#its the universe working against me or SOMETHING but its fine he just told me my license plate light was out and let me go

[zemnarihah]

I GOT PULLED OVER AGAIN

[kamitv]

▷ Second Time?

Synopsis . Part One. When you get paired with the campus asshole, Sukuna, for a project, the last thing you expect to learn about him is that he’s a damn virgin. Nor did you expect to be the one to change that. / Pairing . virgin!Sukuna x fem!reader / Content . afab!reader, nipple play (m!receiving), pussy slapping, non-curse college au, dirty talk, pet names, degrading, continued porn w plot, teasing, taunting, filth, creampie, Sukuna’s kinda soft here and there, etc. / wc . 4.4k

A/N: to those that requested a part two for virgin!sukuna <3 [MDNI]

“No? Oh c’monnn, they’re just piercings,” You whine as your legs remain sprawled out over Sukuna’s muscular thighs.

Your panty-clad cunt was throbbing over his saliva-slicked semi-hard cock, due to your recent actions, and yet here Sukuna was still trying his very best to figure out a way out of this situation. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go further with you— he was just nervous.

Not that he’d ever say that out loud though. Admit you’ve made him nervous? Oh please, in what universe?

Sure, you made him cum prematurely but that’s not his fault. No one told you to have such a slutty ass mouth. 

Back to the present though, as you gaze down at him with those stupidly pretty eyes of yours, batting your lashes pleadingly whilst you await for the man to change his answer. It was simply unfair of him to have nipple piercings and not show you. It’s the least he could do after the head you just gave him, right?

“No, it’s not the ‘least I can do’,” Sukuna huffs. It’s then that you realize you’d spoken your thoughts aloud but, in a way, you’re actually glad you did so, “You’re not seeing shit, now get off of me.”

The pout that presents itself on your face is practically immediate, “C’mon ‘Kuna, I won’t touch them. I jus’ wanna see,” You coo softly, tilting your head to the side as if to convince him, “Please?”

One simple word and his tip was wet with precum yet again. Sukuna swears he hates you. He hates the way you're looking at him right now, the way you're seated so perfectly on top of him, and the way he forgets how the hell he even got into this position with you in the first place.

Didn't he come over here to finish a project? Not have sex with you.

And yet, he can't find it in himself to say no to you again. That damn word you said, it did something to him. Sukuna's not sure what or why but his mouth is moving on its own, almost instinctively, "You wanna see them?" He sighs.

You're nodding, slipping your hands down to the hem of his shirt, "Yeah. Promise I won't touch."

"Tch. I..." Sukuna grits his teeth and you can see a pretty vein decorating his skin along his sharp jawline as he glances away for a moment, "I want you to beg me again."

Although you're a bit taken back by his request, you're quick to lean forward a bit and bite your lower lip, "Please?"

He ignores the word leaving you lips, his cock springing to life once more despite his attempt at leaving you unanswered. Given his body's reaction to you, all you can do is smirk before you're leaning down slightly and pressing your lips to his jaw.

"Pretty please, Sukuna?" You purr, warm breath hitting his now overly tense skin, "I promise I'll be good. Won't lay a finger on you unless you want me to."

His head slumps back against the couch and he inhales sharply at your soft touch sliding under his shirt, steadily working it up as the black fabric bundles up against your hands.

Then you're at his neck, sucking on his skin, rolling your tongue over him, shifting your hips forward against his cock and he simply groans. "F-Fucking, fine." Sukuna huffs, annoyed out of his ever-loving mind at whatever control it is you seem to have over him.

He hates you. He swears he hates you. Everything about the way your hands quickly tug his shirt up over his head, tossing the fabric elsewhere as you set your greedy eyes on his chest, the way your eyes widen at how flushed his skin is, and the sight of your tongue swiping over your lips as soon as you set your sight on his nipples.

Such pretty contrasting metal decorated his very pretty swollen nipples. So flushed with shades of pink and red, itching to be touched— just one flick and you knew he'd let out the most heavenly sound. The problem was convincing him to let you touch his nipples.

They were so damn tempting though, you swore you were drooling at the sight. God, you just wanted to reach out and-

"No," Sukuna rasps out. Your eyes snap up to his face and your pussy throbs at his expression.

He's beyond embarrassed. His eyes almost look glossed over with how desperate he was for you to stop looking at him. And yet he was so pouty and grumpy too, plump lips pulled into the cutest little frown at how hungry you were looking at him, his breathing unsteady all over again, and his cock felt twitching wildly beneath you.

You smirk, "'No'... what?"

"No, you cannot touch them," He's slow to clarify that, having seen right through those greedy eyes of yours, "You wanted to see and you've seen so-"

"I can make you feel good though," You purr, leaning in close to him all over again. "Jus' let me-"

"No," Sukuna mutters sternly. Then his hands are meeting your hips and his grip alone makes you flinch.

His touch is filled with intent as he slides his hands back to your ass and gives you a nice and firm squeeze, tugging you against him and making you gasp at the way his dick twitches right against your cunt. Your hands go to his shoulders to stop yourself from being pulled flush against him and he gazes dead up into your eyes.

How does one look so needy and yet commanding at the same time? It was like Sukuna told you thousands of words through his gaze alone. Maybe it was his very apparent physical need for you, or maybe it was just how attractive he is when aroused but fuck his look had your body hot all over.

Sukuna lets out a small breath of air before he drops his raspy tone even lower to a whisper, "Fuck me," He utters, feeling the reaction your cunt has to his words and cracking a cocky little smirk, "Fuck me, and you can touch me as much as you wish to."

You gulp thickly. Did you forget how to speak for a moment because all you do is open your mouth and it was like no words were even coming to your brain. His gaze was to intense and starved, large hands playing with the fat of your ass while he lifts his hips up slightly.

Then you gasp again, his thick tip was pressing right against your needy hole through the few layers of clothing that remained and you felt drunk off of your own arousal. Nodding and whispering in return, "O-Okay," Your hands slide around his neck and you lean in until your lips are meeting his again.

And if you were drunk off of your arousal then he was fucking high off of his own— feeling faded out of his mind with the way he leisurely moves to undress your lower half as he kisses you like he's done so a thousand times before, sliding his tongue into your mouth, swallowing up your moans, sucking on your lower lip, and undressing you all in one go.

Hell, for a second you forget the man is a damn virgin.

And as if to combat with that— you feel like a damn virgin once you start sinking your slippery walls around Sukuna’s thick cock. Gasping against his lips and feeling his fingertips curl into the skin of your waist, his jaw-dropping and lips quivering against yours as he lets out the most guttural groan he’s ever uttered, and both of your eyes fluttering at the connection of his body to yours. 

Sukuna’s deeply shaded red eyes are hazy on yours as you sink down on him. His mind is turning to mush and he swears he’s about to pass the fuck out. It could’ve been the way your face looked as your cunt greedily sucked in his cock, or how tight your walls clamped down on him but, either way, Sukuna felt hot all over. Dizzy with lust and faded off of everything that’s you.

Every inch of you, the feel of your squeezing wet pussy enclosing around his aching cock, that breathy squeak of his name leaving your lips, and then your fingers grazing his chest-

Sukuna’s brows twist up and his entire body flinches instinctively. Hips bucking up slightly, large hands urging you further down, and shaky sound escaping his wet blushing lips— he’d officially lost it. 

He looked so damn pretty doing so as well, not that you’d ever tell him that (you’ve embarrassed him enough for the time being). Those damn eyes of his were all glossed over, his bottom lip was shaking as a sexy-pitched gasp escaped his throat, and his hands held onto you for dear life whilst he bottomed out.

His fat cockhead kissing your cervix with little to no movement had you panting heavily while you kept your eyes low on his. “‘Kuna,” You feel his cock twitch desperately inside you and you toy with one of his sensitive nipples in between your index and thumb, “Y-You’re so-“

“Shut up,” He groans, and then he’s kissing you— desperately, hungrily-, starved. He knew another word from you would have your cunt stuffed full of his cum within seconds.

And as much as he wanted that, as much as he knew that’d be the end result of all this, he did not want to make yet another fool of himself. Though, the way your fingertips constantly flick over his pierced nipples makes him fucking whine into your mouth, a heavy grunt following after the sound as if to cover it up.

The hands your waist urge your body up, dragging your slicked walls up along his cock before allowing gravity to slam you back down. God the way you moan his name makes his knees feel weak. You were making him, as a whole, feel so utterly weak.

It wasn’t long before you were picking up a steady pace on top of him, your breaths shared with his and his eyes not once leaving yours. Sukuna was such a silent commander, that gaze of his told you everything, testing-, no, daring you to look away from him. He didn’t even know what it was about eye contact but he craved it so desperately.

Your gaze made his cock so stupidly hard, so much so that he just wanted to flip you over on this stupid couch of yours and-

And then he was. Sukuna doesn’t even register he’s repositioned with you until you let out the prettiest little whimper and your eyes roll back as he, almost experimentally, thrusts his heavy cock deep past your plush pussy lips. 

What brings him back into the moment is that sound of you and the way you’re choking out his name, “S’kuna, f-fuck,” You almost hate that he’s taken control because you’ve lost your teasing of his chest, “Why’d you-, ngh-,” You’re cut off completely when he drags his hips back so torturously slow before rolling his hips down into you.

Shaking his head thoughtlessly, “Shut up,” Sukuna huffs again as he presses his bulky weight down against you, folding you into the meanest mating press and making you let out a filthy mewl at the sheer stretch of his girthy cock. “Please,” He sounds almost breathless, that plea of his hardly even audible, “Jus’ be quiet f’me.”

Your jaw hangs open and you’re simply gaping up at the man with stupid, cockdrunk eyes. Something about feeling and watching him learn how to please you was probably more pleasurable than the sex itself. Which is saying an awfully lot because even though he didn't know what the hell he was doing, whatever he was doing, he was doing it right.

All you can do is wrap your arms around his neck and tug him closer, moaning his name softly every time his tip nudges into that mushy spot inside you. Sukuna lets out a low hum when he feels your nails claw at his back suddenly.

Then the cocky bastard has the nerve to fucking smile at you. Almost as if he enjoyed the pain of your nails scratching at his back hard enough to leave marks…

Because, of course, then he’s fucking you faster, harder, deeper. So determined to learn what you like, to learn your body inside and out (literally), and to have you mark up his back more than the dark ink that decorates his skin currently.

“Y’feel so fuckin’…” He can hardly even speak as he just grows addicted to pushing his cock in and out and in and out. That sloppy sound of your cunt squelching and wetting up his cock over and over again-, fuck he couldn’t get enough of it. “S-So fuckin’ good,” Sukuna’s voice almost softens as he shifts his lips to your ear, “Oh fuck, wanna…” His words trail off, a deep shade of blush coating his cheeks.

You can’t help but grow that never-ending urge to tease him, moving your lips to his ear, “Wanna what?” There was a slight shake in your voice but that didn’t save him from his cock throbbing at the sound of your voice alone.

“Hahh… wanna-, agh, wanna make you cum,” Sukuna admits begrudgingly. He sounded so ridiculously embarrassed saying that out loud but he was far too pussydrunk to care right now.

Thrusts growing heavier as if he were searching for a specific spot inside you, his eyes softening as he shifts to hover his face over yours once more, and his groans making your stomach churn with butterflies. Hell, you almost do exactly that of what he’s requested based on the sound of desperation in his tone alone.

Sukuna’s usually such a big, mean, sometimes stoic man, and yet here he was, silently requesting your assistance. 

He is only a virgin after all.

“Not anymore,” He gruffs, catching you by surprise as you render the fact that those words left your lips. “C’mon, tell me what to do.”

Again, Sukuna swears on his life he hates you. He hates the way you’ve made him so weak, the way your cunt is so deliciously warm inside, the way you moan his name-

Fuck, he hates you.

“‘Kuna,” You whisper as you slide one of your hands from around his neck to slip to his hand and guide him, “My clit. You gotta-“

Your breath is caught in your throat all over again. You were trying to guide him just like he wanted you to but Sukuna was far too quick of a learner, swatting his thick thumb around in search before his ears twitch at the way your voice gets stuck in your throat.

“Here?” He has the nerve to whisper gently, “Rub here, right? Y’like that?” Sukuna asks as he matches his thrusts with the flick of his thumb, drinking in the way your back arches up off of the couch and your eyes roll back.

You’re nodding, “Yes yes-, r-right there ‘Kuna, fuck…”

His eyes rake over your face all over again and then he’s doing that thing where he speaks without thinking, “So fuckin’ pretty like this.”

Of course, those softly uttered words pull you out of your cockdrunken stupor for only a moment, “H-Huh?” You breathe out as your eyes meet his.

“I hate you,” Sukuna lies straight through his teeth, “Hate how pretty you look beneath me,” He’s babbling at this point, picking up his pace and trying to angle his cock into somewhere specific, “How fuckin’-, god you’re squeezin’ me s’tight, hahh… h-how you sound moaning my name, taking my cock.” With that last sentence comes a particularly harsh thrust.

Your nails scrape at his back again and he moans in pleasure. Gloss covers your eyes as he finally finds that spot that has you seeing stars, “Sukuna,” You moan sweetly, feeling him hit that very spot over and over and over again.

“Again,” He huffs, leaning down even closer and pressing more of his weight onto you, “Moan my name again, woman.”

“Sukuna,” You’re moaning without the need for his instruction. To hell if the man is a virgin, he knows how to use his cock.

What he doesn’t realize is how big he is in comparison to anyone else you’ve been with. Stretching you open with every thrust, fucking you ridiculously full of all his thick inches, knocking his dripping tip right against your sweet spot, making your legs tingle in numbness, and rolling skillful circles around your clit as if he’d practiced doing so before.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” Sukuna rasps out, his eyes locked dead onto yours as usual.

He was so focused on you, so eager to make you cum. Obviously, he’d never felt anything like this before so he never wants it to end. And perhaps that’s the only reason why he hasn’t emptied himself into you yet. 

Every time you’re felt leaving another bright red mark on his back, he lets out a low hiss before flashing a smirk down at you, thrusts growing harder. Then there’s the way you just gape up at him, jaw dangling as you’re so clearly lost in pleasure, and pussy swallowing him in whole each time he fucks himself back into you.

And your little gasps of, “Feels s-so good Kuna, don’t stop.” Have him reeling back on purpose, pretending to mistakenly slip his cock out of you for a moment only to slap his fat cockhead against your needy hole and then push all of himself right back in.

With a smug expression on his face, “Don’t tell me what t’do,” He responds.

“I jus’ did,” You argue back all in one breath.

God, he- , “I hate you,” The words are leaving his lips yet again but he can’t stop driving his dick inside you. You’re so fucking warm, so welcoming for him, so honeyed and sweet inside. Hell, for a second he wonders what you’d taste like on his tongue— despite never even going down on someone before.

“Yeah,” You flash a fucked-out little smile up at him and your walls grip onto him tighter, making his brows twist up, “But you love fuckin’ me.” Your little whisper makes him shudder.

He nearly cums at that, releasing a strangled groan before he just nods almost obediently, “Uhuh.” Sukuna mumbles, his hate for you growing with every passing second.

There you are under him, still teasing him despite the expression of pleasure plastered across your face, “Yeah?”

“M-Mhm,” He grumbles in response.

He can’t help but just agree with you. Of course he adores fucking you. If anything, he doesn’t think he’d prefer it be anyone else. After watching your cute ass all composed every week in class, listening to the way you lecture him for not paying attention as if you actually care about him, watching you grow surprised today at the way he can get things done when he puts in an effort-

Shit, of course he wanted to see you like this— splayed out like a pretty little slut for him, gasping his name, looking him in the eye, and allowing him to fuck you. God, his mind is spinning. He can’t think at all.

