face falls just the tiniest bit at the sudden change of subject, but his features twist in curiosity within a split second. “Wait, really?” 

“Yeah, yours doesn’t?” 

“No, mine’s been fine since I moved in. Have you tried taking a look at it, see what’s wrong?” 

You offer him a sheepish smile, bashful now. “This is really embarrassing, but I’m—I’m kind of scared that it’s gonna fall on me if I mess with it. Y’know, revenge of the light fixtures and all that?” Bradley’s mouth lifts at the edges, and you could tell he’s fighting another smile. “Don’t laugh at me! It’s a legitimate concern!” 

“Not laughing!” He clears his throat, giving his head a little shake to keep his composure. But even then, there’s no mistaking the amusement in his eyes. “Chandeliers are very scary.” 

“I knew I shouldn’t have said anything,” You groan, hanging your head. Bradley’s soft chuckle brings a flaming warmth to your cheeks. 

“I could…take a look at it, if you want?” 

Your head whips up to stare at him. “Right now?” 

“Today, yeah. If you’re free after this, I mean.” He shrugs, giving the spoon in his cup a few stirs. 

“For real?” 

“I have tools. I’ll take a look, see if it’s an easy fix and if not, we can call maintenance.” 

“You’re walking a slippery slope, Bradley Bradshaw. If you can get the chandelier working again there’s no guarantee I won’t be calling you for every other household problem in the future.” 

“No complaints here.” 

After you’ve both finished your coffee, Bradley grabs his toolbox from under the stairs, and now you’re both standing in the entryway of your own apartment. You feel him taking in your space the same way you did his, your cheeks flaming hot at the clutter of things all around. 

“It’s usually a lot tidier than this, I swear. I’ve just had a lot of deadlines at work and I haven’t gotten the chance to put everything back in its place.” 

Bradley just smiles, giving a noncommittal shrug. “S’no big deal. I like it.” Everything he got from spending more time with you, he could see it reflected in your space. And as cliche as it sounded, he felt more at home here than he did in his own apartment. 

He sets his toolbox down, grabbing a set of pliers and hopping up on the table with ease to poke around the chandelier for a while before fiddling with something. 

He climbs back down, wiping his hands on the front of his jeans and tossing the tool back into the box, planting his hands on his hips. “Looks like one of the wires was just a little loose. The bad connection caused it to flicker, but I tightened it a bit so it should be fine now. Maybe try it and see?” 

You hurry over to the light switch, flicking it on hopefully. Normally it would start to flicker immediately, but when ten seconds go by and the light shines bright, you beam. “So you’re an electrician too, huh?” 

“Hardly. One of my buddies is though. Sometimes he needs an extra set of hands so I tag along with him, see what I can learn.”  

“Well either way, you’re a godsend!” 

“Just glad I could help.” 

“Let me cook you dinner! I have—” You exclaim, shuffling over to the fridge and pulling it open only to be met with nearly bare shelves, save for a few containers of old fruit and condiments. “—nothing. I have nothing, because I was supposed to go to the store yesterday. Well, this is embarrassing!” 

Bradley had followed you to the kitchen, sliding onto one of the barstools coolly. “No, this is all very reassuring, ‘cause I’ve been meaning to go shopping too but I keep putting it off. Glad to see I’m not the only one with poor weekly grocery trip skills.” 

“I’m sure that was meant to be reassuring, but it really just makes us both sound sad,” You groan, slumping over onto your own stool.

“Your words, not mine,” Bradley chuckles, echoing your earlier words with a cheery smile. 

You roll your eyes playfully. “Okay, I can fix this!” You exclaim, holding up a finger as you open UberEats on your phone. “We could do Thai, burgers, pizza—” 

“You don’t have to buy me dinner, really, I’m just happy I could help.” 

“You can say no all you want, Bradley, it doesn’t really matter to me. You’re staying for dinner, and we can either compromise and get something we both want, or I’ll order something you hate,” You insist, trying to sound as firm as you could. 

“You don’t give up easily, do you?” 

You grin at him, eyes alight with mischief. “No, I don’t.” 

“I like that.” I like you, he wants to say. He doesn’t. 

“What’ll it be then?” 

“I wouldn’t say no to some pizza. Got a six pack back in my fridge I could bring over too, if you want.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

“Of beer, that is,” He adds. “No relation to my giant package.” 

“Oh, you asshole! You swore you’d never bring that up again!” You huff, leaning over to swat at him. Bradley dodges you easily, an easy smile playing at his lips. 

“Okay, okay! I won’t say anything else about it, I promise.” 

“You’re lying.”

“Yeah I’m totally lying.” 

-------

And so it began, a saga of texting Bradley to see if the things in his apartment were as defective as yours, him coming over to help fix various things, and you scrambling to show your utmost appreciation for his help.

A broken thermostat meant going downtown for dinner and drinks at some new restaurant “just to try it out”, a leaky sink resulted in him guilting you into a Mission: Impossible marathon (and a whole lot of insisting the main character looked exactly like one of his Navy higher ups). 

That soon turned into you and Bradley spending more and more time at each other’s places, doing fuck all but enjoying each other’s friendship. And over time, that friendship grew a bit more-than-friends-like—he’d always flirt with you, you’d flirt right back—but neither of you had the guts to do anything about it.

Lingering glances, brushing hands that lasted a little too long to be innocent, inside jokes only the two of you were privy to. You’re almost positive he feels the same way about you as you do him, but every time you want to act on it, you chicken out. You've never been one for putting yourself out there, and that hasn’t changed. 

You’re about to turn in for the night today, going to close the window in your bedroom only to realize that the lock on the frame isn’t sliding into place the way it usually did. 

After jiggling it a few times to see if it would prove a quick fix and finding that it most certainly doesn’t fix a thing, you reach for your phone, instinctively sending off a quick message to Bradley without even really having to think about it. 

y/n: quick question! what should i do if my window won’t lock? 

Not five minutes after you hit send, your phone buzzes, Bradley’s name flashing across the screen for a video call. 

It’s odd, because usually when you text about something in your apartment not working the way it's supposed to, he just shoots back a message saying he’ll be right over. It’s nighttime, so you were honestly kind of looking forward to seeing him in his grey sweats and bicep hugging black tee combo. 

You give yourself a quick once over in your phone camera, smoothing down any flyaway hairs before hitting the answer call button. There’s a few beats of nothing as the call connects, but he’s on your screen soon enough, somewhere you don’t recognize and half-shrouded in the dark like he’s under something. 

“Something’s wrong with your window?” He asks, brow creased in concern. 

“Hi to you too, Bradley.” 

“Sorry, hi. But your window, is the lock broken?” 

“I think so? Usually when I go to turn the plastic lock thingy it clicks into place, but I tried it like four times and it’s not clicking, so…” You trail off, pouting. “D’you—I mean, are you busy right now? Would you mind popping over to take a look?” 

“Shit, I’m sorry, I’m actually not home right now. Won’t be for another few weeks.” Bradley frowns, scratching at his cheek. “I’m overseas.” 

“Oh my god, Bradley! I’m so sorry, I didn’t know!” 

“No, you’re good! If I was home, I’d be over in a heartbeat, but uh, unfortunately,” He sighs, gesturing vaguely at his surroundings. “Here, flip the camera. Lemme see if I can see what’s wrong from here.” 

“Are you sure?” You ask, gnawing on your lip. It seems wrong, still having Bradley be your on-call maintenance guy even when he’s somewhere probably a thousand miles away. But he nods enthusiastically so you oblige, flipping the camera so it’s facing the seemingly broken lock. 

You watch him blink a few times and squint at the fuzzy video screen for a little bit before sighing again. 

“Sorry, Y/N. I can’t see shit from here.” 

“Yeah no, it’s fine.” You shrug, flipping the camera back to face you. You prop your phone up on your windowsill, settling into a more comfortable position to chat with him. “Where overseas are you?” 

“Afraid that’s classified, ma’am.” He bows his head in apology, but there was a teasing smile on his face. “See, I could tell you. But then I’d have to kill you.” 

You let out an amused chuckle. “Oh, really?” 

“Unfortunately. And you’re too pretty to meet that end, so I’m gonna have to keep my whereabouts a secret to save us both the hassle.” 

Pretty. Bradley thinks you’re pretty. 

You have to fight the smile threatening to break your composure. “How gracious of you.” 

“Isn’t it? I surprise myself sometimes,” He sighs good-naturedly, looking all too pleased with himself. “But seriously, talk to the super about your window, have them get the maintenance guy to take a look. Don’t think I’ll be able to sleep til it gets fixed.” 

“Aw, you worried about me, Bradley?” You tease, pouting playfully at him. 

He rolls his eyes. “You know I am.” 

“I’ll call the super tomorrow.” 

“Not today?” 

“I’ll let you know if someone breaks in through my third floor window.” 

“Hey, you never know! People are stealthy,” Bradley protests, shifting to a sitting position and subsequently hitting his head on the bunk above him. He lets out a hiss of pain, rubbing the top of his head with a grimace. 

“Some people are, but you’re definitely not,” You snicker, to which Bradley gives you another eye roll. “Are you about to go to bed?” 

“I was gonna, but I’d much rather talk to you.” 

That nearly makes you swoon. God, Bradley is good with his words. Damn him. 

“Go to sleep, I’ll let you know when it’s fixed. Wouldn’t want you worrying your pretty little head about me all night.” 

“Pretty little head,” He echos, tilting said pretty little head to the side. 

“It’s, uh, it’s just a figure of speech,” You insist, feeling your cheeks grow embarrassingly warm. Funny how they always do that whenever you’re talking to him. Or thinking about him. Or thinking about talking to him. 

Bradley just smiles again. “Sure is.” 

“Goodnight, Bradley.” 

“Night, sweetheart. I’m expecting that text to be there when I wake up.” He hangs up before you can register the nickname, but you can’t stop the giddy grin breaking across your face when you do. 

First he calls you pretty, now he’s calling you sweetheart. He’s getting bolder. You aren’t sure if that means he feels the same way about you, or if it’s just his personality. Even after you’d known him for almost six months, you still can’t tell. 

-------

Bradley rouses from his sleep at five on the dot, throwing himself into his Navy enforced routine until lunchtime, when he could finally sit down and check his phone. Upon powering it back on and glancing at the homescreen, he sees that he has two notifications from you. One of them is a selfie of you beaming next to your newly fixed latched window, sending him a thumbs up. 

Shit, you’re so pretty. It makes his heart ache to be away from home this time, not able to help you when you need it. 

The other is a text to accompany the photo. 

y/n: window is fixed. hope you sleep well tonight knowing no stealthy people are gonna break in :)

He snorts softly, a smile overtaking his face as he taps out a reply. 

bradley: i won’t worry my pretty little head about it anymore. 

y/n: you better not be texting me from the jet!! 

bradley: and so what if i was? i’d call it multitasking. 

y/n: i’d call it damn stupid, lieutenant. can’t have my handyman ditching me, so come home in one piece, k? 

“Now who in the world could you be texting that’s got you cheesin’ like a big ol’ idiot right now?” Hangman’s voice drawls from across the table, drawing Bradley’s attention away from his phone and to the rest of the squad, who all look at him with the same expectant expressions. 

“Five bucks it’s his girl from back home,” Payback chimes in, smirking knowingly. 

“I’ll take that action, please and thank you,” Fanboy replies, smacking his hand into Payback’s for a shake to seal the deal. 

“She’s not my—have you guys been creeping on my texts?” 

“Well, not creeping per se,” Phoenix reasons, holding her hands up in defense. “I was only trying to send myself that picture of Bob sleeping with that marker mustache when she texted.” 

Bob makes an incredulous noise, head whipping towards his front seater. “You guys said there were no pictures!” 

“Nothing, nevermind,” She hums, waving him off. “Back to the subject at hand. Y/N. Rooster’s girl.” 

“How d’you know her—hold on, how the fuck did you get into my phone?” 

“Your password is your birthday, dumbass. You should really change it, by the way. Cybersecurity is no joke.”

“Whatever. She’s not my girl, by the way. If any of you cared to know. We’re just…friends.” 

“See that hesitation between just and friends? Bradshaw’s a liar!” Hangman whoops, drumming his fingers on the table. “He wants to be her boyfriend!” That last word comes out a teasing singsong, making Bradley roll his eyes. He’s right, of course, but he doesn’t need everyone knowing that. 

“Real mature, Hangman. Real mature.” 

“Can’t argue with the truth, Rooster.” 

-------

You soon discover that life is pretty boring without Bradley around. There’s nobody to bother when you get bored, nobody to make dumb jokes while you watch a movie, nobody to force you to go out even though you don’t want to. Bradley was always the one to do all those things with you, and he isn’t here. Sure, you’re still able to text and talk, but it isn’t the same. You miss him. 

So when your doorbell rings and you aren’t expecting anyone, your mind immediately goes to Bradley. You quickly give yourself a once over in the mirror in the foyer, making sure you look at least halfway presentable before pulling open the door excitedly. 

Bradley’s already beaming when your eyes land on him, but his smile gets even wider as he takes you in. He looks the same as the last time you saw him, although definitely better than he did on a grainy video screen. He’s a little tanner than you remember, shoulders a smidge broader, but still the same Bradley you’d grown some big feelings for. 

“Remember me?” He jokes, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

You give him a once over with a tilted head, frowning. “Sorry, no. I think you might have the wrong apartment.” 

“Oh, she’s funny now!”

“Okay, ouch. I’ve always been funny, Bradshaw,” You huff, but the smile stretching your lips tells him you’re anything but annoyed. “Welcome home.” 

You aren’t sure if you should hug him but you do anyway, wrapping your arms around his neck, breathing in his achingly familiar cologne. Bradley settles into your embrace almost like he’s melting, letting his nose drop into the dip of your neck as he hugs you back a little too tightly. Not that you’re complaining about it. 

“Glad to be back. Missed you.” He straightens up as soon as those last two words leave his mouth, backing away almost jerkily with a hand flying to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“I missed you too, Bradley.” 

The edges of his mouth quirk up into the beginnings of a smile. “So me and my buddies were gonna head to our usual spot for drinks tonight, kinda like a being back stateside, welcome home type thing. I’d really like it if you came with me.” 

“Oh, no, I couldn’t.” You shake your head profusely, fiddling with the hem of your sweater. Bradley’s head cocks in confusion. “It’s your time with your friends, I don’t want to impose.” 

