#it's my favorite between the white and brown papers

[ariestrxsh]

shy!sub!chris x babysitter!reader

˚₊ · »-♡→ content warning: smut, mommy kink, age gap (Chris is 22 & reader is 28), innocence corruption, virginity loss, size kink, oral (m & f!receiving)

˚₊ · »-♡→ summary: chris runs into his old childhood babysitter, and their innocent reunion takes a turn when the two can't deny the sexual tension between them.

If the age gap or the fact that the reader used to babysit Chris bothers you, then don't read this fic ! The ones that get it, get it, and the ones that don't, dont.

Part 1 | Part 2 (final part)

Baby Sitter (part two)

"I have your shirt, Chris. See? Can't even tell it had coffee on it," you remarked, handing over his white tee as you stood on his doorstep.

"Wow, that's amazing," Chris gasped, holding it up and searching for the remnants of the mocha he'd spilled down the front of it, but there was no evidence of it having happened at all. "Thanks!" Chris replied, tossing the shirt over his shoulder.

"Dishsoap and white vinegar," you casually mentioned. "Good to know," Chris responded, leaning up against the door frame. "Whatcha got there?" He motioned towards the brown, paper bag you had clutched in your arm.

"I got you a couple of apartment warming gifts!" You announced, pulling out a fancy bottle of avocado oil from it. He gave you an inquisitive look as you passed it off. "You cook with it," you giggled, sensing his confusion.

"Right," Chris replied, pointing the bottle at you as if you said the words that were sitting at the tip of his tongue. "Thank you!" He added. "That's not all," you relayed, grabbing another fancy bottle from your shopping bag.

"Oh, I know what to do with this one," he chuckled, taking the rosé from you. "Yeah, I got you a big bottle. So you could share it with someone if you wanted," you suggested, nibbling on your bottom lip and flickering your gaze between his eyes and his mouth. He shrugged his shoulder.

"I-I don't know who I would share it with," he admitted, holding a bottle in each hand as he read the label on the avocado oil. You jokingly looked around as if you were about to volunteer a stranger from off the street, and then finally said, "I'm free. Maybe we could split it over dinner."

"Oh. Cool. Yeah. I don't have anything to eat here, though," he continued staring at the label, still completely oblivious to the fact that you were hoping he'd invite you into his apartment.

"Don't worry, Chris. I remember my first apartment. You're probably mostly living off of ramen and takeout. I figured you might like a home-cooked meal," you replied, gesturing towards your paper bag.

"Oh, that's nice of you," he said, staring at you like a deer in the headlights. "So. Can I come in, baby?" You finally asked, cocking your head to the side and batting your lashes in his direction.

"Yes. Please. Of course," he eagerly nodded, finally stepping to the side to let you in. He silently kicked himself as he slowly realized that's what you'd been alluding to with your body language the whole time you'd been standing on his door step.

You didn't mind, though. You found his social awkwardness endearing.

You entered his apartment, placing the bag on his marble countertop. "Hey, you cleaned. It looks really nice in here," you observed, smiling in his direction as you started to take off your fur coat.

"Thanks for noticing," Chris nervously replied, his eyes dropping to the low neck line of your powder blue top and the short hem of your tight, black skirt.

"Is spaghetti still your favorite, baby?" You asked him, slinging your coat over the back of a chair and pulling out the contents of the brown paper bag.

"It is. I haven't had homemade spaghetti in such a long time," Chris responded, unable to conceal his excitement, a smile spreading across his lips.

You rummaged through his cabinets, retrieving a pot, filling it with water, and bringing it to a boil on the stove. "Would you grab us some glasses for the wine?" You requested from the blue-eyed boy.

"Will red solo cups work?" Chris asked, opening his cabinet. You laughed. "Look in the bag. I came prepared," you responded, uncorking the wine. He reached into the bag, revealing two neatly wrapped glasses.

"You thought of everything, didn't you?" He asked, placing them delicately on the counter side-by-side. "The only thing I forgot is a condom. But I don't mind if you don't mind," you leaned in, softly purring into his ear. Chris nearly fell to his knees at your words.

"I-I don't mind," he stammered, wiping his sweaty hands off on the front of his sweatpants. You smirked, pouring a big glass for each of you.

"You ever had rosé before?" You inquired, corking the bottle back up. "No, I've never had wine before," he admitted, swirling the pink liquid around in the clear glass. You held your glass up, and he followed your lead.

"To all the firsts you're going to experience tonight," you seductively said as your glass softly clinked against his. He swallowed hard, his palms beginning to sweat again. You took a swig of your wine while you held your gaze on Chris, waiting for his reaction.

He hesitantly took a drink, but he was pleasantly surprised when he did. "It's sweet," he commented, nodding his head in approval.

"You like it?" You asked. "I do, actually," he told you before taking another sip. "You shaved," you observed, running the back of your hand over his soft face.

"I did. You noticed," he quietly replied, reaching up and touching his flushed cheek as a smile spread across his lips. He loved how attentive you were, pointing out all the things that most people missed.

"You know, I've missed you these past few days. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you," you admitted, taking his glass and setting it down on the counter next to yours. You placed your hand on his chest and leaned in to kiss his neck.

He bit back a moan, gently rolling his hips forward and pressing his erection against your hip. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you either," he returned the sentiment, his shakey hand wandering to the small of your back.

You bit down and gently sucked on his soft flesh right above his collarbone as he melted into you. "You know, I brought dessert, too," you told him, your voice taking on a suggestive tone.

"What did you bring?" He eagerly asked, trying to glimpse into your bag as you kissed his neck. "It's not in there, silly boy," you teased him, lightly tapping the tip of his nose with your finger. "Where is it?" He smirked at you.

"It's right.." you started to say, gently grabbing his wrist. "Here," you cooed, putting his hand up your skirt. You rested his palm on your heat, his fingers grazing your clit as his breath caught in his throat.

"You're not wearing any panties," he observed in a low whisper as he looked into your eyes, feeling the warmth radiating off of you. "Oops. I guess I forgot them," you smugly responded, your lips curling into a devious smile.

He started slowly running his middle finger up and down your slit. "It's getting so wet," he whimpered, his breath growing shallow.

"Are you excited to eat it?" You purred, running your manicured fingernails along his jawline. He nodded and dropped to his knees in front of you, leaning in to taste you, but you stopped him.

"No, baby. Not yet. You're gonna spoil your dinner," you taunted him, running your thumb softly along his jawline. "But I wanna eat my dessert now, mommy" he pleaded with you, staring up your skirt. You shook your head.

"Just one little taste.." he whispered, rubbing your clit in small circles. "Christopher Owen," you scolded him, lightly swatting him in the face and gently tightening your grip on his jaw. "Be a good boy and listen to mommy."

His desperate, blue eyes gazed back at yours, and he slowly nodded as he stood back up. He was completely under your spell.

He wiped some sweat from his brow with the back of his trembling hand and picked up his glass of wine, lifting it to his lips and taking a sip to distract himself. He felt the buzz coming on, but he couldn't tell if it was the alcohol or if it was all the blood rushing to his dick that was leaving him feeling lightheaded.

"You wanna know the trick to keeping your noodles from sticking together?" You asked him as you turned your attention back to the now boiling pot. He could barely focus on what you were saying over how hard you made him, so he just weakly nodded in response.

"Add salt to the water right before you put the pasta in," you replied, gathering all your seasonings. You added a few shakes of salt into the rumbling, hot water, and then you emptied the box of angel hair noodles into it.

"Then we wanna keep stirring it around every couple of minutes until it's soft enough to eat," you taught him, taking your wooden spoon and agitating the pot. All he could think about was how you weren't wearing any underwear beneath your short skirt.

"Here. Take this. You keep stirring while I prepare the meat," you directed him, your fingertips lightly brushing against his as you passed off the utensil to him. He felt a current of energy passing through his body as you grazed him, and you felt it, too.

He did as you said, stirring the pasta as you splashed a bit of avocado oil into the hot pan on the front left burner and started to brown the ground beef. You shook some salt, pepper, garlic powder, onion powder, and Italian seasoning into the meat and started cooking it.

His blue eyes fell to your figure as he wet his lips. He was almost certain you were going to try to sleep with him tonight, and while he was excited to finally lose his virginity, especially to you, he was nervous to lose it, especially to you.

His heart pounded in his ears, and thoughts raced through his mind, imagining how you'd taste, what you'd sound like, what you'd feel like.

"Did you hear me?" You asked, nudging him in the arm. "Huh?" He replied, realizing your lips had been moving the whole time, but he'd been too busy having dirty thoughts about you to register what you were saying.

You peered down at the tent in his sweats and smirked back up at him. "Whatcha thinking about?" You cooed as if you hadn't just teased him relentlessly while standing in his kitchen without any panties on.

He blushed and let out a laugh. "I'm sorry. I get hard so easily," Chris nervously apologized, nibbling on his lip and trying to hide his erection. "I don't mind," you smirked at him.

The two of you finished making food, made your plates, and sat down to eat. You teased him throughout dinner, running your foot up his leg and making flirtatious comments as you made eyes at him in the glow of the candlelight.

You poured yourself a second glass of wine and then another one. Before you knew it, you and Chris had nearly finished off the bottle, and the sexual tension between the two of you was growing.

"You don't mind if I stay the night here, do you? I've had a lot of wine," you asked him, slightly slurring your words as you twirled your noodles around your fork. "No, I don't mind at all," he replied nervously, taking the last bite of his spaghetti.

"You still get nightmares?" You wondered, taking a sip of your wine. He let out a small chuckle. "What's so funny?" You asked.

"I hate to break this to you, but I never really had an issue with nightmares, not since I was really little," he nervously confessed, fidgeting with the base of his glass.

"What? What about all those bad dreams you used to have when I babysat you?" You inquired, looking puzzled. "I was faking," he said, biting back a grin.

"Christopher," you replied sharply, glaring in his direction and slugging him in the arm. There was a bit of real anger behind your tone.

You'd spent many nights worrying about Chris and his bad dreams. So much to the point that it had cut into your own sleep on many occasions and caused issues in your relationship, which didn't matter in hindsight, considering how much an asshole your boyfriend at the time was.

Chris, on the other hand, loved how genuinely you cared for him, and the way you'd always drop everything to lull him back to sleep with your warm, inviting voice and the soft caress of your hand against his cheek.

You couldn't stay mad at him, though. In a lot of ways you found it endearing how much he wanted to be around you, but you were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that an eleven-year-old had come up with such an elaborate scheme.

"I know, I know. I just wanted you in my bed," he smirked. "Naughty boy," you rolled your eyes. "Maybe I'll pretend to have one tonight, so you'll have to come to bed with me and help me back to sleep," he lustfully responded. "Yeah? I bet I know how to tire you out," you flirted back.

His cock strained at the cotton fabric of his pants as you stared into his eyes, wetting your lips and parting your legs to give Chris another glimpse at what you had between them. He nibbled on his bottom lip, his sparkling eyes traveling to your glistening folds.

"Can I eat my dessert now, mommy?" He sweetly asked, but you slammed your legs shut and gave him a mischevious look.

Now what? He thought to himself, wondering what hoop you were going to make him jump through next before giving him what he wanted.

"I want mine first," you snickered, kneeling down in front of him and tugging at his sweats. He swallowed hard, looking down at you wide-eyed, but he listened, lifting his hips and allowing you to pull them down just enough for his cock to spring out of them.

You could sense how tense and nervous he was, literally sitting on the edge of his seat and his breath growing shallow and irregular.

"You're so hard," you observed, wrapping your fingers around his thickness and stroking it up and down. "All for me?" You cooed, watching a bit of precum gather at his tip.

"Yes, mommy," Chris said in a gravelly whisper. "All for you," he eagerly nodded, waiting in anticipation for what you were about to do next.

You leaned in, planting a kiss on his swollen head and slurping up the clear liquid from his slit. His cock twitched in response. You felt his whole body relax beneath you.

He slowly sunk back into his chair as he gave himself over to the wonderful feeling of your tongue fluttering around on all his sensitive nerve endings. "No one's ever done that to me before," he admitted in a timid voice as you wrapped your lips around his swollen tip and gently suckled on it.

"You like it, don't you?" You cooed before licking a long stripe from the base of his shaft all the way up his length and slipping him back into your mouth again.

"Mhmm," he whined, nodding as his hands found their way to your shoulders. He gently dug his fingernails into your back as you combined the two techniques, swirling your tongue around on his tip while you created a bit of suction.

He had always fantasized about getting head, but he didn't know it could feel this magical. He adored every subtle motion as you learned what he liked best.

His hand tenderly grazed the back of your head as he silently encouraged you to take more of him. You smirked, sliding down his length, feeling every vein with your tongue and swallowing him inch-by-inch until your nose was pressed up against his lower abdomen.

"Oh, yes. Just like that mommy," Chris pathetically whimpered as you hummed against the base of his cock. He slid down further into his chair, his eyes locked on the way your lips stretched around him.

You started bobbing your head up and down, eliciting a few soft gagging noises from you. The sound of you lightly choking on his dick drove Chris crazy.

He brushed a stray hair out of your face and placed both his hands on your ears as he tossed his head back and let out a strangled moan. He lifted his hips, driving his cock further into your throat. You could feel him quivering against your tongue as you slid back up his length, pulling your mouth off of him with a pop.

His lips curled into a smile as he peered back down at you. "Mommy. I was so close," he whimpered, his chest rising and falling with his labored breath.

"I know, pretty boy, but we gotta clean the kitchen before you can cum," you taunted him, climbing to your feet.

He licked his pouty lips as he let out a defeated sigh and pulled his sweats back on over his hard cock. He followed you to the kitchen, dragging his feet and silently throwing a fit about not being able to finish.

You put away the leftovers while Chris did the dishes, the whole time his cock aching at the absence of your mouth.

His erection was pinned between his stomach and the lip of the counter, and as he squeezed the excess water out of the sponge, he found himself rutting his hips forward and gently grinding against the marble finish.

You hoisted yourself up onto the countertop beside him and whispered in his ear, "Easy. You better not cum in your pants or mommy's gonna be really mad at you."

A pained whine drifted to your ears as he caught his bottom lip between his teeth and nodded. He went back to the dishes, trying to ignore his raging boner and trying to keep himself from rubbing up against the furniture like a dog in heat.

As he finished up drying off the last plate, you hiked up your skirt and flashed him your pussy again. His eyes widened, and his tongue darted out and slithered over his lips.

"Please, mommy. Can I have my dessert now?" He begged you, his voice saturated with lust and his eyebrows furrowed together in a look of desperation. "Yes, pretty boy. Come eat it," you nodded, spreading your labia open with two of your fingers.

He kneeled down in front of you, nervously leaning in to close the distance between his mouth and your cunt. You felt his warm breath first and the tickle of his smooth cheek grazing the inside of your thigh. He planted a delicate kiss on your pussy, causing you to grip his soft hair and gently tug on it.

He moaned against your sensitive bundle of nerves before gripping your legs and pulling you closer to him. Your mouth curled into a smile as he placed his hands on the insides of your thighs, pushing them as far apart as they could go. He gently nuzzled your clit before his pretty blue eyes flicked backed up at you, silently asking for your validation.

"Good boy. You're doing a perfect job. You're a natural," you praised him, running your fingers through his brown locks. That was all he needed to boost his confidence.

His kisses became more deliberate and more passionate as he drooled all over your cunt, periodically slurping up the mixture of his saliva and your wetness. You squirmed and squealed beneath him, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs while he kissed, licked, and sucked on your sensitive area.

"Mommy, you taste so sweet," he complimented you, coming up for air for a moment. He lapped away, his tongue swirling around on your delicate folds as you started to tremble beneath him. "Chris.." you hissed, your body tightening.

Your head fell back against the wooden cabinet behind you as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. He couldn't tell if he was wine drunk or pussy drunk, but a warm, fuzzy sensation overpowered him as he lost himself in you, forgetting the boundary between his mouth and your heat.

He almost couldn't believe that he was making you feel that good, but the way your body was reacting to him seemed genuine. A few loud moans fell from your lips as you shivered, finishing onto his velvet tongue.

"Wow," you whispered, panting as you tried to regain your composure. "Was that your first time eating pussy?" You asked him, still gently combing through his hair with your fingers. He peered up at you, timidly nodding.

"That was the best head I've ever gotten, Chris. Your tongue is every girl's dream," you giggled, reaching for the hem of Chris' shirt. He loved the way you showered him in compliments. "Please. Take this off, and put your big cock in me."

"Big?" He whispered, looking into your eyes. "What? Does that surprise you, baby? That you're big?" You asked him, helping him take off his shirt. He slowly nodded, pulling his dick back out of his sweats and peering down at it as he lined it up with your entrance.

"You gotta be gentle with me at first because of how big it is, okay?" You cooed, biting back a smirk. You knew you could handle it, but you knew your words were like music to his ears.

"Okay," he replied, gently tapping it against your clit before slipping the tip into your hole. It felt better than he ever could have imagined. He gingerly rocked his hips back and forth, allowing you to get used to his size as he firmly placed his hands on your hips.

His jaw fell slack, and a look of pleasure seeped into his expression. It took everything in him to go slow and gentle, trying so hard not to get carried away. A couple faint whines unfurled from your lips, and Chris immediately stopped, glancing up at you.

"Are you okay? Am I hurting you?" He sweetly asked, concerned that the noises you were making were out of pain. "No, baby. I'm making those sounds because it feels really good. Go deeper," you whispered, tenderly cradling his face.

"Yes, mommy," he whimpered, fucking you a little deeper and a little faster. He leaned in to kiss you, your lips locking with his as you pushed your tongue into his mouth. His shaky hand slid up the hem of your shirt, and he gently squeezed your breast, noting to himself that you also hadn't worn a bra.

The soft clicking sounds of your mouth filled the space between you. You could taste the rosé mixed with the flavor of your pussy on his tongue as you pulled him deeper into the kiss. He felt completely intoxicated - drunk off of the wine and drunk off of you.

Once he pulled back, his eyes wandered between your legs. He took in the lovely sight of your pussy expanding around his girth.

"Harder, baby. Fuck me harder," you ordered him, resting your hand on his chest and feeling his sped up heart rate. You heard his breath quicken as he picked up the pace.

He pushed up your pretty, blue top, exposing your tits. He was immediately enamored with them, gently pinching your nipples between his fingers and listening to the pretty sounds that left your mouth as he played with you.

"Suck on them, baby," you directed him, and he nodded, leaning in to take each one into his mouth as he squeezed each one in each hand.

"Such a good boy," you purred, petting the back of his head and massaging his scalp with your manicured nails. He whimpered against your breast, the vibration sending pleasure through your nipple and causing you to clench around his cock.

"Faster, Chris. Faster," you demanded, feeling yourself getting closer and closer. "Fuck," Chris muttered, stopping abruptly. You felt his cock pulsating inside of you. He was afraid if he moved at all, it would send him over the edge before he could finish you off.

"What's the matter, baby? Hmm? Why'd you stop?" You cooed, cradling his head and pushing his face into your breasts. "So close, mommy," he whimpered, holding his body still and using every last ounce of willpower to keep from drilling into you and letting his orgasm run its course.

"Fuck. I can't," he whined, pulling out of you and waiting for the feeling to subside. "It's okay, baby. Yes, you can. Take a breather," you encouraged him, placing a hand on either side of his head with his nose just inches from yours as you peered into his beautiful, blue eyes. He nodded, taking a few deep breaths.