So lost in his head, you’re left spasming below him because he’s still thumbing at your clit and his cock is as unforgiving as ever, “Sukuna,” His name rolls off of your tongue beautifully and he’s left in awe above you.

Tilting his head, “What?” Sukuna breathes as he’s pulled from his daze and back to the present.

“Make me cum,” You order so suddenly.

As that third word leaves those lips of yours, Sukuna smirks knowingly and he leans up a little just to angle himself better inside you. He glances down at your cunt, biting his lip at the sight of his cock bulging inside you, watching himself push in and out for a second before his smirk turns into a lazy little smile.

“Already did’,” He scoffs, flicking his eyes back up to you.

Your brows twist up, “Wha-“

“Are you that dumb when cock is inside ya’?” He utters meanly and earns an immediate squeeze of your gummy walls around his veiny shaft, “You came a few minutes ago, brat.” 

“I…” Your expression becomes dumbfounded and in an instant, you’re the one left embarrassed.

Which he finds all too cute, “Felt good tho’.” He comments smugly, looking back down to where you’re connected and tilting his head at the sight.

Fuck, he was so sexy above you. Even on his chest, bright red scratches decorated his skin. When did you do that? His nipples were still as flushed as his face and you wanted so badly to reach out and flick your fingers against them again.

Pouting, “Sukuna-“

“Do it again f’me,” The man cuts off.

You can’t even get a response out before he’s leaning down again, “I-“

This time you’re cut off by him pressing your legs together and against your chest, loving the pretty sight of you folded and bent to his will like this. All he can do is stare down and watch himself fuck you, seeing your swollen lips take in his fat length so fucking beautifully. It’s like you were made for him or something.

Your cunt only molds around his cock, sucking him in whenever he pulls out like you never wanted him to leave you. He could feel every throb of your pussy when he spoke to you, every squeeze of your warmth when he reached deeper than before, and fuck was he enamored by every second of it.

“Please,” He says breathlessly all of a sudden, itching to watch you cum on his cock this time around.

His begging is followed by him moving his hand back down to your pussy, his thumb sliding back in search of your clit. Rubbing those maddening little circles once he finds it, Sukuna focuses most of his attention on your body. Every little jump you make when he swats his thumb to the left, every pitch in your moan when he thrusts inside you at a certain pace— Sukuna soon smiles once he’s got you all figured out.

“Oh fuck,” You whimper, tossing your head back against the couch as your eyes loll to the back of your hand.

With that knowing smile on his face, the couch creaks with his rough thrusts inside you, “Stop makin’ me beg you for shit,” Sukuna grunts before gifting your throbbing pussy with a little smack, “Jus’ give it t’me.”

“Sukuna-, ah,” You’re choking at the sensation and your cunt narrows even more around him.

His toned pelvis smacks against you over and over, heavy balls hitting your ass with each shove of his fat cock inside your warmth, “Fuck,” The man heaves as he feels himself steadily growing addicted.

Why the hell didn’t he have sex with someone sooner?

“M’gonna cum,” You soon whine out to the man.

To which he clashes into you faster, feining for it, “Please, f-fuckin’ need it,” Sukuna groans before pressing down against you again.

His thrusts grow uneven and jagged, eyes rolling back when he feels you finally cumming around his cock for a second time. You were squeezing him so tight. All he could do was moan at how perfect you were.

“Shiit,” He huffs, his cock twitching wildly inside you before his mind goes completely blank, “I love you-“

Your brows immediately twist up, “Wha-“

And then he’s painting your walls white. Grunting, groaning, moaning-, hell, you name it and the sound was leaving his lips as he fucks his orgasm into you.

Then he’s babbling mindless little praises of, “Love this fuckin’ pussy,” Lost in filling you with his cum and listening to you whimper from overstimulation.

Gifting you with praise after praise about how beautiful you are under him like this, how much he adores his name rolling off your tongue. He can’t even fathom how much cum is spilling into you, velvety thick ropes painting your walls a creamy white to the point where it spills out of you and coats his hefty base with a filthy ring of white. 

All while he continued to praise you, going as far as thank you in quiet little whispers. God, he was out of his mind. He wasn’t thinking in the slightest, his mouth was just saying shit.

So much so that he’s barely lucid as his high comes down, doesn’t process a thing he said to you moments ago, and just lays there for a while with his cock resting inside you. All he can do is pant heavily as he rests his body on top of you, not yet pulling out and leaving his softened cock inside you.

You’re completely still beneath him for a while, trying to catch your breath as your legs feel temporarily numb. You couldn’t get those three words he spoke to you out of your head.

His tone was so damn soft and vulnerable, just replaying it in your head made you smile. Before he notices your expression though, you wipe the smirk off of your face and coo his name softly, “Sukuna…?”

“Don’t.” Is all he has to say to you. He was well aware of what he’d said to you.

He didn’t mean it, of course. He was simply… lost in the moment.

“Aww,” You purr, an obvious breathlessness to your tone, “You said you loved me cause I took your virginit-“

Sukuna lets out a mean groan before moving your legs apart so he can meet your eyes again, “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

You flash a pout to mock him, “Why? ‘Cause I didn’t say it back?”

His face is all different shades of blush but he still looks as mean and grumpy as ever, “No…”

“You sure?” You tease further.

All he can do is roll his eyes at you, “Fuck you.”

And, naturally, you only continue, “I think you did that already…”

Sukuna sighs, “Just.. Don’t tell anyone about this.”

“As long as you promise we’ll do this more often.”

“I-, hah,” He smirks, “What are you, some kinda cockhungry slut?”

“No…” Your eyes drag themselves elsewhere for a moment, “But for you, maybe.”

“Mh.” Sukuna hums deeply, an unavoidable smile spreading across his face, “I think I like that.”

“I think you love it-“

“M’gonna ‘love’ fucking the snarky responses outta’ your mouth in a second if you keep it up,” He says flawlessly.

All you can do is swallow down whatever it is you were going to respond to that with.

To which he smiles, “Uhuh, that’s what I thought.”

Edit after leaks: sorry not sorry to spoil: rip unckuna & fuck gege, bring back gojo NOW. I’m not playin 😂

[kvroomi]

imagine spider-man!gojo and spider-woman!reader, who both work together harmoniously throughout the city as a pair of vigilantes—unaware of each other’s identities and just how prevalent they both are in one another’s lives outside of fighting crime. it’s an unconventional meeting and it’s almost sunrise. after a mission together, they’ve both stopped by the same convenience store for some food.

it’s quiet, the buzz of the fluorescent lights casting a faint glow to the packaging of the bright blue can of energy drink. the bold words are promising of enough caffeine to keep you upright for the next twelve hours. though you stand there, frozen for a moment, battling an internal debate about whether you should just skip dinner and head to bed with an empty (and hungry) stomach—or destroy it with sugar. you decide with the latter and pick up the can to drop it into your basket with a sigh. the weight of it feels much heavier in your hand than it should.

“energy blast? didn’t think you were into fine dining.”

you freeze mid-step, mentally cursing the universe for its lack of mercy. you’d like to think you’d know that voice anywhere; it wasn’t something endearing, rather your body was sent into fight or flight at even just the mention of his name.

slowly you turned to face him, and sure enough, there he was—gojo. he’s leaning against the shelf, his sunglasses (yes, he wore them even at midnight), are perched obnoxiously on his nose. they shine with the garish lighting, forcing you into a squint when your eyes catch the bright reflection.

you almost groan at the sight of his bag. it’s a war zone of sour gummies, chocolate bars, and what looked suspiciously like a can of whipped cream.

“i could say the same for you,” your voice is measured, a conscious effort to exhibit a fake, but convincing act of nonchalance. “what is that anyways? is it for dessert or are you trying to send yourself into a sugar-induced coma?”

he grinned, the kind of lopsided smile that could make angels weep—or villains run, depending on the day. “don’t knock it ‘til you try it. some of us know how to live a little.”

“suuuuure,” rolling your eyes as you reply, unconvinced. “if living means 7 different cavities for each day of the week.”

gojo chuckled, low and easy. he shifted closer. it’s a split millisecond reaction and you immediately notice his subtle limp. anyone would’ve missed it—anyone but you.

of course you did. it wasn’t much, just a tiny hesitation. but paired with the faint bruise just under his jaw, it set off a hundred silent alarms in your head.

you’d seen him like this before. maybe not to the extent of his injuries today, but something more frayed at the edges—like he’d been somewhere he shouldn’t.

“what happened there?” gojo stills for a second, confused at what you’re referring to.

you point at your jaw, mirroring the placement of his bruise.

he blinked, momentarily caught off guard before his grin widened.

"oh, this?" tapping his jaw lightly, he continued. “you wouldn't believe me if i told you."

"try me."

"i got into a fight with a revolving door," he says, straight-faced. "it was me or the glass, and well..."

you rolled your eyes. "right. because that sounds believable."

"hey, revolving doors are dangerous," he insisted. "you’re lucky you weren't there—i would've had to save you too."

"sounds like you need saving from yourself," you retort, not being able to help the small smile tugging at your lips.

with another roll your eyes, you turned back to the shelf. letting your eyes drift across the many labels of caffeinated drinks, you couldn’t help but focus on his presence looming behind you. it was always like this with gojo—relentless.

you’d met him a year ago when you started working at the same community arts center. you taught weekend workshops for kids, and gojo occasionally ran their afterschool programs—though ran was a generous term for what he did.

he wasn't the kind of coworker you'd ever expected to become friends with, though somehow, you had. maybe it was the way he always brought you coffee to meetings, even if each drink tasted more like sugar and coffee than coffee and sugar. or maybe it was how he managed to charm every kid in the building, no matter how much the kid may have disliked him in the beginning.

"late-night inspiration, huh?" he motioned toward the can in your hand.

"something like that," you sighed, avoiding his gaze by picking up another energy drink and putting it back

"what’re you working on?"

you pause, hand mid-air and debating how much to say.

"just some commissions."

"commissions," he repeated, like the word was a personal affront. "what happened to making art for fun?"

"some of us have rent to pay, gojo. who are you to talk anyway? you sign up for extra shifts just to win over the kids with pizza and candy."

gojo grinned. "that’s called strategy, sweetheart. you wouldn't understand."

you snorted, finally turning to face him. "and what's this strategy for?” you towards his basket and pick up a packet of gummies, inspecting it before tossing it back in. "new teaching method? bribery?"

"bribery's underrated," he returns with a shake of his head.

"but no, this is for me. sometimes a guy just needs sugar and carbs you know?"

you couldn't stand him half the time, but you'd also begrudgingly admitted—if only to yourself—that he was good company.

“long day?” you’re careful to keep your tone casual as you ask.

his grin doesn’t waver, and if it does you don’t notice—but his hand tightened around the basket handle. “me? nah. what about you? busy day brooding over your sketchpad?”

you smile and try to catch his eye, “something like that.”

though gojo’s gaze wasn’t on your face anymore. he’d drifted lower, catching sight of the faint rip in your jacket sleeve. you cursed inwardly; it was barely noticeable—a tiny tear at the seam where a stray shard of glass had nicked you earlier tonight. his gaze lingered like it was written in neon.

“what happened there?” his voice is light and almost lazy, but you could see the wheels turning behind his glasses.

“nothing.” you shrugged it off. “snagged it on a doorframe.”

“uh-huh.” his voice drops just enough to make the air feel warmer. “must’ve really hated that doorframe.”

you force a laugh, jaw tightening in nervousness and step past him toward the register. “not as much as i hate this conversation.”

gojo didn’t follow immediately, but you could feel his eyes on your back like a second shadow. by the time you reached the counter, he was also there, leaning against the opposite side of the aisle with his basket balanced precariously on one hand.

“funny,” he announces after a beat, his tone too casual. “you’ve got a thing for clumsy doorframes, and i’ve got a thing for evil revolving doors. guess we’re not so different, huh?”

you glanced at him in annoyance, searching his face for any crack in his mask. but there’s nothing—just that insufferable grin and sunglasses, hiding every flicker of thought behind his ridiculous confidence.

“guess not,” you breathe out, grabbing your drink and heading for the door.

“don’t stay up too late,” he calls after you, his voice dripping with amusement. “you wouldn’t want to run into any more furniture.”

you don’t turn around, and you don’t respond with another witty retort either. instead, you choose to instead flick a halfhearted wave over your shoulder. outside, the night air was cool against your skin, washing away the tension coiled in your chest.

as you rounded the corner, you allowed yourself a small smile. gojo was sharp—too sharp for his own good. but he wasn’t there yet, not tonight.

behind you and still inside the store, gojo stood frozen in place. his grin had dispersed just enough to reveal the furrow in his brow. his thumb traced absentmindedly over his basket handle as he replayed the conversation in his head.

for someone as quick on her feet as you, he knew that explanation didn’t add up. but then again, his limp and bruise wasn’t exactly subtle either.

KVROOMI © 2024, DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE

[slashingdisneypasta]

Peter Hale x Younger!Mate!Reader || Drabble

Plot: **I forget how mates work in the Teen Wolf universe but for the good of the fic, we're going to do this in an AU where your mate is not your choice- you just Feel It, when you meet them, and Know. And you also have a little sixth sense, where you can tell when the other is in danger.**

Peter Hale is your mate, there's no question about that, but from the moment that you both realised that fact- he has made it clear that you are too young and sorry sweetheart, I'm not that evil.

But some time later he turns up at your house. He has no intentions of being there long, but will it be harder for him to leave then he thought?? After all, now its just the two of you. Just you, and him. Fuck.

Warnings: Age difference (Reader is 21-24, Peter is 35-38).

Of all the people who could've been on the other side of the door today, Peter Hale was probably the one possibility you thought would be the least likely. As soon as you see him, you straighten up your back; stand with more confidence. Even though you're really, really confused. How does he even know where you live?? Peter has never been here. And you've never been close enough to tell him.

"Wh-... " You look around. Did one of the other bring him?? Lydia??? Weirdly, you don't see anyone else. Just your devastatingly attractive, occasionally evil, quippy estranged mate. When your eyes land on him again, you cant help but notice something off about him. He looks a little nervous. A little worried. "... Is everything okay??" Your voice is gentle; soothing. You don't know how comforting that is to him, against his will.

"Hi." He starts, causing you to screw up your nose when he doesn't answer your question. "I uhh... I got your address from Styles."

"And he just... gave it to you?" You ask, dubious. Styles hates that you and Peter are mates, and one of the few things that Style appreciates about Peter is the distance he's kept from you all this time.

Peter shakes his head. "Well, no, he took some convincing, but- " His eyes flicker from your face to the rest of you for the first time- period. First time ever. But still, there's not a bit of lecherousness in his glance, just more concern. Now your lips form into a concerned frown. Why is he so anxious?? Thats not Peter-like at all. Even you know that and you barely know each other! "Uh, when I told him I was worried about you, he coughed up."

You blink. "Worried??... Why would you be worried about m- " OH fuck. Guilt rushes through you immediately. You completely forgot that that he could... that mates could sense when the other was scared. You were told it could be felt almost just as clearly as if you yourself were in the danger, if your mate was. And you were pretty damn scared, earlier.

Fuck.

Immediately your body goes cold and your eyes go round. "- I'm so sorry!! It was- I- My friend and I went into the city earlier, and she left early so I took the train back on my own, and there was this creep that sat next to me an-- It wasn't serious. I'm so so sorry."

Peter nods, the worried fog in his eyes clearing as he let out a sound- a sigh? Relief? He remains rooted to the spot, though, a crease in his eyebrows that still conveyed some level of concern. "What kind of creep? Are you alright??"

"He was just- um- " How do you describe the levels of discomfort you were in with this guy, and still convince him that you're fine? You're not, right now. In fact you were still pent up when you finally got home, safe and sound. You only forgot all about it when Peter turned up at your door. "Persistent. I'm okay. Thank you Peter."