“You won’t be. I want you there, I want you to meet them all,” He insists, looking entirely sincere. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Positive. Come with me, please.” 

You gnaw a little on your lip in contemplation, only managing to hold out a few seconds under his intense gaze before giving a small defeated sigh. “Okay. I’ll join you.” 

“Great!” He beams, looking rather pleased. “Now tell me everything that happened while I was gone. And spare no detail either, I need to catch up on the complex gossip. Did that kid Andrew ever stop banging on his drums until three in the morning? Does that family across the parking lot still go on walks with their wailing baby or has that sucker settled down yet? I need to know.”

After bringing Bradley up to speed on everything, it’s time to meet his friends. 

Rowdy isn’t sufficient enough to describe the Hard Deck. A Navy joint through and through, the whole place is decked out floor to ceiling with model jets and patches and other various related memorabilia.

The group Bradley leads you towards seems to be the loudest of them all, scattered out around a pool table in the back corner chatting amongst each other and looking happy to be home. 

The first person to notice Bradley’s arrival is a dark haired woman with a pool cue in her hand, which she swings his way upon sight of him coming up next to her, nearly taking off his head had he not stepped back a little. “Bradshaw! Tell Bagman he’s insane if he thinks he can chug a beer in under five seconds, tell him that!” 

“No, you tell Phoenix that I can do whatever I—well, hello there,” The blond man—Bagman, you assume—stops mid sentence when he lays eyes on you, dropping the offended look and aiming a pearly white smile your way. “And who might you be?” 

“Not gonna happen, Hangman,” Bradley warns. He looks entirely serious about it too. 

“Oh, so you’re the Hangman this guy always talks about,” You lilt, ignoring the gentle shove Bradley gives you in return. 

“Aw, Roo, you talk about me?” Hangman drawls, grinning wildly. “Way to make a man blush!”  

“Yeah, yeah, don’t flatter yourself.” Bradley rolls his eyes playfully, giving his head a shake before introducing you to his friends. Each of them has a unique callsign that seems to fit them perfectly. Your favorite name is Coyote because of how cool it is, but you’d never let Bradley know that. 

The woman Hangman had been bickering with, Phoenix, inhales a sharp breath, her eyes bouncing between you and Bradley with barely contained glee. “Oh my god, you’re Rooster’s girl! He’s been—”

Bradley clamps a hand on Phoenix’s shoulder before she can continue, cutting her short. “Alright!” He blurts, giving her a quick few pats. He angles his head towards you, offering a guilty smile. “Sorry about her, she’s drunk. Doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” 

“Move the hand or you’ll lose it, Bradshaw,” She says slowly, pinning him to the spot with a death stare. Bradley retracts his hand instantly, looking intimidated as he does so and Phoenix aims a grin your way. “He’s well trained, I promise. I think maybe you’ve had something to do with that?” 

“I dunno about training, but I’ve taught him a few tricks.”

“What am I, a dog?” Bradley splutters, looking from your grin to Phoenix’s and huffing out a sigh when you both nod. “I feel attacked! This is so unfair.” 

“I like you. We need to get you a drink,” Phoenix says very as-a-matter-of-factly, holding up her empty glass towards you as proof. “Any preference?” 

“Surprise me?” 

“Copy that.” 

You watch her retreat over to the bar, casting a quick glance at your surroundings to make sure nobody is paying attention before leaning in towards Bradley, who mirrors your actions almost instantaneously. 

“Rooster’s girl?” You chuckle, raising an amused brow. You’d never admit it out loud, but you like the nickname. It meant that he told his friends about you. Maybe not in the way you’d wanted them to learn about your existence, because he’d probably told them you’re just friends, but nice nonetheless. 

Bradley goes positively pink in the face. “It’s, uh—s’nothing, my friends just like to mess around.” 

“Okay.” You shrug trying to play it cool while simultaneously fighting the urge to squeal like a damn schoolgirl on the inside. You ought to earn some sort of medal for your performance. 

You soon fall into easy conversation with Phoenix and her backseater Bob when she returns with drinks. It isn’t until Bradley finally leaves your side to go play a round of pool with some of the other guys that she props her chin up in her hand, smiling knowingly at you. 

“So…you and Rooster?” 

“What about us?” 

“Are you guys…y’know,” She gestures vaguely in the air, tilting her head over at Bradley. “A thing?” 

“Oh my god,” Bob mutters, so soft you barely even hear it. He looks mortified at his partner’s very not subtle insinuation. “Nat, you can’t just ask her that.” 

“Oh no, it’s okay! We, uh—Bradley and I are just friends.” 

Phoenix doesn’t look like she believes you one bit, but she just nods reassuringly. “Well, just friends or not, you’re good for him.” Then she moves onto a new topic like it’s nothing, but her words echoed in your mind. 

You cast a glance over at Bradley a little ways away, where he’s chatting idly with another one of his buddies. 

You’re good for him. 

If anything, Bradley is good for you. He pushes you out of your comfort zone, he helps you come out of your shell. He’s the reason you’ve grown into a new person, one that the old you would never have even dreamed of becoming. 

Maybe your attention lingers a little too long, because he tears his eyes away from his conversation partner to meet your gaze, lips curling up into a grin as he nods at you in acknowledgement. Even from across the bar, you can see the soft twinkle in his eyes, the fondness and warmth in his smile causing your heart to swell in your chest. 

By the time you and Bradley decide to call it a night and head home, you already have an indefinite invitation to any and every squad function in the future (whether or not Bradley was present, Phoenix had added with a wink). 

“So…what did you think of ‘em?” 

“I like your friends. They’re nice,” You say earnestly. You mean it.

“Good. I’m glad. They really like you too, Phoenix and Bob especially,” He says casually, flicking on his blinker to turn left. You let out a pleased chuckle at that. 

The two of you chat like normal the rest of the way home once you both settle back into your usual back and forth, exchanging more stories from your respective lives until Bradley pulls into his assigned parking space. 

“Before I forget, I brought you back something.” 

“Oh?” You raise a curious eyebrow. 

He reaches over to your side of the car, fumbling around in the glove compartment for a few seconds until he procures what he’s searching for—a small postcard with a photo of a very picturesque beach. The corners are a bit bent from being shoved in there, but Bradley straightens them out as best he can before holding it out to you.  

Turning it around in your hands, you spot a note in his familiar chicken scratch on the other side, much tinier than you remember but only because it details how much he hated sharing a tiny bunk with Hangman, who was an avid sleep talker when he wasn’t snoring as loud as humanly possible throughout the entire night. 

One thing stands out to you though, the last sentence before he’d signed his name with a rather crooked looking smiley face—I miss you. 

“This town was near where we were stationed. I was gonna mail the card, but I wanted this first one to be special.” 

“Special?” You echo, tilting your head. 

“Yeah. Thought maybe it’d be fun if I send you one of these every time I’m deployed and you could start your own wall. That way whenever I’m gone and you miss me, it’ll—I dunno…remind you I’m coming home?” He finishes awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

You try your hardest to fight the smile threatening to overtake your face as you study the card intently. It’s very sweet of him, you think, that he wants to share this tradition of his with you. 

“Thank you, Bradley,” You say softly. “I love it.”

"I was hoping you would. I'm glad you do."

When he walks you right up to your door, he looks nervous, which isn't like him. You're about to ask him if he's feeling okay, but then he speaks.

“Hey, look, I—um, I’ve had a really good time these past few months, being your friend."

You frown a little. “Uh oh. Why do I feel like there’s a but coming?” 

“No! I mean, yes, but also—shit, okay, lemme start over.” Bradley shakes his head as if to clear his mind, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve really enjoyed being your friend, but I don’t wanna be friends anymore.” 

Oh. 

Your heart may as well have fallen out of your ass at his words. Bradley didn’t want to be friends with you anymore? 

You must not have as good of a poker face as you mean to, because he quickly backtracks, eyes wide. 

“Fuck, no that’s not what I meant, I—jesus, I meant to say that I don’t want to be just friends anymore,” He blurts, letting his hands drop to his sides. “I really missed you while I was gone. More than I should’ve. And at first I just thought it was because we’re such good friends and because of how much time we’ve spent together lately and that’s why I felt like there was this chunk of me that was missing, but I realized it was more than that. I like you. A lot. So I don’t just want to be your friend anymore, I want to be…more.” 

Oh.

Bradley likes you. And you like him right back.

So, you do the only thing you can think of that will show him your feelings towards him. 

You lean forward, closing the gap between the two of you and kissing him right here and now. 

His palms smooth themselves down your back, fingers splayed across the expanse of it as he kisses you like his life depends on it. His mustache is scratchy, but you don’t mind one bit, not with the way he’s holding you against him, like you’re puzzle pieces slotting perfectly together at last. 

You pull away first with a hand against his chest, only slightly, just enough to look him in the eye when you tell him, “I like you a lot too, Bradley.” 

“Best news I’ve heard in a while,” Bradley sighs, tipping his head back with a sigh of relief. Then his brows furrow, eyes focusing above your heads. “Your light is out,” He says bluntly, squinting at the darkened bulb. “Did you know that?”

“Yeah, I know,” You chuckle. “I would’ve changed it, but the damn thing is rusted over, and my handyman has been out of town for a bit.” 

Bradley snorts, rolling his eyes playfully. “Hilarious. You got a spare lightbulb? I could change it right now.” 

“You could.” Now you’re feeling bold and you run with it, walking your fingers up his chest until they link around the back of his neck. “Or…you could change it tomorrow, after breakfast?” 

His brows fly high at that, tongue darting out to wet his lips nervously. “Tomorrow. Like, as in, you want me to stay the night here, and stay for breakfast in the morning?” 

“Well, yes. We’ve got some more catching up to do, don’t you think?” You ask innocently, though your insinuation isn’t quite so. Bradley’s inhale hitches in his chest at the silent message and he nods quickly, antsy now as you go to unlock the door. 

He’s on you the moment you get the door open, lips glued to yours even as you stumble across the threshold and into the foyer. 

“Wait, wait—” Bradley pants, pulling away only slightly. He’s got a hand skimming over bare skin under the hem of your top, mouth shiny with your lipgloss, and he’s telling you to wait. You raise an impatient brow. “As much as I want to—y’know, and I do, can we just…have a quiet night? I wanna take things slow, make sure everything is perfect.” 

“Okay,” You say, straightening out the collar of his shirt. You can get behind taking things slow. It takes some of the pressure off you to adjust to this big change. “Wanna find a movie to watch?” 

He perks up at that, grinning widely. “Hell yeah! There was some action comedy I wanted to see before I got deployed and I’m pretty sure it’s out on streaming now. Mind if we watch it?” 

You won’t tell him just yet since things between you are the newest they’ll ever be, but you’d gladly watch anything with him. Instead, you just nod. “Go for it. Mind if I go change into some comfier clothes really quick?” 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll be here.” 

Bradley’s queued up the movie on the TV already by the time you return, setting his phone aside when he hears you come back in. 

You’re not quite sure where you should sit, but then he extends a hand out towards you, beckoning you into the cozy space under his arm, and all your questions are answered. It feels like you fit right in when you nestle against him, head falling against his shoulder like its second nature to do so. 

“All good?” He asks, giving you a little squeeze and a fond smile. 

“Never better.” 

There’s no mistaking the happy gleam in his eyes, and you’re sure you have something of the same too. 

You think the whole mail mix up situation from a few months ago had been the best mistake to ever happen to you, because it led you to Bradley, who—and you might be a little forward with this thought—might just become one of the best things in your life. 

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[dynamo-of-fake-twin-brother-fame]

So my brain doesn't make the chemical that gets you to SIT STILL while asleep. Or at least.... It does make it, but not nearly enough. So while some people with the same sleep issues as me need railings to keep them from rolling out of bed, I just kinda... Wiggle. Rotate like a rotisserie chicken. Burrito myself. Un rotisserie chicken. Un burrito. Wiggle. End up (sometimes) with my feet up where my head is supposed to be. This is why I tend to collect a lot of stuff down around the foot of my bed. Boxes of magic cards, clothes I've only worn once so far, for an hour, so they're still clean, extra blankets and coats, boxes of mtg cards, journals.... They trick my brain into not flipping around the wrong way when I'm sleeping. I'll still curl and uncurl like a demonic pill bug, but I don't end up with my feet on my pillow.

And for the longest time, I didn't know that was a thing. I just thought that's how people slept. Evolution's way of keeping us safe at our most vulnerable. Cuz if you keep moving around when you sleep, things that want to eat prey in it's sleep will think we aren't. It wasn't until I went on a trip with a young girls group back when I was still in it and we shared beds in the hotel that my bedmate (I think her name was Angela. Or Amelia? I can distinctly remember her face and the dress she wore for meetings) mentioned I 'moved around a lot in my sleep'. Like, I noticed she DIDN'T move around a lot, and I thought that was something humans tried to do when they shared a bed (I'd never had to share a bed with anyone before, that I can remember, outside of maybe sleeping with my parents when I was really small and had a nightmare) so I did try to stay... More still. Until I fell asleep properly and lost control of the unconscious urge to spin.

I'm wiggly when I sleep. I wobble. I spin. I rotate like a jpeg in a PowerPoint presentation animation. And this means that during the time your brain is supposed to be recharging... Mine just kinda half-asses it. Like a charging cable that's old and bent so you gotta hold your phone *juuuuuuuust* right to charge it. And I have found out (with some outside help) that the anxiety (that crazy anxiety that's so bad I have to medicate) makes it worse. If I'm anxious, I'm more wiggly than usual. If I'm calm, I'm less wiggly. I also find I'm less wiggly in the cold months when I've got eighteen pounds of blanketry on me.

(I do think it's kinda funny that the original state of our brains is WIGGLE. Like, our brains evolved to produce a chemical that stops WIGGLE, but if you've had a traumatic brain injury or your brain just doesn't produce that chemical, it'll reset to WIGGLE MODE. And WIGGLE MODE is the less optimal setting. Humans were badly designed in a high school engineering class, and the four students keep having to fuck with the code to fix things, but every change to the code fucks up something else.)

But all this to say -- there are some days I wake up, and I'm just bone-tired. I want to immediately go back to bed. Because the wiggles were with me the night before. It sounds funnier talking about it like it's some sort of old-timey affliction like Victorian wasting sickness rather than saying my brain is more caveman-y than normal. Because that's... Kinda what's going on. The original, caveman brain had WIGGLE MODE ACTIVE. And it's exhausting. So it's understandable why life expectancy wasn't as long back then. Our bodies just... Ran outta juice faster back then.