After a few moments of fending off his climax, he slid it back in, letting it go in all the way before pulling out again. He watched in awe at the way you stretched so perfectly around him as he plunged into you with his thick cock over and over again.

"I wanna turn you around so bad," he whispered, peering into your eyes as he pulled out again. You hoisted yourself off of the counter, spinning around, and propping your leg up on the edge of the marble cuntertop.

"Give it to me, pretty boy. Fuck me as hard and as fast as you can," you instructed him. "Yes, mommy," he answered, pushing up your tight skirt and slipping his length into your cunt from the back. He loved being told what to do by you.

"Good boy," you moaned as he started pistoning his hips forward, driving his cock deep into your drooling pussy as he reached around and grabbed a handful of your breast.

You could feel his hot breath against your ear and hear his pretty moans as he fucked you with all his strength. "Oh, Chris.. so big.. gonna cum.. gonna cum all over your big cock," you babbled as you shook violently.

Your orgasm hit your system, feeling like a series of explosions going off in your body. You tightly gripped the edge of the cool, marble counter as you clenched around him again, finishing all over his rod. Your juices flowed down the sides of his dick as he railed you, extracting your climax from you.

"Good boy. You made me cum all over it," you breathlessly whimpered, trying to catch your breath. A satisfied smile started in the corner of his lip as he realized he'd made you finish. "Fill me up, Chris," you demanded, letting your head fall back against his chest as he pounded into you.

He couldn't take it anymore. The feeling of your pussy convulsing around him and your words encouraging him to shoot his load inside of you, it was all too much.

He delivered a few more powerful thrusts, jerking his hips forward and triggering his own orgasm. His strokes slowed to a stop as he filled you to the brim, pumping you full of his liquid.

Pleasure coursed through him, leaving him feeling completely drained after, but in the best way, like he'd just finished running a marathon and had won first place.

He finally pulled out of you, nearly collapsing onto the floor and having to steady himself on the counter as all the blood rushed back to the rest of his body.

You spun back around, hoisting yourself back up onto the marble counter and spreading your legs and your puffy lips open for him again.

"Look at how much you came," you smirked, putting yourself on display for him as his thick, sticky fluid leaked from your cunt. He focused his blurry vision on the way it gushed out of you every time you clenched around nothing.

"Oh my god. It looks perfect," he responded, admiring the mess he made before slumping over and nestling his nose in the crook of your neck. A wave of embarrassment overcame him, wondering if he'd done a good job or if he was too awkward or shy about it all.

"Was I o-okay?" He nervously asked, his voice becoming small and shakey. "Chris. I can't feel my legs," you chuckled back in response. "Is th-that a good thing?" He timidly asked. "It's a great thing, Chris. You give the best dick. Best I've ever had in my life."

Your praises had blood rushing back to his cock, and it sprung to life once more.

"Oh, don't tell me that. You're gonna make me wanna give it to you again," Chris whispered as you felt his erection poking you in the thigh. You chuckled, surprised by his stamina.

"Give it to me again, baby. I promise. I can take it."

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[haztory]

october 17th ♡

– ceo!kuroo tetsurou x assistant!reader; timeskip au, slow burn, mutual pining

– summary: It’s October 17th. The day of which you can never get a semblance of peace. It’s the start of volleyball season.

part one

a/n: i saw the hq movie and remembered my roots. it's kuroo time. love that man. (w.c.: 6.4k)

It’s October 17th, your desk calendar tells you. 

Marked in a quick circle in bold red pen for emphasis. Not like you could forget it, what with the building buzz that seems to escalate with every hour and the excited greetings bubbling in the office. And certainly you couldn’t forget the date with your boss reminding you of it every single chance he could get.

It’s October 17th. The day of which you can never get a semblance of peace. It’s the start of volleyball season. There’s a tally sheet in your mind that holds eight marks— one for every time he’s mentioned the damn day— and it’s not even time for your second cup of coffee. 

The most wonderful time of the year, according to Kuroo. 

There’s a pep in his step as he juggles his briefcase and files between hands and skips towards his third meeting of the day. His phone is tucked between his ear and shoulder, swarmed in the air of chaos and yet, there’s a wide smile on his face. Toothy and eager, almost maniacal. An exhilarated man, the ringmaster of madness, preparing a show for thousands with only coffee and sheer enthusiasm running through his veins. 

The tiles beneath his feet practically turn golden as he passes by. 

He stops before your desk on his way out, phone dutifully tucked yet ignored as he meets your gaze with burning excitement. The chatter on the other end of the line is audible, and he really should be listening to it, but instead his focus is maintained on you. You raise a brow in question, fingers hovering over the keyboard to your computer and e-mail to the finance department woefully on hold as your boss stares at you. 

Tufts of his hair are pulled in various ways, the standard for a busy morning, and the sleeves of his white button down are rolled up to his elbows displaying the veins that no doubt pulse excitedly; But the most revealing part of him, the most captivating part in his day of havoc, are his eyes. 

Honey auburn that burns alight in sheer joy— the kind of happiness that he wants you to revel in, hopes to convey in the intensity of his gaze. Sticky honey brown that coats the inside of your stomach and fills you with warmth. A gleam that can make flowers bloom with just his simple gaze.  

Slowly, he points his finger towards your calendar that’s displayed clearly for the regular passerby. Fingertip presses the red circle on the paper, emphasizing the words scribbled inside of it detailing the events of the day. 

1st Day of Volleyball Season!

His smile splits his face into two. You add another tally to the sheet.  

Indulging him with a grin would be encouraging juvenile behavior, so it takes everything in you to bite back the tugging of your lips and instead roll your eyes. It doesn’t deter him. He all but clicks his heels together as he prances out the door, throwing his fist holding his briefcase in the air with a silent cheer, and answering whatever question was posed to him on the other end of his line.

It’s October 17th, Kuroo’s favorite day of the year. 

Yours, too. 

Although, you would never tell him that.

-

The starting game of MSBY vs. Tachibana Red Falcons is a match predicted to be vicious and brutal. Considering Japan’s top players had more than proved themselves to be powerhouses during the Nations League Tournament over the summer, the star power and media attention given to the players has given the entrance game to the season an anticipation that could not be tamed— not that anyone in the marketing department would want it to be. 

The players this year have been nothing short of top tier athleticism— a detail that so graciously fell into the JVA’s hands and became their capitalized advertisement. 

An unmatched season! A trial of power and speed! Japan’s best players go head-to-head in the best playoffs Japan has ever seen!

Kuroo practically played the lottery every morning with luck like this. 

The Ariake Arena fills up like a lightning flood, waves of bodies decorated with black and red filling seats with heightened excitement. It vibrates throughout the stadium, transcends beyond the high beams and open space. It fills and suffocates until all that can be seen, heard, and felt is pure, unadulterated energy. It’s a straight shot of adrenaline to the heart. It’s the taste of a sweet memory. 

The sound of excitement from guests and vendors steadily rises and Kuroo buzzes in place. His shoes tap incessantly on the wooden floor, fingers flutter with anticipation as he adjusts, then readjusts, the now wrinkled tie across his neck. His cheeks ache from the endless smile that pushes on them. 

Carefully moved chess pieces, endless phone calls, and retina-burning contracts with sponsors have finally gotten him here: To the sweet smell of cool conditioned air and freshly waxed floors, to the sounds of chants and joy, to the sight of his successfully pitched logo printed beneath Miya Atsumu’s smug face on the large banner tacked on the left side of the arena. The veneration on his face is one that finds itself familiar to veterans. Standing on the shining hardwood of the court, his hands finally find rest on his hips, his gaze stilling at the sight of his months-long work. 

Pride doesn’t really do much justice to the feelings inside of him— but damn if it isn’t a close enough guess. His hard work finally actualized, but it’s only just really beginning. This is where his fun begins, the shining light, the gentle reminder of how much he loves his job.

October 17th, the best day of the year.

“We need to see the players before warm-ups begin.” Kuroo says after a moment, not even needing to spare a glance backwards to see if you’ve heard him. Such is the consequence of having a good assistant, one that, even with all the eye rolls and dragging sighs, is always a step ahead of him.

“Coach Foster said that he could spare us ten minutes before he gives his locker room speech. Coach Sato said the same.” You tell your boss, stepping beside him as his eyes follow the movements of staff members dragging carts of volleyballs to their respective places. An approving look settles on his face, a delightful perusal.

There's a tablet held in your arms as you notate on a timetable, presumably a schedule with detailed notes that Kuroo has to be on in order for the evening to go well. Probably one you've put a lot of time and effort into. Knowing you, it’s probably color coded. A schedule that he would do well by both you and the company in abiding by.

He shoves his hand between the tablet and your fixed stare, wiggling his fingers obnoxiously in front of the work that holds your dutiful attention. "Stop paying attention to that and look around you. Smell the air! What is it you smell?"

The excitement held so passionately in his eyes bore into your unimpressed ones. "Stale popcorn and lemon cleaner, Kuroo-san."

"So negative, I think the long work days are finally getting to you."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Not mine. You love me too much to quit." He grins. He gestures his hand outward, panning it across the stadium to the sight of guests filling the seats. "It's the smell of anticipation! The promise of a worthwhile game! How can you not be excited?”

A ping resounds on your tablet that draws your gaze back down to the schedule. It’s a message from the volunteer coordinator. You write a note in the margin—volunteers in break room at 8:45, give thanks and gifts at 9.

"It’s hard to be excited when you keep yapping in my ear about what day it is." You mutter distractedly.

"You're telling me," Suddenly his fingers are poking into the skin of your cheeks, lifting the skin upward in a manufactured smile, "You look frightening." 

You swat his hands away, your own palms connecting with his in a vicious slap. "If we don't get started now you're going to be late in meeting the President of the JVA at his box seats." 

Kuroo waves his hand nonchalantly. "Ah, he'll wait for me. I am the reason we’ve got a turnout like this. It's the least he could do."

You roll your eyes, formality lost as you address your boss. "It's about the principle of it, Tetsu. He'll be upset."

"Have you forgotten what day it is? How can anyone be upset on this day?"

You stare at him in violent silence clearly exposing the extent of your disdain for him at this moment. It’s a futile endeavor. Your stare only fuels the fire of his need for provocation tenfold. His smile widens, teeth bearing a shit-eating grin. With little remorse, you tell him, "You're very annoying when you're happy."

His head tilts backward in a laugh, lean and tall figure elongating with the motion as he, genuinely, finds himself amused. “And you're even meaner than usual when I am. C’mon, let’s pay the Jackals a visit.” Accompanying the turn of his body, he taps the tip of your nose with his slender finger and begins a trek towards the main entrance leading to the corridors of the arena.

“No.” Your quick retort is the popping of a balloon. He deflates, hands thrown upward in exasperation as he turns around to face you once more. You swear he stomps his feet. 

"God, what now?"

“Favoritism.”

He balks with a furrow on his brow, “Pardon?”

“Favoritism. It’s obvious to everyone in this building who you’re rooting for, so we need to minimize those details before someone catches wind and decides to tell the press that the games are rigged.”

“Now, that is an outrageous idea. No respectable reporter would use my words against me.” Kuroo smiles, annoyingly, confidently. To which your stare only digs further into him, the infamous memory of last year’s season playing quite clearly across your face in which his sarcastic comment about players salaries made headlines and resulted in a week of endless phone calls to your office.

“JVA DIRECTOR STATES DIV. ONE PLAYERS WILL NOT RECEIVE SPONSORSHIP BONUSES AFTER ASTOUNDING SEASON AS ‘WE DON’T PAY FOR MEDIOCRITY AND THESE PLAYERS SUCK, OBVIOUSLY’.”

It’s the conveyance of death in your eyes alone that really gets him going. Truly, there’s no one more impressive than you. 

“I said, respectable.” Kuroo emphasizes, hardly batting an eye as you walk past him. 

“C’mon. Coach Sato is waiting with the Falcons.”

“The favoritism allegation is ridiculous. Ask around the office, no one is able to tell that you’re my least favorite of them all.” He follows you into the hallway without prompting like the well-trained dog you’ve made him to be, “That’s how good I am.”

You turn back to look at him, “Oh, sure. So the names Bokuto and Hinata don’t mean anything to you?”

Biting back a smirk, he says, “I have no idea who you’re referring to.”

—

In the aftermath of a worthwhile game and an impressive start to the season, the stadium quickly finds itself abandoned. Scores of people taking to the street to celebrate their win or drink their sorrows away, their raucous din and lived delight exiting with them, leaving only a barren arena—save for the remaining staff who dutifully tidy the empty aisles and clean the floors. Yet, even with their humble presence, it’s quiet. Only the light echoing of shoes and brooms on the floor, the rolling of carts, the sounds of vacuums filling the space and providing life. 

And standing on the second floor of the arena, leaning his body against the railing overlooking the court, Kuroo finally gets a second to just look.

There are very few times in which Kuroo is quiet. Or rather, there are very few times where he gets the chance to be. 

It’s hard to walk the line between professional and man, not that he does a good job at it on a regular day. It's an all-consuming persona and his job demands the full devotion of mind, body, and spirit despite the relative nonurgency that comes with being a Marketing Director. And while he’s never been known for his outstanding polish as a young professional— particularly within the confines of his office— Kuroo has never not been one to commit. What is demanded of him is what he gives, and more. 

These days he’s finding it almost impossible to switch the hat of boss for the one of man. The lines between the two become even more blurred with each passing day that he spends another sleepless night in the office, attends another soul sucking meeting that could have truly just been an email, brown noses at people with titles and credentials that he cannot bear to remember for the sake of money. 

Humanity slowly depletes when met with the four walls of an office that never changes shades.  Moments like this are brief allowances. The empty stadium is conducive to the quick slip into a memory, the removal of the permanent hat for the other one. 

The game played not even an hour ago is replaced with that of what he remembers.  The once erratic beat of his heart before the blown whistle, the feel of burning muscles in his calves, and the sting of the ball on his skin; He can almost taste the salt of the disappointment of a lost match, and the sweetness of the joy the game gave him. If he tries, Kuroo can recall the last time that he was on a court just like the one before him and remember just how wonderful it once was.

The sweet memory of it all. A sliver of happiness that he keeps stowed away in the back of his mind, meant only to be pulled out in times of emergency. When life gets too loud and work becomes exactly what it is—work. It’s the needed reprieve, the gentle vice. But much like everything else these days, it lasts for only a lingering moment before it fades into the nothingness of everything else. 

There isn’t one particular thought that he can train on. He couldn’t even tell anyone what exactly it is that he thinks about, for it all blends together into the great variation of everything. A hectic whirlwind of things that fall over one another as they fight to take his attention. 

The game schedule for tomorrow, the invoices he needs to have approved, the mountain of unread emails relating to a media sponsorship that needs to be finalized by the end of the month, the leadership training that he needs to attend next week. Seeing Bokuto and Hinata before the game was a slip of the hat into the relative calm of youth that he remembers so fondly, he should probably try and hang out with them more. His social life is already pitiful. There’s also the fact that he has to go grocery shopping since he just ran out of instant noodles, unless he wants to have takeout again—but he’s already racked up quite the bill this month in takeout alone and he hasn’t been able to go to the gym enough to counteract those great decisions. He needs to return his sister’s phone call, something he keeps prolonging, not because he doesn’t care to know the details about his nephew’s birthday party next Sunday but rather because that will inevitably lead to the discussion about their father’s well-being and truthfully, that’s not a can of worms he’s willing to open just yet. And also—

“Hey.”

Kuroo’s head snaps towards the intrusion, towards the voice that cuts through the storm of flying thoughts and stills them in their rampage. 

You stand behind him, your blazer thrown over your purse and the sleeves of your dress shirt rolled up to your elbows. Your hair is no longer the neat style you had at the beginning of the event, but instead the reflection of a long work day. Your own work hat stowed somewhere deep in your purse, in favor of someone he’s rather fond of. 

“Hey.” He returns, surprised but pleased. He had figured at the end of the game you would have made haste with the exiting crowd. Your duties done for the day, the schedule you made him stick to like glue finished and completed. Any other person would have run for the doors and be home by now. 

But, here you are. Standing with a content smile on your face and a softening in your eyes as you meet his gaze. (Truthfully, he should know better. You’ve never been one to just leave without telling him, whether directly or through email, for home or for a date. Hell, you all but yell your plans in his face just to reduce the risk of confusion. But he assumes, still, that you’re smarter than him. That you know when to call it quits on a work day and head home. 

He conveniently forgets that, above all, you’re good at your job. You never listen, too stubborn and insistent on doing your duties even when he tells you to go home early; to not worry about the final details on a draft or a missed message; tells you that he can handle it. That’s never been you, because aside from being fantastic at being his assistant, you’ve been committed to your craft no matter what it is. You care too much about your job and the things it affects. 

Because that’s who you are. It’s who you’ve always been. It’s what he knows to be true and violent about you, and it's what he’s been able to see blossom since working with you. So, of course you’re here. Waiting for him, because that’s what you do. Commit to being there for him, through and through. 

Because you’re his assistant, of course. 

Just his assistant. That’s all.)

He stands straighter, manners not entirely drilled out of his subconscious, even if he was distracted. A beat passes, he looking at you and you looking at him, before he, finally, extends a hand— inviting you to join him. You do, settling next to him on the rail, and gazing over the object of his fixation. 

It’s a content silence. The inhale of the aftermath, the exhale of the preparation. One you both know the extent of, have shared too many late nights for. There’s great relief in being able to revel in the fruits of one’s labor, but there’s something all the more satisfying in knowing someone else was basking in that reward too. In not being entirely alone, despite the job often making him feel.

This is your moment just as much as it is his, something he’s never been more convinced of. 

Much of the success belonging to him would be nothing if not for your firm foundation, the depth of your support for not only him, but the game. The wondrous, joyous game. 

 It’s only a moment or two of the stillness between you two before you gently disturb it. 

“Today went well.” You tell him. 

He gives an affirmative hum, a small smile befalling on his face. Folding his arms across his chest, he tilts his head from side to side in consideration. “You don’t think the banner was too big?”

“It’s no bigger than it usually is.” You shrug and he hums again. 

Another beat, then he says, “Did you notice the photo?”

“On the banner?” You ask. 

“Yeah.”

“I did.”

“Good.” He says, resolutely, looking over the arena once more as two staff members begin folding up the commentators chairs on the sidelines of the court, “You chose it.”

“I know.” You say. He smiles again, a happy and content one; and you would tease him about it— (about the fact that he’s smiling as though this were a great victory fought between the marketing department and the photography studio, one that he emerged victorious in fighting tooth and nail for your input instead of the reality of the situation. 

It was a cloudlink sent to his email on a Tuesday afternoon, filled with prints of various D1 players that he was asked to provide input on. A task that he, then, delegated to you by calling you into his office on your lunch break and having you play eenie-meenie-miny-moe with him. With a sandwich held firmly in your hand and Kuroo pecking at his snack bag of trail mix, you point to the smug face of Miya Atsumu.

“It’s because of the smile, right?” He had asked, his eyes squinting and head tilted to the side as though that would give him better understanding of the man’s face. “He’s a great player. He just has the look of a winner.”

“I don’t know. I just think he’s hot.” You tell him simply.

Kuroo chokes on a peanut. You laugh. He sends your choice over to the graphic design team.)

—but you let him have the small win. Four years of working together has taught you which of the battles to fight, and truthfully, there aren’t that many that you don’t give to him. Admitting sucha  thing, however, would be a violation of everything you hold dear to your job so you obviously omit that. 

Kuroo speaks once more, his voice soft as he continues to regard the court. “You did a good job today.”