The crease in Peter's eyebrows increases, furrowing and knitting together into a grimace of disbelief. What you would almost call a sneer pulls across his pretty face. "Really?? That felt... pretty bad, sweetheart."

You immediately ignore the twitter your heart gives when he calls you sweetheart. "Really. I'm not hurt, he didn't follow me home. I'll be fine."

"Hm." Peter clearly doesn't believe you. You don't know what to tell him!

... fortunately, you don't have to. After a moment, he rolls his eyes and rolls his shoulders, shaking off the grimace and the sneer and looking once again his usual, unique brand of nonchalant. "Fine, don't tell me. But hey, maybe I should give you my phone number. That way you can let me know whenever something like that happens, so I don't have to freak out cuz my heart's about to tear out of my chest while I'm just folding laundry."

"Oh. Yeah, probably a good ide- "

"You got a pen?"

And there he goes, you think with an indignant huff. He's brushing you off and trying to get away fast, like just being near you was a chore.

Giving a nod, you leave the doorway and head into your house. "You can come in!" You call back, searching for a pen and a notepad.

It hurt that Peter was like this with you all the time, but usually it was a vague unfortunate longing feeling somewhere deep inside you. Because, in the end, you didn't really know Peter. Just because he meant to be your mate, didn't mean you knew him (Just meant that you could. That you wanted to.). So truly, was it a huge loss that he didn't want anything to do with you? You tried to tell yourself that it wasn't. And besides, you sort of respected him for not wanting to 'prey' on you. That was good... A part of him not everyone saw.

Right this moment though you felt sad, and annoyed. Because for a moment there, he was really your mate. He was worried for you, he wasn't just shocked and upset like he'd probably try to convince you if you pressed him on it, he was worried. You could see it clear as day. Because one thing you could gather about Peter, was that when he wasn't wearing that semi-permanent poker face he had on again now as he wandered through your house behind you, peering at pictures on walls and books on your shelves, his face was more like a window directly to his soul. He couldn't hide anything. Thats probably why he invented the blasé attitude he'd patented now.

"... didn't know you were a reader." He pipes up, a definite note of interest in his tone. Not Talking is not a possibility for him- even with you. "What's- "

You give him a taste of his own medicine. "Yep."

Finally you find a pen and paper, stuffed in your food cupboard with a grocery list half done on the first page. You flip to the second page and turn around, handing the pad and the fine liner pen over to Peter.

You watch him carefully write in his phone number down for you, and feel very oddly about him being in your home right now. Morally debased Peter Hale, looking way too gorgeous in jeans and a designer t-shirt- your supposed mate- in your kitchen. Absolutely nuts.

When he's done, you cant help but asking if he wants a cup of tea? You want him to stay. You want him to be comfortable with this- with you.

But you wont force him if he cant. Even if it genuinely breaks your heart a little every time that you think about what could be, here.

"No- no, I cant." He says quickly, immediately, and you nod. Yeah. Yeah, you expected that. Okay. "Well... good seeing you, Y/N. I'll, uh, see you around inevitably."

"Probably, I'm in the pack you keep trying to take over."

A little grin flickers across his face. A little fake-ashamed, a little proud. "Exactly."

You don't know if thats a joke or not. Probably a bit of both, with him. From what you knew of him, he could never ignore the allure of being alpha for very long, despite any amount of good deeds he does.

Complicated man, he is.

Peter turns his back and starts on his way back the way he came, and you go to walk him out, and you're just thinking about what you're going to do with the rest of your day- how you definitely need a comforting cup of tea after all the fear and all the oddness and all the sad- when suddenly Peter turns back around. You nearly run into him. "Oh!- Peter- "

Before you even realise what happened, he draws you and in against him and seals your lips with his and swallows down your surprise. There's a passion in this sudden, shocking kiss that you've never felt before and it almost brings you to your knees. You kiss him back, parting your lips and meeting his tongue with a clipped moan, but you have to wrap your arms around his neck just to stay on your feet.

Being this close to him finally, you find you don't mind the rough stubble against your face one bit, and his cologne is expensive but good, and his nose rubbing against yours feels perfect.

When he pulls back he releases a wolfish growl into the small space between you both, frustrated and annoyed. "Shit, I wish I had a good excuse for that, but- " He shakes his head before pressing his forehead against yours. "Fuck me, I shouldn't have done that... "

"I'm a grown up, Peter- "

"See, Y/N, the fact that you have to say that, is not reassuring to me."

"Y/N??" You blink, eyes growing wide.

"Thats your name." He groans, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, but you've never said it before."

"Yes I hav- " He seems to decide arguing about that isn't worth the time, and shakes his head again. Probably because he definitely hasn't!- "Whatever. Point is, today I have reached a new low. And guess who's fault that is, sweetheart?"

Your mouth falls open with shock, despite the butterflies that fly around inside you at him calling you sweetheart again. "Not mine!- You could control yourself, its not that hard."

His intense blue eyes have a grin in them, now, making you insides feel warm and soft. Still, he sighs. "... any chance you can keep this a secret?"

Hmm... "... Only if you kiss me again." There's a lot to discuss, a lot to figure out; you know that. But the bottom line, the only thing you care about right now, is that you're a grown fucking adult- and you're still feeling the high from Peter's touch. You need it again. You think you're addicted.

Already!

A dark smirk slips across his handsome face. "Hm. You got a couch in this place sweetheart?"

[bluemantics]

here’s a list of all my fics! i won’t be able to post and reblog much since I’m traveling the next week and a half, so I’ll compile all my works here in the meantime :-)

will also update this list as i write more!

klance:

midnight snacks don't exist in space

G | 1.7K | RP/BP dynamics

There are no rules about eating at 3:00 AM if you're in the far reaches of the universe.

In a bright kitchen while the team is asleep, Lance and Keith find each other, as they always do.

Why We Fight

T | 5.7K | truth-telling au

With the Rebels in need of resources, the team ventures to a planet known for its raw materials in hope that they'll join the coalition. Here's the thing: they need to prove that they can be trusted by telling the truth about why they fight.

Lance finds this more difficult to voice than the others. Unfortunately (thankfully), Keith has returned from the Blade and is more than willing to listen.

"This is bigger than any of us alone."

A Keith By Any Other Name

T | 8.2K | coffee shop rom-com AU

Lance McClain was dared to hit on Keith. Keith thought that’d be the first and last time they’d meet. However, Lance keeps coming back, charming Keith with his jokes and charisma.

Here’s the catch: Keith refuses to tell Lance his real name.

“I’m not telling you my name unless you order and move on.” Keith pointed to the register screen.

“Alright, I’ll do a cappuccino.” Lance pulled out his wallet from his jacket pocket and slid his card over to Keith. “Now will you tell me your name?”

“My name is Yorak.” Keith passed the card back to Lance, who looked shocked at that answer, his eyebrows raised to his hairline. Keith was beginning to realize how dramatic Lance could be.

“Really?!” Lance demanded. He looked pityingly at Keith, and irritation welled up in his gut.

“No!” Keith rolled his eyes.

“You’re the worst,” Lance huffed.

a billion light years from here

T | 8.5K | post-canon fix-it

Keith and Lance reconnect over letters. Through their writing, Keith learns to open up, and Lance learns what a home is.

"For all the game I talked on the castleship about missing home, now that I’m back on my family farm, I kind of feel like there’s something missing. Like, even surrounded by all of the juniberry flowers Allura gave us, and even with my parents, I still feel lonely. Or restless."

Or: A post s-8 fix-it AU told entirely through letters between Lance and Keith, both sent and unsent.

out of my head

G | 1.2K | high school au

Keith didn’t even want to watch the spring musical auditions. Forced by Pidge to accompany them, he finds himself surprised at the talent of a particular actor. He also finds himself surprised by his own response. 

OR:

Lance is ridiculously good at singing and Keith is a lovable, impulsive jock.

baptism by fire

T | 1.5K | canon-compliant angst

Prompt: write a private scene between two characters with no dialogue, of just them two alone.

Lance just witnessed the unthinkable. Keith offers his company in wake of the tragedy.

kiribaku:

unstoppably, immovably, unbreakably you

G | 651 | canon-compliant

A character study.

An unstoppable force meets an immovable object.

Katsuki Bakugou’s hand implodes against Eijirou Kirishima’s arm; a flurry of sparks surround them with a sound that rings between his skull.

This is something he knows how to do well. With every blow that Katsuki unleashes, he feels Kirishima retaliate with more, responding like a dance to his every movement. Katsuki is a fine-tuned instrument of destruction, every muscle on his body worked with the intention of winning.

as always please let me know what u think thru asks & comments on ao3!! ill answer asks between travel, but im going to frequently be in spotty service.

[cozy-writes-things]

Electric Love: Pt. 1

Edgar [Electric Dreams 1984] x Gn!Reader

All of my fics so far have followed the same universe, so I thought it's only logical that I post an introduction to that universe.

The old man peering at you through puffy eyes and age seemed to have an air shrouded in mystery. His thin, white wisps of hair seemed to stagnate in place as he adjusted his button down.

“This old thing has been around for years now,” he gruffed—an unreadable tone—as his hand encased the yellowed plastic, “I don’t remember what happened to it; must have dropped it, or let some animal chip away at it.”

The dingy, vintage computer before your eyes surely had not been dropped, nor torn into by some animal. It sat upon his countertop completely destroyed; as if it had burst and shattered from the inside out, ripping the glass into jagged shards. You swallowed this thought; this was no time to debate the old man. He seemed to be quite senile as it was and pushing any further seemed like a fruitless effort. Instead, you stretched a thin smile his way, pursing your lips in thought.

“You actually think you can get this thing to work again?” he queried, raising a salt and pepper brow at your expression.

“Well, I’m not sure, but… I’d like to try,” what you hadn’t told him, however, was your infatuation with electronics. Ever since completing your bachelor’s in computer science, you have been tinkering away at many different projects in between jobs, building custom PCs, fixing old Game Boys, and many others. This little computer was an addition to your ever growing collection.

It came from a company you had never heard of before, only to learn it had become defunct in the 80s due to some inexplicable software issues in their products. This certainly intrigued you, as prodding into its code could provide some useful insight to real, vintage tech that just doesn’t exist anymore. But, that’s only if you manage to fix the heap of destruction limply hung before you.

The old man stiffened at your words, ever so slightly, before rattling out, “Well, if you do, don’t bring it anywhere near me. I can’t stand all this tech, and gadgets, and whatnot. Pisses me off.”

“Right,” you interjected, knowing people like him tend to go on long, anti-future, anti-technology rants, trying desperately to beat him to the punch, “well, how much do you want for it?”

He stilled, contemplating for a moment, “twenty-five should be fine.”

“Perfect,” you chirped, padding against your pockets and bag searching for some cash. Pulling out your wallet, you waded around the folds, only to find a crumpled up and faded ten dollar bill and a debit card.

“Ah, I’ve only got a ten…”

He rolled his eyes, “of course you do, you got PayPal, then?” Your cheeks flushed a burning red hot from embarrassment, “ah, yes, I do-”

“Great, just pay me that way,” he bent down and scribbled something messily onto a note, “here’s my information. I made sure to set this up for people like you, you know. Nobody carries cash anymore, or so my grandson tells me.”

You force out a nervous chuckle.

“That’s certainly true… these days, ah…” you unlocked your phone and began inputting his information into PayPal before pressing send on the digital payment, “okay, it went through.”

“Perfect. You need help getting this hunk of junk to your car?”

“No, I should be fine, thank you, sir,” you croak as you heave the broken computer into your arms, heading towards his door.

“Well, come back if you want to buy anything else. Nobody goes to yard sales anymore, it seems.”

You can only turn your head and chuckle at his quip, before awkwardly dashing out of his apartment and towards your car. The dampened asphalt from the rain squelched under your toes as you lugged the large piece of tech to the passenger side.

“There,” you whispered, to nobody in particular, as you awkwardly buckled the computer in place, “hopefully you won’t fall that way.”

And just like that, you were off, headed towards home to begin the massive project that was repairing this obsolete device.

“What to do with you?”

You groaned as you thumped the solid mass of plastic and metal against your desk, “you’re incredibly broken.”

First and foremost, it needs a screen replacement. Which is easier said than done. Especially considering the company who manufactured these things hasn’t existed in 40 years. Unfortunately, a close replica will have to do. Maybe you could even upgrade its screen with something with a bit more prowess.

Poking inside of its components seemed to tell a different story. Miraculously, none of the motherboards were damaged with the same ferocity the screen had been. There seemed to be some sort of dried, caked on water damage of some sort, that left a sticky residue, but otherwise, everything seemed to be relatively intact. The yellowed casing could use a wipe down from the thick layer of starchy dust, but it seemed to hold its original shape with surprising ease.

Following a closer inspection, it seemed as though the glass screen, and the components in charge of illuminating it, were the only things in need of replacing. A quick browse on Amazon, some tech forums, and a post on Reddit should be a good start in finding a usable replacement for this sad, broken gadget.

For now, however, you get some isopropyl alcohol and a soft bristled toothbrush to chip away at the water damage on the motherboards in hopes of restoring the electrical connections. You were quite hopeful that you’d get this little guy up and running just as soon as you could find the right parts. It’s only a matter of time.

[avatar-anna]

Just a Taste

i was feeling inspired and i missed the young dadrry universe. enjoy!

Young Dad! Harry x Young Mom! Reader

*.*

"Harry Edward Styles, don't you touch that!"

Harry's hand paused on his way to a mixing bowl filled with royal icing, a guilty look on his face. He really thought he'd been quiet enough to sneak past her. "Come on, Mama. Just a little taste?"

Y/n pinned her husband with a stare until his hand backed away. He went over to where she was rolling out dough with a rolling pin, a mix of holiday themed cookie cutters scattered around her. Flour coated her hands and arms, and a little had found its way to her cheek. Harry quickly wiped it away as he came around, his arms circling around her waist as he kissed the spot her flour had been.

He continued to kiss her until a smile appeared on her face and she finally stopped what she was doing to rest her hands on top of his, which had been Harry's goal, of course. She'd been up before he was to bake cookies, and he was feeling thoroughly ignored.

"Don't think by distracting me you'll get what you want," Y/n said, her eyes fluttering closed as Harry continued to nuzzle her neck.

"Think I want something else now," he murmured. Harry reached beneath her sweater, splaying his fingers along her heated skin. He knew every inch of her by now, each and every place that was the most sensitive and would make her arch into him or sigh contentedly. He wanted to reacquaint himself upstairs while they had time. "Come on. Simone's down for her nap. We can sneak upstairs for a little while."

Y/n all but melted at the promise in his voice, but she held fast. "I have to get this done. I told my parents I would bring cookies to their party."

Ah, there it is, Harry thought.

This was the first time Y/n, Harry, and Simone would be spending Christmas with Y/n's family. For the last couple years they spent the holidays in London with his family, but her parents reached out for a chance to start over and make amends this year. Y/n hadn't wanted to accept, but Harry encouraged her to at least hear them out. It had been years since she'd seen them, and even though things had been rocky when she left home, he thought both her and her family deserved a chance to set things right.

Plus, who would be able to resist Simone? She was the most perfect kid on the planet. It would be impossible not to love her, let alone hold any resentment over her.

"Everything is going to be just fine, my love," Harry promised. "Why don't you tell me what's really going on?"

Harry felt her body slouch as she exhaled a long sigh. Y/n turned in the circle of his arms and came to rest against him. She didn't say anything for a while, just relaxed against him while she gathered her thoughts.