Whenever I take a long car ride I end up exhausted afterwards, and I’m always like “why am I so tired? I was just sitting around doing nothing all day.”

But the answer, it turns out, is I was doing something. Riding in a car jars your body in many directions and requires constant microadjustments of your muscles just to stay in place and hold your normal posture. Because you’re inside the car, inside the situation, it’s easy not to notice all the extra work you’re doing just to maintain the status quo.

There’s all sorts of type of work that we think of as “free” that require spending energy: concentrating, making decisions, managing anxiety, maintaining hypervigilance in an unfriendly environment, dealing with stereotype threat, processing a lot of sensory input, repairing skin cells damaged sun exposure, trying to stay warm in a cold room.

The next time you think you’re tired from “nothing”, consider instead that you’re probably in situation where you’re doing a lot of unnoticed extra work just to stay in place.

[gracie-eilish]

Could you please do something where reader is like super introverted but comfortable around billie (cuz they're dating 😛) and one day reader is just yapping so much like ranting, but then she realizes she's talking a lot and gets embarrassed and starts to apologize a bunch but billie finds it absolutely adorable when she gets passionate about things since its not too often she does it?

an: thanks for the requestttt babyyyyy:) i hope i like itttt🧡🧡🧡

Heart Eyes😍

It wasn’t often that you talked this much.

Billie knew that.

She knew you were quiet, introverted—the kind of person who preferred listening over speaking, who felt more at home in the background rather than the spotlight. She never minded. If anything, she loved it, loved the way you opened up just enough for her, how you never felt the need to fill the silence when you were together.

But sometimes… sometimes when you two were alone, you got carried away.

Like right now.

You weren’t even sure what had started it. One moment, you and Billie were curled up on the couch, her fingers lazily tracing patterns against your thigh, the two of you basking in that warm, easy silence you always fell into. And then—you started talking.

It was something small at first. Maybe a comment about a show you had been watching, something that had been bothering you about a certain character.

“I just don’t get it,” you huffed, shifting against the cushions as Billie let out a small hum of acknowledgment. “Like—why would they build up this whole storyline just to throw it away? Do they not understand how character arcs work?”

Billie smirked, eyes flicking up from where her head rested against your shoulder. “Oh no,” she teased. “Here we go.”

You shot her a playful glare, but that only encouraged her grin.

“I’m serious, Billie!” You sat up a little straighter, suddenly feeling the need to gesture as you spoke. “They spent three seasons setting this up! And then what? They just—throw it away like it’s nothing?” You scoffed, hands flying in frustration. “What was even the point? It’s lazy writing, that’s what it is. They had so much potential, and they ruined it!”

Billie watched you with an amused glint in her eyes, her lips twitching like she was holding back a smile.

“I mean, tell me I’m wrong,��� you pressed, turning to her expectantly. “You know it was bad. Like, objectively bad.”

Billie finally let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Oh, babe, I’m not about to argue with you. You’re on a roll right now.”

That only fueled you more.

“Exactly! And it’s not even just this show—writers always do this! It’s like they don’t trust the audience to appreciate a slow-burn arc anymore.” You sighed dramatically, running a hand through your hair. “Like, God forbid they actually develop their characters instead of just rushing to wrap things up in the most unsatisfying way possible.”

Billie let out another hum, her fingers absentmindedly tracing circles against your knee. “Mm, sounds like someone should just write their own show.”

You paused, considering. “Honestly? I could do a better job than half these people.”

Billie snorted. “No doubt.”

“I’m serious!” You shifted to face her more fully, your expression animated. “If I ever wrote a show, I’d actually respect my characters. I wouldn’t just throw out their development for shock value.”

Billie’s grin widened. “Oh, I believe you, baby.”

You went on, too caught up in your thoughts to notice the way she was looking at you.

“And another thing,” you continued, “it’s like they don’t even watch their own show. How do you write for characters you clearly don’t understand? How do you spend years creating something just to betray the entire foundation of what made it good?”

Billie bit her lip, watching as your hands gestured wildly, your eyes practically glowing with passion.

You barely stopped to breathe, completely wrapped up in your rant. “And don’t even get me started on how they completely sidelined the best character. Like, hello? They deserved way more screentime—”

Then, suddenly, mid-sentence—

You froze.

Your face went hot, your stomach flipping as you realized just how much you had been saying.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, your hands immediately retreating to your lap. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

You turned to Billie, half-expecting her to look overwhelmed, or maybe even a little annoyed.

Instead—

She was staring at you.

Like, full-on staring.

Her blue eyes were impossibly soft, lips slightly parted, and if you weren’t mistaken—her cheeks were a little pink.

She looked completely entranced.

“Billie?” You blinked, suddenly very aware of how quiet the room had gotten. You shifted under her gaze, ducking your head as embarrassment settled in your chest. “I was totally rambling, I—I didn’t even let you say anything. I’ll stop now.”

But then Billie melted.

Like, literally melted.

She let out the softest little sigh, her entire body going warm against you as she reached forward, cupping your face with both hands. Her thumbs brushed over your cheeks, her expression so stupidly in love that you felt even more flustered.

“Are you kidding?” she whispered, her voice dipping into something soft, something almost dazed.

You swallowed, blinking rapidly. “W-What?”

Billie’s smile was slow, her lips curling at the edges like she couldn’t contain it.

“That was adorable.”

Your stomach flipped.

Your lips parted, but before you could even think of what to say, she was already leaning in, pressing the softest, most lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Baby,” she murmured, her nose brushing against your skin as she pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “You never talk that much, and I swear I have actual heart eyes watching you right now.”

You made a noise in protest, your face burning. “Billie—”

“No, seriously,” she insisted, grinning now, her fingers sliding down to gently cradle your jaw. “You were so passionate, I could feel how much you cared, and—ugh, you’re just so cute.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Stop.”

Billie giggled—an actual, breathless little giggle.

She pried your hands away from your face with ease, tugging them into her lap before lacing your fingers together.

“Why are you embarrassed?” she teased, tilting her head. “I loved it. Love when you talk like that.”

You chewed on your lip, still trying to process the ridiculous amount of fondness in her eyes. “…You do?”

Billie sighed dramatically, squeezing your hands. “Baby. I love everything about you.”

You exhaled slowly, the warmth in your chest growing until it was almost unbearable.

Billie beamed, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “Now—go on.”

You blinked. “What?”

She grinned. “Keep talking. I wanna hear more.”

Your heart stuttered.

You hesitated, but the way she was looking at you—the way she was practically soaking up your every word—it made the nerves melt away just enough.

So you did.

You kept talking.

And Billie listened.

She held onto your every word like it mattered, like you mattered.

And maybe, just maybe—

You’d let yourself get carried away more often.

[covenofagatha]

Do I wanna know? (Part 4)

The final two weeks before Agatha moves to Albany

Word count: 5k

Warnings: mentions of sex, fluff

The following Sunday, Agatha drives you to Albany so you can look at apartments with her. She found three online that she really likes and is hoping that she can sign a lease today. 

Since her new job starts next week. 

You’ve never exactly known what she does for a living — you never really cared to ask when she was married to your dad and once you got together, she just kind of assumed that you already knew — so you have to ask about three times for what this new position entails so you can try to work it out. 

So far you’ve gotten that she advises the company on how to raise capital, financial modeling, legal and compliance issues, and general advice. She did try to explain what she does when you found her looking over a contract one night, but it went so far over your head you didn’t realize she had stopped talking until she kissed you to bring you back to earth. Agatha did say investment banker once, but even with all the job descriptions, you’re still not sure you actually understand. 

“All right, here’s the first one,” she says, squeezing your hand that’s interlocked with hers over the center console, and parallel parking on the street in front of a high-rise building with floor-to-ceiling glass windows. You peer into the lobby to take in the crystal chandelier, dark floors, and mahogany wood panels on the wall by the elevator. “See, it’s not that bad of a drive. As long as you leave pretty early Saturday morning, you should be able to get here in under two hours.” 

You look at her and shoot her a smile. Agatha’s been overly nice to you the past week, telling you how pretty you are and how lucky she is and buying you flowers and cooking you all your favorite foods, so you’re trying to just sit back and appreciate it. 

She took the job. You told her it was okay. All that’s left to do is accept it. 

“It’s really nice,” you tell her, turning back to the building. “It’s in a good area, too.”

Agatha turns the car off and unbuckles her seatbelt. “Only about ten minutes from the office, so even better. And it’s not too far from the interstate for traveling to and from here.”

Another thing she’s been doing is talking about how much you’ll be able to come visit and vice versa. It should be reassuring, but it just feels like she’s overcompensating slightly to make the move sound better than it is. 

It’s not fair to still be upset because Agatha is trying. And you are feeling good about this, you feel secure that what you two have is real and strong, and you’re going to start working on your application to the University at Albany this week. If you get in, you’ll start in January, which really only means four months of long distance, and you know you’ll both make an effort to see each other on the weekends and during breaks. 

When you put it like that, the pit in your stomach lessens. Your tendency to overthink and blow up problems in your head is definitely something you need to work on. 

The moment you step out of the car, the first thing you notice is the smell, almost like rotting plants and sewage. You wrinkle your nose and Agatha walks around to you, the same expression on her face. 

“Think you’ll ever get used to that?” you joke and she solemnly shakes her head. 

“Guess I’ll just need to bury my nose into something else until I forget it,” she says with a wink and you laugh before following her up to the glass door of the apartment complex. 

There’s a man sitting at a desk, maybe about ten years older than you and wearing a flannel shirt, typing something at his computer, and he doesn’t look up at you until Agatha clears her throat and taps her fingers on the counter. 

He raises a bushy eyebrow, unimpressed and annoyed that someone dared interrupt him. “Can I help you?” 

Agatha tosses her hair back over her shoulder and straightens up. “My name is Agatha Harkness and I made an appointment to see a two-bedroom.” 

The man sighs and taps his mouse. “Yo, Dottie,” he calls, swiveling in his chair to face an open door to the right of him, “I’ve got a ‘Harkness’ here to see the two.” Whoever Dottie is, you hope she’s friendlier than this man. Even his mustache seems to be frowning at you. 

A tall, blonde woman steps out of the room, beaming brightly at you two, wearing a brightly colored floral dress. She walks around the desk, shakes both your hands, and introduces herself. 

“Wonderful, wonderful,” she claps her hands together and you wince at the loud sound in the otherwise-silent lobby, “let me get the keys and then I’ll show you and your daughter the model apartment on the seventh floor and then the one that’s open, which could be yours! We also have some specials on leases if you sign one within twenty-four hours of your tour, which I’ll go over after this.” 

Dottie waves you along and you catch Agatha’s eye behind her back, mouthing your daughter? at her with an amused smirk. Agatha playfully rolls her eyes and swats your arm. 

You still remember the first time she took you out in the spring, when the waitress had assumed you were a couple. You had choked and almost died from coughing so hard, flabbergasted at the thought that anyone would look at you two and see anything other than a mother and her daughter, even if she was your step-mom. 

But now, it kind of bugs you that someone does see you that way. You’re almost tempted to see what Dottie would say if you kissed Agatha or if Agatha squeezed your ass. 

Dottie’s rambling about the safety features of the elevator as she presses the button and you stare at the reflection of yourselves in the bronze doors, blurring the sound of her voice out. You watch Agatha nodding attentively and you probably should be paying attention, but you just can’t. 

Something about looking for apartments with Agatha seems so surreal. You had helped her pick out the one in Westview and it felt like you were picking out a place for the two of you, even knowing you were going to live at the dorms. 

But now, you’re picking it out for her and she’s breaking her lease on the apartment you shared. 

It’ll be back to being both of yours in January, you remind yourself. 

The elevator doors slide open and the three of you step into it, the tile a fancy black marble with gold cracks and the walls a dark wood with the top half covered in mirrors. Dottie touches the fob to a pad and then presses the button for seven. 

“It only lets you get to the floor that you live on, and the roof for the pool and the game room. We take our security very seriously,” she explains and Agatha hums before looking at you for your approval and you nod like you’ve been paying attention this whole time. 

She takes you down the hall and pauses in front of a door, fumbling with the key ring and then finally inserting one into the lock. She pushes it open and lets you and Agatha step in first. 

The floor is a cool gray color, all white walls except for the blue accent in the living room, and it’s pretty spacious. The kitchen has an island with quartz countertops that match the other counters against the wall, all stainless steel appliances, a double oven, and a hood over the stove. The backsplash is green and blue and gray tiles. There’s a deep sink and three pendant lights over the island.  You have to admit it looks really good.

“Wow,” Agatha says, tracing her fingers over the countertop and crossing the threshold into the living room, where the floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city of Albany. It’s the model, so there’s comfortable-looking couches around a coffee table and a rug, facing a television on an entertainment center. Even with all the furniture, it’s easy to imagine exactly where Agatha’s stuff would go. 

You follow her into the first bedroom, the bigger one. It has the same windows as the living room and your only thought is that Agatha will certainly need to invest in some curtains if she picks this place. It’s a huge room; Dottie tells you that the bed in there is king-sized and there is still plenty of space for the nightstands and lamps and dressers. The walk-in closet is probably half the size of your dorm room right now, and there’s a standalone shower next to a tub across from the double vanity in the bathroom. 

“This is nice,” Agatha whistles and you nod your head in agreement. 

“Let me show you the other bedroom,” Dottie says and leads you to the other half of the apartment. “This door closes off the hallway to the second bed and bath, so plenty of privacy. Will your daughter be living with you?” 

It’s hard not to laugh when you and Agatha glance at each other out of the corner of your eyes. “Um, no, I go to college in New Jersey. But I’ll be visiting a lot,” you answer, and then, just for the fun of it, add: “How thick are the walls, though? Like, apartment to apartment.” 

Agatha stifles a laugh that turns into a cough and Dottie looks back over her shoulder. “We don’t get a lot of noise complaints. If you’re worried about the TV being too loud, it shouldn’t be a problem because the living room is in the middle of the two bedrooms. But if you’re watching something in either bedroom, there’s a chance a neighbor might be able to hear a bit of it.” 

“That’s exactly what I was worried about,” you mumble and Agatha nudges you, even though she’s smirking too. 