There’s no tease in him, no wry smile or setup for a joke that you’re clearly walking into. For all intents and purposes, Kuroo Testurou stands before you as a man with more than his guard down. He stands honestly, made soft and tender by the trials of a hard work day and the victory of his labor. 

The kind of man you know him to be, that you hold such deep admiration for. 

“Thank you, Tetsu.” For fear of disrupting the quiet that surrounds the arena or fear of shattering the genuineness of the moment, you respond in kind. Equally gentle when you tell him earnestly, honestly, “So did you, but that’s not new.”

You feel it before you can even see or hear it. The turning of the tide, the impending slant of his smile; The red alert alarm that you have built into your head for Tetsurou’s moments of snarkiness blaring loudly. 

The taunt is on its way and you begin a rebuttal before he even opens his mouth. Kuroo’s face contorts into an exaggerated look of disbelief.

“We were having—”

“I cannot believe it—” 

“—a nice moment!”

“—Is that a compliment I hear?”

Rolling your eyes, you turn your head away from him. “If you’re going to act like that—”

“No, no! Can’t take it back. You said it already.” 

“Nope. I formally recant my statement—”

“Ooh, big word—”

“—I forswear what I said—”

“—Forswear?! How do you even know what that means?”

“—You did an adequate job. Actually, you did exactly what was expected of you. Nothing more.”

“C’mon, give me some credit. You weren’t expecting me to land that invite for that GQ party next month. And how did I do that? Remind me one more time?” Kuroo leans his head towards you, tapping his ear repeatedly. 

“By doing your job.” You insist and he throws his head to the side in hurt.

“By being the best at my job.”

“They invited you because you were badgering them in the box seats. What did you bribe them with?”

He levels a steady smirk at you, “Sounds like someone doesn’t want to go.”

You gasp, eyes narrowing, “You wouldn’t.”

“Admit it, then.” He grins.

“Admit what! That I kept you on schedule for the day so that you could actually do your job and get us the invites? Then I will admit that I did my job excellently.” You poke your finger into his chest repeatedly and he laughs.

He agrees with a small nod of his head, smiling widely, knowingly. “You did.” 

“I did.” You affirm. “And with enough time to factor in potty breaks. Plural.”

Kuroo laughs again, incredulously, “Potty. Who even says that anymore?”

“Me. Your lovely, amazing assistant that you are definitely taking to the GQ party.”

Kuroo’s gaze fixes on yours, held firmly as the grin lingering so resolutely on his face reaches up to his eyes. The conversation peters out into another gentle silence, ambers meeting yours in a steady embrace, and voicing what remains to be said. Held tightly by the reciprocity of your own gaze.

It happens, then. The quiet kindling that has become so familiar between he and you. The settling of a warmth between the space that has been occurring more frequently; Found only in times like this. When laughter dissipates and ease takes over. When it becomes glaringly obvious that you enjoy your boss’s company a little more than you probably should, and that he doesn’t necessarily mind you all that much. There isn’t much to say about it even though your tongue feels heavy in your mouth and fiction dictates that this is the moment where someone should say something.

But what is there to say at this moment to the man who signs your paychecks? Who eggs you on in ways that no one would even bother to do? What could you express other than profound admiration and deep annoyances over his character? What could you tell him that he doesn’t already know? 

(Maybe the truth that is buried deep within you. One that you haven’t admitted to yourself because honestly, you aren’t even sure you believe it yourself.

There’s bound to be affections shared between two people who work in such close proximity as you two. Regard, appreciation, fondness— but not that. No, it couldn’t be that. That would be ridiculous.

Because he’s your boss, of course. 

Just your boss. That’s all.) 

“You should go home,” Tetsurou is the first to break the stare. Fortunately, too, lest you become too absorbed in your thoughts and do something stupid like risking getting lost in the eyes of amber. He turns his attention to his hands on the railing, his thumb tapping repeatedly on the metal. “Get some rest. You deserve it, keeping me in line and all.”

He bumps his shoulder into yours. 

“Are you heading home soon?” You ask.

He shrugs, before looking to the court once more. “In a minute.  I’m going to stay for a little longer. Not ready to go home yet.”

You hum, “Then I’ll stay with you.”

There’s a beat of silence, one that, when you glance towards him you expect to see filled with amusement. Maybe a tease on his tongue once more about how hard you work, about how miserable you’ll be in the morning for staying up past your bedtime. Instead, you see only the calm stillness of his face, eyes fixed resolutely on the empty court before him. 

He leans forward onto the railing, bracing his elbows against its fixture, watching the scene below him as though it were the most interesting thing in the world. Four janitors taking a break from their waxing of the floor to play a quick, and sloppy, game of volleyball. Soft laughter echoes throughout the room, broken apart by low mutterings of commentary on their plays that sends the four older men into even further laughter. 

Then, “Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I went pro.”

To learn of other people in the course of a years-long friendship is natural, rightfully expected— and while there is much of Kuroo that you do know and can recite off the top of your head, the willful admittance of intimate details, especially in quiet times like this, is always surprising. Especially when coupled with the contemplative silence that follows his words, the genuine wonder, the longing written on his face as the rose thoughts of a first love bloom in the cracks of a fallen smile. 

In the softening of his eyes and the deep sigh that he releases, you realize that there’s a Kuroo Tetsurou that you don’t know. 

Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, you reach out to find him. You ask, softly. “Why did you stop playing?”

His eyes remain trained on the court, as though the answer were laid upon the hardwood floors. “It was time. I loved the game but, I don’t know. Just didn’t make sense for me to keep it going. There were other things I needed to do, and playing professionally would have taken up too much time.” 

You can almost see it, then. A younger Tetsurou, even more chaotic and rowdy than you know him to be, with hopes and dreams that exist somewhere in the great web of could have been’s, cast to the side because of the “other things”. You don’t pry, not when he’s already being so forthcoming as it is, but you make a note. Store it away in the folder lodged deep in your mind dedicated to the man.

“Would you be happier if you did?” You ask, albeit hesitantly. Not entirely sure what you would do with the answer.

He rolls his broad shoulders gently, like a tide rolling in under itself, swayed under its own pressure and maybe that should mean something. “Well, it’s not like I’m unhappy. I’ve got a good life, good job, good people. I’ve got it all.” 

He spares a quick glance to you. So quick you wouldn’t have caught it had he not already been the centerpoint of your fixed stare, but truthfully, when is he not? When is he not the center of your gaze, your life, your world? Everything in your routine seems to start and end with Kuroo Tetsurou.

“But I can’t deny how much I miss the game.”

—you don’t mind all that much. Especially not when he’s like this. Open, sensitive, and wanting to talk. When he actually takes the time to chew his thoughts out and speak them into existence rather than continue his sordid and pointed teases.

You lean forward onto the railing. “Do you think you would have made it far?” 

He adjusts his figure next to yours. His crooked elbow touches yours, but he makes no move to remove it. “Well… I hate to brag, but��” 

You scoff. “You do.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Hard to say.” He shrugs his shoulders wryly. “In another life, I’m still playing.” 

It sounds sadder than he intends it to be, but it’s the truth. And you get it; have your own could-have’s stored deep in the recesses of your mind, your own forgotten dreams about who you wanted to be that haunt and plague in the twilight of hard nights where sleep is elusive and quarter-life crises spring forth in the darkness—but it’s not all bad.

“Well, in this other life, if you’re playing and I just so happened to know you,” You tell him, “I would be your biggest fan.”

He huffs at that. Looking at you with a tilt of his head and a handsome smile on his face. “Oh yeah? And if you didn’t?”

“I’d be Miya Atsumu’s biggest fan.” You say simply.

“You already are.”

“Yeah, but I know you have jealousy issues so I just don’t say anything about it.”

Tetsurou nods his head. Amused. “Well I’m glad to know you, then.”

It happens here, again. 

The quiet kindling, the lingering warmth. With hopes and dreams laid out before you, and the brief allowance into the depths of his intimate details he holds tightly under the weight of himself, do you find the familiarity of the man again. The one you know, the one who laughed so hard at your banana costume that milk came out of his nose. The one who canceled all of his meetings for the day when you broke your pinky finger in the office and who stayed with you in the hospital until a cast was put on. 

The one who smiles at you so gently, as if you are someone important. The one you can’t help but smile right back at. Kuroo Tetsurou, your boss, a friend.

Movement in the corner of your eye draws your attention to the court. The janitors that were once playing amongst each other slowly begin to stray from the court, picking up their brooms and exiting towards the sidelines. Looking at Tetsurou, you find that he’s still looking at you.

“They’re not closing the stadium for another hour. And it looks like the janitors have had their fun.” You say, “Wanna play a quick game?”

His brows raise to his hairline, “You know how to play?”

“We had to choose a sport to play for gym class back in high school and it was either tennis or volleyball. So I guess you can say I know a thing or two.”

“Ah, a professional.”

“Mhm. I’m here to give you a run for your money.”

Tetsurou pushes himself off the railing, standing to his full height as he accepts the offer. Towering over you at his 6’5 height, he begins rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, cuffing the white material until it reaches the crook of his elbow. A quick glance to the revealed skin is only a firm reminder of what you had pointedly forgotten. Long slender fingers attached to a thick and veiny forearm, sculpted through years of volleyball practice and continued exercise.

If he wanted to, he definitely could have made it professionally. You almost choke on your spit.

“Oh, I’m counting on it.” Tetsurou gives you a smile that rivals the smugness of Miya Atsumu in that stupid banner and you know for a fact that in that other life, you would’ve been Kuroo Tetsurou’s biggest fan whether you knew him or not— and not because he was a good player. 

—

“You need to lock your elbows.”

“They’re locked!”

“No they’re not. Look at this,” Tetsurou steps underneath the net, approaching you in long strides before tapping his fingers against the elbows of your interlocked hands. He watches with little impression as your arms swing easily with his force, “Noodles. How are you supposed to receive with this?”

“I’m trying but it’s not comfortable!”

“So you’d rather suck?”

“Kinky.” You say with a waggle of your brows and he rolls his eyes.

“Stop it. Here, you need to—” Without a second thought, he steps behind you, wrapping his arms around your torso and fixing your hands. wrapping your right hand over your left and running the length of his warm touch down your forearms. Innocuous and gentle, but stiffening as you breathe in the musky scent of his cologne and the faded scent of his aftershave, and feel the hard planes of his chest press against your back. 

“Straighten your elbows,” He mutters, voice heavy beside your ear.  “And keep them locked. Helps you to have a steady receive for any kind of ball. If your form is perfect then you can always pass the ball using this part, here.” His right index finger touches the surface of your forearm, running between the length of your elbow and wrist to accentuate his point. 

It isn’t a matter of fireworks when he touches you, the exploding kind that has butterflies and goosebumps erupting over the expanse of your skin. It isn’t as though your eyes have suddenly been peeled open and the realization has struck you hard across the face like every romance story that preaches about the magic of the first touch, the electricity of meeting hands across the table, the sudden realization of knowing.

No, this is entirely different. A comforting touch, not uncommon, but intimate and while it doesn’t have you reeling in revolutionary realization, nor does it have you fanning yourself from the flames of sudden desire, his touch does, eerily, have you sinking in further. There’s no fluttering and flustering with the confusion of flooding feelings, but rather, it has you looking at his hands with a slight furrow. 

Wondering, when his hands suddenly got so soft, yet so firm. Wondering, in what part of the intertwining of his life with yours did his touch suddenly not only become okay, but felt as though it belonged? 

Were this any other man, you would have a harassment claim sent to HR before he could even get near you. But it’s Tetsurou; And when his slender fingers wrap gently around your wrist, turning them upward slightly, you don’t go rigid in his embrace, but instead fall into it. Settle into his grasp, entrust yourself in his hands. 

Because how could you not?

“Like this?” You ask, quietly. No need to exert volume considering he’s right next to you. In search of approval in how you’ve adjusted your hands, you turn your head to the side to look at him, only to realize how close he is to you. Eyes able to see the steady pulse of the clench in his jaw as he focuses on your form, the sharp angle of his jaw, the closely shaven hairs of his stubble.

“Yeah, just like that. Good.” He answers, before removing his hands and bracing them against your shoulders, straightening your posture for the receives that you are no longer focused on getting.

If Kuroo Tetsurou turned his head to you, there would be nothing stopping his nose from bumping into yours. You must be silent, too caught up in the overwhelming nature of it all because he’s suddenly stiffening from his position over you. Then, at a speed you’ve never seen him move before, he’s rescinding his body entirely from you. And it should sting. The speed at which your boss acted as though you physically burned him, his body essentially repulsed from touching you. 

He’s putting great space between you two as he ducks back under the net to his side of the court, yelling over his shoulder, “T-that should fix it. Try, uh, try now. Try serving.”

“I thought I was receiving?” You ask his retreating figure and he stills, considering for a moment, before waving his hand in the air— obviously embarrassed and confused at the fact that he’s just jeopardized everything and made his assistant uncomfortable. 

“Whatever, just give it back to me.” He says, frustratedly.

And you allow yourself, just for a brief moment, to store another could-have in the sanctity of your fantasies. One where he isn’t your boss, and you aren’t his assistant, and you are able to admit to the true and honest parts of yourself—

“Nice return! See? Better already.”

—you rather liked the way he touched you.  

a/n: HEEEEELP i love him your honor. sorry for always ghosting. i wish i could say i wont, but i know i will. lol

[spaghettiposts]

An Outlaws Christmas

Cowboy!reader x Wanda Maximoff

Summery: Wanda’s father has never liked you, but that won’t stop you from delivering a special gift this season.

Warnings: Mentions of firearms, fluff, Bucky being dramatic.

Words Count: 3.5k

“Bucky I swear to God, you better keep this thing steady.” You muttered between cold breaths, raising your foot to the next step, sensing the ladder tremble beneath you. Your eyes whipped downward, glaring at the cowboy.

He huffed, gripping the ladder tighter. “You just- had to date the rich girl with a four-story mansion didntcha?” He seethed, shifting his weight to support the item. “It’s fucking freezing man.”

Indeed, it was freezing. The middle of December in Fort Worth brought snow gleaming in the streets, covering trails and displeasing the horses. Which you had to use to get here in the first place, Wanda’s house that is. More precisely her fathers house, who wasn’t so keen about you. Why were you here? Simple.

Christmas, the season of giving, in any weather condition. And in any condition you always wanted to visit Wanda, even if Bucky complained about it. Especially tonight, when it was Christmas night. Where family’s would spend their nights together, huddled by the fireplace. Something you wanted to share with Wanda someday.

Something an outlaw like you couldn’t have, but you tried anyway. You tried for her, tried to change your rugged ways. Formerly around this time of year you never would’ve imagined a reason to celebrate this holiday. There was nobody special in your life, no family, and Bucky never liked Christmas ideals.

Now there was Wanda to be that someone. Beautiful, intelligent, amazingly talented Wanda. The girl who went for someone like yourself, a lowlife criminal trying to mend their ways. She saw the good in you, that you failed to see in yourself. And bit by bit she brought it out of you. Blackmail Barnes would constantly use on you, mocking you as the ‘cowboy who got whipped’ or ‘cowboy gone soft’ and his personal favorite ‘Casanova’. Despite the smacks you gave him each time he dared to use those terms, secretly you didn’t mind, it just meant you were closer to change than before. With that in mind, you didn’t let the opportunity to make Wanda your girlfriend pass by you, despite her parents disapproval.

Maybe if you got a better job, in time that would change too.

“Just keep the ladder steady Barnes, I’ll be finished quick.” You hollered over the wind, climbing up with haste. Looking through the windows you recognized them as the third floor, for the servants Wanda had told you. Rich people had rooms for everything nowadays.

“Quick my ass..” He scoffed.

“Was that sarcasm James?”

He let out a groan, pounding his fist on the ladder. “Just get your girl already”

“Alright alright…” You chuckled under your breath, hurrying up the ladder. You didn’t want to risk his impatience, the last thing you wanted was for him to throw you off. Fortunately, with the heavy snowfall, you’d probably only break one rib.

Although Wanda wouldn’t be happy, so you wouldn’t risk it.

Finally, the ladder came to an end, perfectly syncing with Wanda’s bedroom window. You were grateful to Mr. Williamson, your local carpenter, took your request for a 40 foot ladder seriously. Raising up your fist to knock–as you had done so many times before–you found yourself plagued with…hesitancy.

Pulling the poorly wrapped package out of your interior coat pockets, you examined the item. Its contaminants inside were beautiful, even you could admit, but the outside? Poorly wrapped crumbles of brown lunch bag paper with white string holding all the mess together? Was what was on the inside enough for Wanda?

Feeling another shake on the ladder you turned your head down, meeting the eyes of Bucky. He motioned to the window with his head, shooting you a thumbs up. You mouthed a small ‘thanks’ to him, right now wasn’t the time for insecurities. You’re sure Wanda would love the gift, or at least appreciate the gesture.

Clearing your throat, you tapped on the window, announcing yourself, “Wanda! It’s me! Do you mind opening the window?” You asked, waiting for the velvet curtains to part. In all honesty, you weren’t quite sure she was there at the moment. You knew the tendency her parents had of venturing off into parties, dragging her along into them and you assumed Christmas parties were a thing.

A couple of seconds later, you heard shuffling from inside, the curtains opening and your smile widening. Wanda looked through the window, searching for you till her eyes landed on your figure covered in snow. Her eyes widened, her hand lifting up to her chin in shock, “Y/n?”

“Hi Darlin’.” You shot the bewildered woman a toothy grin, lifting your hand to wave at her. Carefully she opened the window slowly, making sure not to knock you over in the process. Her shock eventually subsided into worry, grabbing you by the wrist to pull you inside.

“What are you doing here? It’s cold out, you’ll get sick.” She fretted, patting your forearms to shake off the snow.

“I’ve got my jacket,” You shrugged, her hands staying on your chest. “and I’m here for you. I brought you something for Christmas.” You smiled, digging through your pockets, Wanda tilted her head curiously. Pulling out the paper present you presented it to her.

Her eyes looked down at the gift fondly, she could tell you had wrapped it but thankfully found it endearing. Her fingers ran delicately through the string tying it together, as she turned to look at you with soft eyes and a tender smile tugging at her lips.

“Really?” She whispered, rubbing her hands on your chest before letting them hang on your shoulders. Her smile turned into a small smirk at the way you clearly leaned into her touch. “You didn’t have to Y/n…”

Truthfully you didn’t have to, Wanda had expressed how she was fine with you not celebrating the holiday, knowing how different your childhoods had been. She didn’t expect anything from you, a problem you wanted to change. You were capable enough for her to depend on you.

You blushed, enjoying the feel of Wanda’s fingers caressing the back of your neck. “But I want to, it’s custom to give your loved ones gifts and you’re mine.” You said sheepishly.

Wanda’s face softens at your words, keeping her gaze on you, searching for something more. And you think she’s going to close the distance but instead she moves her gaze to the door, squeezing your shoulders.

“Okay, but I’m afraid this’ll have to be quick.” She sighs “My Fathers due to be back soon, and you know how he feels about our relationship.”

At the mention of her father your expression turns into a slight grimace, the man was a governor, rich beyond belief and trying to get rid of old fashion ways. Including individuals such as yourself, outlaws. He had reason to, but still the thought of him left a bitter distaste in your mouth.

“He’ll learn to love me eventually.”

Wanda lets out a breathy chuckle, shaking her head in denial. “I highly doubt it, he’s very…traditional.”

Traditional. You hated that word.

“I could be traditional.” You tried to reason, even though you were the least bit traditional. It was worth a shot.