She smelled like cinnamon and sugar, and over the top of her head, he spotted the gingerbread cookies she made earlier cooling on racks on the stove. They were his favorites, and he couldn't wait to get his hands on a couple of the miniature gingerbread men she'd cut the cookies into. Y/n had a knack for baking that really only came out around the holidays. Harry never thought he'd had a sweet tooth, but he had a weak spot for his wife's baked goods, and if his schedule was slow she spoiled him and Simone with all kinds of sweets. It was enough to make him work out for weeks after the holidays.

Before his thoughts got too carried away, Harry looked back at Y/n. He tipped her head up so she had to look him in the eye. He kissed her nose once, then her forehead, then her lips, until a small smile appeared. "Talk to me, Mama."

She sighed again, but this time she spoke. "I just...I want them to know that I'm doing a good job, I want them to know I'm a good mom."

"What? Baby, you're a fantastic mum," Harry said, a frown marring his features. That's what this is about? "You don't need their stamp of approval, Y/n."

"I know, I know. It's just that we're raising Simone so differently to how I grew up, and that's fine she's a great kid," Y/n explained. "I just don't want to give them any ammunition to judge how we're living our lives, you know? Making memories around the holidays were huge for me growing up. Christmas cards, decorating the tree, cookies, matching sweaters, and I—I don't want them to think Simone is growing up without that. I—I know it's stupid, but—"

"It's not stupid if that's how you feel," Harry said, cupping her cheek. His eyes searched hers, trying to decide if there was more that she wasn't saying. He'd become quite good at reading her, and he decided there wasn't. "But I don't think Simone is missing out on anything. Do you?"

Y/n shook her head. "She's happy, right? I know we don't lead the most conventional lifestyle, but she's happy, isn't she?"

"I'd say so. And hey, conventional's overrated. Remember when Niall dressed up as Santa so we could have a family picture? Or when we brought a Christmas tree with us on tour so we could put Simone's presents under it?"

Y/n grinned at the memories. "Or when the boys covered for us so we could sneak out and go to a Christmas market."

"I don't remember that one," Harry said as his brow furrowed.

Stretching up onto her toes, Y/n kissed his cheek. "That's because we never actually made it to the Christmas market."

"That's right! Simone was in Liam's room, and we stayed in, and you were wearing that little red set with the bows—"

Y/n kissed him properly this time, her arms crossing around his neck to bring him closer. His skin was soft and freshly shaven, a preference of Y/n's as she brought her hands to his face, though Harry had been trying to grow a little facial hair during his time off. He probably could've stayed like that all day, but he knew there was work to be done, and Y/n would be upset with herself if her icing went to waste.

"Let's get these cookies done and then head upstairs, hm?" he said even as Y/n began to kiss up and down his neck and his hands slid past her waist.

"Then get your hands off my ass, Styles."

"As soon as you untangle yourself from me, L/n," he said.

When she finally did, Y/n's lips were swollen, and her hair was a little messy. But she looked relaxed, not as tense as she had been when Harry came downstairs.

"Where do you need me?" he asked her, going to the sink to wash his hands before slinging an apron over his neck. "I can help with the baking part. I did work in a bakery, you know."

"Don't get me started," she murmured before offering the rolling pin. "Cookie cutting or decorating?"

"Mm...cutting. And maybe we save some just for us and Simone to do later?"

Y/n's grin was as wide as he'd ever seen it, which practically melted his heart into a puddle of goo at his feet. "Yeah?"

"Course, Mama. Between us, our little tyke is bound to be a baking genius."

Y/n rolled her eyes and swatted him with the towel that had been over her shoulder. They got to work, music playing on speakers, but low enough to hear Simone through the baby monitor if she woke up. Harry stole glances at Y/n as she got to work decorating the gingerbread men. He knew she was nervous, but he was thrilled that everything was starting to fall into place. Harry was home now that the band was on hiatus, Y/n was starting to mend her relationship with her parents, and Simone was about to get everything she asked Santa for and then some. At four years old, she didn't ask for much, but she had lots of uncles who were eager for a reason to shower her with gifts.

To Harry, everything was perfect.

Or, nearly perfect. Once the last batch of cookies were cooling and Y/n had decorated enough gingerbread men to take to her parents' house, Harry hauled her upstairs. "I still have that cute little set that you love so much," she murmured as she hastily pulled off his shirt. Excitement zinged through Harry at the thought, but he was too eager.

"Next time," he promised, falling back against the pillows, decorative ones Y/n had bought the week before.

"How do you want me?" she asked him, crawling to his side to run a hand through his hair. When he didn't respond right away, her brow furrowed. "H? Am I losing you?"

"No, I'm trying to think how much time we have before we're inevitably interrupted," he said.

"And then we have to get ready," Y/n said with a sigh, flopping on the bed next to him so that they were shoulder to shoulder. "Kiss and cuddle?"

Harry grinned. "You read my mind, Mama."

[g1rld1ary]

hiiii🩷 i love your work and i wanted to request a drabble. i don’t know if you’ve done something like this before or not so… also im new to the whole requesting thing.

so it’s basically a lockwood x reader where lucy and george don’t know lockwood has a kinda secret gf. and one day she shows up to the door of 35 portland row and lockwood has to explain to them that he has a girlfriend. (he didn’t tell anyone to protect her or smth).

opening doors - lockwood x reader

wc: 1980

cw: mentions of an injury, one use of 'my girl' but otherwise gn i think?

an: thanku for requesting baby!!! sorry its taken a while but i lovedddd this request and writing this!! i know i changed the end a little bit but shh hopefully its ok!! xoxo

Dating whilst ghosts roamed the streets of London was hard. Dinner dates were a precarious decision and you had to be sure if you were spending the night pretty quickly for your own safety (against ghosts, men were still another question). Dating a ghost hunter? That was harder. Yes, he wasn't exactly a 'ghost hunter' but that was close enough from the stories your boyfriend told you; brushes with death were a common occurrence, much to your chagrin.

You couldn't count the number of times you'd sat up all night in your bedroom, waiting for a call to confirm that he was alright and alive after a case. But Lockwood was Lockwood and each time, just as your eyes were starting to close on their own, your phone would ring and you'd be startled awake, picking up as fast as your arms would let you. He'd open with an affirmation that everything was fine and he was sitting in the library with a hot cup of tea, ready for a chat with you.

This had been your routine for the six months you'd been dating, and while it had ruined your sleep schedule, you couldn't be happier. Lockwood had turned your world upside down after your chance encounter at your university while he was investigating a case, giving you adventures and the most love you'd ever felt. You were similarly obsessed with him, rambling on about your day over the phone and attaching to his hip whenever you could get together.

This was all true, except for the last four days. Lockwood told you on Sunday they had a high-paying case on Monday night and hadn't called you since. No confirmation he was alright, let alone alive, and it was killing you. He'd never forgotten, not once over six months. This ignited a panic in your stomach, anxiety clawing through your chest as you had to continue on with your week acting like you could think of anything other than your boyfriend.

On the fifth day, you'd had enough. And so, on Friday afternoon after your class had let out for the weekend, you marched to Portland Row for the very first time. Lockwood didn't want you around his business, saying he wanted to keep 'the best thing in his life' separate and as safe as possible. You didn't mind, you had a tiny apartment all to yourself that you were more than happy to host him in, but it did make your expedition more scary than it otherwise would have been.

Still, you steeled your nerves and rapped on the front door, picking your nails nervously as you waited for someone to answer. That person happened to be an unimpressed-looking boy who you recognised from Lockwood's tales as George.

"Can I help you?" He asked, wearing cartoonishly large rubber gloves that made you want to laugh.

"Is Lockwood here?" You took his lead to skip the pleasantries, none of it being even vaguely interesting to you until you knew your boyfriend was alright. George hesitated.

"He's not seeing anyone right now."

"Why not?" You all but cut him off, desperation making you forget your manners. He narrowed his eyes, clearly choosing his words clearly.

"He had a nasty accident on our last case. He's only gotten back from hospital today and is on strict bed rest. If you have a professional inquiry, you're welcome to return later or speak to me or my other colleague, Lucy Carlyle."

"Can I speak to Lucy?" You needed to talk to a girl. Clearly, George was not the most emotionally sensitive member of the company, and if you tried bartering a visit with him you had an inkling you'd start crying. If Lockwood's descriptions were anything to go off, Lucy was much more likely to understand you.

George let you in, clearly reluctantly, leading you to the kitchen. He awkwardly made you tea, leaving you to drink it silently as he went to fetch Lucy. You took the moment alone to take in the kitchen, a soft ache settling into the edges of your heart. It was so cozy, so lived in that it almost upset you. Lockwood and Lucy and George. They were the residents of 35 Portland Row, they got to wake up to one another every morning. They got to bicker over the jam and tea. You woke up alone, going about most of your days in silence unless you started talking to yourself, but you were really trying not to make that a habit.

It wasn't that you hated Lockwood keeping you a secret, it made complete sense. He was in a dangerous profession and had an even more impulsive nature, making for a risky lifestyle. And as he'd unwillingly told you, he did have people who occasionally came after him. Lockwood didn't want you caught in the crossfire and you understood, you were grateful, even. But looking at the life he led without you, you couldn't help but regret it a little bit. Portland Row was the kind of place you didn't even have to try to be able to imagine as your home.

You were interrupted by George returning with Lucy in tow, both clearly unprepared for a client. George was in some sort of cleaning gear, the aforementioned gloves and an apron over his shirt, and Lucy looked like she'd been working out but not for long, only a slight sheen on her features and her clothes still mostly light and moving.

"Hi, I'm Lucy," She greeted, a warm (if somewhat awkward) smile on her lips, "How can we help you?"

"I need to see Lockwood, please."

"You know we're not idiots, right?" George snapped, "Actually, I'm much more competent than him." Lucy shot him a dark look, elbowing him in the ribs as they sat across from you.

"What he means is that despite it being Lockwood's name on the sign, we're all fully qualified to talk to you and take your case. I'm not sure what George has said, but Lockwood is--"

"He's my boyfriend." You cut her off, unable to stand any more delay. You were met with dead silence, both agent's jaws dropped open.

"What?"

"He's my boyfriend," You affirmed, "We're dating and I need to see that he's ok."

"That's not possible." George shook his head, "He's never mentioned you."

"Not that we don't believe you, but can you tell us more? We just don't want to let any random person into our house, I'm sure you understand," Lucy added and you nodded instantly, more than aware that Lockwood had made enemies during his time with his company.

You started speaking, spilling the exact timeline of your relationship, details of your time together, vague suggestions that he'd told you about his family, anything you could think of to prove that you were really together. Then, like a lightbulb illuminating over your head, you reached into your coat pocket for your wallet. Sitting on the inside was a Polaroid of you and Lockwood, him kissing your cheek as you laughed. George grabbed it, examining it in disbelief. Even Lucy stole a glance or two before turning her focus back to you, new sympathy in her eyes.

"Will you please tell me what happened to him?" You begged, reaching out for Lucy's hand. She held yours firmly, speaking in a soft voice as she explained the incident.

"We were on a case on Monday and Lockwood took a leap down some stairs to get away from a ghost. He fractured his patella. It's fine, the doctor said he got pretty lucky all things considered, no surgery needed or anything. He was just kept in hospital for a few days because -- as I'm sure you know -- Lockwood isn't good at following instructions, especially orders not to get out of bed for a week. He only got back this morning which I assume is why he hasn't communicated with you." You nodded slowly, taking it all in.

"Can I see him, please?"

They both nodded quickly, leading you up the stairs to where you assumed Lockwood's bedroom lay. Lucy knocked before cracking the door open, smiling softly at her boss.

"We've got a guest here for you."

"A client? Can't you talk to them? I'm not in my professional clothes!" You could hear him rustling in the bed sheets, presumably pushing himself up to be sitting and smiled a little.

"Better than a client, I hope?" You said, stepping through the doorway. You watched Lockwood go through a thousand emotions in an instant, but his face settled on elation, holding out his arms for you.

You rushed to his side, wrapping him up in your arms as tight as you could.

"What are you doing here?" He asked incredulously, a laugh escaping his lips.

"Someone didn't call me after his case," You replied, sliding into the bed next to him to hold his arm.

"And someone didn't tell his coworkers-slash-friends-slash-housemates about his secret partner he's had for half a year!" George cut in.

"Sorry, Georgie," Lockwood gave him a megawatt smile, "Had to keep my girl safe, you understand." You grinned, pushing yourself even closer to him. George grumbled something but Lucy was already pushing him out the door, giving the two of you some much-needed space.

Safely alone, you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"I'm glad you're okay. I was so scared."

"I'm sorry, lovely. I couldn't get to a phone in the hospital, but I thought about you all day every day."

"But now your friends know about us," You said and Lockwood nodded with a smile that made your insides melt.

"They do," He paused, "So d'you think it's time for you to finally spend the night here?" You grinned.

"Really?" You could almost feel the sparkle in your eyes. Lockwood nodded again, a matching look on his face. You didn't bother confirming, instead pressing your lips to his desperately.

Dinner at Portland Row was exactly how you'd imagined it; loud and chaotic and absolutely perfect. George and Lucy arguing over the tiny details of a case story they were telling you, Lockwood butting in with a flashy description of the action sequence. You laughed along, compliments spilling out as you tasted George's cooking. It was too easy to see it happening perpetually, and you had to stop yourself from getting too comfortable on your first visit.

You settled in for the night next to Lockwood. You were in Lockwood's bed with him. You weren't sure if you'd stopped smiling all night.

"I like being here," You said into the dark, looking at the vaguely Lockwood-shaped shadow next to you.

"You could stay here more often, the others love you already."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, all that we've gotten out of keeping us a secret is worry. If people come after me, I promise that I'll do everything to protect you, but we shouldn't waste all our time being scared of something that may never happen. I love you," He said. You faltered, breath hitching slightly. He'd never said that before. Maybe it was slow, maybe it wasn't, but you knew Lockwood was so scared of committing to his feelings, this was everything.

"I love you too," You replied, hearing the smile in your voice as you said it. It was the easiest night of sleep you and Lockwood had ever had.

[vxnuslogy]

— love is (ir)rational. ft. veritas ratio

— warnings: angst and breakups

— author's note: incredibly self-indulgent and heavily influenced by tiktoks and mitski songs. the last statement is from this article so please give it a read since its very interesting !!

to say that your relationship with veritas ratio was hanging by a thread was an understatement.

you tried your hardest to sweep every argument at night when you enter his office under the rug and prayed to the aeons that he'd forget it when morning came; you never learned how to deal with confrontation, so you did what you do best: avoid the situation entirely at all cost.

playing as the fool who couldn't see the cracks in your already fragile situation with ratio but still clinged onto the tiniest of hopes that everything will be fixed. that no argument between you two would actually leave you to split paths. you always found a way to one another, a middle ground you had unspokenly created. you always made it work. you had to make it work.

“this is not going to work, [name]!” he shouts as you fight back tears.

“you don't know that! we always make it work don't we, veritas? you can't just decide stuff like this on your own!” you argue with him the best you could, but veritas ratio was a genius. 

you will never win an argument against him.

“this is hurting us. you.” he sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “we can't continue like this, and you know it.”

“then continue to hurt me.” you desperately try to claw into your lover's mind. trying to keep any piece of him because it was better to not have anything at all. “i don't care if it hurts, veritas! if it's you then it's fine, i can look past it.”

you look like a scared animal, desperate for love and the need to feel something, even if it was pain.

“we'll be fine, veritas.” you clutch onto your shirt as tears pricked your eyes. “we have to! you promised me!”

ratio was a logical man. he was a genius. someone who should've been acknowledged by nous themselves. but at this very moment, he realizes that no amount of academic knowledge will compare to the flurry of the unknown emotional wreckage that is you. someone who thinks too much of love. bewitched with the prospect of love instead of their actual partner - him.

“veritas, please… we can still make this work.”

the diplomas of his achievements were a farce; a big hoax to hide the hollowness that resides within where his heart should be.