The second bedroom is a bit smaller than the other, but still a good size. This one has a window-sill and only one long window and the closet is only about half as big. The bathroom has an alcove tub and matching countertops to the other bathroom and a lot of cabinet space. 

Dottie also shows you the three extra closets for extra storage and then takes you to the empty apartment on the ninth floor. 

Agatha walks around, gesturing wildly with her hands and pointing out where things could go, while you trail after her like a lost puppy, occasionally adding a yeah and I like that and I think that’ll look really good. 

Seeing her plan the space feels like a hammer in your gut going it’s happening it’s happening it’s happening over and over again until it almost overwhelms you, but Agatha is so engaged in it that she doesn’t even notice. You’re being completely irrational. Everything is fine.

“So, what do you guys think?” Dottie asks when Agatha finally stops and comes to stand next to you as you’re leaning on the island and picking at your fingernails. She puts a hand on your lower back and you stiffen, eyes darting up to look at Agatha, who’s looking back at you inquisitively. 

“Could you give us a second, Dottie?” It’s clear from Agatha’s tone that it’s not a question and Dottie gives you both a tight smile before leaving the apartment. 

You rub your forehead, trying to stave off a headache you can feel slowly budding, and walk over to the windows. Her footsteps are soft and then she’s wrapping an arm around you to pull you into her and kiss your head. 

“You know what I’m thinking about?” she asks and you hum inquisitively. “Fucking you against these windows so anyone down below could look up and see how well you take me. See how good of a girl you are for me.” 

A burst of heat flashes through you but you smirk, not being able to pass up the opportunity to make a joke. “That’s quite an inappropriate thing to say to your daughter.” 

Agatha snorts. “Good thing Dottie isn’t here.” And then she softens against you. “Do you like this place?” 

You shrug. “It’s pretty nice. Aren’t we going to go look at the other places though?” It’s a stupid thing, but you feel like it’s not real until she signs a lease. And maybe you just want to keep it not real for a little bit longer. 

She makes an equivocal sound. “This one did look the nicest online. And honestly, I really like it. I can definitely see myself living here. I can see us living here.” 

“Okay,” you say softly, melting on the inside. As long as she’s picturing you here with her, you’d be good with anywhere. “I think this is the place, then. Let’s go tell Dottie, mommy.” You go to move but instead, she turns you by the shoulders and grabs your cheeks, pulling you in for a long kiss and then gives you another one for good measure. 

“You are so perfect,” she says against your lips. “I l—” 

The door opens and you jump back from Agatha and whirl to find Dottie standing there. Your cheeks heat up, but she doesn't look scandalized so you’re guessing she didn’t see anything. “How’s it going in here, ladies?” 

Agatha gives you one last look-over, giving you all the time in the world to object, but you just swallow hard and nod. “Dottie, we’ll take it,” she says and you plaster a smile onto your face when Dottie gasps and exclaims excitedly. 

She ushers you back to the lobby and leaves you sitting at a desk while she runs off to go print out papers. You’re tapping your foot impatiently when your phone buzzes. 

Thinking it’s just one of your parents — you didn’t actually tell either of them that you were going to New York — you pull it out of your pocket. 

Hey, it’s Carol. Want to get dinner tonight? You vaguely remember giving her your number the night of the party last week. You’ve only seen her once or twice since then and the first time, she asked how you were feeling, and the second time, she shot a finger gun at you. 

“Who’s Carol?” Agatha murmurs, having leaned over your shoulder. You fight the instinct to turn your screen and type back, Sorry, out of town tonight. Rain check? before slipping it back into your pocket. 

“Just this girl that lives in the dorms. She was the one who drove me to your place when I was hammered last Sunday.” 

“Ah.” She’s opening her mouth to say something else when Dottie comes back over and plops down a thick packet and starts rattling off the rules of the complex, the extra fees, and where to sign. Dottie says because you’re not living here full-time, you don’t have to fill anything out and you inwardly sigh in relief. 

Agatha barely looks at the papers before signing her name in big cursive letters and you can’t help but long for that kind of financial security and stability, where you don’t even have to worry about the cost of rent. When you do transfer and if you do end up living with her at any point, you know she won’t let you pay for anything, but you make a mental note to start looking at jobs, maybe even just part-time, so you can buy her things with your own money. 

“Perfect, let me just run a quick background check on you, make sure your credit is good, and then I’ll get back with you. And you want to move in…?” 

“Next Saturday would be great,” Agatha says and your foot starts bouncing even more erratically. Dottie leaves to go back into the office and Agatha’s head drops back to look up at the ceiling. “That means I need to set up electricity, water, internet, I need to schedule movers, I need to talk to my complex.” She groans and sits back normally, rubbing her face with her hands. 

You’ve done the whole moving thing a few times and it absolutely sucks so you reach over to pat her leg. It’s the first time you’ve seen her even the slightest bit overwhelmed with all this and it’s honestly refreshing. “I’m here. Anything you need, I want to help.” 

She gratefully smiles and leans across her chair to give you a kiss on the head. “How did I get so lucky?” 

“Um, you married my dad.” Agatha wrinkles her nose but laughs anyway, resting a hand on top of yours that’s still on her thigh. It’s an anchor for both of you and neither of you move until Dottie comes back about five minutes later. 

“All right, you guys are all good! We will see you next week. Any more questions?” 

Agatha stands up and shakes Dottie’s hand. “I think we’re okay. Thank you so much for all your help.” 

The drive back to Westview is filled with mindless chatter and no mention of the move. You make plans for the week — you’ll stay with Agatha every night, she’ll cook dinner, movie night on Tuesday, picnic in the park on Thursday. She knows that school is starting to pick up for you, so it goes unspoken that you’ll be doing homework with her. 

“And of course, plenty of sex,” you add when she asks you if there’s anything else to plan for. 

“Oh, sorry, was that not implied?” Agatha simpers and her hand sneaks its way into your lap, dipping under the seat belt to play with the elastic of your leggings. 

You let her slide inside and let out a small moan when she brushes a finger against your clit through your underwear. “Better keep your eyes on the road, mommy,” you say tightly.

“I can multitask.” 

She rubs your clit and you shift in your seat to give her easier access to you. It’s an odd angle — her wrist is bent in a way that is surely uncomfortable — but Agatha is determined to make it work. She teases you slowly and before long, you can feel how wet you’ve become. Your breathing has deepened, cheeks hot, and you start to roll your hips to get more stimulation. 

“Mommy, please,” you beg, and she looks over at you to say something when the car in front of her stops suddenly. Your stomach lurches. “Watch out!” 

Agatha slams on the brakes, sending you both flying forward, the seat belt putting an immense amount of pressure on you, and she yanks her hand out of your pants to put her arm in front of you. 

The car screeches to a halt about two feet from the one in front of you. You’re both panting and Agatha tosses her hair back before assessing you. 

“Are you okay?” she asks quietly. You nod, still gripped by a cold sweat. She takes a deep breath and puts both hands on the steering wheel when the cars begin to move again. “I think we’ll save car sex for another time.”

You huff out a laugh in agreement. “It went pretty well that one time. But we were in a parking lot on the way to get pizza in rural New Jersey, not on an interstate in New York.” 

“Who would’ve thought there’s a big difference,” Agatha quips and the tension from almost getting into a wreck lifts the more she drives. You’re back to giggling and talking in no time, although you both keep your hands to yourself. 

The rest of the day passes quickly, with Agatha busy setting up everything she needs for her new apartment while you finish up some homework for the upcoming week. 

On Tuesday, you’re leaving your dorm after your third class of the day to go to Agatha’s for the night when you run into Carol. She brightens when you see her and you give her a quick smile, determined to keep moving. 

“Hey, where are you off to? You still owe me that dinner,” she says, catching you by the arm. 

“Yeah, sorry, this week is going to be a little tough,” you tell her apologetically. “My…girlfriend is moving on Saturday so I'm just trying to spend as much time with her as I can.” You’ve never really had to define your relationship with Agatha, but it seems natural to call her that. 

A stormy look flits across her face before she’s back to normal. “The same girlfriend who broke up with you?” 

You hadn’t exactly found the time to fill her in on the whole story. “Turns out she wasn’t cheating, it was me jumping to conclusions. She had a job interview in Albany and she got it! So she starts next Monday.” 

“Be careful with long distance,” Carol warns, instead of being happy for you like you thought she would be. You raise an eyebrow. “It always starts out so nice and happy and everything is okay…but then the distance sets in. Texting and calling aren’t the same as just being able to see them and talk to them in person. Traveling becomes exhausting. The traffic makes you mad and then you’re in a bad mood and you can only think about the drive back and—”

“Stop,” you snap, stepping away from her. This is possibly the worst thing you could hear right now and you can’t take it any longer. “That’s not how this is going to go, okay? Agatha and I are different. We’re solid. And besides, it’s probably only going to be like this for a few months. She trusts me and I trust her. We’re going to be fine.” 

Carol scoffs, a cold look in her eyes. “You trust her? Is that why you were so quick to believe she was cheating on you?” 

The blow knocks the wind out of you and you just stare at her blankly. Who the fuck does she think she is? 

She softens, realizing that she cut deeper than she intended to. “Shit, I’m sorry. This is your relationship and I should’ve stayed out of it — I’m sure you’re right, okay? You guys will be fine.” 

But you don’t want to hear anymore from her, so you turn on your heel and walk to your car. The rest of the night, you’re a bit out of it and you can’t stop cursing Carol for putting those thoughts in your head. 

The next few days fly by in a blur with classes and homework and avoiding Carol around campus, but your evenings are absolutely perfect with Agatha.

She keeps the light low in the kitchen while she cooks for you each night while you sit at the table and ramble on about whatever you’re learning. She hums at all the right times, but when you take a break to look up at her, she’s staring at you with a fondness in her eyes that you’ve never seen before. 

Each time it happens, you think it must be what love looks like. 

Growing up with parents that should’ve been divorced, you never had a good model for what love was. You used to think that everyone’s parents were like yours — cold, didn’t actually like each other, and just stayed together for their children. You thought that love meant complacency, or even that maybe there was no such thing as it. 

You weren’t sure if you’d actually be able to fall in love and be loved back. But with Agatha, there’s an intimacy your parents never had. You didn’t know what that was like until her. 

And you know that you love her more than anything in the entire world, and when she gives you that look, you think she might feel the same. 

The three words are constantly on the tip of your tongue, but for some reason, you just can’t say them again. You don’t even say it when she makes you cum, which is a lot of times over the week. 

She bends you over the countertop and fingers you. She shoves you against the wall after you get back from your picnic on Thursday, gets on her knees, and eats you out. She makes you sit on her strap while you finish your essay and then pushes you onto all-fours and pounds into your pussy until you’re crying. She fucks you in the kitchen, in the bedroom, in the hallway, in the living room — even in her car and your car. Both while you’re safely parked in an abandoned lot, of course. 

It’s like she’s determined to give you as many orgasms as she can before she moves, and she’s doing an excellent job of it. 

Saturday, after everything gets moved into the new apartment and you’re finally done unpacking most of the stuff, Agatha takes you to a fancy Italian steakhouse in Albany. The atmosphere is romantic, with classical music playing softly and candles lit at every table. Agatha looks absolutely stunning in a tight black dress and curly hair, and you’re wearing your best outfit as well. 

“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” she asks and your cheeks heat up as your head ducks down shyly. 

“Once or twice,” you answer coyly, finally meeting her gaze again. 

She holds out her hand across the table and you take it, feeling the normal electricity that her skin on yours always gives you. “We’re going to be okay, you know that, right? I know you’re more worried than you’re letting on. I know how you’re feeling — I know how easy it is to get swept away with doubts. But I really appreciate you telling me to take this job and I promise we’ll be okay. I care about you far too much to let anything happen to this.” 

You nod and squeeze her hand. “I do know. I feel the same.” 

“Oh — that reminds me. I got you something,” she says and digs around in her purse before pulling out a small black box with a red bow neatly wrapped around it and handing it to you. “You might want to open it beneath the table. Might be embarrassing if someone sees it.” 

Brows furrowing in confusion, you dip the box under the white tablecloth and undo the bow quickly before lifting off the lid. Your mouth falls open and your eyes shoot up to meet hers. 

“Agatha,” you hiss, flushing. 

Resting on stretched out cotton in the box is a small, purple vibrator, curved to be able to rest on your clit while also vibrating against your g-spot, with a gold engraving along the side that goes inside you: Mommy’s cunt. Your clit throbs.

She holds up what looks like a small key fob and presses a button and the toy starts vibrating. You drop the box into your lap while gaping at her and she smirks triumphantly. “Works from anywhere in the world,” she says casually and your stomach sears with heat. 

“Oh, fuck,” you rasp. You’re suddenly feeling very excited about this move. Something about the distance, about the anticipation and the teasing and the pining that it will bring, doesn’t seem so bad anymore. 

Suddenly, the food can’t come fast enough and then you’re both in the car, Agatha speeding while you sit on your hands so you don’t distract her, and then she throws the car into park and you both race into her apartment. 

Her mouth finds yours the moment you step through the door, pushing you against the wall as a muffled oomph slips out of you, and she sucks on your tongue and then bites your bottom lip and then kisses her way down your neck. Your brain is going foggy and your underwear is soaked and you quickly tug her into the bedroom. 

Agatha tears off her dress and then pounces on you, knocking you onto your back on the bed, hands coming up to cup your breasts and you keen. 

“God, Agatha,” you groan and she scrapes her teeth against your neck. It’s so good, but it’s also your last night before everything changes. “Wait, fuck, stop.” 

She jumps back like she’s been burned. “What — is everything okay?” 

You nod, panting, and run your hands up and down her hips. “Yeah, everything’s great. I just…can we just cuddle tonight? I just want to be close to you.” 

Agatha runs her tongue along the inside of her bottom lip, her eyes going glassy for a moment before she blinks, and she chokes out, “Of course, honey. Whatever you want.” 

Smiling gratefully, you take off your clothes and slide under the covers next to her so you can feel all of her warm skin against yours before she tucks an arm around you. You nuzzle into her body and your face twitches with restrained emotion. 

“I’m going to miss you,” you say softly and she presses a kiss to your head. “I know it’ll be okay though. I’m almost done with my application to the University at Albany.” 