“With that rustic drawl of yours I’m not too sure Detka.” Wanda teased, leaning up to place a kiss on the corner of your lips. You wanted to correct her but she continued, “But that’s okay, personally I find it very charming.”

And then she closed the distance between you, savoring the way you let out a small sigh. You missed this, you missed her, you especially missed her touch. The way her hands guided yours down to her waist, encouraging you.

Wanda appreciated your kindness and respect towards boundaries. Making you all the more attractive in her eyes, the way you’d ask before anything, even hand holding, your charming gentleman like behavior. God, she wanted to rip those jeans off you.

You felt Wanda try to deepen the kiss which you eagerly gave into, granting her tongue permission. Her hands slipped inside your shirt, scratching the skin softly, causing your breath to hitch. Pulling away from the kiss with a gasp, resting your forehead against yours, catching your breath.

Wanda snickers between stolen kisses. “Damn it Wands…” You mumble affectedly, “This was ‘post to be about you.”

Pulling her head slightly away she stares up at you, a mischievous grin playing at her lips. “We have a couple minutes to spare, me and you.” Her hold tightened on your neck, pulling you in for another kiss. “I’ve missed you.”

Taking everything in you, you slow down the kiss much to Wanda’s disappointment. You chuckle shyly, remembering how she told you to be quick, ironic. “I’ve missed you too but not- today” You shudder with all seriousness, removing your hands from her hips.

“Mkay, I suppose we could wait for another moment.” She says, releasing her hold on you. “Besides you know I like taking my time with you.” She winks, laughing at your reaction.

“Quit teasin’ me…” You sigh, trying to shake off the blush dusting your cheeks, something that tended to happen with Wanda. The brunette only shrugged, feigning innocence. She took a hold of your wrist pulling you towards her bed, taking a seat and then patting the space beside her. Eagerly you settle in beside her, placing the gift on her lap.

“Open it.” You smile, anticipating the reaction.

Wanda fiddles with the present, tilting her head. “What is it?”

You snort “Well you won’t know until you open it Wands.”

Pursing her lips Wanda tugs on the strings, delicately unwrapping the gift which you didn’t really get, considering it wasn’t some high class material but kept quiet. Once the paper wrapping was off it revealed a rectangular shaped black leather box, it looked rather expensive. Feeling the leather Wanda confirmed her thoughts with widened eyes. Pure rich leather.

Her fingers traced the fabric, turning to stare at you. “Y/n what is this…” She whispered, you urged her to open the lid. And when she did the gasp that left her lips was almost comical. “Oh my gosh.”

“It’s a pendant.” You pointed out, feeling a little uncomfortable under her strong gaze. Did she like it? If only mind readers existed.

“Yes I know but, how?” She questioned, picking up the necklace before frowning. It was beautiful. “Detka…I don’t need you spending this much on me. This looks far too pricy.” Came her response, you sucked your teeth already expecting that answer from her. Wanda was never one to let you spoil her, knowing how much you made, odd considering you made a good amount…with a gun.

“Saving up money isn’t that hard, you’ve just gotta kill the right men to get it.” You smile sheepishly, a poor attempt to lighten the mood.

“Y/n.” Wanda glared, disliking your joke.

“I’m joking! Honest.” You laughed, putting your hands up in surrender. “Actually this jewel wasn’t so hard to find.”

“You found it?”

“Yup, mined it straight from that rock. Me and Barnes were chasing after a guy…” You hesitated, her raised eyebrow challenging you to finish that sentence. “To talk, down in the mines, when I found it. It reminded me of you, just like your eyes. So I plucked it open and took it to a jeweler. All's fair, no shooting involved.” You swore, crossing a finger across your heart.

Wanda just shook her head, rubbing her temple with her hand. You could tell she was upset at the revelation, she never appreciated hearing stories that could’ve killed you. Another thing you were trying to change, this one was more challenging as there were many people who wanted you dead, the difficult part was getting Wanda to understand that.

Both of you were stubborn that way.

“Does that…make it worse?” You asked carefully, debating whether to put a hand on her back, eventually deciding against and placing it back on your side. You didn’t want to overwhelm her. “I could get you one from the store if you’d like. I saw some real pretty ones there too.”

“That makes it all the more special to me, you mined it straight from the rock and fixed it up but you know how I feel about your ‘talks’.” She ended with a slightly twinge of annoyance. “I just worry about you and your job.”

You fiddled with the sheets underneath your fingertips, unsure what to say about that besides an apology. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to worry you.”

Worrying was something no one had ever cared to do for you in your lifetime, not until Wanda. The feeling was strange…and something to get used to. You tried to be more understanding towards Wanda’s feelings, having picked up a book or two on how to maintain a healthy relationship, and Wanda was gladly by your side throughout the process.

“Its fine really, so long as you come back to me alive.” She empathized the last word, giving you a stern look. You nodded your head, agreeing with her. Lifting up her chin, carrying a satisfied look by your response, she trusted you. “If not I’ll come back and kill you myself.”

“Honey, me and you both know that you don’t know your way around a revolver.” You teased, leaning in forward to grasp her hand and place a small peck on the back of it.

“Just like you don’t know your way around the kitchen?” She retorted smugly, causing your eyebrows to furrow.

“I know my way…my meals are cooked with the intent of survival.”

“Clearly taste isn’t a part of your ideologies of ‘survival’.” She sneered, you tried to hide your smile but ultimately failed, laughing along with her.

The atmosphere had shifted, no longer holding that same tension as it did before. Worries and insecurities had left you, laughing along with the girl you had grown to love. You loved moments like these, carefree ones. Ones where you didn’t have to worry about wild snakes or bandits trying something. Ones where you could be happy with the person you loved most.

Admiring your girlfriend you couldn’t help yourself but to lean forward and cup her chin, connecting your lips together. It was a quick kiss, one you pulled away from as quick as it started, not permitting Wanda the chance to kiss back.

Instead she stared at you in shock, cheeks red. You had initiated something. Feeling flustered from the attention you looked down at your lap in embarrassment, which was quickly overtaken by Wanda who threw herself on you in glee, pampering kisses all over your face.

“I love you.” She whispered, kissing your cheeks. “Even if you’re a reckless idiot who climbs up four story mansions, and is a part time bounty hunter.” A kiss to your nose “But you’re my idiot.” A kiss to your forehead “Forever.” And finally your lips.

“Forever?”

“Mhm, mind putting this on me?” She requested, grabbing the necklace chain. You nodded happily, watching her shift in your lap to get a better view. Gently you pushed her hair aside, bringing the jewelry round her neck. It took a couple of frustrating attempts to get inside the clasp but eventually you managed, closing it.

Wanda thanked you with another kiss before moving herself off your lap and standing to get a view of the necklace in the mirror. Pushing yourself off the bed, you followed your girlfriend into her closet, admiring how divine the jewel looked on her.

“You look gorgeous.” You sighed, hearts racing at just the sight of her.

Wanda smiled, toying with the jewel. “It’s very pretty, I love it, thank you.” She reassured, placing a hand on your shoulder and giving you a loving kiss on the cheek. You smile back at her, taking the initiative to bring your lips together this time, sharing a loving kiss. That’s all it was, love.

Wanda smiled happily into the kiss, proud of you for taking initiative again, slotting her arms back on your neck. Tilting her head to deepen the kiss she pulled away, “But you know what would’ve been nicer?”

“What?”

“A ring.”

“A ring?”

“If this was your way of claiming your mark on me, it was a nice attempt but usually people settle for rings.” She replied, playing with the baby hairs on the back of your neck. “Which I’m still waiting for, maybe that way you’ll have a reason to put that gun down for once. A family to come back to.”

A family.

Oh gosh.

Hoping it wasn’t embarrassingly obvious how much you enjoyed that idea, you barely managed to squeak out a small, “But you like the necklace right…?”

“Of course, it’ll be hard to take it off of me now.” Wanda retorted playfully “Unless you’re willing to try?”

“I um.” You swallowed dryly, definitely now you knew your face was looking as ripe as a tomato.

At your expression Wanda let out a hearty laugh, furthering your embarrassment. She slapped an arm at your chest playfully, “I’m just teasing Detka, breathe. Although I’m serious about that, I’ll wear it forever.”

“I’m glad you like it. Like really glad, I wasn’t too sure and Bucky wasn’t much help.” You said, recalling the way Bucky had fallen asleep midway through your shopping session in search of something for the girl.

“I can see that he's never been the romantic type, unless you count that disastrous encounter with Natasha as romance then, maybe.” Both of you cringed at the memory.

Sputters of a car garnered your attention distracting you from the girl in your arms. The noise sounded suspiciously like her fathers new automobile, quickly you removed your hands from Wanda’s body. Wanda too, let you go at impressive speeds, rushing to take a look outside the window. Peering outside she was met with the sight of her father, who was kicking the tire of his car, muttering curses under his breath.

Oh shit her father.

Oh shit Bucky.

“Bucky.” You gasped, collecting your things. “Shit shit shit, Buckys still outside.”

“My fathers here.” Wanda said through gritted teeth, your eyes widened, rushing to get out of there. Before you could get too far Wanda stopped you with a tug at your forearm, smacking a box at your chest.

“What’s this?” You questioned, eyebrows furrowed, pushing the box back to get a better look at it. Quickly Wanda tugged your chin to meet her, placing one last peck on your lips before pulling the window open.

“Christmas gift.” She explained, “I don’t like what you do, and this isn’t me encouraging it, but you’re my girlfriend and I love you. So that’s that, now go before I change my mind.”

You nodded your head dumbly, unsure what she meant by all that, but climbed out anyway, waving her goodbye with the box secured in your hands.

Once you reached the bottom it was only then that you realized what she meant by those words, a new rifle stood in your hands. One of the best models out there. Grinning widely you took no time in ripping it out of the box, oh how you loved this girl.

—

“Fouty fucking minutes.” Bucky snarled, still shaking the snow off his body. There wasn’t a single part of him that wasn’t white from head to toe. “Forty! You left me in the cold for Forty minutes!!” He shook his leather hat violently, slapping it around.

You sighed, taking the hat off your head and dusting yourself as well. In contrast you weren’t so full of snow, which just upset the man more. “I’m sorry Buck, I didn’t mean to take so long, but it was amazing.” The last part came out in awe.

Bucky placed his hat back on firmly, throwing a glare at you. He knew that voice, that puppy love coded tone of yours that only ever arose to haunt him when you were on the verge of an hour talk about Wanda. He debated shooting you right now before you started again.

“Forty minutes…I could’ve gotten frostbite you know, then who’s gonna cover you? Wanda? Like hell.” He muttered, narrowing his eyes at you when you pulled out your new rifle. One of the newest models too, he had to admit he was quite envious.

“She’s so amazing…”

“Are you even listening to me?!” He said exasperated, throwing his hands in the air.

“She gave me a gun…” You sighed dreamily, hugging the firearm to your chest. “Not just any gun Bucky, but a Winchester Model. The expensive good kind too.” You exclaimed, shaking him by the shoulders. His face scrunched up, smacking you away.

Bucky huffed from beside you, continuing to walk since you were too lovesick to lead. The building wasn’t too far from here. “She got me a good revolver too, you ain’t special.”

“Yeah but…mines better.”

“That doesn’t even- whatever you still took too damn long in there.”

“I haven’t seen her in weeks!” You whined, trying to defend yourself.

Bucky let out a grunt, rolling his eyes. “Yeah and you won’t see her in weeks, with all that back pain you’re gonna get.”

“What?”

“I call dibs on the good mattress, you fucked with me too much this time.” He shrugged, opening the door to your shared building.

“That’s not-”

“And by the way, I can still see her lipstick all over you.” He motioned to your face, before pointing down your neck. “You might wanna cover up those hickeys too, Bottom.”

“James!”

[minleeeknow]

‘stray cat’

‘pairing’ -이민호 (lee minho/lee know) x fem!reader

‘genre’ - fluff, college au

‘tw’ - kissing, flirting, teasing, lost cat, angst if you look closely

‘word count’ - 1.4 k

‘to get tagged’ - pls reply to the taglist post, this post, or just ask me

‘lee’s notes’ - lowercase intended, not proofread

pls note, reblog, anything

~

minho hears a scratching sound come from his window. he looks up to see the shadow of a cat perched on his windowsill. 

a faint meow comes from the cat and it scratches its claws against the glass again. minho opens his window and a slender siamese leaps into his bedroom. the feline weaves itself between his legs, purring softly.

“hi, kitty,” minho coos. he has a soft spot for cats and he reaches down to stroke the cat’s soft fur. the cat stretches across his legs, its purrs getting louder.

minho notices the mark of a collar among the fluffy ruff of fur. “did you run away, kitty?” minho asks, crouching down. his long fingers scratch the feline’s dark brown ears.

another familiar mew announces the presence of one of minho’s cats, soonie. soonie and the new cat sniff each other before leaping into minho’s lap. he laughs as he runs his hands through their soft fur.

the next morning, minho wakes up with a light weight on his chest and sees a curious face of a siamese cat staring at him.

“hi kitty,” minho says, booping the cat’s nose with his index. eager for the same attention, soonie, doongie, and dori leap onto minho’s body and shove their faces into his.

on the other side of his bedroom wall, you curl up on your bed, lonely as hell. your cat had disappeared yesterday, leaving only her collar. the thought of your trigonometry test and dance assessment forces you to get out of bed.

dark rainclouds gather in the sky, signaling the arrival of rain soon.

as you lock your apartment door, you see your neighbor say goodbye to his cats. a deep longing wrenches through your heart as you listen to him.

“bye soonie! bye doongie! bye dori! bye kitty!” he says with his beautiful, smooth, melodious voice. 

four cats? you think, confused. i thought he only had three, since like, yesterday. i think i’m losing it.

you don’t realize you’re staring until he says, “hi.”

“hi,” you squeak shyly, self-consciously fixing your hair. as he looks at you, you realize how pretty he is. he looks at you with gorgeous big boba-colored eyes thoughtfully.

“do i know you?” he asks. then he snaps his fingers before you can process. “you’re yn, right? from my dance class, trig, chem… and linguistics?”

“yeah,” you utter, staring at him hypnotically.

“i’m minho,” he introduces himself, smiling. you almost faint at his cute little bunny smile.

“yn,” you reply, finally mustering enough energy to make your brain cells function half of what they’re capable of.

“well, i’ll see you around?” minho asks. “maybe let’s exchange numbers later, huh?” before you can reply, he leaves with your heart, his bag slung across one shoulder, throwing a finger heart back at you and a small, shy smile.

you smile back, half in shock, half in ecstasy, your loneliness forgotten.

the solemn day drags on until lunch break, when you decide to escape to your favorite cafe. you haul your bag onto your table and take out your folder, a handful of sharpies, and your phone.

“alright, chai, i’m getting you home,” you breathe out as you open your folder. taking out your first missing cat poster, you take a black sharpie and uncap it.

your hand flies across the paper as you write in neat script “missing cat. female brown siamese with blue eyes. comes to the name chai. please call xxx yyy once seen.”

“hey, mind if i sit?”

you look up from your work. “oh. yeah, sure, sorry about my mess,” you murmur apologetically. minho shrugs, flashing another cute smile. he toys with a black bracelet, matching the white one on his wrist.

“why aren’t you with your friends?” he asks hesitantly. you stiffen immediately, your grip on your pen tightening. minho notices, of course he notices, he can notice anything.

“oh. i’m sorry–” he stammers, his cheeks reddening. you don’t say anything, you’re too focused on trying not to break down and on your handwriting. his pretty eyes land on your cat’s picture and he freezes.

minho stares at the image of your cat, his heart racing. his hands shake as he thinks back about the stray cat he cared for yesterday. the kitty he found looked exactly like your chai.

“um, i–i have to go,” minho stammers, standing up. his bunny smile is gone, instead he’s biting his lip. you stand up as well, trying to grab his hand before he leaves.

“min–” minho slips out of your grasp and disappears, his eyes covered by his bangs.

minho avoids you the rest of the day. dance practice was especially hard not to interact with him. you were paired up with him, like fate.

you can still remember the way his hands held you up when he accidentally crashed into you, the way he licked his lips nervously as he stared into your eyes.

“sorry,” you mumble under your breath to him as you accidentally elbowed him. minho tries not to smile at your obvious flusteredness as he breathes down your neck. you shiver involuntarily and he smirks, suddenly summoning some energy and forgetting the game of avoidance.

“you’re a good dancer,” he murmurs in your ear at the end of practice as he flies past you and disappears through the door. once minho leaves, the guilt of taking your cat gnaws at his heart again.

as soon as he steps outside, the drizzling of rain starts. minho stares up at the flecks of water painting across the sky and smiles slightly.

he twists the key to his door quickly and opens it. his three cats attack him and minho leans down to scratch each of their ears. he realizes his kitty, your chai, isn’t there. instead he sees chai’s silhouette on the window. chai taps the glass and minho opens it, confused. 

the rain patters loudly against the rooftops of the ground floor and before minho can blink, chai is gone.

“no!”

as you walk back to your apartment, the rain attacks you viciously. you have your hood on but you can feel the wetness seap into the fabric. realizing the hood is useless, you take it off, letting the raindrops fall on your head.

suddenly you see a siamese cat a few meters in front of you on the sidewalk, looking straight at you. you blink a few times, thinking it’s an illusion of the rain and your mind.

“chai?” the cat meows and turns around and runs away from you. you take a fraction of a second to react and you’re running after her.

“you freaking cat–” you mutter as you run along the side of the buildings to avoid the random people walking.

chai leads you to what used to be your favorite park until–until you discovered your ex was cheating on you here.

you see chai walk up to a shape that looks vaguely familiar holding an umbrella. you get closer when you recognize them.

“minho?”

“yn?”

minho looks up at you, memorizing your body. your cheeks are flushed from running and your hair is damp from the rain.

you open your mouth but no sound comes out. minho laughs and takes your hand, pulling you under the umbrella and closer. your back is against his chest and he rests his chin on the top of your head.

“so, here’s the short version,” minho begins quietly, suddenly shy. “i may have accidentally taken in your cat not knowing she was yours and here we go, i was scared you’d think i had stolen her but then she escaped and–”

you unravel his arms from your waist and press your index to his lips, stopping his frantic flow of words.

“hey. it’s fine,” you say, smiling. “i guess she wanted us to–” your voice becomes a squeak. “be together?” you feel your cheeks turn red and you bring a hand up to cover your embarrassed face.

instead, minho catches it and pulls you swiftly into a kiss. the feeling of his soft lips against yours makes your heart race in your chest, threatening to burst out. minho cups your chin and the kiss becomes harder.

your mingled breaths warm the atmosphere around you until you both break the kiss. minho looks down shyly, a small smile on his lips.

“and all this time, i thought she was just a stray cat.”

~

‘taglist’

@goldenjupiterz networks ! @k-labels

[maskedbutsilly]

I have an entire multiverse hell hound bs au going on and in one of the current timelines it’s with slime as president after murdering quackity blah blah blah BUT slime kied Wilbur aswell and one of my favorite parts ABOUTZ THE AU ITSELF ( even though nobody asked or more or less prolly wants to read or hear ) is that ghost(bur) and alexia ( <- ghost Quackity but nonbinary femme basically to set the difference between his alive self and dead self ) leave little bouquets of what their main biomes they reside of have for eachother. so for example because ghost can’t stay in the tundra for long and that’s what alexia is banished to they’ll leave coded bouquets, a bundle of lilac, lavender, periwinkle, daisy, and some allium wrapped in brown paper and tied with a white satin ribbon stained with blue dye ( as is the paper but in hand prints ) and place it right where his flower field biome meets the tundra, always attaching messy little " enjoy these my sweet blackberry!! remember to dress warm!! " type messages, only for alexia to leave small bouquets filled with winter berry branches, winter blueberry branches, pine branches and cool spruce sticks they found wrapped in a cleaned and dried arctic fox Hyde, tied with a burlap ribbon they cut into shape herself and sending a " I love the flowers, blueberry, please enjoy the berries I found!! tell the animals there hello for me!! " against that same tree. they having nothing but a platonic relationship but more close friendship since alexia lost most of her memory from the relation to her death, whereas that remembers everything. and ghost not having the heart to tell alexia that he remembers meanwhile alexia can’t bring herself to tell him she remembers less than she lets on, the few times they’ve met alexia melts in any warm temperatures, meanwhile ghost freezes after only a short time in the tundra. her ‘ living ‘ through some of the worst blizzards known to man meanwhile ghost deals with the burning of constant summer thunderstorms, always so close yet so far away. alexias icy hands melting against ghost and burning them, meanwhile ghosts warmth caused her to melt, essentially a candle and a flame in opposite temperatures. sighing. the blogs based off of them don’t do them justice… also im so sorry for writing so much…

this went from so cute to tragic at the end…. i love when people make universes so diverged from the canon itself, i love seeing it and i wish i was that creative ;—; anyway ghost and alexia trading bouquets is so damn adorable i had to draw them <3

ALSO ALSO i LOVE WHEN PPL SEND ME LITERAL PARAGRAPHS IN MY INBOX,,,,FLOOD IT I MEAN JT I WILL READ THEM ALLKKKLLL

THANK U FOR SHARING UR LOVELY AU !!!!!!

[feyburner]

May I ask what your favorite biscuit recipe is? (I tend to go for Nancy Silverton's, but it's so much work and so much butter that sometimes I long for something else.)

I use my own recipe! Here it is.

BUTTERMILK BISCUITS

MAKES: 8-10 biscuits

INGREDIENTS

2 ½ cups (300g) AP flour

2 Tbsp (yes, Tbsp!) baking powder

1 Tbsp white or brown sugar or honey

1 tsp kosher salt

¾ cup (170g) butter (ideally salted), cold, sliced thin

1 cup (227g) cold buttermilk (1 Tbsp white vinegar + fill to 1 cup line with milk, let curdle 10 min)

optional: 1 Tbsp melted butter + 1 Tbsp honey, to brush over tops before baking

optional: honey butter (4 Tbsp softened butter + 2-4 Tbsp honey to taste; creamed), to serve

DIRECTIONS

1. Preheat oven to 450°. Grease a cast iron skillet, or line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

2. In a large bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder, sugar, and salt.

3. Work fat into flour: Add the sliced butter. Toss to coat each piece in flour. Use your knuckles and fingers to smash, rub, and smear butter into flour mix until it resembles coarse, moist, crumbly sand, with granola-like crumbles of butter. Some larger flakes are fine. Work quickly: Keep butter cold.

4. Add buttermilk in 3 parts, mixing with a spatula in between, just until large clumps form. You might not need all the buttermilk! Dough will be shaggy and moist but not unworkably sticky. (If too sticky, sprinkle liberally with flour during next step; brush off excess as you go.)

5. Form layers: Turn dough onto a clean, floured surface. With floured hands and a bench scraper, shape into a mass. Do not knead or overwork. Pat or roll out into a slab roughly 1” thick. Fold it in half, then pat back out. Repeat 3-5x to form layers.

6. Cut biscuits: Pat into a 1” thick slab. Use a biscuit cutter to cut 8-10 biscuit rounds, OR shape dough into a 1” thick rectangle (about 6x12”; the goal is 8 x 3x3” square biscuits). Using a large, sharp knife, slice ¼” off the outer edges to expose layers. Slide the edge strips under the dough so they don’t show. Cut the rectangle into 8-10 biscuits of desired size.

7. Arrange biscuits in cast iron skillet or on baking sheet with the sides very lightly touching. Brush tops with honey butter if desired (you can also brush it on after baking).

8. Bake 16-20 minutes until tall and golden brown.

NOTES

- Cast iron vs. baking sheet: Either works. Baking in a cast iron = crispy bottom crust.

- Cutting: The edges must be sliced to expose the layers so they can properly rise—use a biscuit or cookie cutter, not a drinking glass, or just cut square biscuits. If using a biscuit cutter: Do not twist while pressing down—it will smear layers together and inhibit rise.

- Arranging: Biscuits love to lean on each other. Make sure their sides are very lightly touching (not too close; they will expand as they rise) so they can cling to each other and climb higher during the bake.

- Keep dairy cold. If butter starts looking greasy, chill dough in fridge or freezer 15 minutes.

[onlygenxhere]

A conversation between me, @innytoes, @missjoolee, @floating-in-the-blue, and @jatp-spinsb about that grindr post that went around a while ago about needing a screwdriver and not a hookup has led to a Juke version of that prompt. (I didn't think there was one) I'm not sure what to call it.

It was a lazy Saturday morning and Julie was cooking herself some bacon and eggs scrolling through the dating app Flynn had talked her into installing last night after her third glass of wine.

When the talk had turned to how long it had been since she’d been laid her best friend had insisted this new app was the way to break her dry spell. It was marketed as a dating app but was more popular for being the hetero version of grinder. On the plus side the men couldn’t message the women till they messaged them first. It was sexist as hell but when it came to a possible hookup Julie appreciated it.

She sighed as she swiped left on a guy that listed sky diving as one of his favorite hobbies. “Hell to the no.” She muttered under her breath.

She’d actually forgotten all about the app until her do not disturb turned off at nine and her phone started pinging that there were a few matches within the default radius of two miles.

She paused on a pretty cute guy that seemed to be a little too fond of his admittedly nice arms when the smell of her bacon burning finally pulled her attention back to her breakfast that was about to be ruined.

“Shit!” She dropped her phone on the table and only halfway noticed Dahlia, her cat, jumping up as she moved to save her bacon from ruin.

“Dahlia down!” She scolded over her shoulder as she turned the stove off and pulled the bacon out, laying it on a paper towel.

The cat ignored her of course, continuing to sniff at her phone, as she went about making herself a sandwich with her eggs and bacon.

She took a bite and moaned happily as she sat back down, pushing Dahlia’s nose away from her still open screen and froze.

Apparently the cat had sent the guy with the arms a message and he had replied.

Several times….

Me Ooo kiiiop

Luke Oh thank god Hi Hey I’m not actually looking for a date or hook up right this moment Not that your picture isn’t gorgeous But my bathroom sink is currently overflowing and what I really need is a flat head screwdriver I’m not sure if I have enough towels to keep my apartment from flooding. Hello?

Well shit. If his apartment was anything like hers there wasn’t a universal cut off so he’d have to wait for maintenance to get there and, again, if it was like hers, he could be anywhere from a few minutes to a few days showing up.

She checked his location and saw he was literally on the next block over and sighed. Guess she was going to get her good deed out of the way for the day.

Me Be there in five

She wolfed down her sandwich as she pulled out her little tool kit her tia had gifted her when she moved in, grabbed an armful of towels and her keys and was out the door in record time jogging down the block in her bare feet.

She was headed up the steps of Mr. arms, sorry, Luke’s building when her phone pinged twice.

Luke You’re a life saver Apartment 3C

“Of course you live on the third floor.” She grumbled as she started to climb. Realizing halfway up she didn’t have a bra on. At least her tank wasn’t white.

She banged at 3C’s door with her elbow three times as she tried to catch her breath before it was jerked open and she nearly fell in.

Her first thought was maybe he had a right to be proud of those arms because his profile picture hadn’t done them justice.

He also hadn’t been soaking wet in that picture.

Floppy brown hair curling around his forehead and dripping down his face, pajama pants hanging low on narrow hips and a sleeveless t-shirt plastered to an equally impressive torso.

“Oh thank god!” He grabbed the towels and the toolbox out of her hands and rushed down the hall. “Come on in!”

She took a steadying breath as she stepped inside the apartment. It looked much like her own with only a small sofa, books and a decent sized tv in the small living room. But where she had her piano by her balcony door, he had an amp and guitar.

Julie shook her head and moved down the hall to the bathroom curious how bad the situation was.

She tried not to laugh as she peaked around the corner. There were wet towels everywhere and a literal spray of water coming out from under one of the faucets. Luke was on the floor with her screwdriver turning something she couldn’t see.

Whatever he was doing seemed to be working because the deluge of water started to slow and then stop.

He sat up with a sigh, pushing his wet hair off his face and smiled at her. “All better.”

She felt a throb between her legs and her nipples tighten. Fuck, that smile should come with a warning label.

“Glad I could help.” She smiled back at him as she casually crossed her arms over her chest.

He stood up, that smile never wavering and placed her screwdriver back in the little tool kit. He clicked it closed and passed it to her. “Can I buy you breakfast or something?” He seemed to finally be looking at her, probably noticing her lack of shoes, her flannel shorts and her tank top that she definitely had a bra on under. “Or can I make you breakfast?”

She shrugged. “Do you have a dryer?”

“What?” He laughed.

She waved at the mountain of wet towels all over the floor.

“Ah, no.” He sighed. “I’ll have to take them to the laundromat later.”

She bit her lip. This was probably a bad idea, or a really really good one. “I have a dryer.”

“Yeah?” He took a step toward her, his eyes twinkling in interest. “I already owe you for the screwdriver and now you’re offering the use of your dryer too. I’m gonna have to take you to dinner or something.”

She could swear his eyes dropped to her lips as she licked them. “Or something.”

He took another step toward her, forcing her to tilt her head up to meet his eyes.

She let her arms drop to her sides as he slid a hand around her waist ever so slowly, giving her all the time in the world to back up or say something.

Talking was not on her mind right now. All she could think about was that wet torso pressing against her thin tank top as he pulled her tight against his chest, and how she owed Dahlia a saucer of milk for her accidental text.

“Hi.” He breathed across her lips. “I’m Luke.”

“Julie.” She whispered as he closed the distance between them.

[mrghostrat]

almost forgot to fill out this fun ask game, tagged by @chernozemm!

1. Are you named after anyone? if by 'named after' you mean i stole his identity by using his nickname as a teen and now i show up in google searches more than him, sure 🫢 also my mum gave me the middle name she was supposed to have before her dad fucked up the papers and gave her a different one.

2. When was the last time you cried? rewatched the good place a few months ago and fuckin wailed over that finale, again

3. Do you have kids? no ty

4. What sports do you play/ have you played? i am allergic to most forms of movement (but i do love swimming)

5. Do you use sarcasm? only when it's meant to be silly/funny to burn my friends. then yes too often

6. What is the first thing you notice about people? probably how often they talk, if they wait to let other people speak.

7. What's your eye color? blessed with a very pretty brown that goes all soft and light in the sun ✨

8. Scary movies or happy endings? SCARY SCARY SCARY 🔪 i like a satisfying end, even if it doesn't work out "happily"

9. Any talents? i have perfect pitch! altho my singing voice has lost about 80% of its range from HRT

10. Where were you born? a pretty beach town in NSW

11. What are your hobbies? i chronically pick up and immediately drop new hobbies, so i'm in between interests right now (wish i was joking) but i've got gel nail extensions, embroidery, reading, clay sculpture, and working out on the back burner.

12. Do you have any pets? oliver my chihuahua, and bailey my mini lop rabbit :) we also live with @thewolveswolf's cat mikasa. lots of white fur in this household.

13. How tall are you? 5'5"

14. Favorite subject in school? art 😩🤌 hyper fixation gonna fixate.

15. Dream job? i LOVE my current art work, but i still kind of wish i could experience being a full time author. imagine that, pulling in a living just from writing about my guys all day. i'm so looking forward to teaching as well, i think uni level lecturing would be my dream teaching environ.

[corgate-epistolary]

May 5th, 624

(Transcript under the cut) (Read on Ao3 HERE)

[Delivered to Corgate May 6th, 624 – Received by Elowen Vance on May 14th, 624)

[Front of Envelope: Letter was mailed in a brown craft paper envelope tied with natural twine, addressed to:

Elowen Vance Corgate Post Office May 5th, 624

With the return address of:

Eris Mirrows 87 Lancedragon Strt. Avalon

In the top right, there is a sticker depicting an black engraving-style ice cream bowl on a white background, below which are the words “FOR YOUR HEART”.

Back of Envelope: The letter was sealed in mottled red & white sealing wax, with a wax seal depicting a crescent moon surrounded by orbital shapes & stars. Letter was tied with craft twine, with a small treble clef & key tied to the cord. In the bottom left there is a sticker depicting a black engraving-style steaming cup on a white background, below which is the word “BONJOUR”.

Interior pages: Written on mottled medium brown paper. It is lightly, almost invisibly, lined with slightly darker brown lines. In the top center, approximately 1 inch from the top, the words “THANKS FOR LIVING YEARS” can be seen on the paper. The writing is tidy, slightly rounded print in black ink.]

Eris Mirrows, A.Mg. 87 Lancedragon Strt. Avalon

May 5th, 624

Dear Ms. Vance, It is with great pleasure and a hint of surprise that I receive your letter. I did not expect the Corgate post system to be so quick to get your words to me. The simple fact that they have railroad tracks still amaze [sic] me. I do not know how Mg. Hawkins convinced you to move with him to this backwater part of the country without so much as a raise. What you would do for him, I wonder… Or rather, what he would do without you. I am pleased to read that Mg. Hawkins is in his element in the countryside and having a great time. Meanwhile, I have rarely heard Mg. Equlee complain so much as in the past few days. Something about how they will succomb [sic] to boredom without the most entertaining clown in town. I am divided between patting him on the back for the loss of his favorite pastime of picking a fight with your mage, or believing his condescending tone and idly nodding along. I have no doubt that they will

[End of Page 1] [Eris Mirrow’s address & the date appears on all pages, and have been eliminated for clarity]

find a way to piss each other off despite the distance, but I would never dare ruin the sulking of Mg. Equlee; which is the reason I have passed your most sincere apologies with as much dramatics as I could muster. You would, without a doubt, have been a better performer of this trick than I was. I do not know which shocked Mg. Equlee the most; to hear an apology from my mouth or that Mg. Hawkins did not leave a message for them through your letter. Either way, they resumed their theatrics a little less loudly so I suppose it must have worked. For what it is worth, I do share your reservation on this assignment. The Council does not make a habit of sending their greater mages away from Avalon without a reason. I remember on Kathrina Devolee, a good five years back or so, who’s [sic] name had been sullied by dirty rumors of unconventional use of magic, to which the Council had answered with a swift assignment to the North. I do not believe anyone has heard much from her since. (Writing these words, I realize it was indeed you who told me this tale. It goes to show, once again, that you are the ever flowing source of gossip in this part of town. I will do my best to fill the role in your absence, but do not keep your hopes up.)

[End of Page 2]

I have been around Vimes Place to get your satchel back. It was, as you have so helpfully provided, propped on the front table. You will forgive my curiosity as I could not help but wonder exactly what novels you would put alongside such ever-so-important notes. I am unsurprised to find there your classic Aliyah Prestance. I do not remember a time of our lives where you did not carry at least one of [scratch out - “your”] her works. I might’ve shipped a few recommendations of my own in your satchel, so do not be offput [sic] if it seems heavier than you remember it to be. Mg. Equlee was glad to put some complex lock on the whole package, no doubt just a tad more complex than necessary, just to be annoying. I hope you will be able to retrieve the contents fast enough. I will, of course, keep a watchfull [sic] eye on your plants. My green thumb might not be as good as yours but how hard could it be, right? Your plants are safe with me. I hope the countryside treats you well and

[End of Page 3]

that you will keep describing its people and sights in your letter. The world always seems brighter through your eyes, though I ever so wonder where that enthusiasm keeps coming from. I am hopeful that the Coucil [sic] will call you back soon enough. In the meantime, have my good wishes and thoughts.Awaiting your reply, Eris.

[To the right of the signature is a sticker depicting a tiger, a small girl, and a rabbit. The small girl is pulling clothes out of a suitcase the rabbit is sitting on. The art is done in an engraving style, with black lines on a white background.]

[idesofrevolution]

Hi. Love your work. It’s my Birthday today. Any chance of a story turning me into a younger, cigar smoking jock from my 40 year old white collar suburban everyday 9-5.

love your work even if not :)

You open the door, startled by such a forceful knock at this time of the day. Looking around, you see nobody anywhere nearby, if anything, an unnerving quiet had fallen over your neighborhood as if you were the only one around for a mile. Just as you were preparing to shut the door and return to whatever you were doing, you feel the tip of your toe hit something as you retreat back into your home. Looking down, a small package in nondescript brown packaging sat ominously at your feet.

No label, no return address, nothing. It was your birthday, so you thought to yourself that perhaps one of your neighbors was being kind and wanted to do something nice for a change. You pick up the box and gently shake it. Something loose inside of it rattles about, clearly not heavy, nor breakable. You take the box inside, sitting down onto the couch and begin to tear the brown paper from it. Atop the taped cardboard box, a small note was attached.

"Happy Birthday. Hopefully this brings you memories of a simpler time. Enjoy." The letter was unsigned, written in inhuman, clear lettering. Intrigued, you open the box. Inside, rolling around was a single cigar. You pick it up, feeling the smooth cylinder glide between your fingers. Smiling, you light it up, ready to unwind for just a moment. It is your birthday after all.

Taking one deep drag, you lean back into the sofa, exhaling a huge cloud of thick tobacco smoke. The cigar tastes funky, salty almost. The unexpected flavor takes you aback for a moment, though even stopping for one moment made you crave one more drag. Bringing it to your lips, you take another inhale, feeling your chest rise and fall as the cloud escapes your lips. The cigar feels at home between your lips as they plump up and stubble begins to crawl down from your sharpening jaw to your chest.

You rub your itching pecs as they begin to grow, your shoulders widen and square out with thick deltoids and traps. You take another drag. The sensation of smoke flows deep into you, coursing through your veins, filling your expanding biceps and rock hard forearms. Between your callousing fingers, worn from hard labor and barbell scratches, you roll your cigar and savor the newfound vitality which overwhelms your thickening muscles.

You slide your pants off as your quads inflate, setting off a stirring in your groin. Your balls grow heavy and pendulous, filled with thick, juicy, potent seed. Pre begins to leak out of the lengthening shaft, your new funky musk wafting from your damp pits and sweaty balls drives you wild as you begin to paw at your rock hard bulge. Slipping your increasingly moist boxers off, your 11" cock slams against your cum gutters throbbing with each burst of muscle growth in your calves. Taking it in your hand, you beat your musty donkey dick as you feel your toes strain against the confines of your socks, sweat pouring into the cotton fibers before the loud tearing sounds of the fabric giving way notate their inevitable demise.

You stroke faster and harder, your balls swinging and jumping with every tug of the meaty member. Your slick cockhead slipping in and out of the sticky foreskin inches you closer and closer until you can't contain yourself any longer. With one final slamming down of your fist onto your groin, ropes of sticky, thick cum shoot out of your cock like a geyser. Every shot your face grows younger, fuller, sharper. Your brows fall downward into a permanently furrowed look as your hair curls wildly, becoming a sweaty mop atop your chiseled skull.

Breathing out, you exhale the last remnants of yourself. Sitting there, covered in your own splooge, you chuckle to yourself as you rub the baby batter into your skin. You crack your toe knuckles and jump up, slipping on your favorite pair of Wrangler jeans and your ripe Timberland boots. Being sure not to forget your gifted cigar, you sauntered out the door, looking to find a good time to make your perfect birthday complete.

[oldiesstationlover11607]

Cookies - Tyler Joseph x Reader

Relationship: Tyler Joseph x Reader

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 1065

Summary: Reader teaches Tyler how to bake her signature cookies

Tyler Joseph loved eating cookies. And I loved making them. I’d made my brown butter chocolate cookies for him and Josh every week since we met. Except this time was different, because this was the first time Tyler and I were living together in our own house. And this time I was teaching Tyler how to make them himself. 

“Shouldn’t we be using a recipe?” He asked, grabbing out the ingredients as I called them out. I’d made these cookies more than 10 times, I knew the recipe by memory. 

“I’ve got it Ty, it should be fine,” I said, grabbing out measuring cups, bowls, and a pot to brown the butter. I measured out the butter before placing it on the stovetop to brown. 

“And what’s this supposed to do?” Tyler asked, standing behind me and looking over my shoulder. I could feel his breath on my neck and I smiled to myself, happy he was actually interested. 

“Browning butter makes it have this nutty flavor that makes the cookies taste so good. It’s hard to not burn it though so that’s why I’m doing it for you.” I continued to stir the butter until it foamed up, started to smell nutty, and was a golden brown color. Tyler’s eyes widened as I moved the hot pot off the stove to let the butter cool. “Can you measure out the sugars please? I wrote down the measurements for you,” I asked. He nodded and started pouring white and brown sugar into the bowl. 

“Hey Siri, play y/n’s (insert favorite non tøp band)‘s playlist,” he called out to our smart speaker. I grabbed out the eggs and cracked them into a bowl along with some vanilla extract which Tyler called ‘spicy’ when he dipped a pinky into the bottle. Once the butter had cooled enough I poured it into the sugar bowl and had Tyler stir it. I danced and sang along to the music playing in the background, waiting for him to finish mixing. I added in the eggs and vanilla, he continued mixing. I added the flour, salt, and baking powder. It always got harder to mix once the flour was added and I struggled to watch Tyler be so slow at something I’d done for weeks. 

“God could you stir any slower?” I laughed, snatching the bowl from him and folding the flour in. 

“Well, is there anything else I can do?” He laughed, leaning against the counter. 

“Uh yeah actually. Can you preheat the oven and line the baking trays?” I nodded towards our oven as I grabbed the block of baking chocolate and started to cut it into little chunks. Tyler looked entirely clueless but he was trying and it was cute. He ran a hand through his hair and squinted at the oven dial. “Shit!” I swore, feeling the blade of the knife nick me like a paper cut. 

“I swear y/n if you just cut off your finger with that knife,” Tyler turned around and grabbed my hand to inspect it. He squinted extra hard at the cut till he saw a couple drops of blood and ran to grab the first aid kit. 

“I’m fine, Ty. It happens all the time in the kitchen,” I say, slapping on a bandage and reaching for the knife again. 

“Ah ah, I’m not letting you hold a knife ever again babe. It’s not happening,” he stole it from my grip and started chopping the chocolate exactly how I had been. We finished mixing everything in and put the cookies into the oven. 

“Did you wash those?” I asked, pointing to the pile of dishes we’d been using. 

“Of course I did,” he smiled, pulling me into his chest. “Now we just wait for y/n’s amazing cookies to be done and we can send half off to Josh.” We sat on the floor in front of the oven, me in between Tyler’s legs and his arms wrapped around my waist. I could feel the rising and falling of his chest with every breath. 

“How’s the songwriting stuff coming along?” I asked. He’d been spending a lot of time in the home studio lately. Normally I wouldn’t ask, knowing that his process was very personal and that he’d mention it when he was ready but it felt right to ask. 

“Not too bad. I think you’ll like the new album if that’s what you’re wondering,” he responded. I’d missed spending time with him like this. The last time we properly got to spend time together was when we were on tour and the boys had a lot of spare time waiting around. I was grateful he’d taken the time off, the warmth of his presence filling my heart. 

“I love you,” I rested my head on his chest as he caressed and curled my hair in between his fingers. 

“You’re my everything y/n. I love everything about you,” he pressed his lips softly to my neck, a fluttery feeling running across my skin. “I don’t know where I’d be without your cookies,” he stopped, desperately trying to hold in his laugh and knowing full well that I was about to destroy him. 

“Oh fuck off,” I grinned, jumping up to check the oven, each cookie a perfect flat golden brown treasure. “They’re done if you want to call Josh and Debby to come over,” I placed them on the cooling rack and wrapped one in a napkin for Tyler to eat fresh out of the oven. He responded with a keen hum before taking a bite. 

“Ugh this is why I love you. Because you make the BEST cookies I’ve ever eaten in my entire life,” he groaned with satisfaction.

“Well now you can make them for yourself,” I felt my lips tug up in a smirk, knowing there was no way he’d ever make them for himself. He would just complain they didn’t taste as good if he made them.

“Or… you can just keep making them every week instead of paying rent.”

“I already don’t pay rent, we own the house,” I said, watching him take another bite. 

“Well if you don’t make these then I’ll start charging you, good enough?” He clearly hadn’t thought through the rent joke before attempting to crack it. 

I nodded, chuckling under my breath, “yeah good enough Mr Joseph.”

//

Please submit any requests y'all have! I love to write so let me know if you've got any!

[soufcakmistress]

In the Heat of the Night

A/N: Babies what is good!!!! I am so rusty but I’m so happy that I got this out for yall. Yall know I love me some Jonathan Majors, but I don’t write for real life folks. That’s just MY preference, no shade to those who do. Please comment and like and reblog to let me know how yall feel. Let’s get into it!

The south side felt different duting the summer. Kids were out of school, frolicking in the streets and turning on the fire hydrants. The ice cream man made several stops throughout the neighborhood, the old heads played their card games and dominoes until the wee hours of the morning, and the bars stayed packed with ladies and gents to take a load off. Summertime Chi felt larger than life.

Delphine Freeman sat up in her bed and stretched her arms to the sky. Looking behind her, she saw an empty bed with nothing but a small note on her husband’s pillow. “Picking up some things for breakfast. Be back soon, my love.” She picked it up and held it to her heart. That man of hers.

Delphine remembers the first time she encountered Atticus. Her family had just moved from Virginia, and she was totally new to the Midwest. At first, it was hard making friends at a new high school in a new place. Her accent and bumpkin ways attracted the wrong kind of attention among these city folks, so she kept to herself. Until one day when Atticus was helping his club attract new members, and he passed a flyer to her in the hallway. “You should come. Who knows, you might find a friend here.” He had her, hook line and sinker with his gentle way and sweet smile.

Atticus looked like 6 days of beautiful creation from God above AND the seventh day of rest to her - she missed seeing his face this morning. Delphine laid back against the pillow that smelled like him and reminisced on their roller coaster ride of a relationship. Fighting entitled white people over magic and who it really belonged to and his birthright, his trauma from Korea and monsters straight out of a pulp book— nobody with sense would ever believe it. The storm was over now, and her and Tic lived in peace, as well as holy matrimony.

The memory of her betrothed looking so debonair in his suit on their wedding day made her heart palpitate. Her legs squeezed together, recalling those shoulders filling out that blazer and kissing those lips as they said ‘I do’. She especially loved the surprise on his face when the ceremony was over and she slipped her hand in his pants right outside their wedding suite and him allowing her to take what was hers. “Oooh, I love that man.”

She was feeling frisky now. The window was cracked with a moderate breeze flowing into the room but Delphine’s heat couldnt be contained. Flashes of him saving his entire family from catastrophe, him shirtless and bespectacled reading aloud one of his favorite pulp books while he laid in her lap, the look of adoration and love when they bought their home on the South Shore. Tic was all man….and all hers.

Sweat dripped between her large breasts, her coochie ached in the best way and she couldn’t take it anymore. Delphine took Tic’s pillow and put it in between her legs. The reflection of her in the vanity bureau with her slinky nightgown raised up on her hips made her feel like she was a bit unhinged. If she didn’t cum now, she would lose it. So she rode that pillow like its name was Atticus Freeman and he was the only thing that could satiate her.

Her clit hit the seam of the pillow so precisely, it almost took her over before she was ready. “Shit, shit….oooh Tic baby…damn..” She pushed the straps down from her nightgown to expose her breasts and she really got to moving.

The key in the front door lock clicked with Tic lumbering in with a couple brown paper bags of breakfast stuff. He went to the kitchen to put everything away, but could have sworn that he heard something from the shared master bedroom. He got the baseball bat they kept in the coat closet and inched toward the room. Tic pushed the door in slightly and what he was met with could have knocked him on his back.

His sexy ass wife rubbing her pussy in figure 8’s on his pillow. Tic made sure to be quiet putting the bat along the wall, and rubbing his crotch slowly to take Delphine in. He knew when she showed signs of her incoming orgasm— shaking her head back and forth, fingers tangled in her hair, stomach fluttering…..she was almost there. When she finally shouted in delight, he couldn’t take it anymore.

The sound of a zipper coming down and broke her out of her trance. Delphine gasped when she saw her fine ass husband staring with bedroom eyes and pouty lips that made her wanna howl to the moon. “Looking for this?” He pulled his dick out of his pants and a deluge of fresh slick coated the meeting place between her legs.

Delphine almost started up again on the pillow but when the object of her deepest affections was just as hungry for her, it would be criminal to not take advantage. “Damn straight. Bring yo ass over here, four eyes.”

~

BB King played on the kitchen radio, and the lovely couple made breakfast together. Tic already put on a hot pot of coffee, and he sipped on a mug as he fried up some bacon. Delphine stood next to him in one of his shirts and panties, making her famous blueberry pancakes. Both hummed along and caught cute ass glances at each other, floating on their sensual high. It felt so good. Not having to worry about what the next day held and being allowed to just live.

The phone rang while Tic started cracking eggs, and he wiped his hands on the tea towel. “Freeman Residence. Lester, my man! What’s shaking? Nothing much brother, just me and the Mrs. making some breakfast. She’s doing VERY well, I’ll let her know you asked about her.” Delphine turned around with feigned shock when he said that, knowing his subtext and that he blew her back out for the ages just twenty minutes ago. She walked over with a huge smile and popped a blueberry in his mouth and kissed his lips.

He pinched her butt when she went back to the stove and finished chatting it up with Lester. “Sunday? We’ll be there brother. See ya then.” Tic looked at the calendar on the wall next to the phone, to see if there was any extra obligations needed for the guidebook and his aunt Hippolyta. He also did some math and tried to remember his wife’s last cycle. “That’s why she’s so frisky…”

~

Lester had a block party over where he stayed in Bronzeville, and it was jumping! All kinds of rhythm and blues and guitar singers filled the south side with a plethora of food to choose from. Little girls playing jacks and double Dutch, little boys doing bike races, the teenagers making googly eyes at each others and the elders trading recipes for lemonade and greens. Everybody would pitch in and bring something for the community to enjoy. Delphine took all of Friday to make 5 sweet potato pies from scratch and Tic grilled so many slabs of ribs, it was insane. Irene, Lester’s wife was tight with Delphine; her and the other young women gossiped while sipping beers on their stoop.

“Uh oh, ‘Phine. Tic is over there getting rowdy at that card table.” Irene loved to tease—he was putting them back and with each hand he won, the louder his voice carried. “Oh hell. Lemme go feed my baby.”

Delphine made Tic’s plate with everything he loves — ribs, chicken, potato salad, cornbread, sausage dog with relish and an ice cold Budweiser. “Hey baby, you been doing a whole lot of drinkin but not a lot of eating. Come on now.” Tic acquiesced and moved with her away from all the men. She sat on his lap at an empty table and fed him some of the food before he took over, and started feeding her too.

Tic’s skin was all tan and his arms and pecs were bulging in his shirt. He didn’t even have to try to get her riled up. Delphine rubbed his back, and absentmindedly played with his ear. “All right now. You know that’s my spot.” They both had their fair share of alcohol that evening, and Delphine usually would have to beat Tic off with a stick. The shoe was on the other foot now. “Tic……I don’t have any panties on..”

He almost choked on his beer when his minx of a wife started talking so salacious like in his ear. “I like this Delphine. She takes what she wants. What you trying to do? Only if you say it, will you be able to get what you want.” Delphine’s skin pimpled because he meant every word. All the ruckus and commotion around them meant nothing in that instance. Just her and her husband. “I want you to take me in that alley…..and do whatever you want to me..”

That sinful jawline clenched, and she knew he would do just that. Wasn’t any more talking. He drained his beer, and dragged her down a few streets to a secluded alley. Delphine stood at the brick wall, flushed with the strap of her linen dress down her arm. Tic cradled her face and they kissed each other so deeply that they breathed for each other. She undid his pants letting them fall to his knees, and he picked her up.

Delphine was so wet, the slick was almost to the inside of her knees. Tic’s thrust was so strong, they both gasped aloud. “Yes Tic, fuck me hard!” His face lived in the crevice of her neck, licking and kissing. Just like every muscle on his sculpted body, Tic was rock hard and filled her up so deliciously. The same BB king song from the other morning played and they were able to hear it still. Everything swirled around the both of them and yet nothing at all mattered. His low grunts were so sexy and she could tell he was about to cum.

“Oooh I love this pussy baby, I love this pussy….I fuckin love you!” Atticus filled his wife up all the way that it spilled down her legs and the heat of it all triggered her to orgasm. She pulled him in even more and he expelled more of his love inside her. Tic brought her down to her feet, and she stumbled immediately. Tic steadied her and stuck his tongue down her throat yet again. “Atticus Freeman….the man of my dreams..”

~

The guidebook was doing so well.

Atticus and Hippolyta had been able to come to an agreement on operations; Atticus would be able to make final edits and handle submissions to the publisher and Hippolyta would be able to do most of the trips to update the stops. She acquiesced to Tic’s request that he would join her to assuage his nerves if she went more than 3 states away.

The book was flying off the shelves and Hippolyta had been able to meet some publishers in Kansas City and Detroit to put in some local Negro owned shops and apothecaries. It was the second Saturday in August, and the entire South Side would be at Washington Park for the Bud Billiken parade and festival. Delphine and Tic packed up their station wagon with fold up chairs, a cooler full of beer and pop, and more food to last a winter. Dee was finally feeling better and she rode with you guys to the Bud as she was Delphine’s favorite little cousin.

Everybody was rocking and rolling to the marching bands and majorettes. Delphine and Dee looked at all the floats and picked their favorite one. “Oooh Dee, you see the grand marshal? That’s a good lookin man!” She made sure to say it in earshot of Atticus; she loved him a bit jealous and possessive. He cut his eyes at her, smirking behind his beer. “All right now, don’t get in trouble.”

“Baby, there is nothing more that I would love to do than be punished by you.” Delphine stuck her tongue down her husband’s mouth, and Dee gagged at the public display of affection. “Y’all are so gross I swear!”

The grand marshal announced who had the best float and the best marching band in Chicago, and the party went on until late in the night. “Come on, dancing queens, let’s get y’all home.” Atticus loaded the car up and Delphine and Dee fell asleep in the backseat holding each other. Atticus looked in the rear view full of gratitude and unbridled joy at his two girls. He stopped at Hippolyta’s house and carried Dee inside.

Delphine moved to the front seat after and waited for her husband to drive them home. The angles of his face illuminated by the streetlights made him even more handsome in the low light. She couldn’t help but to stare. That same feeling from that other morning came back with a fierceness. He felt her eyes on him and winked at her. “You looking like you still hungry for something…..”

“That mouth on my body…that’s what I need.” Delphine sat with her back to the door and lifted her dress, pulled her panties off, and put them in his lap. Tic took them and sniffed them and was instantly engorged. That station wagon moved a little quicker then.

Fireworks were being shot near the lake and Tic and Delphine had a clear view from their balcony. “Ooooh let’s see baby! Her ass clapped in her dress and Tic had to grip his meat walking after her. “Lemme make sure the shoggoth is okay first. Keep it tight for me baby.”Tic went to the basement and fed the shoggoth and calmed him down since they were gone all day. He had it down to a science now. Feed him a racist white man a day, and he would cooperate.

Delphine was out on the balcony totally enthralled. She jumped like a little kid when several popped at once, entrancing her with the bright colors. Standing at the window, he just gazed upon her. How did he get so lucky? Tic joined her on the balcony, wrapping those muscles around her waist. All the kisses behind her ear made her giggle just like how he intended. While she was off guard, he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, and lifted her dress in one motion. “Now what you doing back th—OH!”

He slipped right into her pussy with the most earth shattering intrusion Delphine could ever experience. “Shhhh shhh. We have to be quiet. Now Mrs. Freeman…..I think I know what’s gotten into you cuz I did the math. It’s that other time of the month, ain’t it?”

A breathy yes fell from her lips and it clicked for her. She was always incredibly horny and with shiny hair and skin at this particular point of the month. “You tryna have my baby?” Tic whispered in her ear, and pinched her nipple as his hips stroked back and forth. “Delphine, are you tryna make me a father?”

She loved when he got rough with her, especially when they were at risk of being seen in the act. “Yes, Atticus give me your baby.” His hands gripped hers on the railing and he let her have it. Delphine had already came twice but Tic was always generous; he wanted his wife to be satisfied. “Here it come..” Atticus held her right to his chest and gave her devastating thrusts and came deep inside her. Her head rolled back on his shoulder and they stood together still united as one as the fireworks show gave the finale. “I love you so much” they both said in unison and gazed at the sky.

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[c-e-d-dreamer]

Naughty Girl

A/N: Forgive me, Father, I have sinned... This is the absolute filthiest smut I have ever written, all 4,000 words of it. There's not even any plot. The only plot is that Nesta and Cassian are together. Are they married? Are they just in a relationship? You get to decide! But we're celebrating Day 4 of @sjmromanceweek with truly everyone's favorite trope: PWP ;) I'd like to dedicate this to the GC and my favorite enablers who encouraged me to finally release this into the wild and the 54 people who voted in my poll. I hope you enjoy, but maybe not in public, this very very very NSFW fic

The notification going off on his phone is loud in the otherwise quiet office, the sound practically blaring over the shuffle of papers, the glide of his pen. It's jarring enough that Cassian has to blink a few times as he's pulled from his haze of focus. He knows he should ignore it, that whoever is texting him can wait, but there's no denying the way his fingers have started to cramp, the way his eyes have started to ache from reading page after page of black ink spilled across white paper.

With a soft sigh, Cassian scrubs a hand down his face and digs his phone out from beneath the stacks. He frowns when he sees Nesta's name displayed across the screen. She knows he's busy with this endless stream of reports from Rhys, knows he's practically locked himself in the office of their house until they're completed. It's not like her to interrupt him. He expected her to appreciate the peace and quiet to relax and read her book all day.

Perhaps something is wrong?

But if something was truly wrong, why wouldn't she call him? Hell, why wouldn't she knock on the office door?

Suddenly feeling quite anxious, Cassian quickly types in his passcode, thumbing open his text message chain with Nesta. The anxiety quickly morphs back to confusion at the three word message waiting for him.

I'm so lonely

Cassian reads it once. Twice. His brow furrows as he tries to figure out what that means, why she texted that message to him when he's in the middle of these reports. He starts to type out just that question back to her, but she must have seen he'd read her first message because before he can finish, a second message comes through.

This one is a picture.

There's no mistaking the navy blue sheets of their bed, no mistaking the dark wood of their headboard in the top part of the frame. But it's the center of the photo, the focus of it, that has Cassian almost swallowing his tongue, a choked off sound escaping from his throat.

Golden brown hair cascades across the pillow like waves of burnished gold. The strands frame a face tipped back, pink dusting high along the cheeks. Cassian's eyes follow that pink, that flush, across milky smooth skin down and down until it vanishes beneath the red lace covering Nesta's chest. His favorite color. His gaze keeps going down and down, but the photo cuts off what he's really hoping to see. Still, the implication is clear with the way Nesta's arm is positioned, her hand clearly buried between her legs off frame.

Cassian tries to clear his throat, tries to swallow, but suddenly, his throat is too dry. Already, he can feel himself growing hard, and he reaches a hand down to readjust himself in his sweatpants. He knows he needs to get back to his work, needs to refocus on the task at hand, but he can't stop staring at that damned photo.

As if the ache between his legs isn't enough, his hands seem to ache too. Ache to glide along those miles and miles of skin. Ache to be filled with her breasts, to squeeze until they're spilling out of that red, lacy bra, so he can get his mouth on them. Fuck, he wants to get his mouth on all of her. Trace the line of her neck, biting bruises into the skin there that won't fade for days. Taste the fingers of her hand hidden from the photo then drink directly from the source.

A third text message comes in, and Cassian's resolve finally snaps.

Won't you help me, daddy?

Cassian quickly types out his response, pressing send and waiting. It takes less than a minute before he hears the shuffling of feet outside the door, the creak of wood as it's pushed open. Nesta struts into his office, and Cassian gets to see the outfit in all its glory in person. The red, lacy bra cradles her breasts, pushing them up and on full display. The matching lace panties sit high on her hips, and Cassian already knows the cut of them show off her ass without even seeing it.

Cassian stays seated in his office chair, his eyes tracking her every movement. Nesta walks in with a wide smirk, twirling a strand of her hair almost innocently. A wolf in sheep's clothing indeed. She looks every bit like she's won, like the cat that got the cream, but as she takes in Cassian's expression, the smirk starts to slip. Cassian would be concerned if the blues of her eyes didn't flare and blaze in excitement. She knows exactly how this game goes.

"And what did you think you were doing?" Cassian asks, keeping his voice low but calm. "Sending me that photo?"

"I told you," Nesta offers, stepping around the desk and closer to him, sliding a finger along his collarbones. "I was feeling lonely."

"I have to finish these reports," Cassian reminds her, shifting his office chair back enough that he can pull Nesta onto his lap, that she can feel the effect she had on him pressing up against her. "And you ruined my concentration. How am I supposed to work after that?"

"I'm sorry."

"I don't think you're sorry at all."

"Maybe I'm not," Nesta agrees, peering up at him from under her lashes and grinding down against his lap. Cassian tightens his grip on her hips, pausing the movement, and Nesta lets out a quiet whine.

"How very naughty of you, Nes. And here I thought you were daddy's good girl."

"I am good."

"Really? That's not what your little photo suggests. You know good girls don't come without permission."

"But I didn't come," Nesta protests, shifting her hips again as if to prove her point, prove her neediness. "I was waiting for you."

Cassian hums but he doesn't say anything more. He slides his hands down along Nesta's hips and back until he can grasp at her ass, kneading it. Nesta's eyes flutter closed at the gesture, a soft gasp falling from her lips and her arms tightening around his shoulders. Cassian leans in, sliding his nose along the underside of her jaw before following the same path with his lips.

He blazes a trail all the way to her ear, whispering, "you want to play, Nes?" This close together, he can hear the way her breath hitches in her lungs, can feel the way she dips her chin in a nod. "Use your words, baby."

"Yes," Nesta breathes before he even finishes speaking.

"I think we need to see if you can really be my good girl," Cassian offers, nipping at her ear until Nesta is shuddering in his arms. "I think you should warm daddy's cock until he's finished his reports."

Nesta lets out another whine, this one high pitched and seemingly pulled right from the back of her throat. Her head tips forward as she buries her face in the crook of his neck, her lips skating across his skin, and Cassian has to swallow a groan of his own.

"Are you going to be my good girl?" Cassian murmurs into her hair.

"Yes," Nesta repeats, lifting her head up and leaning in for a kiss.

Cassian slots their lips together, slipping his fingers through the strands of her hair and tilting her head how he likes it, so he can press his tongue into her mouth. She moans into the kiss, and Cassian can feel his resolve starting to slip, finds himself tempted to say fuck it to his original plan. Nesta is intoxicating. The softness of her lips against his. The way she tastes. Having her pliant in his arms. He could do this all day. He could get lost in her all day.

Reluctantly, Cassian breaks the kiss and pulls away, but he continues to stare at her. Her mouth is parted still, lips kiss bitten and swollen. Her eyes are still closed, long eyelashes kissing her cheeks. And those cheeks are flushed such a pretty shade of pink, one that matches the flush of her still heaving chest.

She's truly the most beautiful woman Cassian has ever seen and she's all his.

How did he get so lucky again?

Nesta lets Cassian maneuver her off his lap, so she's standing in front of him. He slides his hands down along her ribcage, over her waist, her hips. He toys with the waistband of her panties before leaving them be, instead following the line of fabric between her legs and pulling it aside. He teases his fingers between her folds, feather light touches that have Nesta pressing down against his hand desperately. He chuckles at the reaction, slipping two fingers into her, but it quickly turns into a groan when he's met with no resistance.

"Already so wet and ready for me, baby?" Cassian asks, curling his fingers just right. "You're absolutely soaked."

"Cass," Nesta gasps out around a moan. "Daddy. Please."

Cassian pulls his fingers free, bringing them up to his mouth and licking them clean. Nesta's gaze tracks the movement, watching him through hooded eyes, and Cassian doesn't even bother biting back his smirk. He shifts enough in his seat that he's able to tug his sweatpants off, never more grateful than today for the comfort of working from home. Nesta licks her lips as soon as his cock springs free, and Cassian gives himself a few strokes before lounging back in the chair, arms resting casually against the armrests.

"Come on, then," Cassian tells her, licking his own lips as his eyes sweep over her frame, every delicious inch all for him and wrapped in a pretty bow. "Come sit on my cock."

Nesta turns around, her back to him, and shuffles back so she can comfortably straddle his legs. She reaches down, and Cassian lets out a hiss as she gives him a cursory stroke, but then she's holding him steady and lowering herself down. Cassian has to bury his groan against her shoulder as her tight heat envelopes him, as she sinks down and down until she's flush against his thighs. He can feel the way she clenches around him, can feel the air stuttering in her lungs where her back is pressed against his chest. It's heaven if there ever is one.

"So perfect for me," Cassian praises, brushing her hair aside and pressing a kiss to the juncture between her shoulder and neck. "My perfect girl."

A soft moan falls from Nesta's lips, and her head falls back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. He can see the little crease between her brows, see the way her bottom lip is caught firmly between her teeth. He knows she's trying hard to concentrate on keeping calm, putting all her focus on being still.

"Now, be a good girl for daddy and don't move."

Cassian reaches forward with his left hand, picking up the report he'd left off at. He keeps his right hand on Nesta's knee, tracing soothing lines back and forth with his thumb. He stays just like that as he goes through each of the remaining reports, but every time he needs his right hand to jot something down, to take notes or circle something, he returns it just a little bit higher on Nesta's thigh. By the time he's on the last report of the stack, his hand is resting right at her hip joint, his thumb just barely brushing against her clit.

Nesta lets out a sound halfway between a moan and whine, clenching around him again before whispering, "how many more?"

"How many more what, baby?" Cassian asks, even though he already knows, not stopping the lazy back and forth motion of his thumb.

"Reports," Nesta huffs quietly, her hips starting to stutter before she stops herself.

"That was the last one."

Nesta's whole body freezes at that. Her eyes snap open, watching as Cassian removes his hands from her, as he neatly stacks all the papers on his desk, as he opens one of the drawers and tucks them away.

"You were so good for me," Cassian tells her, returning his hands to her body and squeezing at her breasts through the thin material of her bra.

"Yeah?" Nesta asks, her voice breathless.

"Yeah. And good girls get rewarded."

Before Nesta can ask or say anything more, Cassian grasps at her waist. He hauls her off him and his lap, spinning her around so he can splay her out on his now empty desk. He slips out of his desk chair and down to his knees, finally reaching up to tug Nesta's panties down and off. Once those are discarded, he curls his hands around Nesta's ankles, sliding up her calves, over her knees, and up her thighs.

"What color, Nes?"

"Green," Nesta assures him, reaching a hand down and burying her fingers in his hair.

"Good girl," Cassian praises, pressing a sweet kiss to her inner thigh before smirking back up at her. "You love seeing me kneel before you, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Think about it all the time?"

"Only sometimes. I think about your cock more."

"Greedy. You just had it," Cassian chastises, nipping at her skin in retaliation. "It's alright. I think about your pretty little cunt all the time. How it feels gripping me. How it tastes."

As if to prove his point, Cassian leans in and licks a long, slow stripe over her. Nesta moans loudly, her hand tightening in his hair. The sensation along with having his face pressed right where he wants to be has Cassian groaning against her. He swirls his tongue over her clit, just the way he knows Nesta likes, before shifting down to fuck his tongue into her. Nesta's thighs start to shake, and he keeps his grip on them firm, holding them open as he continues to lick and devour at his leisure, but all the teasing from before has her close already.

"Please please please," Nesta begs, canting her hips against him. "Please let me come. Please."

Cassian pulls back enough that he can speak, licking his lips and smirking up at her. "You're always so pretty when you beg." He gives another deep lick, relishing in the way Nesta's thighs squeeze against his grip on them, the way her whole body shudders. "You've been so good. My good girl. Come for me, baby. Come all over my face."

Cassian leans back in properly and sucks her clit between his lips. It's all Nesta needs. With a loud, throaty moan, she shatters, yanking on his hair and arching her hips up against him. Cassian continues to work his mouth against her until the shaking subsides, until she lets out a soft whimper at the stimulation. He pulls himself to his feet, cradling Nesta's face in his hands and connecting their lips. Nesta moans into his mouth, pressing her tongue against his and tasting herself. It's way hotter than it has any right to be. She's way hotter than she has any right to be.

Cassian pulls away to press kisses along her jaw, down her neck, to her shoulder. "Color, Nes."

"Green. It's green," Nesta tells him, pulling at his face until he's kissing her again. "I want you now."

"Is that so?" Cassian teases, biting her bottom lip and tugging gently.

"Please. Please fuck me, daddy."

Cassian groans, tugging her off the desk and flipping her around so he can bend her over it. "You know how much I love it when you beg."

He fists his cock in his hand, sliding it teasingly against her slit, against the wetness gathered there from his mouth and her orgasm. He knows he should tease her more, should see how much he can really get her to beg, but he can't wait anymore. He presses his hips forward and sinks back into her.

"Gods, you always feel amazing around me," Cassian groans, thrusting shallowly until he's seated to the hilt. "You were made to take daddy's cock, weren't you?"

"Yes," Nesta moans, pressing her hips back against him.

Cassian takes it for the cue that it is, pulling his hips back and snapping them forward. His hands find purchase on Nesta's hips, holding her steady as he fucks into her hard and fast, the sound of slapping skin quickly filling the small office space, mixing in with the litany of moans from Nesta and him alike.

"Fuck, you take me so well. That's my good girl. Could fuck you like this all day."

He shifts one of his hands to wrap his arm around Nesta's waist, tugging her back flush against his chest and allowing him to fuck her harder and deeper. He reaches his hand into her bra and pulls her breasts free, rolling and tugging her nipples between his fingers. Nesta's moans take on a higher pitch, louder in a way that Cassian's glad they finally moved out that apartment and into this house. His name starts to fall past her lips like some kind of chant, and Cassian can't help but agree with the sentiment, swears he's found religion cradled between Nesta's thighs.

"That's it, baby," Cassian tells her, dropping his forehead against shoulder. "Love hearing you scream my name. Makes me even harder."

Nesta's hand comes up to squeeze at Cassian's wrist, nails scraping to find purchase and her cunt clenching around him tight enough that his hips stuffer for a moment. "Cass—fuck. Don't stop. Right there. Don't stop."

"Close again, already?" Cassian asks, Nesta responding with a half intelligent moan as he keeps snapping his hips into her. It's answer enough, and Cassian raises his hand up to her lips. "Open up, baby."

Nesta parts her lips, and Cassian presses two fingers into her mouth. Nesta moans around them, sucking on them and lathering her tongue between them. When they're good and coated, Cassian pulls his fingers free, sliding his hand down to where they're joined and rubbing tight circles against Nesta's clit.

"Now, be daddy's good girl and come all over my cock," Cassian instructs, his lips pressed right against Nesta's ear.

Nesta arches back against him, crying out hoarsely, as she shatters again. He continue to work his hips and his fingers against her, making sure her release is good and stretched out for her.

"Such a good girl," Cassian praises once Nesta comes back down. "So fucking gorgeous when you come."

Nesta slumps forward against the desk, her chest still heaving with the aftershocks. He can still feel the way she flutters around him, and Cassian groans as he follows her down, pressing his lips soothingly along her shoulder blades, down the top of her spine.

"What color now, baby?" Cassian murmurs against her skin.

"Green. Still green," Nesta pants. "So green."

"Think you can come again, then?" Cassian asks, rocking his hips forward pointedly. "I think you can come again."

Nesta turns to look at him over her shoulder, a pretty pout marring her lips. "I want you to come."

"Is that so?"

"Want you to fill me up. Want to be so full of you, daddy."

Cassian has to squeeze his eyes shut, has to remind himself to breathe, even as a loud, deep groan tears its way straight from his chest. It's exactly what he wants to hear, and she knows it. They both know it. Both know exactly how this game ends.

Cassian takes a deep breath to steady himself and carefully pulls his hips back, slipping out of her. Nesta lets out an adorable whine at the loss, her brow furrowing.

"Shhh, don't worry, baby," Cassian soothes her, turning her back around and hoisting her back onto his desk. "Daddy's going to take care of you. I just want to see your beautiful face."

Nesta wraps her arms around Cassian's shoulders, pulling him into a kiss, and they both moan into each other's mouths as he lines himself back up and slides back home. He grasps Nesta's thighs, securing her legs tightly around his waist before settling his hands on the desk, using it to both steady himself and provide leverage as he fucks back into her with earnest, quickly re-finding a pace that has Nesta keening against him, that has them both moaning.

"My baby wants me to put a baby in her, doesn't she?" Cassian asks, snapping his hips hard and fast. "Wants me to fill her up until she's full of my come?"

"Yes," Nesta shouts, her head tossed back as she moans. "Gods, yes."

"Going to fill you up until you're absolutely dripping. Going to put a baby in you. And then everyone will know you're mine, won't they? There won't be any doubt. They'll all know who this cunt belongs to. Whose cock keeps it full."

Cassian's hips start to stutter, and he knows his own orgasm is looming, glittering just out of reach. He reaches a hand between them, finding Nesta's swollen clit and rubbing it in tight circles while he continues to rock desperately against her.

"You're all mine, baby. Mine to fuck. Mine to keep nice and full of my come. Until your stomach's swollen with my baby. But I need you to come for me again, baby. One more time. I know you can do it. You're my good girl. Come all over daddy's cock again and he'll fill you up."

One last press against her clit, one last snap of his hips, and Nesta finds her release. Her whole body shakes with this one, her lips parting on a near silent scream. She clamps down tight around him, and Cassian barely lasts for a handful more of thrusts before he presses his hips deep and spills inside her.

They both go collapsing against his desk, Nesta's legs still snug around his waist and keeping him close. Cassian rests his forehead against her collarbone, taking a few heaving breaths and trying to bring his heart rate back down to normal. He can feel her own heart beat racing away where they're pressed together, two souls thrumming in time. It has him smiling softly against her skin.

He's not sure how long they stay like that before he pushes himself up onto his forearms. He reaches a hand up and brushes the sweaty strands of Nesta's hair away from her face, trailing his fingers down along her temple, her cheek. Her eyes flutter closed at the gesture, and Cassian shifts his hand so his palm is cradling her jaw, leaning in and pressing a sweet kiss to her lips.

"All good?" Cassian asks when he pulls away.

Nesta pulls him in for another kiss, a happy, sated smile on her lips. "More than good."

Cassian chuckles softly, grinning as well. "We should probably clean ourselves up."

He scoops Nesta up properly into his arms, carrying her out of the office and down the hall to the bathroom. He sets her down on the lip of the tub, leaving her to clean herself up while he does the same. He steps over to their adjoining closet after he's finished, slipping on a fresh pair of sweatpants and grabbing one of his tees.

When he steps back into the bathroom, he tugs the tee over Nesta's head. She smiles up at him as she slips her hands through the sleeves, standing up and going up onto her toes to kiss him. She tries to step back after, but Cassian snags his arms around her waist, keeping her close. He leans in and kisses her again, soft and languid.

"I love you," Cassian murmurs against her lips.

Nesta lets out a quiet huff of amusement, the twinkle in her blue eyes betraying her. "I love you too."

Cassian reaches down to grasp at Nesta's thighs, hauling her back up and into his arms. She lets out a squeal of surprise, her own arms quickly locking around his neck, but soon she's laughing at his antics. His favorite sound. It has warmth pooling in his chest and flooding his veins, his grin wide enough his cheeks start to ache.

He carries Nesta into their room, gently tossing her onto the bed before diving right in beside her and pulling the blankets over them both. He wastes no time tugging her back into his arms, burying his face into her hair and breathing her in.

"I didn't ruin your work, did I?" Nesta asks after a few moments of silence, shifting slightly so she can peer at him over her shoulder.

"No," Cassian assures her, pressing a kiss to the skin peeking out from her collar, his tee oversized on her frame. "If anything, you gave me the motivation to finally get all those reports done."

"Good," Nesta says, laying her head back down comfortably against the pillow. She settles her arm over Cassian's that's wrapped securely around her waist, slotting their fingers together. "So, you're done working for today?"

"All done working. I'm all yours for the rest of the day, baby. And I vote that we take a nap, order food from that Thai place you love, then go for round two."

"Now, that sounds like a perfect plan."

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog​ @lifeisntafantasy​ @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl​ @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld​ @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust​ @a-trifling-matter​ @blueunoias​ @kookskoocie​ @cassiansbigwingspan​ @unlikelypersonalknight1​ @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian

[soobjvn]

TULIPS 🌷⁎︎° ✳︎ CHAPTER 19 : “ the c word ,,

↳︎ cw: written + smau; lightly proofread

[ prev. ✧︎ toc. ✧︎ next. ]

“YOU LOOK NICE,” winter commented from behind their market booth, looking up from the keychains she’d just arranged to y/n’s outfit. she wore a summer dress scattered with a strawberry pattern, a matching white purse in one hand and her phone in the other. “i wonder what the occasion is…”

“ok shut up.” she retorted while winter snickered. “how can i help?”

“admit you like yeonjun.”

“i meant with the booth,” winter smiled as she took note of the blush that painted y/n’s cheeks at the yeonjun remark.

“i know, y/n. and, nothing! yunjin went to go get the rest of the bags from the dorm; the two of us will be fine.”

“alright, but if you need help, just call me, ok?”

“y/n, we’re selling crochet not building a bomb. but sweet of you to abandon your man for us!”

“he’s not-“

“ah, ah, ah,” winter held her hand up, stopping y/n from continuing. “if i say it, it’ll happen.”

“yeah, okay.”

“can you just admit there’s a little something there?” y/n crossed her arms.

“maybe a teeny, tiny bit. like a smidge.” y/n pinched her fingers. smidge my ass, winter thought.

“finally!” as if summoned by the confession, yunjin appeared behind the booth with a box of their handmade purses and totes. “i think the earth just shook; mercury went into retrograde.”

“you guys are awful,” y/n laughed. she looked at her phone for the time. 1:27 it read; the market didn’t officially start until 2, meaning she’d have a bit until yeonjun came. she didn’t expect him to show up right when it opened, but they hadn’t specified a time either. she felt a bit disappointed to have to wait for his arrival.

“liar, you love us,” winter responded.

“whatever. i’m gonna go look around. i’ll see you guys later?”

“she’s growing up so fast,” yunjin and winter wiped fake tears while linking arms, causing a snort from y/n as she walked away to explore the market.

Y/N WAS LOOKING at a jewelry booth when her phone buzzed in her hand.

jun!: hey y/n, i’m here :)

y/n caught herself smile at the text. dammit.

y/n: hey! i’ll come meet you. what booth are you by?

jun!: ok! i think it’s some sort of paper mache tent…? 💀

y/n: yeah that one ALWAYS sucks.

jun!: seriously who is buying these??? idk if this one’s a dinosaur or a fallopian tube but it has no right to be 45 bucks.

y/n: PLS 😭

y/n: i see the tent! i’ll be there in a sec

jun!: y/n hurry this booth scares me

she walked over to the booth yeonjun had (concerningly) described, and couldn’t hide the grin that spread across her face when she saw him. he was dressed in a light blue button down with the sleeves slightly rolled and navy pants, and his black hair rustled in the summer breeze. his dark brown eyes wandered the surplus of students, seemingly looking for one in particular. he had a neutral expression, almost disappointed, she noticed.

truthfully, yeonjun had arrived before texting y/n; 12 minutes prior, to be exact. he presumed the market would have flowers he could buy y/n, feeling a surge of confidence to hint at his feelings. kai agreed the notion was sweet, especially since he’d planned to buy her favorite flowers: tulips. yet, he scanned what felt like 20 booths of flowers, none having the desired type. he sent kai a disappointed message. it was then he then finally texted y/n.

but, he replaced the frown by reciprocating y/n’s smile when his eyes finally met hers, and he walked over to wrap her in a friendly hug. y/n didn’t recall feeling bubbly when she initiated a hug the first time they’d went out, or anytime they’d seen each other in between, for that matter.

yeonjun, on the other hand, was used to the turning of his stomach in her presence, which had only happened 10 times more often and intensely since their conversation at the karaoke booth. he, too, took the time to study her stature, which he’d officially deemed as perfect. he watched as her eyes lit up under the sunlight as she released from the hug.

yeonjun ran a hand through his hair. “where to first?”

“I WARNED YOU about my skills, y/n.”

“you threatened me with your ‘nobel peace prize in ring tossing’, so excuse me if i wasn’t all that intimated,” they both laughed as they walked nearly shoulder-to-shoulder. the two had been exploring the market for nearly an hour and a half now, and were departing the fair game booth. y/n had, sadly, been defeated in practically every game. yeonjun made it up to her, though, by giving her the plush he had got from winning basketball. “what should we name him?”

yeonjun smiled at the ‘we.’ “yeonjun junior.”

“absolutely not,” she laughed when he dramatically frowned. “oh, jun, that’s our booth over there!” she grabbed his hand, skipping over to yunjin and winter. the two girls smirked at the sight of them. they giggled seeing yeonjun’s ears red with adoration and a giddy smile plastered on y/n.

“finally,” yunjin said. y/n rolled her eyes. “we thought you’d forgotten about us.”

“i still can’t believe you left us for your boyf-” yunjin nudged her, holding in a laugh. y/n glared at winter. yeonjun’s grin widened.

“so i’m your boyfriend now?” he turned to look at y/n, who would typically remain composed in most situations. when the situation involved yeonjun, however, that quality did not apply.

“no! i didn’t say that! well, not that it’d be a bad thing,” yunjin couldn’t keep her laugh in any longer. “but not that i’m asking for that, either! i’m very happy being single!” the embarrassment finally set when yeonjun, too, giggled. winter didn’t dare laugh, thinking about the scolding she’d later receive.

“you’re cute, y/n.”

TAGLIST 🌷 @bangchansbae @raehyun-byeoll @yyawnjun @junhuicosmo @n034sy @wintertxt @fanfangying1304 @crystal-jellies @gyuszie @lightprincess-world @hyuneyeon @tocupid @cookiehaos (bold couldn’t be tagged)

↳︎ pssst, feel free to use my asks / comment here if you’d like to be added to the tag list <3

A/N 🌷 hey… how’s everyone doing 🚶‍♀️… i know its been forever since i’ve updated; i was traveling, and i’m starting up school again so my stress was just 📈📈📈. but we’re all good now!! i’ll continue to post whenever i can, which will most likely be weekends 🫶. thank u for the patience and support thus far!

[mediocre-shark-tales]

Fated by the Stars (6)

Straykids ot8 x Reader

Warnings - Mentions of Abuse, Mentions of Wounds/Injuries Traumatic Past, Violence, and Mentions of Non-consensual Molesting

Summary - After a couple weeks with the boys returning to their jobs, today was the first day where no one could stay home. Of course you know you can handle yourself, but that doesn't stop the pack from worrying about you. But you have the perfect idea on how you will spend the day.

Masterlist

It took me ages to finally get the boys out the door and to their respective jobs. They were all worried about how I would be by myself. I had to remind them that I had been doing better recently. I no longer had the recurring nightmares, no more panic attacks. I was doing so much better than they thought.

I needed them to trust me because I had wanted to surprise them when they come home and I needed the whole day to work on the surprise. Over the last couple weeks, I was slowly gathering ingredients and craft items.

Now that they were gone, I had as much time as I could. First I would start with finishing their new set of bracelets I would make them. Ever since the first time I had made them bracelets, I haven't seen them without the bracelet. Because of this I want to make different sets so they don't have to feel like they need to wear the same one everyday.

This time all the bracelets had my name on it, surrounded by beads that relate to an animal they act like. Like Minho had a bracelet with white bunny head beads that were between other kinds of white beads to make it cuter. Hyunjin had a tiger themed bracelet, Jeongin got a fox theme, Changbin got a bear theme, and Seungmin got a dog theme. Chan got a Lion theme, Felix got a panda theme, and Jisung got a Squirrel themed one.

Once they were all done, I put them onto paper that I had colored with the same color their original bracelets were. I brought them back out into the living room that was attached to the kitchen. Almost like one big room if this wall didn't cut in between the two. I placed the gifts down on the table, under each one was a cute picture I had painted of each of them. The pictures included the specific mate and me cuddling, or hugging, or even a kiss on the cheek.

I also placed a few candles and some rose petals on the table as well. Now that I had finished setting that up, I had to start the baking half!

I gathered all the necessary ingredients like flour, sugar, eggs, vanilla, and of course, fresh, ripe strawberries. My favorite fruit. while the oven preheated, I began whisking the eggs and sugar together until they formed a fluffy and pale mixture. This step was crucial to achieving the airy texture of the cake. At least that was what the recipe told me. I wish I could have practiced baking this but its pretty hard to hide anything from the boys when one or another is here.

Next, I began to sift the flour and baking powder into the egg mixture, gently folding them together to create a smooth batter. I couldn't help but smile as the kitchen filled with the comforting scent of the vanilla. This must be what the boys smell when they are around me, at least they tell me I smell of vanilla. The batter, now a soft pink color was ready for the oven.

I poured the batter into round cake pans, ensuring an even distribution. Then I put the pans into the preheated oven, then sat back and watched eagerly as the cakes rose and turned a beautiful golden brown tone.

While the cakes baked, I turned my attention to making the frosting. I carefully washed and sliced the strawberries, creating a mound of ruby-red sweetness. These would be the filling for the cake, adding a burst of freshness to each bite.

As the timer chimed, signaling the cakes were done, I carefully removed them from the oven. Unfortunately as I sat them down, the side of the pan caught my wrist and burned it pretty badly. I howled in pain but still carefully sat the pan down. The kitchen was now filled with the irresistible scent of freshly baked sponge. I let the cakes cool, patiently waiting for them to reach the perfect temperature.

While I waited, I tried to wash my burn. Looking into the mini emergency kit, I found some burn cream and wrapping. Easily applying it to my wound before wrapping it up. The wrapping didn't look the best but it did the job for now.

Once cooled, I began to assemble the cake. Spreading a layer of whipped cream on top of one spongey cake and arranged a generous amount of sliced strawberries. Placing the second sponge cake on top of the last. Marveling at my creation, it was a masterpiece of light and airy layers, adorned with the vibrant red strawberries.

Looking at the time, I saw that I had about 10 minutes until the boys would all be home. I quickly blocked the entrance to the living room and kitchen area. I fixed myself up, wiping off some of the flour on my skin and clothes. Minutes passed quickly and I could hear the boys driving up to the house together. The sound of them exiting the car and running up to the house made me smile. They still were worried about how I was after their stressful days at work. I stared down the front door from the entrance I was blocking.

The door burst open with Chan leading the boys inside, when they noticed me they quickly ran over. "How are you babygirl?" They gave me a hug together but when one of them knocked my wrist, they earned a gasp in return.

Suddenly they all pulled back to look down at me worriedly, chan being the one to notice my wrist. He lightly grabbed my arm to check over my wound. "What happened sweetheart?" I smiled and pulled my arm back. "Don't worry about it, just follow me please."

The boys stared back confused as I walked into the kitchen area. Still they followed without questioning. But soon their faces were filled with astonishment. I smiled proudly as they saw the candles lit, surrounded by rose petals. In the middle of table sat the pretty strawberry cake I had made, in front of it was the line of gifts for everyone.

"I made you guys a cake, but I didn't know what fruits you like so I decided to do my favorite fruit. So Its strawberry. I also thought you guys needed some new bracelets so you don't have to always wear the same one." They all came closer, Minho placing his hand on my cheek. "Sweetheart, never let yourself think we won't love what you give us for eternity. I'm happy to wear this bracelet every second of everyday. Now I will just have to wear this new bracelet with my older one as well." I smiled. "Okay alpha, the color of the paper matches your last bracelet! Come get them!" I watched das Minho picked his up first, seeing the painting of us under it he smiled. "This is so cute baby." When he opened the package to find the new bracelet, he smile wider and put it on the same wrist where his other one sat.

Slowly each pack mate had their new bracelet on and went to hide their painting away in their rooms. Chan was the first to return. "So did you burn your wrist making this cake?" He asked while feeding me a bite. I nodded. "Next time, can you let one of us help you? I know you want your personal freedom, and I'm glad to give you that. But maybe let us teach you how to safely bake, then I won't need to worry about your safety as much." I nodded.

"Okay I would love to bake with any of my pack mates!" Soon everyone else had come back downstairs where a slice of cake waited for them. Chan was still feeding me my slice and eating his own slice in between my bites. I watched everyone begin to eat their slices. I gave most of my attention to Felix, he was the owner of a quite profound bakery after all. I watched as his face slowly turned up into a huge smile. Seeing this I felt a sigh of relief escape me, but seconds later I was in his arms as he swung me around. "We have a little prodigy baker right here!" He placed a big kiss on my cheek while I giggled in his arms.

"So it was as good as I hoped!" Felix nodded and sat me back down in chan's lap. "It was near perfect babygirl, I'll have to teach you some more delicious recipes." "Okay!"

Soon we all returned to eating our slices of cake again, until that happy silence was broken by Minho. "So, sweetheart." I looked towards him wondering what he would say next. "In about a weeks time, we are having a big party to celebrate all of our companies coming together as a joint brand. We would love to have you join us as our mate and our pretty omega. That way the whole world will know you are ours." Just the thought of them claiming me in any way big or small made me blush. "awe you made our 'mega shy" I hid my face in chan's chest, trying to hide my now growing blush. I felt chan begin to rub my back soothingly. "Does our little 'mega love to think about being claimed by her pack?" I slowly nodded but kept my face in his chest. After I responded to his question, I heard growls and purrs around the room. However there was no anger or upset in the growls, it was like the growls were more out of lust.

This made me whine against chan, my system easily switching to a lusty mindset. My omega wanting nothing more than to do what my pack wanted, to make them pleased with me. My body began to easy up, all stiffness dripping from me. I could feel myself falling into the lusty mindset of my omega. I dragged my hands up and down Chans chest, trying to earn more praise for my omega. He slowly grabbed my hands with one of his as he used the other to lift my face slowly. "Not yet my pretty little omega, we will get to that another day, we have it perfectly planned out for you."

Thanks to his light use of the alpha tone, I was able to bring my conscious back up to the front. Pushing aside the omega mindset that so desperately wanted her pack to claim her. I nodded as an answer to chan.

For the rest of the day, we spent it cuddling and watching movies. If only I knew the future, if only I could see what was coming. How unfortunate it is that good and happy can only ;last so long before fate hits you with some sort of pain or sadness. But this is life, I just hope we can survive the evil coming for me.

Masterlist

[fountainpenguin]

"Always hear the same kind of story; break your nose and they'll just say 'Sorry...'" (x)

---

Pixels Imperfect series ~ Double Life - Boat Boys

“Canadian Idiot” - 23k words

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Paper Boats [Etho & Joel series]

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

I've been drawing preview images for some of my 'fics that didn't have them yet. Here's a pretty post for a personal favorite!

---

Summary: Etho is a fox hybrid who aggros on people who cause him damage. During Double Life, Joel and Etho are soulbound. And Joel causes Etho a lot of damage. The mob-strengthening full moon doesn’t help.

AKA - That one 'fic where Etho bites Joel a bunch of times and Joel stomachs it like the good little soulmate he is.

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

---

Canadian Idiot

"Where is Etho? Why hasn't he come home? I'm SO worried…"

🖤  💛  ❤️

Act 1. Scene 2. Introductions are behind them; the Hero's Journey has begun. They balance on the precipice hand in hand, except they're nowhere near hand in hand because Joel has done nothing wrong and Etho's about to bring him crashing down. With a label like Act 1, Scene 2 melting in your brain, you're practically encouraged to overstep; make mistakes. Isn't that a proper story outline? You start by introducing goals. Then faults. 'Tell me one thing your protagonist does wrong…'

It's Etho, not Joel, who does something wrong. Wrong and immoral and without consent, and he's shaking - he's shaking - as he slips his hand above the milk-white bed sheets. He slightly cranes his neck, lifting just a little from his pillow. He's already squirmed closer to Joel more than he'd admit to anyone outside the Boat. Joel's cradled against him, stomachs and knees and hips flush and ticklish and warm. Joel's hand rests atop the blankets. Atop Etho's chest, pretty much.

And Etho's itchy, pain swelling deep inside. His breath's all clogged in the back of his throat. A problem that Joel doesn't have, because Joel's some kind of insect hybrid and he breathes through the spiracles down his torso… which Etho can feel both on the outside of his legs (because Joel is shirtless under the blankets) and threaded through his own body (because they share every flickery touch, even in the way they breathe).

I wonder if Joel ever gets sick of feeling "my" breath in the back of his mouth. That's gotta be a weird feeling when he doesn't have lungs…

In Act 1, Scene 2, Etho initiates the Rising Action. He lays his own hand on the far side of Joel's. His eyes are glowing - the candles and furnaces are glowing too - and it's warm and rosy and golden brown down in the depths of The Relation. Etho's shaking as he nudges Joel's fingers higher up the blankets, from their random flop (is it random?) across Joel's chest and up to Etho's neck. Conflicting pixels bristle when they come into contact. They tense up, even while Joel stays sleepy and mild-mannered. Etho stares down at those gleaming pixels and watches them re-situate themselves, building up their little barrier so they stay firmly Joel's and his own pixels remain firmly Etho's.

There's unwavering trust in the way Joel lets himself sleep, curled against Etho's side. The pixels in their legs blended together long ago, making mermaids out of them. They don't even itch. They're perfectly melted inside each other, heels and toes overlapping as easily as the edges of their hitboxes do.

Etho can feel the easy flutter of mingled bits and pieces shifting between them, pixels bumping and evaluating their neighbors and occasionally switching back and forth. He's got bits that used to belong to Joel in his ankles, probably. The colors have probably already changed over. You wouldn't even be able to tell. It's nothing. It's normal. Everybody does this. They're sharing a bed. They're sharing hearts and health and pain; exchanging pixels during hitbox overlap isn't nearly as weird.

It's not like I'm anxious and 65 anymore. I've got a couple thousand years in me. I've shared my bed before. This isn't weird.

It's not like this in the singleplayer, though, where he sleeps alone.

And it's not like this on Hermitcraft. Where he sleeps alone.

And it wasn't like this in his wool castle on 3rd Life. Where he slept alone.

And it wasn't like this in Last Life. Bdubs slept on the far side of their shared room, his narcoleptic phantom soul knocking him out cold hours before Etho crept to bed. And slept alone.

Etho squirms, which blurs his foot with Joel's and sends a static ripple up his leg. He stops so it won't seize up in the pit behind his knee. His pixels need a minute to orient again, sluggish in their sleep just like the softly breathing Joel. The air is stuffy inside The Relation's lower room. Etho already pulled his mask off before bed; it lies (rumpled and unfolded) on the crafting table to his left. Though dry, the air is cool against his exposed skin. His tongue traces across the curve of each and every pointed tooth inside his mouth.

I have to.

The closest he'll come to voicing it. He tries to fold his hands away. He grips his own wrist, grinding it in the wrinkles of blankets tucked against his stomach. Candles flicker in the edges of his vision. He stares across the captains' quarters, rotating his hand back and forth, forcing it to press his stomach. To calm some kind of hunger that doesn't stem from there.

He does not personify the aggro instincts creeping up his spine. They don't envelop him in words. Offering words to the thought would mean caving in, admitting its strength and hold against him. Etho stares without blinking at the far wall and twists his wrist in that space between stomach and guts. Tight. Unyielding. Firm.

It's never been this bad on-server before…

It's twisted. It writhes in him, like a snake dropped down his pants, spiraled around his leg, and looped to slither up his spine and wrap around his throat. It's a full-body shiver that leaves him opening and closing his hands, palming his knees through the bed sheets. He has really pointy knees. Etho presses, rubbing his hands up and down and all around in circles, but it doesn't help.

He needs to. This. He needs- he just does. He can curl his legs and writhe and grimace all he wants to, but he can't hold it in forever… like Bdubs can't help but lunge when Etho's pushing at the boundary of long nights with no sleep.

Can't.

He sinks down in the pillows, exhaling, and tugs the white covers of the bed up to his chest again. It shifts Joel's arm. Etho can feel it through the blankets. He can feel the touch of soft, carefully crafted wool on the back of that hand as clearly as his own. Joel's expertise with wool leaves absolutely no question that he thrives on the Empires server, weaving banners on a loom. There's no itchiness to the blankets. They're so soft, they may as well be silk or cream.

This ship feels like a cake, lit by the candles on the wooden shelves. As the wind gusts against the outside of their base, it creaks the boards and Etho shivers, shifting one leg a little tighter between both of Joel's. Pillager grunts carry down the hill. He can hear their distant pacing. The constant loading of crossbow bolts. The way they mutter, bending heads.

Do pillagers ever snuggle with their friends late at night? Maybe not. They're just mobs; maybe they aren't programmed with a sleep schedule. He's never charged inside an outpost to find them startled and fumbling out of bed.

[Cnt'd on AO3 - Link at top]