“you and i both know that we were both too far gone to save.”

ratio closes his eyes. trying his best to rid the hurt and shrinking image of you from his mind. 

“you don't know how to love yourself.” you avoided the truth to protect yourself, he traversed the universe to make the truth known. “how can you expect me to give you the love you want when you don't even know what it is?”

what an ugly pair you two make.

“that's bullshit!” you were gasping for air. scavenging your mind to try and find a way to refute him like you always do. “i want you, veritas! do you not understand that?”

“no.” he answered with a shake of his head. “no, i do not, [name].”

you feel your already broken heart crack a little more.

“that stuff is all bullshit.” your whisper now was just above whisper. “so what if what you said is true? you loved me at least didn't you?”

veritas didn't like the way you looked at him. so full of loneliness and fear. that look didn't suit you, not in the slightest.

“that's all i needed, veritas. you loved me so much i forgot what it felt like to hate myself.”

to love means to surrender intellectual control; veritas ratio cannot rationalize love even if you told him otherwise. but there was one thing you didn't tell him - one thing you refused to tell veritas ratio.

‘if your partner has inherently good qualities, but your love for them is based on a projection of your fantasy onto them, your love does not fit the qualities of the beloved that fueled your love. your love fails to be epistemically justified.’

— [name], ????. the emotion that is love.

© vxnuslogy 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works.

[msbigredmachine]

Power Couple: The Aftermath (Roman Reigns)

When the Tribal Chief falls, no one helps him back up better than you do. Set after the epic main event of Wrestlemania XL.

Pairing: Roman Reigns/OC

Warnings: Excess fluff and of course, smut.

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: Yes, I'm still in my feelings, and there was only one pairing I could properly convey my feelings with, because this has also been their story all along. For new readers, I strongly suggest reading the first two one-shots before delving into this one. Hope you enjoy!

Banner made by me. Credit to the owners of the pics and gifs

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1,316 days.

All wiped away with three slaps of the referee’s hand to the hard canvas.

Even after Cody rolled away from him, Roman could not move. Hell, he couldn’t breathe. Not when the air had been punched out of his lungs, literally and figuratively. It was only when Dwayne pulled him out of the ring by his pants leg that his body managed to kickstart itself into some sort of motion. And even then, all he could do was turn his head to look back and watch as Cody celebrated in the ring with his wife Brandi, holding his title belt aloft for the whole world to behold as the ultimate symbol of his victory. 

It should have been you and him up there. It should have been him. Again. But it wasn’t. Because the one time he got careless in battle, it cost him everything. Throwing years of hard work down the drain.

And it made him sick to his stomach.

The sound of ‘Kingdom’ blaring through the Lincoln Financial Field Stadium was torture to the former champion’s ears. His legs felt like lead as he dragged his battered body up the ramp, ignoring Dwayne’s baseless, performative complaints about nothing, as he put distance to the tableau of triumph of his opponent. The weight of this defeat was heavy, suffocating even, and he was desperate to get the fuck out of there, to get out of Philadelphia, out of Pennsylvania and all its environs. As he reached the top of the vast WrestleMania stage, pain surged through his abdomen, forcing him to recoil into himself and double over in pain. 

His Wise Man noticed his plight and paused to observe his charge. "My Tribal Chief, are you alright? Do you need-"

Roman shook his head. "I'm fine,” he snapped, willing himself to keep walking until he made it past the curtain. He leaned against the wall and bent over, resting his hands on his knees.

“What can I do, my Tribal Chief?” Paul implored.

“Just…get my wife on the bus and make sure everything’s ready to go. I’ll be there soon."

“Right away my Tribal Chief,” Paul replied eagerly, scurrying off to do as he was told.

It was a good long minute before Roman managed to pull himself back upright, staggering towards his locker room. Walking was so hard, his body hurt so much, but none of it hurt as much as the gut punch of failure. Much worse than any of the bumps he took was the shame, the disappointment engulfing him; so much so that he couldn’t bear to look anyone else in the eye right now.

Because he had failed everyone who cared about him.

He had failed you.

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All good things come to an end. That’s how the saying goes, right? The interesting part of that was that on the surface, it was a throwaway little trope, harmless and benign, until something that meant a great deal to you got taken away in the blink of an eye, or in this case, a three-count. The moment the bell signaled the pinfall that confirmed your husband's time as the Undisputed WWE Universal Champion had come to an end, you knew he would never be the same again.

It wasn't unlike Roman to be a little on edge weeks before a big premium live event. And given the nature of the two main event matches he was locked in for the fortieth annual WrestleMania, you expected he would be grouchy. But this time around seemed different, and not in a good way. He’d been surly towards everybody, including you. He disappeared for hours working out obsessively. He’d even thrown out a female member of the press who had dared to boo him at the press conference on Saturday night. Now, despite the final match of the weekend concluding nearly an hour ago, Roman was yet to return to his tour bus. That only meant one thing; he was not taking this defeat well, and it was up to you to lift him up, like you always did.

When you found the door boasting your husband's name, Heyman was outside, pacing back and forth. The Undisputed title, which you had grown accustomed to seeing on his shoulders on behalf of his Tribal Chief, was missing; a stark, prickly reminder of the outcome of tonight’s proceedings. 

"That bad, huh?" you asked, reading the Wise Man’s expression in a second. In fact, he looked on the verge of tears, his shoulders sagging with despair. The weekend had taken an emotional toll on him, too.

"He won’t come out," he informed you, his usually confident voice shaky and helpless. “He won’t let anyone in and he won’t speak to anyone…”

You raised your index finger to cut him off. "Correction, he won’t speak to anyone that’s not me," you stated, shooting him a warm smile, one among countless others you had shared with him since burying the hatchet after years of friction between you. "Go be with your family, Paul. I’ll handle my husband.”

“He’s my family, too,” he declared softly, the conviction in what you used to call his beady eyes, palpable and heartbreaking, “Both of you are.”

Touched and at a loss for words, you could only look on as he turned around slowly and made the lonely walk down the hallway. Turning back to the locker room door, you sucked a breath between your teeth and blew it out, mentally preparing to confront this task head-on.

You knocked timidly and stuck your head inside. If Roman was in as foul a mood as Paul let on, even you did not want to be there. It had taken a few unfortunate incidents over the years for you to learn that even a kiss from his wife wasn't enough when he got too stressed. It never stopped you from trying, though. Kissing was one of your favorite things to do with him after all.

"Knock, knock," you called out softly, listening for signs of movement as you stepped inside and closed the door. The room that was bustling just a few hours ago was now stripped bare and cloaked in dead quiet. It was an eerie contrast to the majestic, sweeping grandiosity that encompassed his entrance to the ring tonight. “Babe?”

Venturing further inside the room, you found him on the couch, his strong, broad back to you, his shoulders slumped dejectedly. An open bottle of Jack Daniels sat on the coffee table in front of him. His ula fala was draped over the headrest, where his title belt would surely have been. 

This was the reality no one warned you about after a monumental loss. It plunged you into a cold, dark abyss, wrought with biting silence and dreary loneliness now that the show was over and the lights were no longer bright. The what ifs, buts and maybes crooning in your ear like a morbid symphony. It was an experience all too familiar to you unfortunately, and recently, too; you and your husband had traveled down this terrible road following the tragic miscarriage of your son in the summer of 2022.

Stepping in front of him, you wiggled into his personal space and made yourself at home on his lap. Gently wrapping your arms around him, you sighed with relief when he instantly melted into you and his huge arms enveloped your waist, holding on to you like his life depended on it. 

“My baby,” you cooed soothingly, the sound of your lips meeting the side of his head piercing through the emptiness of the locker room. “My love.” 

The audible hitch of his breath at your soft words was expected. In the course of your lifetime, those two little phrases had garnered a poignant significance. As words of comfort and solace first uttered by your mother when you were a child, you murmured those words regularly to Roman between sweet, playful kisses when he was courting you, basking in the bliss of newfound love, and again as part of your wedding vows as you became man and wife. They were the first words you whispered to Laleia the first time she was placed in your arms. They were the words that you had cried yourself to sleep with as you mourned the baby boy you had lost. You and Roman had seen each other at your absolute best and worst, and now, in the isolation of this room, with just the two of you and nobody else, this was another bad moment you had to overcome.

“On Matt’s birthday, too,” Roman finally spoke, wiping at his nose with a sniffle. “Fuck, man.”

“I know,” you replied, running your hand comfortingly up and down his upper arm. As he met your gaze at last, you saw that his eyes were bloodshot. Seeing him like this broke your heart afresh. You held him as close as possible, willing all his pain and his hurt into your soul, wanting nothing more than to take it all away.

"I fucked up," he breathed, his voice raw and choked with misery, "I fucked up out there, babe...I let Dwayne down...I let y'all down. I lost the title and I'm sorry."

"Sorry? For what? Over thirteen hundred days as champion?" you countered, "Nine WrestleMania main events? Billions of dollars in revenue? A roof over your child's head and three square meals a day? One loss will never wipe any of that away, don't ever get it twisted."

He exhaled tiredly as he hugged you tighter, resting his head on your shoulder. "I really wish I felt that way right now," he mumbled.

"It'll take some time, but you will," you asserted, running his fingers through his loose hair before tugging it lightly, making him look at you again. "Roman, you changed the industry, just like you said you would when we started this. No one will ever, ever forget what you've done these past four years. Be proud of all of it. You've been through so much, you sacrificed too much to not be proud."

Roman nodded in understanding. He just wished he didn't feel so down. "Baby, I...I want you to know how sorry I am. I know how much you wanted this. And I've been such a dick to you lately-"

You kissed your teeth and waved his apology away. "Nah. That don't matter no more. And I don't care that you didn't win. All I care about is you being safe when you're out there. Being healthy for our family and our daughter, who will be very happy to have her Daddy home, by the way. So we took an L. Okay, we'll only come back stronger. We had one bad night. Guess what? I plan on giving you a better morning, if you know what I mean." You rounded off your words with a wink, your heart blooming when he chuckled in response. "See, there's that smile I love so much. Keep your head up, baby. You did so good tonight. I couldn't be more proud of you."

Roman leaned into you, his forehead pressed to yours, breathing you in and filling his head with your scent. It was like breathing fresh air. “I love you, Y/N. I love you with all of my heart. I don’t deserve you, I never have.”

The tears you'd been fighting all night resurfaced, but you blinked them away as you captured his lips with yours, your hand sliding over the back of his neck. He clung to you, a different emotion quickly overtaking him as he returned your kiss with a bit of aggression, his tongue whipping hungrily against yours, savoring your mouth as though he was tasting it for the very first time. You surrendered to his every whim, your other hand raking through his hair then caressing gently down to his chest, resting your palm over the spot where his heart pumped for you. You could feel how much he needed this moment of intimacy, and you had no qualms giving him anything he asked for.

With one quick tug of your legs, Roman had you straddling him on the couch, bringing you chest to chest with your lush backside resting on his growing bulge. He paused for a moment to take a deep breath, then sealed your mouths again, his tongue invading, probing, a moan rumbling in his chest when you matched his energy, the emotions take over this loving embrace. He could never get enough of you, of the passion that overwhelmed him by your mere presence, immersing him in a love and gratitude he would always feel for you no matter what state of mind he was in.

Eventually, you pulled away from each other, breathless, panting, lips glistening with each other’s saliva. His heart raced at the familiar gleam in your darkened eyes. You weren’t done with him, not just yet, and this was confirmed as you slowly slid off him and sank to your knees between his spread thighs, pushing the front of his shirt up to expose his newly honed six-pack abs.

“Do you know how fucking hot you looked tonight, Daddy?” you purred to him, leaning in to run your tongue over the ridges of muscle on his taut belly. “Last night? All week? Do you have any idea of all the nasty shit I’m gonna do to you on the bus?”

Roman’s dick jumped in his joggers as his imagination ran wild. He squirmed in his seat, his bottom lip slipping between his teeth as your tongue lapped at his belly, your mouth warm on his skin, all while you rubbed the fullness of his bulge straining eagerly against your touch. “Baby girl…” he choked out, as your fingers peeled the waistband of his pants, unveiling his big, beautiful brown dick. 

“Hmm, commando. I like it,” you commented with a smirk, curling your fist around his turgid length.

“Babe, wait…ain’t Paul outside?”

“I sent him home. Plus, won't be the first time he's seen me suck you off.” Your small hand massaged his blunt, plum-shaped head as you licked a trail along the underside of his dick, enjoying the gasps of pleasure that he made. Licking up the pre-cum that had gathered at the tip, your mouth opened wider to take him in. He stared you down with an intense look in his dark irises, which soon fluttered shut as your lips wrapped tight around his flesh, his stomach tensing as he felt himself slide deeper inside. “Awww, fuuuck,” he moaned.

Pulling back for a second, you held his lust-filled stare and stroked his dick a little harder, giggling when it twitched in your grip. A defiant look clouded your eyes as you licked at his tip before pushing him back into your mouth. It was enough for him to nut by just watching you, the visual of your lips sliding slowly up and down his length, that sexy mouth of yours making sweet love to his dick. It felt so good that he sank further into the plush leather of the couch, his head rolling back lazily against the headrest, his toes curling inside his brand new Air Reigns sneakers. All the pain and punishment his body had endured tonight melted away and was replaced with much more pleasurable sensations.

“I love the way you suck my dick, wifey,” he praised you, forcing himself to observe you through his barely open eyelids. “Mmm, that slutty little mouth is warm as fuck…You so sexy, baby, keep lookin’ up at me like that...” 

His raspy growls had you glancing back up at him, batting your pretty eyelashes as you sucked him off. Wetness pooled between your thighs at his famished expression. Completely aroused, you picked up the pace as your hands and your mouth worked in tandem, sucking and stroking his dick, pleasuring him from tip to base. His breathing became heavier as he throbbed against your tongue, his hands finding the back of your head as he got lost in the paradise of your warm, wet mouth. 

“Damn, baby. I bet that pussy leakin’ for me right now. You gettin’ wet sucking Daddy off, beautiful?” he taunted, his tongue swishing over his bottom lip at the same time your tongue swirled around the base of his shaft. The little moan that escaped your throat told him he was right. Of course he was; he knew his wife better than anybody else. “Good girl. Keep goin', I want that pussy extra wet. I’ma lick all that shit up when we get on the bus.”

With another soft moan, you crawled closer to his body and bore down on him, bobbing your head up and down that long, fat cock. Scooping your hair up into his large fist for leverage, Roman rocked his hips upwards from his seated position, thrusting in and out of your mouth. You relaxed your throat to take him deeper, moaning around his dick and letting him know how much you were enjoying him fucking your face. You rolled his balls in your hand, caressing the heavy, tightened sac to send him over the edge. It was working, as he began thrusting faster, his husky groans of pleasure amplifying as he neared his release.

“Unnnhh, baby, here it comes…Fuck, open your mouth,” he gasped, not waiting for you to do so as he yanked you by your hair to free himself from your intoxicating mouth. You quickly opened wide as he grabbed his cock and jerked it desperately against your tongue. He caught sight of the glazed-over quality of your gaze, and he knew that your panties were completely ruined, your pussy dripping with your need for him. He planned to take care of that very soon.

It was a show more spectacular than Mania, the sight of his gorgeous face contorted with pleasure, his head thrown back, eyes rolled to the heavens as his orgasm washed over his big body. Your moans harmonized together with each spasm of his cum down your throat, making you swallow every drop he unleashed. His grip on your hair was tight and almost painful, but you were turned on anyway, aroused by the knowledge that no one brought him to this state of paramount pleasure like you did. Licking your lips, you scooped him back into your mouth to clean him up, released him with a soft pop when you finished, and tucked him back inside the confines of his joggers. You giggled as he stared dazedly at the ceiling, licking his lips to catch his breath, his big frame slack and helpless as he recovered from the intense orgasm.