She hums and kisses you again before breathing in your scent deeply like she’s making sure she doesn’t forget it. “I have no doubt you’ll get in. And then it’ll be us in our own little world.” 

“That’s right.” 

The two of you lay like that for what feels like hours, and eventually, Agatha’s breathing starts to even out. A quick glance up at her face confirms that she fell asleep. 

You know you should too, but you’re reluctant to let this moment go. Right now, it feels like you’re frozen in time, just the two of you. 

So you stay up as late as you can, just soaking in the feeling of her. 

@lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @vyvvycg @m1vfs

[jiminomenon]

assistant! reader gets jealous

pairing: model! karina x assistant! female reader

word count: 893

tag(s): winrina lore revealed, y/n gets jealous, rina being confused abt the entire thing, giselle’s a snitch, the first time y/n gets jealous

from my series: the devil wears prada

y/n should not be upset. she knew that.

jimin had friends. jimin had history. that was just the kind of person she was—someone who attracted attention effortlessly, someone who had people wrapped around her finger, past and present. y/n knew all this. she had always known it.

but somehow, none of that made it easier to watch minjeong lean in close, whispering something in jimin’s ear that made the supermodel laugh, the sound soft and sweet in a way that was reserved for people she actually liked.

y/n hadn’t thought much of minjeong at first. she knew she was one of jimin’s closest friends, another model who had built a name for herself in the industry. they had worked together plenty of times, and from what y/n had seen, they got along very well.

but that was all she had thought—until she overheard aeri teasing jimin about her past with minjeong, and suddenly everything made sense.

“still can’t believe you two never made it official,” aeri had said, laughing as she clinked her wine glass against jimin��s.

“please,” jimin scoffed, lips curling into a smirk. “it was fun, but minjeong and i both knew what it was. no hard feelings.”

“none at all,” minjeong had added, grinning. “but it was a good time, wasn’t it?”

y/n had gripped her drink a little too tightly then.

and now, as she watched them from across the room, she was gripping her tablet in the same way, her fingers tightening every time minjeong so much as brushed against jimin’s arm.

she should not be upset.

but she was.

y/n’s mood did not improve by the time they got back to jimin’s penthouse.

she knew she was being ridiculous, knew that her cold silence was both immature and completely unnecessary, but she could not bring herself to act normal. she hadn’t spoken a word since they left the event, and she had no plans to start now.

but, of course, jimin had other plans.

“okay, what is your problem?”

y/n didn’t even look up from her tablet. “i don’t have a problem.”

jimin let out a sharp laugh, placing her hands on her hips. “oh, so you’ve just suddenly decided to stop talking to me for no reason?”

“mhm.”

jimin narrowed her eyes. “y/n.”

silence.

“y/n.”

still nothing.

“you’re seriously acting like a child right now.”

y/n finally exhaled, closing her tablet with a thud. “i just don’t have anything to say to you.”

“oh, please,” jimin scoffed. “you always have something to say. so what is it?”

y/n crossed her arms, leaning back against the couch. “it’s nothing.”

jimin stared at her, expression unreadable, before something flickered in her eyes. “wait.” she smirked, slow and knowing. “you’re jealous.”

y/n’s jaw clenched. “i’m not jealous.”

“you’re totally jealous,” jimin said, grinning like she had just won something.

“i—” y/n inhaled sharply, forcing herself to stay calm. “i just think it’s interesting how you didn’t tell me that you and minjeong used to—” she gestured vaguely, ”—do whatever you did.”

jimin rolled her eyes. “because it wasn’t important.”

“wasn’t it?” y/n shot back, tilting her head. “you two sure looked important to each other tonight.”

jimin groaned, running a hand through her hair. “oh my god, y/n.”

“what?” y/n challenged.

“we’re just friends,” jimin stressed. “it was never serious. it’s not like we were in love or something. it was just fun.”

“oh, so i’m supposed to be okay with watching you flirt with your ex-fling all night?”

“i wasn’t flirting,” jimin defended.

“right,” y/n deadpanned.

jimin exhaled sharply, her patience clearly wearing thin. “you are being so—” she cut herself off, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “you’re mad over nothing.”

y/n scoffed, shaking her head. “whatever. it doesn’t matter.”

“it does matter,” jimin argued. “because you’re mad, and i don’t like it when you’re mad at me.”

y/n faltered at that, lips pressing together.

jimin sighed, stepping closer. “for the record,” she said, voice softer now, “minjeong and i are just friends. i don’t care about her like that anymore.”

y/n looked up at her, hesitant. “you sure act close.”

jimin raised a brow. “and? you and i are closer.”

y/n swallowed, warmth creeping up her neck. “yeah?”

“yeah.” jimin flicked her forehead lightly. “obviously. you’re the one i keep around, aren’t you?”

y/n rubbed her forehead with a pout. “that hurt.”

“you’ll live.”

a beat of silence passed between them before jimin shifted on her feet, suddenly looking a little uncomfortable. “listen, i…” she exhaled sharply, clearly struggling with her next words. “i guess i should have told you about minjeong before tonight. i didn’t think it mattered, but…” she hesitated before finally sighing. “i’m sorry, okay?”

y/n blinked. “that’s… not really an apology.”

jimin scowled. “ugh, fine. i’m sorry for not telling you and for talking to minjeong in a way that made you upset. there. happy?”

y/n studied her for a moment before a slow smirk curled her lips. “that was painful for you, wasn’t it?”

jimin scoffed, flipping her hair dramatically. “whatever. are you coming or not?”

y/n chuckled, finally following after her. “yeah, yeah. lead the way, supermodel.”

“you’re never letting this go, are you?”

“nope.”

[aventurineswife]

I cannot stress how much I love your works

So I have a silly request

Aventurine, Dan heng, ratio, Jiaoqiu, moze, sunday, and Caelus (I don't see much love fr himmmm T^T poor racoon bb) when their s/o steals their jacket,

now they see their s/o with their jacket on and reader sees him without his jacket (them looking like a snack I swear with those snatched clothes) and now both get flustered or flirty

-🍮🩵

The Jacket Chronicles

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Caelus x Reader, Jiaoqiu x Reader, Moze x Reader, Fluff, Banter, Flustered Reactions, Teasing, Subtle Possessiveness, Playful Tension, Light Romance, Jacket Stealing Trope, Embarrassment, Vulnerability.

Aventurine sat in his study, lounging comfortably in his chair, a glass of wine in hand. His mind was sharp, focused on the calculations for the latest gambit he was orchestrating. The subtle hum of the lights was the only sound filling the air, a contrast to the swirling thoughts in his head.

But suddenly, he paused.

His gaze snapped to the door, where you had just walked in, his jacket draped loosely over your shoulders. The sight was... distracting, to say the least. The soft fabric hung loosely, but it wasn’t the jacket that caught his attention—it was how you wore it, casual yet so undeniably alluring.

You looked up at him, noticing his wide-eyed expression, and smirked. “I hope you don’t mind me borrowing this. It’s quite comfortable,” you teased, adjusting the jacket as it fluttered around you. You looked nothing short of a vision, the way the jacket softened your features and added an air of effortless elegance.

Aventurine’s mind immediately went into overdrive. His usual calm demeanor faltered slightly, a grin tugging at his lips as he leaned forward, placing the wine down with a soft thud. “I must admit,” he said, his voice dipping lower, “it looks better on you than it ever did on me.”

The comment had its intended effect. You flushed, a little caught off-guard by the heat in his gaze. But instead of backing away, you shot back with a wink. “Maybe I should just keep it.”

He stood up, taking a slow step toward you, the playful smirk never leaving his face. “Careful, darling. Stealing my jacket is one thing, but you might just end up stealing my heart next.”

You laughed, and he couldn't help but pull you closer, letting the flirty banter continue, both of you lost in the tension that had quietly filled the room.

Dan Heng had just finished checking the controls on the Astral Express when he walked back to his quarters. His movements were careful, measured, a reflection of his usual quiet demeanor. But when he opened the door, his eyes instantly found you—wearing his jacket.

His jacket. The one that was a little too big for you but looked perfect with the way it draped around your figure, your hands tucked into the sleeves. He froze for a moment, his eyes locked on you, unable to mask the heat rising in his chest.

You glanced up at him and smiled, clearly noticing the way he seemed to freeze in place. “Does it look alright?” you asked, your tone light, playful.

Dan Heng’s usual calm composure slipped, just for a moment. He cleared his throat, adjusting his posture, and took a step toward you. "You—" He paused, glancing at the way the jacket swayed around you. “It... looks good on you.”

Your teasing smile grew as you shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe I’ll keep it.” You turned to leave, but Dan Heng moved quicker, placing a hand on your shoulder to stop you.

“Not without a fight,” he murmured, leaning in just enough for his breath to brush your ear. The proximity had your heart racing, and you looked up at him, surprised by the sudden shift in his demeanor.

His eyes were intense, flustered but determined. “I think I’d like to see how well you can fight for it.”

His words sent a thrill down your spine. You smirked, leaning into his touch, enjoying the moment of playful tension. Maybe you didn’t want to keep the jacket after all.

Ratio was reviewing some notes when he noticed you walk by, his jacket hanging effortlessly around your shoulders. The dark fabric was a perfect contrast to your figure, and the subtle shift in his gaze was undeniable.

He cleared his throat, his fingers still tapping on the edge of the table as his mind scrambled for something intelligent to say. “I—uh—don’t think you understand how much that jacket means to me,” he said, his words blunt yet carrying a hint of something more.

You turned to face him, the teasing glint in your eyes making his heart skip a beat. “Is that so? I thought it looked better on me than it ever did on you.”

He set down his papers, standing a little straighter. “I’m not sure that’s a fair comparison, my dear. You may look good in it, but there is something about seeing you in my jacket that makes me feel... more than a little possessive.” His eyes flicked to the way the jacket clung to you, the small adjustments you made with it.

You smirked, inching closer, the space between you narrowing. “Are you suggesting I’m not allowed to wear it?”

Ratio didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached for the jacket, pulling it closer to you, brushing his fingers along your shoulder. The playful tension between you both was thick in the air, and his voice softened. “Maybe, just this once, I’ll let you keep it. But be warned, I’m not one to share my things lightly.”

The teasing tone, though, never quite left his voice.

Moze’s eyes followed you as you entered the room, his gaze briefly flicking to the jacket you had casually draped over your shoulders. He hadn’t seen it before, but the familiar shade of violet mixed with the scent of his cologne had him instinctively realizing what had happened.

You looked at him, your posture nonchalant, yet there was a certain way the jacket swirled around you that made his breath hitch. He said nothing at first, but the tightness in his chest grew.

You noticed his gaze, the way his expression hardened slightly. “What’s wrong?” you asked, your tone deceptively light. “Don’t you like it?”

Moze’s throat went dry. He swallowed, his usual detached demeanor faltering for a second. “It’s not about liking it,” he murmured, his eyes narrowing as they trailed over the jacket that now seemed to fit you so well, almost too well. “It’s just... not something I’m used to seeing.”

You stepped closer, raising an eyebrow. “And what exactly are you used to seeing?”

His voice lowered, the usual stoic coldness replaced with something a little more vulnerable. “Someone who wears my things... and makes them look better than I do.” His words were a challenge, but also an admission of the strange possessiveness he felt.

You smirked, leaning in just enough to close the distance between you. “Guess that’s your problem then, isn’t it?”

Moze’s lips quirked upward, though his eyes remained sharp, focused on you. “Maybe,” he said quietly. “But it doesn’t mean I’m letting you keep it.”

You grinned at the playful spark in his eye, realizing that perhaps, he wasn’t as emotionless as he wanted you to believe.

The battlefield’s cold winds howled, but inside the medical tent, it was a surprisingly quiet moment. Jiaoqiu sat cross-legged on a cushion, his feather fan resting against his lap. His usual composure was intact despite his pale salmon hair loose around his shoulders and his closed eyes reflecting his blindness. The faint scent of herbs lingered, remnants of his latest alchemical concoction.

"Jiaoqiu, have you seen my—" you started to ask but cut yourself off, realizing the absurdity of the question.

Instead, your attention was drawn to the elegant jacket draped across a chair—light gold with subtle, intricate embroidery that shimmered under the lantern’s glow. Before thinking it through, you slid the jacket on, savoring its warmth and how it carried the faint scent of his medicinal herbs.

“Ah,” Jiaoqiu’s voice was gentle but curious, his ears twitching slightly. “You’ve taken my jacket, haven’t you?”

“How could you possibly tell?” you teased, watching his lips curl into a small smile.

“Call it instinct—or maybe it’s the sound of fabric brushing against your arms,” he replied. He reached out a hand toward you, and you instinctively stepped closer, guiding it to rest against the jacket’s lapel. “Hm. It suits you better than it suits me.”

You chuckled, only to realize he wasn’t wearing his inner robes properly. His upper body was loosely wrapped in a light undershirt, his sharp collarbones and toned chest subtly exposed. The sight made your cheeks flush.

“Jiaoqiu, you’re—”

He tilted his head. “What? Is there something wrong with me?” His voice carried a hint of playfulness, but his hands now rested on his fan, teasingly tapping it against his palm.

“N-no! You just—you look good,” you stammered, trying to hold your composure as your face burned hotter.

His lips quirked up, though his closed eyes betrayed none of his thoughts. “You sound flustered. Could it be that my darling likes me better without my jacket?”

You huffed, trying to change the subject. “Well, you might not get this jacket back anytime soon—it’s incredibly cozy.”

Jiaoqiu leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping into a soft, teasing lilt. “Then perhaps I should take something of yours to even the score.”

The Astral Express hummed quietly as it sailed through the stars, casting a serene glow over its halls. Sunday stood near the observation deck, staring out at the endless cosmos. Leaving his tailored vest and crisp shirt on display. You’d never seen him like this before, his usually composed demeanor offset by the casual absence of his tailcoat.

“You left this lying around,” you called, stepping into view. Only it wasn’t true—you had “borrowed” it. Sunday turned, his eyes locking onto you, his wings twitching slightly in surprise.

His tailcoat hung loosely on your frame, the asymmetrical white and blue fabric looking far more casual and comfortable than it ever did on him. The scarf, still attached, fluttered slightly as you walked closer.

“I see you’ve made yourself at home in my attire,” Sunday remarked, his tone calm, though a faint hint of pink colored his cheeks.

“You weren’t wearing it, so I thought I’d put it to better use,” you teased.