"Goddamn, baby...Shit," he groaned.

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you stood up and sat back on his lap, welcoming the gentle press of his mouth to yours in a sweet, grateful kiss. “You feel better, Daddy?” you asked.

"Much better. I needed that so much. Thanks, baby," he smiled up at you, his stomach doing flips as you smiled back. He truly was the luckiest man in the world.

“Mm-hmm. Luckily, there’s more where that came from,” you assured him with another kiss before getting to your feet and pulling him up to his. “Come on, Daddy. Let's go home. We got a toddler to take care of. We'll figure out all the other stuff when it's time."

He nodded in agreement and squeezed your hand. “Okay, baby. Home it is.”

A new chapter in your story had been opened tonight, and the path ahead seemed uncertain and even scary. But you both took pride in the fact that as long as you kept writing it together, your love story was going to remain as beautiful as it already was.

But make no mistake about it; Roman Reigns was going to rule the wrestling world again. That was one story that was never going to end.

THE END

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Thoughts? How sappy was this😢Was quite cathartic for me, loved writing it.

Thank you all so much for reading and commenting!

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[maracujatangerine]

93. Firelight

CW: institutional slavery, pet whump, dehumanisation, box boy universe

The snow glittered in the moonlight. It lay undisturbed and soft like a feather down duvet all over the lawn, the trees, and the roofs of the other houses. Brutus looked despondently out the window, then paced across the room and looked out at the same view from a slightly different angle.

Master and Mistress had just left the house in a haze of sparkly red dress, fine, dark grey suit, fragrant perfume and red-bottomed heels clattering against the wooden floors.

”Down, boy! I won’t need you tonight.” Master had told him. ”This is the sort of party that will have their own security.” He’d added, with a smiling glance at Mistress Cecilia, who was adjusting an errant strand of her up-do in the floor-length hall mirror.

And then they were gone…

And Brutus worried. As usual.

The guard dog tried to convince himself that his Master knew what he was doing, but he couldn’t stop himself from restlessly wandering from room to room in the huge apartment.

As he was staring out yet another window, multicoloured lights from the Christmas tree falling over his face, Absalom silent-footedly appeared next to his elbow.

Today, the romantic wore a white shirt, marine trousers and a bow-tie in midnight-blue silk. A sapphire mounted in silver spilled down from his collar, catching the light in undersea reflections.

“Make a fire.” He said.

Brutus started at the unexpected request.

”But… But Master and Mistress just left. Did they really ask for a fire?”

Absalom stared out the window, then slowly turned his head to look at Brutus. Blue eyes meeting dark brown. Smooth, glossy brown hair like a waterfall framing his pale face.

”Make a fire for me.” Absalom clarified. His facial expression neutral, his voice toneless, but there was something in his eyes that hinted of this being a very heartfelt desire indeed.

Brutus was going to refuse. To tell the pet that he could do it himself, if he wanted to risk their owners’ anger. True, they had not forbidden the pets from making a fire, but they had never told them to do so either. It was hardly worth the risk, the room was warm enough already. But that hint of something stopped him.

Instead, Brutus gave a curt nod and turned to kneel in front of the fireplace. It was the guard dog’s task to make sure the firewood rack was filled, and he did it diligently.

The wood was dry, Brutus had already prepared smaller pieces of wood and strips of bitch bark in a basket next to the rack. It was quick work to build a neat staple of pieces of wood, with the kindling and bark in the centre. He could not deny a small sense of satisfaction as he lit the match and watched the yellow and orange flames eagerly catch in the firewood. Brutus carefully fed some smaller pieces of wood to the fire, guarding its progress. When he was satisfied the fire was well established, he tidied up the leftover kindling and put the matches back on their designated place.

Just as the guard dog got to his feet, Absalom came in through the door. He carried a silver tray, his back as straight and his movements as elegant as if he was serving their owners. On the tray was two thick glass cups filled with steaming wine that gleamed a deep ruby red in the firelight. There was also a plate with gingerbread cookies decorated with white icing in shapes of hearts and snowflakes.

With a flourish, Absalom held out the tray to Brutus. The large man just stared at him quizzically.

”Don’t worry, darling.” Absalom said. ”There are lots of leftovers from their get-together on Wednesday. They will never know.”

Brutus still hesitated. Their eyes met. Absalom smiled, just a little. Brutus nervously pulled a hand through his black hair, but finally took the proffered cup.

The romantic gracefully sank down in front of the fireplace, placing the silver tray with the cookies on the floor. He took a drink and cradled the warm glass cup in both hands. Brutus sat down next to him and sipped his drink cautiously.

The mulled wine was warm, and sweet, and strong. The taste and scent of it filling his senses. It was rare that Brutus tasted anything like it, and for a moment, he was completely absorbed.

When he glanced over at Absalom, the other pet was looking into the flames. The orange firelight reflecting in his eyes. His face was impassive, his breathing calm, but silent tears were streaming down his cheeks.

Brutus watched him with astonishment. He’d never seen Absalom show emotion in any way like this before. The guard dog wanted to speak, but he didn’t know what to say. Absalom’s quick wit could scratch like cat’s claws, if he was displeased.

He couldn’t just ignore it, either.

Slowly, Brutus reached out and laid his muscular hand on the pet’s thin shoulder. Absalom stiffened. For a second, Brutus thought the romantic might whip around to hit him.

Then, Absalom raised his own hand, thin and pale in comparison, and put it on top of Brutus’ hand on his shoulder. For a moment, they sat together and just watched the fire.

*

Fun Facts:

To drink warm, spiced wine has a long history, even the ancient Romans and Greeks did it. There are different versions of mulled wine across the world. In the Nordic countries, we drink glögg. It is a quite sweet version of mulled wine that most often is served with almonds and raisins.

Tag List Part 1:

@cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards-blog @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

[junipers-archive]

Sweet-Tooth

Word Count: 700

Includes: fluff, fluff, fluff, you have a sweet tooth and one day while staying late at work Aaron find out and can't help but listen!!

Its late. Very late; way above your pay-grade to be staying at the office late. And yet here you are stationed at your desk, you're almost sure you're the only one left.

That is until you hear a noise from the office's kitchen, and really you're not one for believing in ghosts but in that moment you had your doubts...

"Hello? Is anyone there?"you start toward the area when you bump into someone.

"y/n..." Of course, of course Aaron is the only one left here. His hands ghost his collar in attempt to fix his non-existent tie out of nervous habit. "What- uh What're you doing here so late?"

In truth, you'd been nodding off every hour in attempts to catch up on paperwork and had been living off of valentines day chocolate you'd bought yourself. But you were so not telling that to your boss, no matter how cute and approachable he looked with no tie, ruffled hair and slightly open button-down.

"I-I was just doing some paperwork"

"Right...do you need some help?"

Yes. "N-no, just uh maybe some sugar?"

He steps aside to let you through, "You mean coffee?"

"No I mean..." You should've just stayed at your cubicle. "I have this thing about sugar, its the only thing that works to keep me awake."

He raises an eyebrow at this so you continue. "I-well ever since I was little I could only stay up late if I had some type of sugar, I tried all types of other ways, coffee, energy drinks you name it, I've tried it."

He's leaning against the counter now looking concerned though you swear you could see a twinge of amusement in his eyes.

"And...none of these...methods have worked?"

You smile then, "Have you ever seen me drink coffee in the mornings? You could say I'm a tad sweet-toothed"

"And you don't have any sugar on you now?"

"I-uh I ran out, i had these valentines day chocolates but I finished them a few hours ago..."you start to mumble at the end of your sentence, realizing how ridiculously pathetic you'd sound if you told the truth

He hums in response and you now understand how awkward you've made the encounter and begin to retreat to your cubicle. but of course the universe would never allow you such an easy way out.

"Y/n."

"Yea Hotch?" In fear of him seeing you smiling like an idiot for the hundredth time at just hearing him say your name, you keep your back to him.

"Go home. You can work on the paperwork tomorrow."

Now you turn. "Its really no big deal, and I'm behind, and its my own fault for-"

"Go home, and thats an order." Except he doesn't say it like its an order, he says it with his lopsided-Hotch smile that sends butterflies swarming in your stomach.

"Fine" you breathe out your reply, pretending you're in a rush to get out of his sight to hide the fact you're once again grinning because he cares.

✧✧✧✧✧

The next day you're called into on a case at the way-too-early hour of 5:30am.

The next hours are filled with the reviewing of said case and the gathering of go-bags.

It isn't until you're on the plane nodding off as Derek speaks about whether or not the team in dealing with a sadistic serial killer that you catch Hotch watching you.

But he's not just watching you, he's headed towards you.

Before you can react or right yourself He's handing you a box of 'see's candies chocolates'.

"I-uh I thought you might need a pick-me up seeing as you were at the office so late last night."

Is the Aaron Hotchner blushing right now?

You accept the box wordlessly, trying to to ignore the team's stares as Hotch returns to his seat and you stuff your mouth full of the chocolate covered caramel bites.

That is until Reid speaks, "I'm sorry did-did I miss something?"

And with that the silence ends as JJ smacks him upside the head, making everyone on the plane laugh.

Emily Whispers in your ear the one thing you were sure you'd never here from any of them.

"I think you just charmed Hotch with your sweet-tooth"

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Bubble Baths and Blisters (John Price x Escort!Reader)

Part of the Purchase Your Time Universe

Summary: It's clear John doesn't take care of himself when he's at work, so you'll just have to do it while he's home.

Content warning: References to sexual content (erections, reader is a sex worker) Minors DNI/18+ only! 2.8k words

Masterlist

This driver didn’t speak to you at all on the drive to your meeting. You preferred it that way, curating your message to your friend with the address you spied in the SatNav.

At the front desk, you collected the key card then made your way into the elevator. Your new bag wheeled in behind you, a larger one to fit potential outfits you’d need in the coming days requested by your benefactor. It barely clipped your heel as you twisted around to select your designated floor. Muzak was your companion on the walk down to your room; you knocked three times and counted to four in time with it. The keycard found the slot in the door easily. It granted you entry to the room.

Already, the purple patterned wallpaper and sleek grey furnishings appeased your materialistic side. But it was the pair of shoes unaligned by the door and the outfit laid out on the bed that called you inside.

At the sound of a shuffle through the wall, you spoke, “John?”

“Just coming,” was your reply, accompanied by the flush of a toilet and a splash in a sink.

Upon the instant John emerged from the bathroom, you noticed the cut on his right cheek. It was wide enough to require tape stitch closures and thin enough to only have a few causes behind its creation. Your hands found John’s face.

“What happened?” You said, almost whining at him, as if he’d gotten hurt on purpose.

John attempted to wave you off, “Nothing serious, I’m fine.”

Still, you fawned over him a little longer, leading him over to the bed so you could get a closer look – and the longer you looked, the more you found to worry over. Split skin on his knuckles, semi scabbed over, worried you more than the bruise blooming beneath them. Those valleys of cuts scarcely healed were bound to welcome infection like a bellboy would a hotel guest.

Only reason you stopped was because John clasped around your wrists like the prettiest bracelets and squeezed so that your hands stopped using his jaw to tilt his head about for inspection.

“I’m okay,” He said, his voice firm but his eyes soft, for your benefit no doubt, and you felt the overwhelming desire to trust him. He’d make one hell of an actor.

For now, you switched to a neutral subject.

“Went all out on the room this time, didn’t you?”

“My colleague says I need to learn to relax. Thought this might inspire that.”

You cottoned on with a grin, “That’s why I’m here, right?”

A wince wrinkled John’s expression, and you were not sure if the cause was an injury or the comment, but the fact that he even let slip a reaction at all told you all you needed to know about his current state. Getting this man to relax and recuperate was your new goal.

“I thought maybe we could-” You stopped, watching John cringe again, this time pushing on his knees as he went to stand. Forgetting about your fancy clothes in your suitcase, you jumped with your gut instinct: “Let me run you a bath.”

“I didn’t call you here so you could watch me soak in my own filth.”

“You’re not that dirty.” John squinted at your through suspicious slitted eyes at your comment whilst you continued, “Besides, it’ll help you unwind, and we’ll have time after. C’mon, let me. Please.”

Begging was not something you did without being paid for it, hence why you were completely fine whipping out the puppy dog eyes now. With faux resignation, John acquiesced and, within the minute, you were filling the bath with all the bubble bath you could find, having demanded he get undressed whilst you prepare his tub.

As you swished through the water, blending the two temperatures into a pleasantly hot sting, John poked his head into sight. His naked arm pressed the door against him in case it decided to reveal more of him to you. A tattoo of a dagger speared through his bicep like it was still lodged into a slot made of skin. You stood quickly; the rush of blood from your head made you wobble and John made a move, revealing a hint of his chest to you.

“Normally, I’d light some candles, really set the mood,” You said just as fast as you’d stood. “Want me to turn around?”

Despite him shaking his head, as you “sorted” through bottles of body wash, you still glanced far enough away that his nude body was in your peripheral, blurred in your blind spot as he sank beneath the water and hid himself beneath the bubbles as much as possible. More tattoos masked beneath body hair like brick walls behind ivy vines, some linework slashed apart or speckled with more scars than there were bubbles in the tub, forming constellations. Other bruises of varying purples were contrasted by tape and gauze on his lower left shoulder. John remained upright, his back straight and arms balance on the tub’s rim. He shot you a look that told you not to linger on his injuries.

You ignored it, “Glad to see you at least went to a doctor before calling me.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“I dread to think. Can I wash your hair?”

John hesitated for a split second: “Sure.”

You took one from the pair of drinking glasses beside the sink, scooping up bathwater and swiping the excess bubbles from the top. As you carefully tilted John’s head back, your hand defending his brow from any stray droplets, you made sure your touch didn’t cross paths with the string of numbers tattooed right above the top of his spine. The skin there was marred and raised; whoever tattooed it was not kind with their equipment.

Water slicked down John’s hair, then again and again, until hairs clumped together in thicker tresses. Your nails ploughed carefully through after each cupful. One occasion, it narrowly missed a hidden scab, which you added to John’s total of injuries.

A healthy dollop of shampoo was squirted into your palm, pressing it into your other and threading it over your fingers. Foam rose fast; you began to circle it into John’s uneven hair. Over the bubbles popping, you heard the fruits of your recently done-up nails as you scratched them through his head, parting locks like a plough tilling the land. His head rotated on its axis ever-so-slightly as you clenched and tugged on his hair.

As nicely as you could, you pushed on his forehead and received an open eye of curiosity as you tempted him to rest his head back on a folded towel. The eye shut again, satisfied, when youbegan to knead the dough of the fat thinly coating his right shoulder’s muscles. They were like dead roots, reaching far across his body and brittle with age left unchecked. Body wash slicked up the skin to ease your firm touch.

“Your coworker was right; you do need to relax,” You whispered.

“Don’t tell her. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“It can be our secret then.” A firm dig from your thumbs beneath both his shoulder blades resulted in the first groan-gasp combination from John. “Good?”

“Divine. You’d make a great masseuse.”

“I would. But then I wouldn’t get to see you.”

John had already opened his mouth to speak again, but as you massaged parallel lines down his spine, his head drooped, dragging him forward a little so you could reach further, and his chin closed against his chest.

“Yes?” You prompted light-heartedly, only to be met with him groaning again, “That’s what I thought.”

“Cheeky.” Though his tone matched the words, the timbre of his voice was thick, like his vocal chords had been drizzled in honey.

“You love it.”

Refusing to let him slouched for long, you eased him back upright to resume rubbing on his shoulder. Your fingers avoided the bandage on his pectoral as you soaped him up and washed him clean. The barrier of your hand protected the gauze. Surprisingly, you caught John staring a few times, his go-to move to smile and close his eyes whenever you did.

Perched on the rim of the tub, you began to work on his arms. As you circled the tips of his fingers and travelled down each knuckle, John started to pay more attention to you again. Occasionally, you would meet his gaze, not to challenge, just to smile at him and for that smile to grow when you hit a sweet spot that made him grunt and look away first. John kept his hand in your lap whilst you worked on the other one, his thumb rubbing back and forth at the same pace as yours. It left you content to feel the heft of his hand growing as you eased the tension from each tendon. He was trusting you to look after him, giving more and more of himself over.  

So it was a risky move to transition your care onto his right foot. Nothing that spelt rejection of this area when you first took the limb from the water, propping it on yet another folded towel at the rim for ease of access. Still nothing from John as you kneaded and pressed. It was only when you were zoned in on his calf that, through gritted teeth, you heard John force out the word:

“Love?”

Your fingers ceased all movement immediately, hands retracing in surrender, because John had never called you that before. Crimson had rushed to his ears beneath the shampoo bubbles. He cleared his throat as you leant your head left in confusion.

Then you saw his cock standing proud and poking out the bubbles. It was hardly the first erection you’d ever seen: pretty impressive, but pretty normal for your work week. You drew your eye away from it easily whilst John attempted to cover his groin up with more bubbles.

You looked back at him, hands back on the rim of the tub, “Do you want me to stop?”

John ground away at the enamel on his teeth whilst he deliberated over his best course of action. His knuckles ripped apart a scab with the grip they had on the rim.

Not wanting to send him off to an emergency dentist or A&E, you offered, “How about I keep going and you tell me when to stop or move on?”

John took a deep breath and spoke in a gruff voice, like the one when he was just waking up, “When I say.”

“Of course.”

He let you get to his knees on both legs before requesting you move on. Message received, you finished up fast and shifted focus on washing the shampoo gently out from his hair. As you rinsed through his hair, you noted that he seemed to have… calmed down. But the opposite effect seemed to have been achieved as a tear rolled down John’s cheek and plinked into the waterline.

You withdrew from him, trying instead to catch his eyeline, “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

But John turned his head with a sniff, water sloshing as he withdrew a hand from the tub to pretend to wipe his nose, no doubt an attempt to remove the stinging sensation in his eyes. However, he was still smiling , close-lipped and slightly strained under his bought of emotion.

“I’m fine,” He muttered, his hand melting beneath the water as he pushed up and down his thigh. You wanted to joke that “I’m fine” should become his catchphrase, but you held off. He was the most open he’d been with you at all, even if he was lying about it.

“Anything I can do?” You asked instead.

Shaking his head, John braced himself on the sides of the tub, “Gonna get out now. Could you…?”

“Sure.”

You practically fled the bathroom in an effort to do what would make him feel comfortable. Water cascading back into the tub echoed off the tiles and into the bedroom whilst you texted your friend to confirm you were still safe.

When he finally came out the bathroom room, steam rolling in like fog over San Francisco, he was cleaning out his ears with a complimentary cotton bud. His eyes held no signs of crying, and you hadn’t heard any further evidence as such, so you felt only a vague sting of guilt for ogling the way he tied his robe, granting you access to follow a stray drop of hair weave its way down through his chest hair.

Determined to let him know you didn’t care about what transpired – except that you wanted him to be okay – you stepped close to him.

“Okay, don’t laugh but I’m begging you to let me at least moisturise your face. It’s gonna crack like dry earth.”

John let out a short laugh as he sauntered over to the bed that clued you in on his answer: he was prepared to humour you. He tossed the cotton bud neatly into the bin – nothing but binbag – and took his seat, once against observing you whilst you gleefully collected your face cream from your bag.

Standing between his legs, you dappled blobs across his face with a practiced fingertip. Stippling across his face displayed the freckles that populated his skin in a flattering light. Working in delicate circles so as not to cause any further damage, you were aware that you were likely pulling weird faces for aid of focus, and you probably had been whilst you were massaging him, but John didn’t react to them besides his slow cat-like blinks that let him pivot his gaze around your face and his hands curving at the tops of your thighs.

Hecaught you in his grasp again just as you were finishing up, and you paused to let him speak.

Holding your eye contact as gently as he held your wrist, John murmured, “I think about you a lot when I’m away.”

Your thumb carefully dragged the last of the lotion across his cheek, vanishing it into his skin. “I think about you too.”

A couple of inches breathing room between you became too much, what with John’s eyes drooping to your lips for increasing intervals. You decided to toss your face lotion bottle on the bed before you kissed him. Hardly heated, you were gentle as before. Something sweet and simple to soothe him back to normal life.

But as John pulled away, you saw none of that. You saw remorse that ran as deep as the damage his scars hinted at. All he managed was a slight embellishment of a smile whilst he wiped away a smear of lotion that had transferred onto your face.

“What time’s our reservation?”

“An hour.”

Plenty of time.

So, instead of pressing him like your gut yearned to, you kissed his forehead and stepped away. You didn’t call out how he leant towards you, even tilting on his axis to follow your lips for more, or how he closed his eyes with his shoulders sagging and a sigh caged in his ribs. He probably didn’t want to be seen as the sad man who asked you to kiss him so he felt better about getting a boner over getting his hair washed.

You let John stick to his plan and thank you by taking you out to dinner. Despite feeling like you were making progress, knowing him a little more, he seemed to be digging into the Earth to create more distance between you both as he sipped at his drink and dodged your queries about what he planned to do with his time off. Distance was healthy, necessary even for your work. But much more and you might not be able to stomach it.

With his new found vantage point, John as your voyeur continued his new role throughout and past dinner. The only time you crossed into his territory again was once you’d completed your nightly routine under his watch. You crossed the shag carpet to stand between his legs, kiss him goodnight and thank him for treating you so well. Reminding you that you hadn’t lost all that progress, John squeezed your waist as he affirmed you deserved every luxury. His forehead rested against yours as he told you this.

But there was damage done still. John reached out for you in his sleep. His arms found your waist every time he settled, and every time he woke back up, he retracted his touch back to his side.

You didn’t hear from him for two months after that meeting, something with work he’d said. You still thought about him a lot. You wondered if he still did too.

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

AN: Thanks for your patience! You voted for a bathtime chapter; we got one! I've got a dark!fic au of this I'll post later on too.

[queenoftheworldisdead]

Non-compete

chapter 1

A/N: Reader is female. No physical descriptors used. Let me know if i fucked up and not do that. Chat me up i don't bite!

Summary: Your super genius younger sister is offered a chance of a lifetime to work for either Oscorp or Stark industries straight out of high school. Her choices leave you stuck in an unrequited love triangle.

Warning: Slow Burn, Adult content only! 18+ only please. Dark! There is potentially triggering stories ahead.

Norman Osborn x Reader, (not in this chapter Peter Parker x Reader)

💻

You sit in the hallway, tapping your shoe against the linoleum floor, nerves building as you wait with your sister. Emily however was the opposite, ever calm and more focused on her laptop than the upcoming interview.

Because of her age, a guardian, you, had to be present for it. You're so proud of her, she is the smartest person in the world, at least in your opinion. Your little genius had always been miles ahead of her peers and most adults. By the time most kids were learning to ride bikes she was already competing in national science competitions, collecting trophies like playing cards.

But all those smarts came with a downside—she got bored easily, and that’s when the trouble would start. If she wasn’t challenged enough, she’d find creative ways to stir things up, both at home and in school. Her teachers were constantly asking to move her up a few grades, but you refused—you wanted her to have the full experience of growing up with her peers, even if it meant managing a bit of mischief along the way.

At home, she’d tinker with electronics or 'improve' things around the house, which usually ended with something sparking off. Sure it led to the occasional electrical fire, but she meant well.

"Stop your embarrassing me." She hisses swatting you away.

"Your tags popping out," you whisper, recoiling back with a frown. You just want everything to be perfect for her.

"Fine." She sighs reluctantly. You perk up when she relents to your mothering. Its a bad habit you know, but it's a hard one to break.

“He is ready to see you now." The young, sharply dressed woman announces suddenly, catching you both off guard.

Emily stands first, clamping her laptop shut and shouldering her bag as you stand to follow.

“Excuse me are you her guardian?” She halts you abruptly.

“Oh yes, I was told she needed to have a guardian with her for this.” You answer unconfidently. Had you misread the email? No Emily would’ve said something. You look to your sister as she clutches her laptop, she just as confused as you are.

“I’m sorry Miss, but guardians must wait outside. If she proceeds to the next phase you’ll be allow to chaperon.” The lady explains.

“O-Oh sorry, sorry about that. Well um good luck Sparkles,” you stutter out nervously taking a stepback, nearly stumbling back into the chair.

She grimaces at the pet-name, and you instantly realize your mistake. You shrivel as you sink into the chair avoiding her gaze. She's annoyed, she’s told you before, but it just slips out sometimes.

“Well OK then I think we’re all set to go now, right?,” Emily asks sharply turning on her heals to face the professional woman.

You don’t look up as they leave through the double glass doors. No doubt when this is over she will be in a mood.

💻

The longer the wait the more nervous you feel. You try not to think about what is going on beyond the conference walls and slyly people watch.

Everyone seems to be your age or way older and that worried you. More and more this seems like a bad idea. You didn't want her thrusted into adulthood like you were. There were so many missed experiences that you wished you had and didn't want that for her. She was much too young for this. She should be applying for universities not presenting prototypes to old men in suits.

The conference rooms door open and you sit up anxiously. You perk up when you hear Emily's voice. She sounds happy, that had to be a good sign. At least you hope so.

You watch as Emily exits first, followed by a man who looks much older than your father. They don't seem to register your presences as they immerse themselves in technical language that you can’t follow.

You stay seated, pretending to go through your phone, trying your best not to embarrass her again. If the interview went bad they wouldn't still be talking right?

Emily mentions your name, you catch it, and tense when you find them both walking over to you.

"Mr. Osborn this is my sister," Emily introduces you suddenly. You shoot up from your seat too quickly, nearly spilling over your bag as you try and greet the man. He doesn’t seem to notice as he extends his hand and approaches. You force a smile, hoping he can’t see the nervous energy creeping through you.

“Hello,” you squeak out as he shakes your hand firmly. “N-Nice to meet you Mr. Osborn.”

"You can call me Norman," he corrects with a smirk. You look to Emily and gauge how your doing. She’s smiling, but somehow you know she isn’t happy with your performance thus far.

"You have a brilliant sister. Did she learn everything from you?"

"Oh no… I could never. I wish I was half as smart as her." You stammer out under his intense gaze. It feels like he is watching ever word that comes out of your mouth. It's nerve-wracking; you don’t want him to judge your sister poorly because of her bumbling, idiot of a sibling.

"She has always been super supportive. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for her." Your sister cuts in quickly and you're grateful.

"I see. Well you did a fantastic job." He states before turning his attention back to your sister. You feel relief to be out of the spot light, it was never a place you longed to be, unlike her. "I wish I could stay longer, but I have another meeting to get to."

“Thank you for the opportunity Mr. Osborn.”

You snort at her professional facade, but when she frowns, you quickly look away and stifle it. It's so cute. You’d never heard her sound so mature before.

“Nonsense its an honor to meet such a promising young woman.”

💻

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias/Trent Alexander Arnold x Reader - Dark Rivarly Part 6/15

Here we go, part 6. Featuring a very cute scene where Ruben worries about reader because she is drunk.

18+

Part 7 and 8 are already out on my Patreon for FREE!

Reader is Trent Alexander Arnold's twin sister. The two have been inseparable since childbirth, more so now when Reader is fresh out of university looking for a job, crashing at her brother's place whilst doing so. One day Reader gets a job offer that she cannot refuse, however it would mean working for her brother's biggest rival in football, Ruben Dias.

Enjoy!

"Grandma, you stabbed me!"

"Then hold still." She grunted.

Trent was right, she had been happy to get rid of you. Telling Grandma that you got fired from your new job earnd you nothing but a thirty minute tongue-lashing and a stab with a needle. You were at the shop, making last minute corrections to your pencil skirt. Your job interview attire.

"What kind of job are you interviewing for anyway?" Jennifer asked, as she helped Grandma take your measurements.

"I dunno, some assistant job at a law firm in town."

"Fancy."

"Not really. It won't have anything to do with marketing. I'm probably just gonna run coffee errands all day."

"Then why apply? Aren't you free to go back and live with your brother again now that the two of you have made up?"

It was true. You and Trent are good now, however your time apart has taught you a valuable lesson. A lesson that independence was key to a less stressful life. At least until you could find a hubby to provide for you in the future.

"There." Grandma said, having fitted the skirt with its finishing touches.

You were taken aback. The fabric felt coarse and scratchy against your skin, and the seams were uneven and puckered. You looked in the mirror and saw that the skirt was much shorter than you had requested, revealing your legs in a way that was not appropriate for a job interview.

"Grandma, this is not what I asked for."

She looked up from her sewing machine, a look of confusion on her face. "What do you mean? This is the pattern you gave me. I thought you wanted something simple."

You sighed. "I did want something simple but not one that looks like it was made by a blind person."

"Come again?" Grandma's face reddened, as she set down her needle and thread. She looked ready to jump you.

Then came Jenny.

"A coat!" She exclaimed, popping up between the two of you. "I'll lend her my coat. Okay?" She gritted her teeth at you.

You rolled your eyes. "Fine."

Grandma fell back on her chair. Lucky for you.

The job interview went well, perhaps because the owner of the law firm was a man in his fifties, who's eyes wandered freely to your leg set over the other, not at all minding the length of your skirt.

Afterwards you texted a friend to meet you up for drinks, since returning to Grandma's apartment was more depressing than getting drunk on a Tuesday.

"I'm surprised you reached out." Your friend Ashley, said. "We haven't heard from you since you moved from London back to Liverpool. You should have told me you're staying in Manchester with your nan."

"Grandma." You corrected.

"Right, how are they, your grandparents?"

"Well, my granddad has been dead for years, but I guess he was great before that."

Ashley looked stunned. "Right, I'm sorry."

It was depressing, how far away you had drifted from your university friends, if you could even call them that these days. They didn't care about you and you couldn't care less about them. Ashley had only agreed to meet up with you because her cousin was in town and she wondered if you could hook them up with tickets to Liverpool's next fixture.

You left the bar having gotten what you wanted. However you only made it halfway home, walking unsteady on your heels. You settled on a park bench to call for a taxi, but accidentally dialed the wrong number, a familiar voice sparking through the phone.

"Hello operator?"

"Y/N?"

"Yes, who's this?"

"It's Ruben."

"Ruben?" You hadn't heard from him since he fired you two weeks ago. "What do you want?"

"Um, you called me."

"I did?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

You pulled back the phone, squinting at the screen, confirming that you had indeed dialed the wrong number.

"Are you okay?"

"What?" You pressed the phone to your ear.

"I asked if you're okay, it sounds like you're shivering. Are you outside?"

"I am. I just came from a bar. I was actually trying to call a taxi, not you."

"Are you drunk? Do you need me to pick you up?"

"What, no." You frowned.

"Your not drunk?"

"Drunk, yes. But I don't need you to come and get me."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" You chuckled. "You fired me Ruben, remember? Besides, I'm not too far from my grandmother's shop, I can warm up in there."

"Great. Wait for me, I'm coming."

"Pardon?"

"Stay put Y/N, I'm coming to get you."

You thought it was a joke, or at least that you had heard him wrong. However, ten minutes after arriving at Grandma's shop, a car pulled up outside of it, with Ruben stepping out onto the street.

"Well this is awkward." You said, as the door shut behind him, the two of you reunited in the exact same place that you first met.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Ruben. Why are you here?" He was dressed so casually, wearing sweatpants. You started following him on Instagram after your first encounter and there was not a single picture of him where he didn't look pampered up by a professional or dressed to perfection.