Sunday raised a brow, his gaze trailing over your figure. “It suits you better than I expected… though, perhaps I’m biased.”

Your playful retort died in your throat as you took in his appearance. Without his tailcoat, his fitted vest accentuated his waist and shoulders. The way his hair fell over his eyes, paired with the faint flutter of his wings, made him look utterly ethereal—and undeniably attractive.

“You—uh—you look…” You trailed off, your cheeks burning.

Sunday smirked softly. “Lost for words? I’m flattered.”

“Don’t get cocky!” you shot back, though your voice betrayed your flustered state.

He chuckled softly, stepping closer. “You wear it well, my dear, but be careful. I might need to borrow it back… or something else of yours.”

The Astral Express lounge was comfortably warm, but the chill from your earlier excursion lingered on your skin. Spotting Caelus’s jacket on the couch, you couldn’t resist pulling it on. It was heavier than expected, the black fabric adorned with subtle gold accents. You hugged it around yourself, savoring the warmth and the faint scent of him that clung to the fabric.

“Isn’t that mine?” Caelus’s voice startled you. Turning, you found him leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed.

“Uh… maybe?” you replied sheepishly.

His eyes softened as he stepped closer, but then you noticed he wasn’t wearing much—a simple white shirt clung to his torso, highlighting the subtle definition of his chest and shoulders.

“Caelus, you’re—” You couldn’t finish the sentence, your brain short-circuiting at the sight of him.

“I’m what?” he asked, his smirk betraying his amusement. “Cold? I might be… since you stole my jacket.”

Your face flushed. “I didn’t steal it! I borrowed it!”

He grinned, stepping even closer. “Oh? And how long do you plan to keep ‘borrowing’ it?”

“As long as I want,” you retorted, crossing your arms, though the motion only made his jacket swallow you more.

His gaze lingered on you, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “You look… good. Really good.” His voice was quieter now, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

“Thanks,” you replied, suddenly feeling bold. “But you should know, you look even better without it.”

His blush deepened, and he averted his gaze, muttering, “That’s not fair…”

[meadowfics]

postpartum

husband!babyfather!kang dae-ho x f!wife!mom!reader

in a world where you did get to have your family, unlike what happened here

warnings: mentions of normal post-pregnancy stuff like breastmilk pumping. postpartum depression. dae-ho being ALIVE in this one and being the best husband to you and father to your babies <3

heavily requested in my inbox after what I posted yesterday LMAO

the weight of it all is suffocating.

you sit on the couch, your body sinking into the cushions as exhaustion drapes over you like a heavy, unshakable blanket. 

in your arms, tiny and delicate, byeol drinks from her bottle, her little fingers curling and uncurling against your chest, her slow, steady suckling the only sound anchoring you in the moment.

the babies tiny body is warm against you, her breaths soft, her features too much like dae-ho’s that it makes your heart ache.

normally, you would be lost in adoration, in awe of this little life you brought into the world. you would trace her perfect cheeks with your fingers, marvel at the way her lashes flutter as she drinks, kiss the soft long hair she inherited from her father. 

today, you are simply trying to hold yourself together.

your body is sore, aching from the endless cycle of feeding, pumping, and barely sleeping. your mind feels foggy, tangled with thoughts you don’t want to have, emotions you don’t want to feel. 

you love your daughters, you love dae-ho, you love your family. you would never trade this for anything. 

however, the love isn’t enough to make the heaviness go away.

across the room, seo-ah plays on the floor, a bright burst of energy that fills every corner of the house. she chatters to her stuffed animals, her high-pitched giggles filling the space, making everything feel alive in a way that you cannot.

“appa! look! teddy is dancing!” 

she exclaims, lifting her stuffed bear into the air, twirling it in circles.

dae-ho, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside her, gasps in exaggerated excitement. 

“wahhh! so cool, teddy is so talented!”

seo-ah beams at the praise, her eyes crinkling as she twirls again, her joy infectious, her laughter like sunshine.

normally, that sound would lift you. 

normally, watching dae-ho be the incredible father that he is would warm your heart, remind you that you are not alone in this, that you have him.

today, it only makes the exhaustion worse.

dae-ho’s gaze flickers toward you, sharp and observant, even as he stays engaged with seo-ah’s game. 

he doesn’t miss the tension in your shoulders, the blankness in your eyes, the way your responses are slower, quieter than usual.

he gets up, making his way to you, crouching in front of the couch so that he’s level with you. 

“baby,” he murmurs, his voice soft, careful. 

“are you okay?”

you manage a small smile. 

“yeah, just tired.”

the marine’s warm, calloused hands settle on your knees, thumbs rubbing slow, comforting circles. 

“do you want me to take byeol for a bit? you’ve been holding her all day.”

you shake your head, your arms instinctively tightening around byeol’s small frame. 

“no, i got it.”

dae-ho doesn’t push. he never does. 

he simply nods, but the concern lingers in his eyes.

after twenty minutes, when byeol finishes her bottle, you sigh, shifting in your seat. 

“love, can you do their bedtime routine tonight? i feel… gross. i just wanna shower.”

dae-ho’s expression softens instantly, and without hesitation, he leans forward to press a gentle kiss to your temple before carefully lifting mini byeol from your arms. 

“of course, baby. take your time, okay?”

he doesn’t say it to make you feel better. he means it. 

every time, every single time, he is happy to take care of his girls. 

he never complains, never hesitates. 

he loves them, loves you.

as he walks away, bouncing byeol gently in his arms, calling for seo-ah in that affectionate tone he always uses, you make your way to the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind you.

unfortunately, the moment you step into the shower, the relief you so desperately crave does not come.

the warm water cascades down your skin, but it does nothing to ease the exhaustion weighing down on you. 

the pressure is strong, firm against your sore muscles, but you still feel tense, wound so tightly that no amount of heat can unravel you.

you let your head drop forward, resting your forehead against the cool tiles of the shower wall. your arms hang limply at your sides, the steam rising around you in thick waves. 

for a moment, you try to breathe…slow, deep, steady. but it doesn’t help. nothing does.

your body doesn’t feel like yours anymore.

your breasts ache, swollen and sore from pumping, tender in a way that makes you wince when the water hits them. your stomach, still soft and a little stretched from carrying byeol, stirs something sharp and cruel inside you, something that whispers that you’ll never look or feel the same again. 

honestly, you cannot recall if you felt like this after having seo-ah.

you press your palm against yourself, fingers tracing over the faint marks left behind from your pregnancy, and you don’t know whether you love them or hate them.

a lump forms in your throat as your gaze flickers downward. 

your thighs, your waist, the curve of your hips—none of it looks the way it used to. 

you know, logically, that your body is healing, that you just brought a life into this world. 

sometimes logic doesn’t quiet the thoughts that get at you, that tell you you are different now in a way that you can’t come back from.

you reach for your vanilla body wash, desperate for something familiar, something comforting.

the moment your fingers curl around the bottle, you realize it’s empty.

your breath catches.

it’s stupid. 

it’s just body wash. you can use dae-ho’s. 

it doesn’t matter.

it does.

your hand trembles slightly as you pick up his bottle instead, the scent of cedarwood and musk filling the space. it smells like him, like the warmth of his embrace, like the shirts you steal from his side of the closet. 

you squeeze the soap into your net sponge, rubbing it over your arms, your shoulders, your chest. the wrongness lingers, settling into the hollow of your ribs like an ache that won’t fade.

when will this get easier?

the thought slams into you like a wave, sudden and suffocating.

your chest tightens, and before you can stop it, tears spill over your cheeks, mixing with the water streaming down your face.

you bite down on your lip, trying to keep the sobs at bay, but it’s useless. the emotions hit all at once, hard and overwhelming, crushing under the weight of everything you’ve been holding in.

your shoulders shake as the sobs build, as the exhaustion and frustration and sadness pour out of you in waves you can’t control. 

you press a trembling hand to your mouth, trying to muffle the sounds, trying not to let it get too loud and scare seo-ah from her bedroom.

no matter how hard you try, no matter how much you tell yourself to just get over it, to just be strong…you can’t stop.

the walls feel too close. the steam is suffocating. the sound of the water is deafening.

you squeeze your eyes shut, gripping onto the tile as you try to catch your breath, try to pull yourself together, try to remind yourself that you are okay.

you don’t feel okay.

you don’t know when you will again.

your body still aches. your breasts are sore from pumping, tender in a way that makes you wince when the water hits them. 

the final straw.

and then—

the door creaks open.

you don’t hear footsteps, don’t hear anything other than your own quiet cries. 

then the shower door slides open, and suddenly, there he is.

dae-ho.

your husband.

your breath catches as he takes you in….your trembling frame, the water streaming down your face, the way you try so desperately to wipe away the evidence of your breakdown.

he’s not having any of it.

without a word, he steps forward, his black shirt and joggers instantly soaked as he pulls you into his arms.

“baby,” he breathes against your wet hair, his voice thick with emotion. 

“don’t do that. don’t hide from me.”

you break.

your hands clutch at his shirt, your sobs shaking your whole body as he holds you. his large hands cradle the back of your head, his fingers slipping through your soaked hair as he rocks you gently.

“i know it’s hard,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“but i’m right here. i’ll always be right here.”

and you believe him.

he stays with you until the tears slow, until your breathing steadies. 

then, gently, he helps you out of the shower, wrapping a towel around you before drying you off with so much tenderness it nearly makes you cry all over again.

you don’t lift a finger.

he stands behind you, brushing through your damp hair before braiding it, his fingers moving with practiced ease thanks to his older sisters. 

he massages your vanilla body butter into your skin, his touch warm, comforting. when he helps you into your nightgown, his fingers linger at your waist, his gaze full of something so raw, so real, that it makes your breath hitch.

in bed, he helps you pump, his hands resting on your thighs, his presence a grounding force.

finally, when you’re settled against him, you whisper, 

“did they go to sleep easily?”

dae-ho hums. 

“byeol was easy, but seo-ah went on a five-minute rant about oreo ice cream before tiring herself out.”

you giggle softly, your heart swelling. 

“she really loves that ice cream.”

you don’t speak again until the question that has been weighing on you slips past your lips.

“dae…will i feel beautiful again?”

dae-ho’s response is immediate.

he pulls you close, pressing kiss after kiss to your forehead, your cheeks, your lips.

“you are beautiful now,” he murmurs against your skin. 

“you’ve always been beautiful. you gave us the most perfect babies. and i promise, baby, you’ll feel normal again. until then, i’ll be here. every step of the way.”

and in his arms, in his warmth, you believe him.

you will be okay, even if postpartum depression keeps trying to consume you.

masterlist

[filmbyjy]

can i req bf niki and fem reader and they go on a vacation to jp + meet niki's parents?? btw luv ur works <3

a/n: to whoever that requested this. i am so sorry this took a whole year to even get around to writing this😭 also my photoshopping skills on this banner🤌🏻 but anyways, this isn’t entirely a holiday with ni-ki as i am basing it off what happened when ni-ki went back to his hometown to perform. this is just assuming what happened, obviously fictional so it isn’t real. just imagine people!

BACK HOME

pairing: nishimura riki x fem!reader

genre: fluff; idol!ni-ki + relationship au

warnings: nope

word count: 2.4K words

it’s been years since ni-ki got to come back home to japan. years without his parents, his family. he had to grow up quick at 14. flying in a plane to an unknown territory. just to train for a 8 months and join a survival show. ni-ki was terrified, confused and quite honestly homesick. yet, after actually winning a spot and debuting. nothing could prepare himself to confess to you.

you had met ni-ki at a small secluded ice cream shop. it was a normal ice cream parlour, there were a few people that came and go. nothing could fully prepare you to come face to face with a masked man.

“hi, what flavour would you like? oh and would you like a single scoop or double?” you say the usual line. ni-ki looks up at you to order, in his head, his jaw drops cartoonishly. you were beautiful. he clears his throat, he probably had been standing there for quite a bit.

“can i get two single scoops? one mint choco and the other being cookies and cream.” he says.

“okay. one second.” you had scooped up the ice cream and placed it into the respective cups. “any toppings?”

“oh umm, maybe some…” his eyes scanned the toppings. which he couldn’t really focus on since your gaze was flustering him a lot. “sprinkles?” he says with a slight confusion in his voice.

you giggled a little, “sprinkles it is. on both ice cream?”

“yeah.” you had topped the ice cream with sprinkles and went to type in the order into the register.

“total will be $3.”

“oh? for two?”

“yeah. our prices are the lowest of the lowest here.” you say.

“woah. i should come back here all the time.” he says. he catches himself and he felt his face heat up. “sorry.”

“don’t be. it would be great if you could come back here everyday. maybe even bring your friends?”

“I think I could do that.” ni-ki smiles behind the mask.

and so he did. he came over to see you everyday and even bought ice cream every single time. was he getting sick and tired of ice cream? yes, but he would be able to see you everyday.

"so how was practice? is it fun?" you asked him curiously. he shook his head.

"just tiring. sometimes it's fun but since comeback is around the corner. practice has just been something I wished never came."

you had frowned at his words, "that doesn’t sound too fun. being an idol doesn’t seem as fun as i thought it would be.” ni-ki chuckles.

“it’s fun at times but you definitely need to have a lot of discipline to really become one. discipline and patience.” you hummed at his words.

“well, i don’t think i could become an idol. the girls? urgh too pretty. kinda jealous of them but i’m mainly just in awe by them.”

“you’re pretty too.” ni-ki says. you felt flustered.

“oh, thank you. i’m not all that pretty. you’ve probably come across a prettier girl than me.”

ni-ki does that unthinkable and he softly reaches your hands. “you’re pretty. really pretty. prettier than any of the girls i’ve seen.” your heart races at his words. in some way, you knew this was a confession since you knew that ni-ki was being obvious about having a crush on you. he didn’t bother hiding it because he didn’t find a reason to. besides, nobody besides you knew it was him. this was his little secret.

“is this your way of confessing to me?” you teased him. he laughs.

“and if it is, will you say yes?”

you smiled, “of course.” he squeezes your hand lightly.

“then from today onwards, you’re my girl.” he declares. you laughed.

“yours.”

a year passes by quickly. ni-ki had a concert in okayama. his hometown. there was a small period of break after their concert so ni-ki decided to invite to travel with them. he helps you place your luggage into the compartment above. you smiled. jake nudges ni-ki’s waist to tease him.

“ayyy, who knew our maknae can be so gentleman like.” jake smirks.

“at least i have a girlfriend.” ni-ki argues back. he pulls you closer to him and pecked the side of your head proudly. it was almost funny when jake's smile fell quickly and he looked like a sad puppy.

with that, ni-ki pulls you to your assigned seat (which was next to him). he kisses your knuckles and makes sure you were alright throughout the entire flight. since you’ve never really flown on a plane before, you were terrified but ni-ki assures you constantly. the both of you shared an earpiece and watched movies throughout the flight. when he looks around, all the boys were asleep so he takes his chance to peck your forehead. you stared right at him and he leans to peck your lips. before you could utter a word, ni-ki pulls you into a sweet kiss. one that showcased how much he loved you and you can’t help but feel your heart race quickly.

there was a short bright flash and so you and ni-ki pulled away. ni-ki turns back to see jungwon and sunghoon with their phones out taking a picture of you and ni-ki kissing.

“whoops.” jungwon says. “you two were too cute. we had to take a picture.”

“send me the picture later on.” ni-ki says. jungwon salutes and settles back at his seat continuing to watch the show he had accidentally dozed off on.

[1 hour passes by]

finally, everyone arrived at okayama. everyone goes to grab their bags from the compartment above once the plane lands and parks. you had to unfortunately be separated from the boys for a bit as your they were going get pictures taken by the paparazzis. one of their managers followed you and brought you towards another gate. there was a small group of people holding up a sign in japanese. it had ni-ki’s face plastered on it. you recognised ni-ki’s siblings and so you assumed that was his mom and dad next to them. they were waiting excitedly for ni-ki or were they waiting for you.

the manager approaches them and explains to them in japanese before turning to look at you. “this is ni-ki’s family, they will be accommodating you for the whole time we are here as you know it can be risky if you stayed with the boys.”

you nod. “thank you, manager jin. you don’t have to worry about me conversing with them. i learnt japanese for quite a while now so i think i can do well with chatting with them.”

“alright, i’ll leave you guys. i have to get back to the boys.” the manager leaves quickly. you turned to the ni-ki’s family and bowed.

“umm, hi. i am (name), ni-ki’s girlfriend.” you told them in japanese. ni-ki’s younger sister runs up to you and hugs you.

“you’re so pretty! ni ni really picked a good girl!” you blushed at his younger sister’s words. his older sister comes up to you and pats your back.

“let’s bring you back to our home so you can rest. taking a flight can be draining.” she says. ni-ki’s mom smiles.

“oh yes, dear. we should get back. you need to rest and also eat! let me make some food for you when get back home.”

once you had arrived at the nishimura household, ni-ki decides to facetime you. his face pops up on your screen.

“hi pretty.” ni-ki smiles.

you giddily smiled at him. “hi.”

“I wish you were here with me. kinda sucks we have to be separated.” he huffs and whines a little. you almost giggle at his cute act. surely, his fans would want to see more of this of him. alas, you could only witness this side of him and even bring it out.

“well, I’m not unfamiliar. I’m in your childhood home. which by the way, your mom has tons of albums of ENHYPEN here. your bedroom feels like a relic, it should be kept in a museum.”

“oh, my mom let you stay in my bedroom?” he tilts his head. you nod.

“yeah. oh and bisco is here too! i think your mom mentioned that he runs in here time to time because he misses you.”

“I’m going to cry that’s so cute.” ni-ki lays his head down on the pillow. “I’m so tired.”

“get some much needed rest, you have a concert tomorrow.” he hums at your words.

“I should visit home after the concert and eat there.”

“i think your mom is hoping for that. oh, maybe the boys can come over too?”

“I don’t think there would be enough space in my parents’ home, baby.” ni-ki chuckles a little.

"well, i'm just saying. i'm sure your parents would like to thank the people for taking care of their baby boy." ni-ki snorts.

"alright, i can't argue with you on that. oh, has bisco warmed up to you yet?" he asks. you panned the camera down to bisco wagging his tail and laying right next to you. ni-ki smiles widely.

"my girls."

"bisco is a boy."

"eh? but- right, boy." he clears his throat. "been a while since i've seen him. i think i forgot his gender."

"it's your family dog."

"it's not exactly my dog. it's my parents." ni-ki explains. you laughed.

"okay okay. it's seriously late and you need to sleep your jet lag off. go eat dinner then sleep."

"yes, ma'am." he salutes at you. you playfully rolled your eyes at him. he blows a kiss to the camera and you do the same before ending the facetime.

a knock at ni-ki's childhood bedroom makes you yelp, you looked up at who knocked on the door and it was konon. she smiles and points to the kitchen.

"my mom made some dinner for you before we left. she just heat it up, you should eat up and then go to sleep."

"oh, thank you." you say and konon leaves. you had gone to eat outside, bisco quietly follows you around as you had settled on the couch to eat. he lays his head comfortably on your lap. which was a little surprising considering you weren't someone bisco was familiar with.

after finishing up with dinner, you had cleaned up the plate and gone to sleep. once again, bisco had followed you into ni-ki's childhood room.

the next day, you and ni-ki's family were going over to the stadium. you'd think that you were just going to simply watch the concert but no. right before the concert, just hours before, you were brought backstage. ni-ki hugs you tightly.

"hi baby." he whispers in your ears. you smiled and wrapped your arms around his shoulder.

"hi." you replied. there was a furball following you around. stopping right at your ankles. "oh, bisco." you had picked him up. he doesn't exactly remember ni-ki since after all it's been years and ni-ki was different now then how he was back then at 14.

bisco looks up at ni-ki then looks away. ni-ki pouts and lets bisco smell his hand. maybe he would remember in a way. unfortunately, not at all. "maybe give him some time?" you say. ni-ki sighs.

"yeah, i know. this little furball is such a shit head. love him though." he ruffles the tiny dog before going over to his parents and hugging the both of them.

as time passes, the boys had to start their concert and so you and ni-ki's family had moved over to the designated seats that you guys were generously given. everyone around you (the engenes) were excitedly and patiently waiting for the concert to start. the lights dimmed and the concert starts.

there was a 7 clear silhouettes seen in the dark and everyone starts yelling. the song starts playing and that is truly when the chaos ensues. you were a little shocked by the yelling and screaming since you've never exactly seen this happen all the time. as time passes by, the boys were starting to wind down. they were talking about how fun they had.

"engenes!! thank you for enjoying today's concert. we will be sure to back next year for another concert here in okayama." jungwon says.

ni-ki picks up his mic, "engenes, i'm really thankful for every one of you for making my dream come true. i get to perform in my hometown and in front of my parents. there is something i have to confess though."

the stadium gets a little silent as ni-ki prepares what to say. "this may be controversial to say as an idol in a boy group. many of you might hate me. that is fine. you can't hate on enhypen. i-" he takes a deep breath in. "i have someone that i truly love. she's here and she's watching me perform in front of everyone that i love and care about. it would be great if you could also show her some love. she deserves the world. she managed to bring out the stronger version of myself today."

everyone was cheering. the boys weren't expecting for ni-ki to have revealed his relationship but they were still proud of him. he stood up for himself. they also knew this would impact the way k-pop was in a way. the culture and mindset behind dating.

"thank you engenes, i love you." he shyly showed a heart to the crowd.

after the concert ends, ni-ki's family and you had gone backstage again. you had ran up to ni-ki despite him still sweaty after the concert. he accepts your hug and held you tight.

"you've cause quite the stir, riki." you say as your voice was muffled due to his clothes. he laughs.

"i know but i had to let everyone know i'm madly in love with you." he says. you felt him peck the top of your head.

"what if they bullied you out of the group? you know how they are now with dating scandals." you asked him.

"don't worry, if the company doesn't do anything. i will. i'll kick whatever they send to HYBE and then throw it in the trash."

you laughed a little. "you're so adorable."

"not as adorable as you." he tilts your chin up and little and leans down to peck your lips. "i love you."

"i love you too."

taglist[perm]: @ja4hyvn @ahnneyong @milklix @kar0ki @sugarsunoo @http-gyu @simpforniki @vatterie @victoriazynui @myu3ki @jhopesucker @dimplewonie @chwlogy @ilovewonyo @xiaoderrrr @uwuheeseungie @miercerise @liikno @hxney-luga @tiktaktiki @ajayke-reads @yizhoutv @s00buwu @ilovehanni1 @starrpt2 @mystarryseas @moonliaworld @in-somnias-world @luvyev @engeneeee-168 @babyy-bambii @kimipxl @namau @gxwesn

[ruinix]

Quinn with a size kink. Out of his mind aroused fucking his girl who is a lot smaller than him.

Lovely anon, lovely.. i don't write.I mean, I do but i've never tried an RPF or drabble. Just fictional men on my secret AO3. So I don't want to disappoint but i'll try for you... It won't be good though so yes, put the bar down. I beg 🧎🏻‍♀️

How does one do this? TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Size Kink (as requested...slightly if you squint), Mild choking, Unprotected sex (please use protection)

Count: 726 words

You are so small. Quinn fucking loves that. It's not your height. No. It's everything else.

It's your hands that seek his every time you two go out. The same ones that run down his back, his nape, his hair. Your trimmed nails--or your acrylics--that scratches his scalp. You are always so gentle in touching him that he would always fall asleep on you, beside you, or underneath you. So small as you dig them into his skin as he fucks you long and deep.

It's your feet on his palms when he helps you wear your heels. Your ankles are so easily dwarfed by his hands when he fastens the anklets--with both of your initials engraved on the little silver hearts--he gifted you for your birthday. So tiny as he kisses them when he puts them over his shoulder, his cock filling every inch of your wet cunt.

It's your soft and supple lips giving him featherlight kisses. On his cheek, his jaw, his nose, his eyelids, his eyebrows, then his lips. It always ends with his lips. Your kisses are soft and warm and oh, so careful. Until he shoves his tongue pass your lips, swallowing your needy gasps and whines.

It's your neck that was a blank canvas before him. You've never liked necklaces until he gifted you one after another. Every time you give him a hug, he would smell your choice of perfume for the day--vanilla, rose, lavender, jasmine, blackberry, caramel, or whatever the fuck, you simply smells beautiful. So pretty and delicate with his hand wrapped around it, feeling your pulse the vibrations of your soft moans, controlling your breaths, your oxygen, your life. Your hand grips his wrist, the silvery glint of your matching bracelets only made him squeeze. So fucking small.

It's your thick thighs that you always moisturize with lotion. He's reaping the benefits of touching them when you let him. Of looking at them when you wear your little panties around the apartment. Of seeing them be covered with jeans or sweatpants or pajamas. Of seeing them spread wide, trembling and quivering as his cock disappears into your pussy between them. Of seeing them so wet with your mess, so red from his slaps, his grip, his thrusts.

It's your soft voice. One time you said you had a strange voice, but it's never strange. You sound so beautiful. He can listen to you ramble about your day, your problems, your interests without getting sick of your voice. Your voice is music, melodic, tantalizingly exquisite. So high and whiney as he slows down to keep your orgasm at bay. So hypnotic that he almost let you cum right then and there.

It's your eyes that are always so understanding and patient even when he came home frustrated from a game loss. Your eyes that will smile and crinkle at the sides, already knowing his excitement when he's keeping it at bay. You see his soul. He sees yours. He sees when your happy or sad or angry or upset or zoned out. So devastatingly beautiful as your eyes burn when he's not moving as you would like. So breathtaking when your pupils dilate when he started fucking you harder.

You're so fucking small yet you take him so well.

Your pussy that felt like it's custom-made for him. Always so wet. Always so eager for his taking. Your pussy tightens, quivering around his cock. The sounds of your groans and his, of his cock sinking into your pussy, are getting to his head.

Small. So fucking small that he wants to consume all of you. Your pussy. Your face. Your body. Your gentle and soft and warm soul. How can perfection fits so well in your small body?

He wants all of you that it fucking aches that this would have to stop. So he prolongs it. He fucks you slower when he can feel you almost cumming again and again and again. He kisses you, hungry for your taste, hungry for your whines.

He's so close, but not yet. Not fucking yet because he has to fuck you until you couldn't live on without him. Until you go as feral that you would finally shout at him. His little ball of fire. He wants you to fucking crave him as much as he already does.

[miniwheat77]

Secret Weapon. (Ghost x Reader.)

!nsfw, smut, unprotected p in v sex, violence, war, blood, NO MINORS! This was a request that’s been sitting in my inbox a while :)

This is not edited.

“Captain.. what the fuck do we do?” Gaz pants out. His back is pressed firmly against the wall.

John thinks for a moment. What does he do?

Nikolai is unavailable. But he’s got an idea.

He lifts up his radio, turning it to a channel he hasn’t been on in years.

“Viper 1-1 page back.” He calls into the radio.

“Viper 1-1, copy.”

“We’re trapped on a rooftop.” Captain Price recites your coordinates. He had heard in passing that the pilot was nearby on another mission.

“Thirty-five out, we’re on the way.”

He sighs.

“Thank god.” He mumbles. The four are stuck on the rooftop. No where to go and hardly any ammo.

“We’re?” Gaz asks. They remember who the pilot is.

They fight all they can, all hope is about to be lost when the loud rumble of the helicopter comes.

The buzzing sound makes them perk up, seeing the flashback from the gun inside. They can’t see the person holding it.

Captain Price watches with a smile. The helicopter stays airborne until there is no one moving on the ground. They watch it land a couple hundred feet away, seeing two people get out of it. Clearing buildings as they make their way to the four.

The door finally opens, the four standing up. They’d been using the brick walls as cover.

You’re the first to step into their view, but you’ve got a ski mask on.

You grasp the hem of it, pulling it over your head.

You smile.

“Long time no see, Captain.” You nod.

“Shit. I could tell by how good the shots were that it was you.” He laughs. Pulling you in for a hug, hugging the pilot next.

The others watch, stunned.

“Oh uh… boys. This is Y/N.” He nods.

“My secret weapon.”

They take the time to shake your hand, introducing themselves to you.

But Ghost is completely taken off guard by you.

The way your hair falls after you take the mask, the fact that he didn’t expect to see a girl, let alone one was pretty as you.

What the hell?

You’d just saved his life. He was all out of ammo holed up in one building, if you hadn’t come? He wouldn’t even be alive to tell the tale.

It was the start of something Ghost never saw coming. Not in a million years.

———

It took a lot of convincing for you to join the task force.

Since you had made friends with the men, they bothered you to no limit to join. They liked you. You were skilled. They wanted you around all of the time.

When you eventually joined, Ghost spiraled completely out of control.

He avoided you like the plague because he knew what was coming and he was scared. He started drinking more, hiding in his room more. Socializing less and everyone noticed.

But only Johnny had caught on as to why.

He was falling in love with you, and he knew it.

He was falling and he was falling hard and he knew the only end to that free fall is the hard concrete when he lands. Ghost didn’t love. He didn’t because there was only heartbreak and hurt.

The first time it happened, he didn’t mean to.

You were doing your laundry, passing by his room with a basket when they fell out. He waited a while for you to come back for them but you never did so he swiped them.

A pair of panties.

Ghost was in too deep and he knew it.

Fisting his cock to the thought of you, face buried in your panties. He hated himself for what he’d become and he hated you for what you’d done to him. You’d made him a fool and he’d only spoken to you in passing.

He didn’t know what to do, so he did the only thing he could think of.

Kill.

On missions he was ruthless.

He didn’t know anything other than violence and pain. So he pushed himself to no limit. Working hard, staying up late. Taking extra watch and beating himself up mentally day and night about how weak he’d become all because of a woman.

He spent hours and hours training and working out. He’d lost count the days he’d spent in the shooting range and his death toll jumped by hundreds and grew more and more with each mission he went out on. Ghost was smart and skilled. He understood everything but the only thing he couldn’t figure out was you.

Finally, Johnny cornered him.

Ghost was walking to his room, Johnny was hot on his tail, asking how he was doing.

“Fine Johnny. Leave it be.” He mumbles, he goes to close his door but Soap doesn’t let him have it. Catching it with his boot and walking in, closing the door behind himself. “There’s something wrong with you, you’ve got the entire bloody task force worried sick about ya so you better start talkin.” He growls.

Ghost raises his eyebrows. Johnny had never spoken to him like that before.

“‘Scuse me?”

“You heard what I said, Ghost.”

He crosses his arms and Soap doesn’t let feel intimidated by him, of course he does. But Ghost is his friend. He cares about him.

“Full offense Johnny, piss off. We’re not teenage girls and I don’t intend on sharing my feelings with you so I think you should leave.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll set up camp until you’re ready to talk about it.” He stands his ground. Ghost sighs. “I don’t know how to talk about it Johnny. I don’t even know what’s wrong myself.”

“That’s a start, LT. The hell has gotten into you? You’re like a machine. Wake up, eat, kill, sleep.”

Ghost sighs.

“That girl.”

Realization hits Soap like a ton of bricks.

“I just..” he sighs. Sitting down on his bed. “I don’t know.”

“You have feelings for her?” Soap asks.

“I’d say I have more than just feelings for her, Johnny.” Ghost wipes his face through his mask. “Shit LT.”

“No kidding.”

“Well you won’t get the girl by being so reclusive sir.”

“My plan isn’t to get the girl Johnny, life is painful enough as is!” He groans.

“Yeah, well life is too short to worry about what hurts and let what you’ll enjoy pass you. So get out there and try. Christ in heaven you’re a brick wall.” He groans.

Ghost sighs. Johnny is right.

“Whatever Johnny, I have a lot to think about so.. kindly. Go to bed.”

“Fine. But we’re not done about this and you know it.” Soap rolls his eyes, leaving through the door. He can’t believe it. Ghost was in love with you.

———

“Ghost page back.” Captain mumbles into the radio.

“Copy.”

“Soap is feeling ill. You mind taking over his 0100 patrol?”

“Not at all sir.”

Ghost finishes up what he’s doing and prepares for the patrol.

Since they’re out of the states and in enemy territory they have patrol often.

“Great, you’ll be with Y/N.”

Ghost freezes in his spot.

“Johnny page back.”

“Copy.”

“I see you in person, you’re a dead man MacTavish.”

“Already in for the night sir, door’s locked. See you tomorrow.”

Ghost can’t see it but the scot snickers to himself inside his room. Feeling very well actually.

Ghost meets up with you just before your patrol together and wants to crawl into a hole and die. You were so beautiful and there was nothing he could do about it.

It’s quiet for a while. The two of you walking alongside each other. It’s pitch dark out. The only lights come from the base. “So. How long you know Price for?” He’s trying to make small talk. Something that takes you off guard. He never seemed to be this open.

“Since I started in the military actually. He was at the convention I enlisted at.” You smile. “Really? I forget how old the man is.” He laughs. “I totally did not think you were this outgoing, Ghost.” You laugh. “What do you mean?”

“You just do not seem the type for small talk.” You smile.

He chuckles. “Nah, the mask makes me unapproachable but that not intentional.”

“Than why do you wear it?”

“To hide my identity. I’ve killed a lot of people and don’t want retaliation.”

“Don’t they just know to go after the guy in the skull mask though?” You side eye him. “Yeah, but when I wear it I want to be found.”

“Good point.” You smile.

“Stop.” He throws a hand up in front of you suddenly. “Woah-“ you mumble. He looks around, every alarm in his body is going off.

“What is it?” You ask. “Something doesn’t feel right.” He mumbles. He draws out his flashlight, shining at the ground. He doesn’t see anything, not for the first few feet at least. After that is when he notices indents in the sand. Footprints.

He follows them straight up to the barbed wire fence around the base.

“Price page back.”

He waits a minute.

“Captain Price page back.”

“Copy, what is it?”

“Footprints leading up to the Southwest fence. We’ll follow them and make sure it’s not a threat but we haven’t covered the north yet.” He says it into his radio and waits.

“Garrick and I will cover it, just be safe. Page back every ten until you know it’s clear.”

“Yes sir.”

Ghost tilts his head, letting you know to follow him.

You do just that.

It takes a couple miles of walking before you spot a building in the distance, thank god for night vision.

Ghost posts up and watches for a while, not seeing any movement. The two of you approach, you go slow. You never do see any movement, the building is severely run down, the roof is in bad shape and it’s dirty. “Do you think they’re human footprints?” You ask.

He shrugs. “Hard to say with the sand. Could be an animal of some kind. Could explain the staggering of them.” He explains.

You nod your head. “Looks like everything is clear Captain, we’re going to look around a bit and than head back.”

“Got it, we’re heading for bed. Page if you need anything else Simon.”

You step inside the run down building, it was once someone’s house. Out in the middle of nowhere.

Odd.

The rooms inside seem intact, aside from being dusty, frozen in time. Plants have taken over and some of the dishes that remain are broken but the bedrooms are still completely normal. The beds are made.

You walk inside and sit down on a bed, groaning. “I don’t wanna walk back yet.” You whine. “Take a break.” He laughs. “Okay.”

He chuckles. That didn’t take much convincing.

“Can I show you something?” He asks. “Sure, what is it?”

He moves to sit next to you, grasping his mask. Your eyes widen when he pulls it straight off. “You’re showing me this why? Explain yourself?” You laugh,

“No that’s not what I wanted to show you, this is.”

He grasps your chin and goes for it.

All the money in the pot. A gamble of a lifetime.

He plants his lips straight on yours and his blood rushes through him, his heart pounding so loud it’s all he hears. He expects you to pull back. To be disgusted with him.

But you don’t. You meet him in the middle and kiss him back even harder.

He pushes you back on the dusty bed raising himself up over you, one leg resting between yours. His thigh is flush with your clothed opening. He doesn’t stop kissing you, he takes even further.

When you feel his tongue on yours, you finally pull away with a gasp.

“Ghost-“ you pant.

“Simon. Call me Simon.” He breathes. “W-why are you doing this?” You hiss as he pushes his thigh further into you. “Because I’ve waited long enough to get my fucking hands on you. I can’t take it anymore.” He groans. You hadn’t expected him to be so forward, you also didn’t expect how handsome he’d be without a mask on. How overly willing he was to expose himself to you shows you that he trust you, and obviously had more feelings for you than he let on. Ghost didn’t just act out of lust, Johnny told you that.

Now you realize why you’d had that conversation earlier in the day. Fucking scot.

He gets your vest unzipped and grasps hold of your shirt, ripping it straight down the middle. He hears you gasp. “Simon!”

“Quiet, I’ll replace it with twenty more.” He breathes.

The click of his pocket knife makes you freeze. But he’s skilled with it, moving quickly, slicing the small slit of fabric holding your bra together. He shoves the fabric off of you and cups your breasts with his hands, leaning down to take one of your nipples into his mouth while he toys with the other. Pinching it between his fingers and tugging on it. You whine out, raising your hips and rutting yourself into his thigh. Ghost is the person you talked to the very least, yet here you are. On display for him.

“God you’re a fucking minx.” He hisses. He sits up and watches you roll your hips into his thigh. Desperate for him to touch you. You realize something.

“You’re the one who’s been stealing my panties, aren’t you?” You smirk.

He visibly blushes.

“You’re a cheeky thing! I can’t believe it’s been you!” You gasp. “Shut up.” He hisses. He doesn’t like to be embarrassed, you’re lucky it’s you or he would’ve told you to get fucked by now. “Fuck, how many have you gotten away with?”

He shrugs. “Lot more than you’d expect.”

“You’re such a fucking pervert.” You laugh.

“Yeah, you’d think even worse of me if you knew what I did with them.” He growls. He shoves his face into the crook of your neck, attacking your skin with his teeth and lips. Pushing his hand down the front of your waistband. He glides his fingers over your pussy, hearing you whine.

“Now I want to know. What you did with them.”

He chuckles, it’s dark.

“The smell of you is intoxicating, darling.”

You moan out. “Fuck I shouldn’t think that’s hot but I do.” You mewl. Lips parted as he sucks at your throat. Your jugular vein is pulsing and he can’t feel it with his tongue. He rests his hand over your head. “Been waiting weeks for a taste of you, doll. Now we’re here.” He groans, kissing roughly down your center. He’s rough as he tugs your pants down your legs, barely taking the time to unbutton them. You thought maybe he’d cut those off too, not that you’d mind anyways.

He kisses further down, hearing your breathing pick up even more as he presses lower. He doesn’t start slow like you thought he would. Starting by sucking directly on your clit, making you flinch.

You hiss, jumping away from him. You hear him chuckle as he starts his assault on it.

“Poor thing, so sensitive.” He smirks.

“Shut up before I ride your face, Riley.” You hiss, pushing a hand in his hair.

“Oh no?” He smirks. You roll your eyes.

He lowers his head back down, gliding his tongue up your slit.

Like a predator toying with its prey.

Just before he devours you whole.

He doesn’t relent, no matter how much you cry or squirm. He holds you down by your thighs. He presses his tongue into your opening, rubbing your clit with his nose like a dog. He’s filthy.

You didn’t think Ghost was the type to be so dirty. When he’s got you right on the edge, crying out in pure bliss. You’re about to beg him not to stop but he draws back anyways. His lips are wet in your arousal. His cheeks are flushed pink, pupils blown wide with lust.

He sits up, grasping his shirt and forcing it over his head, going for his cargo pants next.

You’re watching him in a daze. Drunk off his lips and how he’s made you feel.

“I was normal until you came along, hm. Didn’t think I could feel what I feel until you saved our asses on that rooftop. I thought I’d be okay until you pulled that damned ski mask off and showed your fuckin’ face and now I don’t think I’ll be okay again. You’ll pay for it darling.”

He moves himself over the top of you, thrusting himself straight inside you to the hilt, you’re crying out.

“You’ll pay for it by letting me have this pussy whenever I want it.” He growls.

He’s relentless. Doesn’t matter how much you fall apart or how much you cry. He doesn’t let up. He’s rough, his pace is bruising. You can’t get out a single word as he works his hips into yours, using his thumb to rub circles on your swollen clit.

You’re impossibly wet around him, clutching at the old sheets so hard your knuckles go white. He laughs. He snaps his hips into yours, feeling how wet you are around him. Moaning and whining, writhing from the pleasure he’s giving you. You’ve never felt something so intense before. Not in your life.

He forces you to roll over, gasping out at the loss of him but he doesn’t give you long. Once you’re on your stomach, he’s raising you up by your hips and thrusting back into you. Pushing your face roughly into the mattress and holding your hands behind your back.

“Fuckin hell Simon!” You cry.

You feel good of course, but you need him to relent. Just for a minute at least.

“So much-“ you cry. “You’re mine. Say it.” He growls. “Maybe I’ll let up.”

“I’m yours!” You sob.

“Say it again!” He growls. He grips your hands hard.

“I’m yours Simon- fuck! I’m yours!” He buries himself inside of you to the hilt, slowing his speed but not his force. He pulls you up by your arms, still holding them behind you. Your eyes widen when you realize there’s a mirror above the bed. It’s broken and dusty but that doesn’t mean you can’t see yourselves in it.

He wraps his hands around your waist, still fucking into you but he’s being gentler now. Slow.

“Say it again.” His voice is a low growl. You almost miss it.

“I’m yours.” You whine. Raising your hand to touch his cheek.

“Again.” He growls even louder. Pushing into your belly. “I- I’m yours Simon. All fucking yours.” You’re nearly chanting it.

You sob, tears spilling over your eyelids.

“Now fucking scream it.” He grits his teeth, thrusting straight up into that spongy spot deep inside of you, sending you straight into your orgasm and you nearly do just that. You’re loud when you cum, barely getting out the words “I’m yours!” As you cry and sob, lurching forward and shaking through your orgasm. He fucks you through it, clutching onto you for dear life as he moans out, reaching his own high. He thrusts as deep as he’ll go before he cums. It’s a decision he may regret but right now, he doesn’t care.

You’re whimpering as he slides out of you. Taking in oxygen like it’s limited.

He helps you until you’re lying on your back again. Soothing you. He massages your skin, bringing you back down to earth.

Simon knew better than to be so rough but he lost himself.

“Shhh.. s’okay baby. I’ve got you.” He breathes. You close your eyes, steadying your breaths.

Simon was a lot of man, he knew he was.

He draws his fingertips over your chest and arms, your eyes follow them as he lets you relax.

“You alright?” He asks.

“Yeah.” You mumble. “I wasn’t too much was I?” He smiles.

“No- not at all. Though you came on VERY strong.” You smirk.

He laughs. “That’s the only way, baby.”

He sits up. “Now come on, we’ve got to head back before they realize we’re missing.”

“Yes sir.”