"Y/N." He sighed. "You told me that you were drunk, what was I supposed to do, not come?"

"Yes, you don't owe me anything."

"What does that have to do with anything? I'm here because I want to help."

"Why?"

He smiled. "I don't know? Maybe because I like you."

"If you like me, why did you fire me?"

"I...." That got him. He fell quiet.

It was hard for you to admit how much it had hurt you. Those three weeks working as a stylist for Ruben had brought you more joy than any other occupation you've ever had. You never wanted to study marketing, or become a seamstress. Those were someone else's dream, forced upon you. You weren't like Trent, you weren't destined to do anything. You had no talent, or so you thought. Being a stylist, it was different, it brought you joy.

"Hiring you in the first place was a mistake." Ruben said, hands in his pockets.

"Then why did you do it?"

He smirked. "Like I said, I like you. But I knew you would be trouble."

"Trouble?" You frowned, more than insulted. "How am I trouble, you don't even know me?"

"Well that's the problem then, don't you think?" Ruben stepped forward, closing the already small gap between you. "You're some random girl I met in some old lady's shop. I don't even know you and yet you're the only thing on my mind."

You drew a breath, stunned by his words.

Ruben shook his head, eyes looking to the floor boards. "I fired you because I couldn't stand the thought of not knowing where you are and with who. Hiring you again would mean trouble."

"For who?"

You regarded him thoughtfully. Despite what you told his assistant she was right to warn you, warn you that getting involved with someone like Ruben could only mean trouble for you. But there was no denying it, the strength of your attraction for him.

"I need you, Y/N." Ruben shuffled his steps. Brave enough to reach out and caress the sleeve of your coat. "In more ways than you know."

"Ha!" You blurred out. "Why don't you get down on your knees and beg while you're at it."

"Fine."

You let out a low shriek, seeing Ruben do exactly what you told him to do. Stepping up to you, standing really close. It aroused something within you. He crumpled to the floor, getting down on his knees, only to find himself level with your stomach.

You looked down at him. "You're crazy."

He grinned. "Crazy about you."

His hands grabbed your waist, forcing you to take a step forward towards his satisfied face. You stiffened.

"Ruben?"

His chuckle was heard beneath you. "Don't back out now, querida. Isn't this what you wanted?"

"No." You attempted to fight him off with your hands, ultimately failing as your hands got tangled up in his hair, his thick brown hair. Ruben tilted his head back, closing his eyes as your hand ran through it. "You sure?" He grinned.

Your heart was beating violently in your chest. Your breasts heaving up and down.

"Just know that I want you so bad right now." Ruben's hand slipped down from your waist, cupping your ass. "So fucking bad."

His eyes opened, staring intensely into yours, challenging you.

"What's it gonna be Y/N? I'm on my knees for you."

You crumbled. "Just shutta fuck up and finish me off."

With one tug from Ruben, your coat dropped to the floor. He then got busy with your skirt, pulling down the zipper with one defying motion.

"Fuck." You let out a gasp, loud enough to echo throughout the room. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to lay down. Ruben had you back up against a wall, panties pulled down to your ankles as he licked you clean. You pulled his hair, wanting him to stop. The pleasure was too intense, spilling you over the edge too fast.

"You don't like this?"

You looked down to see Ruben frowning like a puppy dog.

"I haven't shaved. Isn't it better if a girl is shaved?" You replied.

The look that came across his face was profound and questioning. Ruben's hands traveled down your thighs, rubbing them up and down. He leaned forward, kissing your leg before he spoke against the skin. "I want you like this." He whispered. "Any man should want you like this."

Ruben stood. Your shoulders fell back against the wall, eyes now level with his chest. He tilted down, kissing your lips, your first kiss. Your hands wrapped around his neck, fingers finding their way through his thick hair. The smacking of your lips was loud, interrupted by the occasional gasp for air. Ruben had your legs wrapped around his thighs, lifting you up like you weighed nothing. By now your trail of thought had vanished, leaving the regrets for tomorrow. Your skirt was already rolled up to your waist, with Ruben's erection pressing hard against your belly. Once he pulled down the hem of his sweatpants you were already trembling, eager to have him inside of you. He came with force, pressing into you deep. He held your body against him, fucking you against the wall, the loud pounding increasing with every thrust.

"Ruben, I'm....I'm gonna..."

"Yes, come for me Y/N. Scream my name."

It was embarrassing, how fast he made it happen. How hard your grip around his waist was. It was terrible, the noises you made, moaning and groaning against the crook of his neck.

"Ruben."

"Yes, baby. Let yourself go, come for me...." You grip around him tightened, the clenching of your walls. Ruben was right behind you, trembling with the next sloppy thrusts. You slumped down against the wall, plotting down on the floor like the heavy bodies that you were. You were still breathing heavily, with Ruben's head resting gently against your heaving chest. With hearts slowing down he lifted his head, looking at you with the hint of a smile. "I guess this means I've got you back?"

You chuckled. "I'm back, but you don't have me, Ruben."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I'll never be yours. If I'm gonna work for you this can never happen again."

[cookiesupplier]

Catch You When You Fall - Part Two

pairing: Nicholas Ruffilo & ofc (Catherine)

warnings/tropes: slow burn, angst, murder, mystery, smut, mentions of speciesism, mentions of violence, trauma... (to be added.)

summary: A new soul has arrived in the Afterlife. While she appears to adjust just like anyone else might in the new environment of the world of life after death, despite the ordeal she experienced with her death. The question is has she really, and can Nicholas help her without crossing lines that he knows he shouldn't?

Authors Note: Sooo took me an extra day.. and its extra unbeta'd.. sorry for any mistakes.. my read through of my draft was super rushedddd sorry.. hopefully its not too bad!

To find the others in the Hell AU Universe: Combined Hell-Verse Masterlist

tags: @missduffsblog @tearfallpixie @spicywhenspeaking @sorrowsofsilence @wild-child-7747

@lacktoesandtoddlerants @blackveilomens @valiantroeagleangel @bngurngheart @collapsedglasshouses

@embracethereaper42 @emmmm127 @sunsshinesunny @dominuslunae @xxkittenkissesxx

If you would like to be added to this tag list please see THIS FORM

Over the next few days, Cat got the ‘Hell’ tour from Bryce. He showed her around the community, took her to her new home. It was a little apartment on the ground floor, with a balcony that led out to a small green area out front. Bryce had even told her she could plant something there if she wanted to. It was the first time in her life that she had the option of her own garden to tend to, and she absolutely loved the idea. Before, she’d always lived in different types of rental spaces, and they always, without fail, had different levels of landlord rules. It made sense of course, she was only renting and didn’t own the space, she couldn’t do anything she wanted with it. Basically, it amounted to her not being able to plant anything, even if there was a strip of space that would be perfect for it, now she had hopes of starting a little garden of her own. She just had to decide on what flowers she was going to plant in it, what she was going to do with it, she knew she wanted to include some irises of some kind, they are her mother’s favourite. Once she had them planted, she looked forward to seeing them every morning, she hoped it would be a long time until she saw her mother here. As it was, she was almost wished the flowers were already planted as she got ready to leave, but they weren’t, not yet. 

Pulling on her coat as she passed by the balcony of the front hall of her apartment and let herself out the door. She was on her way to her first day of work, well, her first official day of work. Cat had met her boss yesterday. Ishtar had been wonderful when they spoke the day before at the vegetarian café that Cat was going to be working at. It was still quite new apparently, it had only opened up a few weeks ago, so everything was still just starting up, but it already seemed popular. While Cat wasn’t vegetarian herself, she loved to bake and try new things. The moment that Ishtar had heard this, she’d lit up like the Christmas tree in the middle of Times Square, and Cat couldn’t help but smile. She had a feeling they were going to get along just fine, despite the fact that she was almost sure that it was Bryce that had seemed wary when he told her about this job.

When they started talking about what jobs she might want to do, Bryce had brought her a list of different possible options for her. Most of them were menial jobs she would have never touched when she was alive, bartender? Not that she had anything against working at a bar, or clubbing, but she didn’t know how to make those kinds of drinks for the life of her! She’d studied as an English major and had worked at a publishing house while she was alive. Sure, she had drank a few cocktails, but she didn’t know heads or tails about how to make them. Books, now those were something that she had always been passionate about. Being here, in the Afterlife, her entire world turned upside down, it was a perfect time to make a change, to take a chance on something she loved. So that was what had drawn her to the café, despite Bryce’s attempts in talking her into working in the library instead. She knew he was just trying to guide her to what she knew, she couldn’t blame him for that. 

She had visited the library with him when he had taken her there, hoping to change her mind, she was sure, not that he said as much. Cat had gone to the library, and come back with a decent stack of books that were currently sitting on her night stand, and she was happily enjoying reading. The Afterlife had a very enjoyable assortment of literature, and unlike in the living world, she didn’t have to spend every cent of her pay check on books constantly. Who needed heaven, she was quite happy right here in so-called hell right now, thank you.  

Now, when it came to Bryce’s real problem with her working at the café, and she could tell he had a problem with it, even if he didn’t come right out and say it. The amount of times he asked if she was sure, if she was absolutely certain she wanted to work there, it was a giveaway. There was also the fact that he kept assuring her that if she changed her mind at any time, even after she started working there, she could always come to him, and he would work out another position for her. He was absolutely determined for some reason that she not work there, and it was mind-boggling as to why. 

Cat wasn’t sure which he seemed to have more trouble with, the fact that she didn’t immediately agree to his idea in the first place, or that she had chosen that specific café in question. At first, she had thought it was because she had decided on anything but his idea, he seemed like a man that was used to everyone just going along with the ideas that he had. Bryce was very easy going, the surfer vibe he had going on, he used it well, it worked for him, and seemed to make agreeing with him just seamless with most things. However, then, when she selected the café, and really insisted that was what she wanted to do, he switched gears and started assuring her that she didn’t have to decide right then and there. She could take her time. Take a few weeks, a few months if she needed to.

That was when he let her know that humans didn’t even need to work in hell, that technically, only demons did. Well, that was news to her. Up until that moment, he had seemed to be encouraging her to work, impressing upon her that she should. In fact, it had made her feel like if she didn’t, that she would be penalised in some way. Maybe she might not have ended up being punished in one of those torture realms, but something might happen to her. For all she knew, she would have gotten assigned a job if she didn’t choose one, and one that was disgusting.. Or worse, forcibly reincarnated as a bug, a cockroach, or worse, a spider. So hearing that she didn’t have to work at all, oh, Bryce was very obviously manipulating her, and she didn’t like it.

That had been when she decided that the café was definitely where she wanted to work, and there was nothing he could say that would talk her out of it now. She started this morning, and Cat was on her way to work, bright and early. While she loved to bake, she wasn’t actually going to be working there as one of the bakers, or dealing with any of the main food preparations that she knew of yet. Ishtar had told her yesterday that she was set to learn the ropes today, and that a lot of her work at the end of one day, was setting up for the next. It made everything go a lot smoother the next morning if she had everything prepared the day before. That was really smart, and she loved that idea, already the woman sounded amazing, she couldn’t wait to get to know her more. 

As she approached the outside of the café, she went along the side where the staff door was, knocking lightly, and a moment later the door opened to the smiling face of her boss, Ishtar. When she’d first met her, it had been remarkable to meet the bright bubbly face of the demoness, but a welcoming one. 

“Hey, Cat, come on in.”

Unlike Bryce, Ishtar, didn’t seem to jump right to the endearments to sweeten her up, she didn’t need to. She was perfectly nice enough on her own. Of course, meeting demons like her, made it all the clearer what Bryce had meant when he said that some demons don’t shift into a human form. While she had a humanoid form, two arms, two legs, and hypothetically ten fingers and ten toes by the looks of it, she was pure demon, with her gorgeous purple tones to her appearance. She adorned with tattoos still like other demons, hers were simple flowering vines over her skin, and stunning horns curled from her beautiful hair that was braided around them today.

Slipping into the back area of the café where they made all the food and drinks for the sitting area out front where they served the customers, at least the ones that didn’t take their food to go.

“Alright, Cat, so I’m going to get you started just taking orders behind the counter for now. Don’t worry, it's not going to be permanent, I hope to teach you how to do all the different jobs through the café. From waitressing, working register, making drinks, even baking for the display case, cooking out back.”

That really excited her to hear, that she wasn’t going to be shoehorned into one job here. If felt nice to know that she was going to have options and means to vary in time.

“Admittedly, sometimes I bake a lot a home and bring them in, it cuts down some of my extreme early morning commutes, and my boyfriend thanks me for that. His version of waking up early involves very different activities than baking.”

Cat felt her face flush warm, the kind of activities that she would attribute to early mornings and boyfriends, well, they didn’t involve baking either. Even if the thought of being in the kitchen of the morning brought about the idea of her boyfriend surprising her while she wore nothing but one of his shirts that she slept in. A boyfriend she had never got around to getting, she’d been far too much of a home body, always with her head in the books. The closest she came, and even before the end of the second day, he’d basically told her she was boring. That she needed to get her head out of the clouds, that there was more to life than fantasy. That being obsessed with dragons, magic, and elves, and all those things that go bump in the night was pathetic. Personally, she just thought he was pathetic, he would sit there playing his video games, and shoot up people, military type games. He had his obsession, so the fact he thought he could call her out for what she enjoyed, was ironic in the face of it. Unfortunately, at the time, she had spiralled and got so depressed at the rejection, but eventually she got over him and moved on focusing on school instead. 

“So if I might want to experiment in the future, baking, or other café style dish ideas, provided it's vegetarian, you might be interested?”

Cat was curious about trying different things. She wanted to try and see what happened with cooking instead of just her delving into the world of words and books like she had when she was alive. Maybe, also maybe, she was trying to give herself a little something for a distraction. A distraction from this dark feeling in the pit of her stomach that she couldn’t even really fathom right about now. 

“Oh, I would most definitely be interested. I can’t promise we will always serve what you come up with, but I’d love to see what you do make, I always like trying new things.”

Of course, Cat had no idea just yet what she might like to make, what would go well with what they made here. They had different treats and delights in the display case yesterday when she had come by to talk to Ishtar. Ishtar hadn’t called it an interview, nor the first time she had been by the café to meet with her and find out if she would be will to hire her in the first place. Instead, yesterday just seemed to be a check in to make sure everything was okay and that both she was still interested in working there, and Ishtar was still partial to having her at the café. With them both still on board, here she was, bright and early and ready to go.

“Can I ask, is the vegetarian element of the café, is that a preference of yours, or is that something you found lacking in the general cuisine choices?”

Cat couldn’t help but ask, it was a curious thing, she had found that a lot while she was alive. If enough people wanted something, then customs would adjust to embrace it. However, there were places that would buck so heavily against this it would tear a community apart, and it was so painful to see. She didn’t want to insult Ishtar by assuming anything about what she liked, or didn’t like.

“It’s a personal choice, I suppose it's half culture, half upbringing. When I was reborn this lifetime, I spent a lot of time with my mother, and she is vegetarian. However, as I got older and travelled more, I found I just didn’t have the same taste for meat others do. I can and have eaten it on occasion, it isn’t a health issue.. Much to my boyfriend’s thankfulness. Though.. Thinking of poor little animals, skewered for food, always does make me miserable.”

Nodding, that was fair, and it showed she had a bigger heart than some people. 

“I find it interesting there are still such diverse ways of life here.”

“Exactly, demons are just as diverse as humans, unfortunately it can also get just as ugly.. But let's not get into that. Now, let's get you set up at the register.”

Ishtar hooked her arm with hers with a bright smile and guided her up front to the counter so she could help her get set up before they opened.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics