#needed assistance at self check out

[supremelightscream]

TIL: I really need to be more aware of my rbf🥴

[teddy06]

I send one text while out on the sales floor and the cameras see so a gun descends from the ceiling and shoots me in the back of the head

[hoshifighting]

staff!jeonghan

WARNINGS: fluff, smut, fame problems, paris trip, idol!reader is a sweetheart with her staff team, teasing, hair pulling, makeup smudging hair destroying sex, face slap, paris sex.

staff!jeonghan who started way back when your career was just taking off. you were still fresh, the kind of new that had people curious but not quite sold on the idea of you making it long term. jeonghan wasn’t even supposed to be sticking around. dude was just a freelancer, floating between gigs like it was nothing. hairdresser one week, stylist the next, maybe even photographer’s assistant if he felt like it. didn’t care much either—just did his job, got his check, and dipped.

he was there the first time you came in for a shoot, thinking, oh, here we go again, another idol who doesn’t know shit about shit, and probably treats their staff like trash. honestly, he didn’t expect anything from you. he had his walls up like crazy. you’d been doing this for, what, a hot minute? and you were already getting attention, which just made him think, “yep, this one’s probably the snobby kind. won’t even acknowledge us when she’s walking by.���

but then you went and did the most surprising thing—like blew his expectations out of the water kinda surprise. you saw him—no, not just like saw him, but like saw him. took a minute to actually chat. asked how his day was, if he needed anything while he was running around fixing the stage lights or whatever. you even remembered his name by the end of the first day, which? yeah, idols usually don’t bother with that.

fast forward a couple months, and jeonghan’s still hanging around. he didn’t plan to stay, but something about you changed that. it wasn’t even the work, really. it was more like you made things different for the whole staff—hairdressers, makeup artists, stylists, all of them. you had this habit of, like, breaking all the usual rules. you’d bring coffee for everyone in the morning, none of that half-assed, "just for my personal team" bullshit, you made sure everyone was taken care of, because they take care of you as welll.

then there was that time when you randomly called up your manager one day like, "hey, i’m taking everyone out to eat after the shoot." and jeonghan was standing there, trying not to look too surprised, but inside he was like, who the hell does that? especially in this industry where staff usually gets a handshake and a “thanks for your work” at most. while you’re out here throwing cash around to make sure your team is happy. it’s wild.

he remembers the first time you handed out those holiday bonuses. it wasn’t even from the company’s budget either; it was straight up from your own wallet. like, your money. you didn’t even make a big deal about it, just casually handed out envelopes and said, “merry christmas, you guys.” you should’ve seen their faces—everyone was shook, even him, and he doesn’t get surprised that easily. it was one of those moments where the room just, like, collectively inhaled. there was silence, and then someone—probably one of the stylists—goes, “y/n, this is... you didn’t have to...”

and you? you just shrugged, all casual, like it was no big deal. “nah, i wanted to. thank you for taking care of me, you make part of all of this too.” you pointed to the stage.

jeonghan couldn’t even look at you right for a second because it was, like, damn, okay, she’s for real. that was the moment he decided he wasn’t just gonna treat this gig like all the others. working with you? yeah, it felt different. and not in some sappy, fairytale shit kind of way, but in a “maybe there are still people in this industry who aren’t complete assholes” kind of way.

“so you’re sticking around, hannie?” you asked him one day, catching him off guard while he was fixing up your jacket right before a stage performance.

he smirked, his usual cocky, nonchalant self, but there was something softer underneath it. “guess i don’t have a choice. you make it too easy.”

he was your go-to guy now, the one you trusted with everything, from making sure your hair wasn’t fucked up during press tours to giving you a reality check when you were stressing over the dumbest things. and he liked that. he liked being the one you leaned on when you didn’t wanna bother anyone else.

but it was more than that too. you were just different. the way you treated people, the way you made sure everyone around you felt seen, felt valued? it wasn’t fake. it wasn’t for show. it was you. and jeonghan? well, he wasn’t the kind of guy to stick around just for anyone. but for you? yeah, maybe he’d go the long haul.

jeonghan was always there, like a constant shadow that somehow made everything feel lighter instead of heavier. as your career blew up, he didn’t just keep pace—he matched your energy, your needs, every twist and turn that came with your fame. whether it was press tours, backstage chaos, or those ridiculous interviews where some clueless host would try to push your boundaries, he was always ready.

you’d be in the middle of a tv show, mind racing, and then there’d be a subtle shift. jeonghan standing just offstage, watching with a sharp, gaze of his. and it wasn’t like he had to do much—sometimes just a look was enough to let you know he had your back. like that time they tried to switch up your routine last minute, making changes that didn’t sit right with you. you didn’t even need to speak up, though. before you could say a word, he was already stepping in, throwing that effortless, yet somehow intimidating smile toward the team. “nah, we’re sticking with the original plan. my artist doesn’t do changes without notice.”

“your artist,” you’d hear him say that a lot, like a protective label stamped right over you, like you belonged to him—not in a possessive way, but in a way that made you feel safe. secure.

it wasn’t just about the work either, not even close. jeonghan made the loneliness that came with fame feel less suffocating. that part of fame nobody talks about—the part where you can’t make real friends anymore, where every new person in your life feels temporary, transactional. except him. he was loyal.

when you had those long, grueling days full of photoshoots and interviews and events, and all you wanted was to escape, jeonghan was the one who made sure you still had a piece of normal.

like that one time in paris. you were there for a fashion show, sitting front row with all these industry giants who couldn’t care less about anything but themselves, and jeonghan was right beside you, but afterward, when it was just the two of you, he was the one who dragged you to some random hole-in-the-wall restaurant down the street, far from all the cameras and flashing lights, ordering too much food and laughing at how terrible your french was.

“you know, you’re lucky you’ve got me,” he teased, watching you struggle with the menu. “otherwise, you’d be stuck ordering water and bread for the rest of the trip.”

you elbowed him playfully. “i’m just trying to be cultured, okay?”

“sure, sure,” he snickered, but the grin on his face was soft, like he was glad to be there with you. “leave the culture to me.”

he was there on the quieter days too. you’d be at home, no schedule to follow for once, just free. but that freedom? it felt empty when you didn’t have anyone to share it with. jeonghan got that. he’d show up at your place without even needing an invitation, like he just knew when you needed him there. sometimes he wouldn’t even knock. you’d just hear the door click open and his familiar voice, “you better not be working in there.”

you’d laugh, shouting back from wherever you were in the apartment, “i’m not, calm down.”

next thing you knew, he’d be on the floor of your pristine living room, surrounded by lego pieces because, for some reason, that’s what the two of you did on your days off. it was ridiculous, really, two adults crouched over colorful plastic blocks, but it made you feel like a kid again, like before everything got so complicated.

you’d crouch down next to him, watching his hands move, and without thinking, you’d wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. it wasn’t even romaaaantic, more like instinct. jeonghan had this way of making you feel safe, like you didn’t have to be the perfect version of yourself all the time. you could just be you. and hugging him like that, clinging onto him like a koala, it was the only way you knew how to show him just how much he meant to you.

“you’re clingy today,” he murmured, but there was no complaint in his voice, just that familiar teasing.

“you’re soft,” you shot back, squeezing him tighter, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. his cologne was subtle but always the same, something that reminded you of quiet, peaceful moments, like this.

he tilted his head a little, catching your eyes “oh, yeah? not what you said last time.”

you puffed your cheeks out, crossing your arms dramatically, the sulk settling in. “i’m done being clingy with you, jeonghan.”

he grinned like he was waiting for that exact reaction. it’s almost like he lived for these moments—when you’d pout and try to act all tough, but really? he knew exactly where this was headed. you weren’t fooling anyone, especially not him.

“oh yeah?” he tilted his head, gaze dripping with amusement as he leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed your ear. “you sure about that?”

you tried to hold firm, but the way his voice dropped a little lower, teasing. you shifted your weight, crossing your legs under you on the living room floor, avoiding eye contact. “mmhmm. you’ll see.”

jeonghan let out a soft chuckle, leaning back and watching you with a glint in his eyes, like he was just waiting for you to crack. “you’re too cute when you sulk, y’know that?”

your heart fluttered, but you bit down on the inside of your cheek, determined to keep up the act. “whatever.”

he moved closer, a hand sliding around your waist, tugging you just enough so that your body leaned into his. “nah, don’t pout, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing lightly against your jaw. “we both know how this ends.”

and he was right. because, every time you tried to act like you were done with him, like you were going to keep your distance, it only ended one way—with you wet underneath him, a needy mess, begging for more.

like that first time in paris. paris had done something to the both of you. it was supposed to be a normal night, just you and him hanging out after the fashion show. nothing special, just another city on the endless list of places you’d been together. but somehow, that night went different. the second the hotel room door clicked shut behind you, you’d scarcely made it through the door before his hands were on you, grabbing, pulling, claiming.

“thought you were gonna keep your distance,” jeonghan had teased as he pressed you up against the wall, his lips trailing down your neck, making your knees weak.

you were already panting, feeling the warmness of him beaming off his body. “shut up, hannie.”

he chuckled against your skin, his tongue flicking out to taste you, making you gasp. “aww, so cute when you’re needy.”

and fuck, were you needy. by the time he’d pushed you onto the bed, tugging at your clothes, you were already whimpering for him, already soaked.

he’d dragged you to the edge, rough hands all over your body, pulling, squeezing, leaving marks everywhere. your hair had been perfect for the show, all sleek and done up, but that shit didn’t last long. the second he had his fist tangled in it, pulling your head back, it was ruined. thrusting into you from behind, his cock splitting you in half with each brutal thrust. “such a fucking mess.”

you’d tried to keep quiet, biting down on the pillow as your body rocked with every movement, but every time you let out a whiny moan, jeonghan was right there to mock you for it.

“aww, hannie’s being too harsh?” he cooed, as he tries to sound sweet. “hm? poor baby can’t take it?”

you’d only moaned louder, your body trembling as he slapped your ass, the sting making you cry out. he’d leaned down then, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “use your words, sweetheart. tell hannie how bad you want it.”

you couldn’t even speak, just a mess of broken moans and gasps as he kept slamming into you, the sound of skin against skin echoing through the room. and just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, when you were right on the edge, that’s when he did it. his hand came up to your face, smudging the glitter from the show as he slapped you—not enough to really hurt. he is a careful guy.

“fuck, y/n, look at you. such a pretty little mess,” he groaned, his grip on your hair tightening as he pounded into you from behind, relentless. “you gonna come for me? c’mon, baby, let me hear it.”

you whimpered, nodding, your mind spinning as his cock hit that perfect spot over and over, making you roll your eyes, drool, everything u had right of. but just as you were about to cum, he pulled out, leaving you empty and desperate.

“aww, no no no, not yet,” jeonghan cooed, a wicked grin on his face as he turned you onto your back, pushing your legs open wide. “hannie’s not done with you.”

your heart pounded, your entire body aching for release, but you didn’t dare move. he was in control, and you knew better than to push him.

“what’s the matter, baby?” he leaned down, his lips brushing over yours as he teased you. “too much?”

you shook your head, barely able to get the words out. “n-no… please…”

his smirk widened, that wicked glint in his eyes making you shiver. “please what? gotta tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

you whimpered, your hands gripping the sheets as you looked up at him, desperate. “please… fuck me…”

“good girl.”

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Demon x Gloomy! Reader

As much as you'd like to spend the rest of your life secluded away from the world, you need money. Conveniently enough, a new detective agency in town is hiring, and the salary is ridiculously good. The catch? Oh, you'll see once you sign the contract right...here. Congratulations! You've sealed a lifetime bond with their one and only employee, a demon from the depths of Hell!

Content: female reader, monster romance, dark humor, perverted goat demon yandere, based on ‘Yondemasuyo, Azazel-San’

[Part 2] [Monster masterlist]

There’s still enough time to go back, you think. It’s loud and crowded and you’d rather be home. The temptation is beginning to creep its tendrils over your mind, so you quickly pull out your phone and check your bank account. The numbers remind you why you’re here in the first place: if you don’t get a job soon, you’ll run out of savings.

Come on, it can’t be that bad. In fact, it’s the best offer you’ve ever laid your eyes on. Minimal interaction with humans, short hours, and absurdly good pay. A new detective agency opened in your town and they’re looking for an assistant. A regular person would most likely be put off by such shady circumstances. There must be a catch, but you couldn’t care less either way. What are they going to do, kill you? Sell your organs on the black market? They’d spare you the time to plan your own demise.

You climb the stairs and knock on the door. A deep voice tells you to enter, and you sheepishly make your entrance. The office is rather small and somewhat cramped, with stacks of papers scattered over the floor. Behind the desk sits a man – maybe in his thirties? – with messy black hair, sunken eyes, and an irked expression. Is this the detective? He looks like an angry thug. Not that you’re one to judge, given your overall gloomy aura that deters passersby with ease.

“Yes?” he asks curtly, not even looking up from his book.

“I’m here for the job offer. The assistant role?”

“Ah, yeah. Completely forgot about that.” He rummages through his drawer and pulls out a sheet of paper, slapping it on the desk. “Here’s the details. Same as in the ad. Here’s where you sign. Do you have questions?”

“Hmm, I guess not.” You hum, indifferent, and scribble your name.

The man finally glances at you, faint intrigue on his face.

“This went unexpectedly smoothly. What if it was a scam?”

“Then what?” You stare him in the eye with a flaccid smile. “There’s nothing to take from me. If it is a scam indeed, you’ll be the one disappointed in the end.”

His eyes narrow in an eerie grin, and he stands up.

“Perfect match.”

“Excuse me?”

He walks towards a secondary room and waits for you to follow him. Once you’ve joined, he turns on the lights, and you immediately notice a strange seal painted on the floor: Geometric symbols resembling a pentagram, surrounded by words in a language you don’t understand. You’re carefully observing the strange sight, so entranced that you don’t sense the detective lifting your hand and casually piercing your finger with a small scalpel.

Before you can react to the sudden attack, he presses your hand onto the contract you’d signed earlier. You wince in pain and swiftly pull your hand away, glaring at the man.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you demand angrily.

“I thought I’d already introduce you to the main tool we use to solve our cases.”

The sigil on the ground begins to glow and the edges move in a circular motion. A black ooze erupts from the center, rapidly expanding outwards. You glue yourself to the wall for safety, unsure of what is happening.

A clawed hand emerges from the cursed muck, grabbing onto the edges for support. Within seconds, a creature crawls its way out. A humanoid figure with curled horns and long locks, its body ending with goat hooves instead of legs, stands up and stretches before your terrified self. You tighten your jaw in anticipation.

“You always summon me during my best naps, damn it!” the demon barks.

The detective approaches the monster, completely unconcerned, and slaps its horns nonchalantly, earning a groan from the demon.

“Skip the unnecessary whining. This is our new assistant and your owner as of now.” He explains, dangling the contract before the horned creature and pointing a finger in your direction.

“The fuck? You said you’d end the deal if I completed that mission. You lied to me, you-!” the beast finally notices your presence and abruptly stops. “Well then, what do we have here?”

A wide, perverted smile replaces his frown, sharp fangs glistening with malice.

“Aren’t you a miserable one! You reek of apathy”, the demon exclaims, clacking his hooves in your direction. “Boy oh boy, I could just eat you up! Tell me your name.”

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. You wonder if this is some bizarre dream after all. The demon clamps your lips back shut.

“Tempting offer, but I don’t need head right now. Save the gesture for later, alright? Let’s try again: Name!”

Your brows furrow in disbelief at his crass insolence.

“I-it’s (Y/N).” you finally manage to blurt out.

He strokes your head lovingly, as if he’s praising some house pet.

“Good girl. You can call me Zzy.”

For a moment, you completely forgot about the detective being in the same room. He places the demon under a firm hold and shoves him away from you, then hands you a thick, leathered book.

“This is his grimoire. Read it once you’re home. First day is tomorrow unless you need more time.”

“Tomorrow is fine”, you answer in a daze, fumbling to find the exit and ignoring the horned monster waving at you enthusiastically.

You’re lying in bed, still a little shaken from the events you witnessed earlier today. A detective agency that uses a demon to solve matters, and you’ve just been coerced into selling your soul for a lifetime bond with him. You sigh in exhaustion. At least the pay is good, you tell yourself as you trace your fingers over the old text of the grimoire:

“Great President of Hell, ruling three legions of demons. Brings insanity or great sorrow to any person the conjurer wishes. Feeds on sadness and fear. Causes people to end their life.”

Hard to believe that depraved buffoon holds such power. Although it does explain, at least, why the detective was eager to use you as a replacement. Or why the demon showed such intense interest.

“Who’s a buffoon?”

The voice is so close that you feel its hot breath on your ear. You scream and jump back in panic, tumbling out of the bed and scrambling onto the floor. You rub your eyes just to make sure: the half-goat creature is lounging under your sheets, gazing at you with a bored expression.

“Christ! I thought you’re not allowed to leave the office?” you inquire, baffled.

“That’s why I snuck this in your pocket!” he says as he procures a small coin. “I can track down cursed items. Hehe~”

As if remembering a vital detail, he throws himself up and joins you on the ground:

“Oh, but don’t tell Mr. Detective about it, or he’ll feed me to the dogs. It’s our secret.” he pleads, hands put together in a praying gesture.

“What are you even doing here?”

“I figured it’d be useful if we got to know each other as soon as possible, seeing as we’ll be working together from now on.”

“And it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“Well…I also got really horny thinking of you and decided to just visit instead. How about a quick fuck?”

“Absolutely not. Eat a raw potato or something.”

“Don’t be like that! At least let me touch your boobs. Help a partner out, eh?”

Perhaps being scammed was not the worst-case scenario. You slap the demon’s groping fingers away and return to your previous spot in bed. It will be a long night.

[luveline]

I love ur writing 💕 can I request something where reader is dense sortof/has low self esteem, so she likes hotch, admires him and would love to date him but can't imagine he would view her that way,, so he has to be really obvious with his advances? Not self indulgent at all 👉👈 no worries if not. Love u!

Hotch has to break the news that he’s been pursuing you. fem, 2k

Hotch would like to call you unassuming in the kindest way possible. Unassuming, in that not everyone who looks at you would find themselves immediately aware of your beauty (an old-fashioned way to put it, and true), because your poor self esteem leaves you shy. 

You don't believe anyone would want you. It doesn’t matter to Hotch beyond a weary heartbreak for you, as he doesn’t mind if it takes time to convince you. He only wishes you’d have more confidence. You’re pretty and you deserve to know it. 

“Hello,” he says, with intent to try again. 

You like him. He’s a grown man and a good judge of character, better of action, and he’d like to think that your sudden grimace whenever he speaks is again this cloud of insecurity rather than a true dislike for him. You have to warm up to him every day, but you do warm. 

“Hi, Hotch.” 

And listen, he’s not one to flirt at work, but if he ever wants a real shot with you, he has to be heavy-handed. “Hi,” he repeats, smiling, “how are things today?” 

You’re assistant office administrator for the BAU, and so Hotch isn’t technically your boss, but you do work beneath him. “Things are the same as always.” 

“Not too hard for you, then.” 

You catch his teasing, which is a new development. “Not too hard for me,” you say.

He doesn’t pretend he has reason to hang around. He thinks it might’ve contributed to you not believing he’s interested; he’d drop by with coffee because you seemed tired, or checked in on issues that didn’t need his supervision, and you’d taken every extra minute spent at your door as his attentiveness to his job, rather than an affection for you.

He stands with his hand on the doorway and just looks at you. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“You look beautiful today.” 

You touch the button at your neck. “It’s too much for work.” 

“No.” You’re wearing normal business casual clothing. You’ve pulled a necklace over your sweater, soft collar of a shirt kissing your throat. He imagines you’re wearing regular pants and flats or maybe a skirt and short heels beneath the desk, it doesn’t matter. “It’s not just what you’re wearing. You look pretty.” 

You could catch flame if something sparked near you. Lost, your lips part, and eventually you squeeze out a timid, “Thank you, Hotch.” 

 “Aaron.” 

“I don’t think so.” 

“Can we get coffee?” He dislikes the panic in your eyes and regrets how casual he sounded. “Can I get you a coffee?” 

“I’m okay.” 

“Well, maybe we can take lunch together?” 

“Have I done something?” 

“Have you?” he asks. 

He feels… young. Haley was the only woman he’d been with at a time, and casually there have been others now, but you’re the first woman he’s attempted to woo like this. He sometimes forgets that you’re shy and that he’s been married, distracted by his fizzing, almost joyful feelings for you. Flirting with you is a pleasure. 

You lick your lips quickly. “Where did you want to go? For lunch?” 

He was thinking you could bring your sandwich to his desk, but what you’re asking is a thousand times better. “Where do you want to go? Melanie’s?” he suggests. 

You breathe out in a strange laugh. “For lunch?” 

No, perhaps not. It’s rather fancy. “Somewhere nice, at least,” he says. 

“I don’t know where’s nice.” 

“Well, we can find somewhere. I’ll try to find somewhere before one, what do you think?” 

“Okay.” 

He smiles. “Okay.” 

He’s pulling away from the doorway when you stand up from your rolling chair and say his name, a near yelp, “Hotch! Wait, uh, wait a second.” 

He immediately turns back. “What?” he asks, giving you a quick once over. 

“Are you sure I’m not in trouble for something?” you ask. To your credit, you give a bashful little laugh. “I feel like I’m walking into a trap.” 

“I have no intentions of trapping you anywhere.” 

“Please don’t fire me at Melanie’s.” 

He smiles at you again and leaves your alcove of the office to head back to his own. Around the desks and the bullpen where his team sit doing their paperwork, up the stairs to the landing. He pauses before he goes inside.

JJ’s standing behind Derek’s desk. They’re chatting, JJ sipping at a mug, a small smile on her lips. Spencer watches her from his own desk. He doesn’t like her anymore to Hotch’s knowledge, but it doesn’t stop him from smiling at her with that slight thread of lovelorn shyness when she asks him what he’s so busy doing. 

Hotch has a moment of clarity at his desk when he realises he needs to find somewhere perfect to take you come lunch time. You hadn’t seemed convinced of your job security when he’d left you, and he spends some time pondering how best to accommodate you as he sorts thought Quantico’s best cafes and restaurants. 

He has emails to answer, phone calls to take, and to make. Time moves quickly, and by 1:02 he’s all sorts of late. It’s almost 1:12PM when he’s again at your office door, a warm plastic bag against his side. 

You’re looking at your lap. Coat in your hands, lip nibbled raw, there’s an internal conversation happening that he’s not privy to. He doubts he’d like it very much —the agony of self-doubt is written plainly in your slouch. 

He knocks your door, feeling very sorry for your startled jump. “Hi. Sorry, I’m late, I know. But I thought I’d bring dinner to you.” 

He thought of it like this: if he were to take you to dinner, you could explain it away as a professional superior who was going to fire you and changed his mind, or a superior checking in on his employee, or a superior simply being kind. He has, on occasion, taken different members of his team or office out to discuss things in their lunch hours because he was busy and needed their time at a convenient hour. You might not think anything of it. 

Right now, Hotch really wants you to think something of it. 

“What?” you ask. 

“Is that okay with you, if we stay here?” 

It’s a little much for you, apparently. You finally tip into incredulity. “Aaron, is everything alright? I really don’t understand what’s going on.” 

“I’d like to eat lunch together.”

“But why?” 

“Because you’re good company.” He’s sat knee to knee with serial killers, and his next sentence is still scary, “Because I like you, and I’m not sure how else to show it.” 

You press your coat to your stomach, frowning. “You like me.” 

“I was under the impression that you liked me too,” he says, smiling despite you and himself. Hotch might be a drill sergeant and a bully all those terrible moody stations as a boss, but he’s also just a man, and there’s little room for stoicism in love. 

“But you…” 

He waits, but then feels too sorry for you to let you flounder. “Honey, I don’t know how else to put it. I’ve tried compliments, I brought you that plant,” —he points to the still blooming orchid on your window— “I ask you what your plans are every weekend.” He looks swiftly behind him. Alone, he edges into your office to close the door and allow some privacy. “And every weekend I ask you if you want to get a drink. I’d think you didn’t like me if it weren’t for your tell.” 

“What’s my tell?” 

Your hand. Whenever he’s around, you take something into your hand and squeeze at it or feel it like you’re going to explode with nerves. He saves you the explanation, and instead lays his most gentle look on you. “If I’m wrong, please let me know. I’d never want to put you in an uncomfortable position, but you’re lovely.”

“You’re not making me uncomfortable,” you say, semi-disbelieving. “You never do. I'm just confused.” 

“I’d really like to get to know you as more than a colleague.”

“You know me,” you mumble. 

He does. He knows what your favourite colour is, your favourite food, your soccer team. He sent you flowers on your birthday, asks after your sick neighbour, and checks your office light every night when he goes home, though he knows what time you leave each evening. And he knows that you’re scared to admit to liking him or anyone, because you worry you’re not allowed. 

“I do,” he agrees, giving the plastic bag a jostle. He doesn’t need big answers now. “Can I sit down?” 

You might not have a big answer to give, but your expression tells a story nonetheless. You wheel your seat backward and he pulls a spare chair toward your desk, your smile like an adornment as you push aside your things to make room. You smile so hard it changes your entire face. 

“Do you have napkins?” you ask, not so subtly breathless as he places the bag down and pushes the plastic back. 

He pulls out a wedge of them. You pinch them, and for a second the both of you hold them, your eyes meeting, your cheeks appled with matching smiles. 

“I thought the orchid was for secretary’s day,” you say quietly, taking the napkins. 

“You aren’t a secretary,” he says, holding out a plastic fork. 

When you go to grab it, he moves it up out of the way. Your startled laugh is beautiful. Totally stunning. He hadn’t realised how badly he’d wanted the quiet intimacy of teasing you over lunch until he had it. 

You grab the fork before he can move it again. “Too slow,” you say. 

“Oh, you think so?” he asks. 

“I know so, Aaron. Who has the fork?” 

Aaron, he thinks. Finally, Aaron. “You have the fork, but I have your lunch. I’d tread carefully if I were you.” 

[selamat-linting]

*looks at friend* oh man you would have been a great moirail.

[onlymingyus]

i want to write you a song (teaser)

pairing; lee jihoon (woozi) x f!reader

genre; smut (minor dni), angst, fluff

summary; You have the best job in the world as Lee Jihoon's personal assistant but his secrets are starting to turn your world upside down.

content warnings; personal assistant!reader, ceo/boss!jihoon, single dad!jihoon, children, grandparents/parents, jihoon has a sibling, coworkers!soonyoung, mingyu, & wonwoo, soonyoung in a menace, eating/drinking, alcohol, jealousy, crying, self confidence/esteem issues, death of a family member (in the past).

smut warnings; unprotected sex, pulling out, cream pie, simp!jihoon, mild dom!jihoon, sub!reader, the dom/sub dynamics are very subtle, dumbification (very mild), innocence kink, lingerie kink, pet names, praise (like a lot -- he is a simp), body worship, oral (f receiving), fingering, handjob, crying (from pleasure and happiness), manhandling, masturbation, pillow princess!reader, i am sure there are more (let me know if its glaring) -- bonus section has its own warnings on patreon.

w/c; 27k and some change (3.2k extra words for patreon bonus) [1.6k this teaser]

a/n; thank you to @junkissed and @seokgyuu for helping me come up with a title for this! it's a 1D song, and I do not go here, but it's a very cute song and title! also thank you to my june for proofreading for me and always being the best in the fucking world. literally going through 30k words of my bullshit... the mvp! anyway, i hope you guys enjoy me simping over simp dlif jihoon! next month is spooky seasons so keep your eyes peeled for that one 💀!  

this fic will be released 9/15 to read it now subscribe to my patreon and click here

“Miss Y/N, will you make me s’getti?” 

You had gotten to Jihoon’s house in a sour mood, but quickly found that when you were around Haein, you couldn’t be upset. She was so different from the previous day. It was obvious that she was starting to feel better, and her personality was really starting to shine. She was like a little bright light in your dark evening. 

“‘Course, as long as you guys have the stuff for it.” Pursing your lips, you open the pantry doors and sigh at the amount of groceries available to you. Of course, Lee Jihoon would have a stocked kitchen. You don’t know why you even considered anything different. 

Pulling a few things from the pantry and then more from the fridge, you glance into the living room as Haein pulls a brush through her doll's hair and hums under her breath. You had found yourself smiling fondly at everything the girl had done, even when it was the smallest thing. She could show you that she could tie her shoe and you were praising her like a proud family member. “What’s your doll's name, Haein?” 

Smiling at you from the couch, Haein lifts the doll to show it off as she moves to her knees. “I used to call her Kimmie, but I like your name better. That okay?” Biting your lip as you push the hamburger meat around in the pan in front of you, you feel your heart tighten in your chest at the little girl's words. “Mmhm, that’s okay with me.” 

Your phone had gone off a few times in the night. From the time that you had left the office to the time that you had put a bowl of spaghetti in from Haein, you had been ignoring it. You didn’t need to check it to know it was probably Jihoon. It wasn’t like he didn’t know you were here. His mother had been here when you had gotten here; she had said goodbye to Haein and you knew there were security cameras in Jihoon’s house. You just didn’t find yourself wanting to talk to him while he was on a date with some girl. It wasn’t until the tenth buzz from your phone on the kitchen counter as you put leftovers into a container, you let out an annoyed breath and turned the phone over to read your texts. 

Lee Jihoon: Thank you again for helping me out. I owe you big time

Lee Jihoon: Soonyoung said you were upset when you left. Is everything okay?

Lee Jihoon: Y/N? 

Lee Jihoon: Are you mad at me?

Lee Jihoon: Could we talk when I get home?

Lee Jihoon: How is Haein? Are you guys doing okay?

Lee Jihoon: I checked the camera. I hate doing that. Seems like you guys are having a good time

Lee Jihoon: Feels like you are ignoring my texts on purpose

Lee Jihoon: What did I do???

Lee Jihoon: We are going to talk. 

Shaking your head, you send a single text message back to Jihoon before slipping your phone into your pocket and making your way over to the couch and Haein. “What are we watching?” Giggling, Haein tells you about her Barbie movie and you listen even as you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. Your stomach in knots, you sigh softly and offer the girl beside you a smile as she adjusts to sit against you, her head against your shoulder, before pulling your arm around her tightly. 

Y/N: Haein is doing great. No need to rush back. Enjoy your date, Mr. Lee. 

Lee Jihoon: Be home soon, Miss Y/L/N. 

You didn’t give your phone much more thought; instead, you focused on Haein as she shifted against you to lay in your lap. Your eyes are moving between her and the movie as your fingers brush her hair back from her face. You watch as her eyes slowly close and her breaths become steady and softer, sleep taking her attention from the movie. 

Sighing softly, you feel your chest tighten at the sight of the little girl asleep in your lap, but more so at the feeling it gives you. You enjoy being close to her. You like that she is happy and feels comfortable enough to sleep. Despite only knowing her for a short time, you find yourself getting attached to Haein. 

Shrugging his coat off, Jihoon furrows his brows tightly as he moves through the house towards the living room and the sound of the television. He was frustrated that you hadn’t been answering his messages, but that last message from you had told him more than enough about why you were acting the way you were. 

He knew how he felt about you, even if it was a little terrifying for him, but if you were going to sulk and avoid him thinking that he was on a date, clearly you felt something for him too. With a plan in mind—to address the problem head-on right away—Jihoon moves into the room, only to stop in his tracks at the sight in front of him. His plan goes right out the window when he sees your fingers lazily brushing through Haein’s hair as she sleeps in your lap. Now there was no way he could avoid how he felt about you, not when you were the picture of everything he wanted in his life right in front of his eyes. 

“Y/N…” Jihoon’s soft voice causes your brows to furrow as you sit up slightly, only to feel his fingers slide along your shoulders to keep you from moving to quickly and startling Haein. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Don’t wake her. She looks so peaceful.” Leaning over your shoulder, Jihoon smiles brightly as he carefully guides his fingers along the side of yours over Haein’s head with a sigh. “She looks happy.” 

Jihoon had never been this close to you before and with where he had just come from, you find yourself leaning your head away from his cheek to give him space before moving your hand from his daughter’s head. “Mm, I hope she is. I can let you take her so I can get out of the way.” 

Rolling his eyes, Jihoon sighs as he turns his head towards you to meet your eyes. “You aren’t in the way, Y/N. Would you stop this? You’ve avoided my messages all evening. I want to talk about what’s going on, but I do want to get Haein in her room first.” Lifting his brows, Jihoon waits for you to nod before he stands back to his full height and moves around the couch to slide his arms under her, pulling her against his chest. 

Glancing over his shoulder as he takes a step towards the hall, Jihoon swallows hard, hearing you shift behind him. “Please don’t leave, okay? For me? Give me like five minutes to put my daughter in her bed and then I’ll be back.” You wanted to tell him no and leave, but the look on his face and the way he phrased his words made you settle back into the couch with another nod. 

Jihoon kept his promise and less than five minutes later, you watched a less put-together Lee Jihoon make his way back into the living room. Running his fingers through his hair, he then unbuttons his sleeves and pushes them up to his elbows before finally meeting your eyes allowing you to see how nervous he really is. 

“I’m pretty tired, Mr. Lee. I should be getting home soo—” 

“I wasn’t on a date, Y/N.”

It isn’t just Jihoon cutting you off that makes you stop, but also what he has to say. Tilting your head, you shift nervously on the couch as he sits down next to you, closer than you anticipate. “That’s what you wrote me. Your last text... To enjoy my date? I was out for a business dinner with Seokmin and his manager. I haven’t been on a date in over two years.” 

It was none of your business. He didn’t need to tell you this and you shouldn’t have even said anything. You feel guilt sitting on your shoulders as you look down at your hands and push your fingers into your palm. “Oh�� Well, you don’t owe me any explanations.”

You were so devastatingly beautiful and frustrating at the same time. Scoffing, Jihoon shakes his head as his eyes stay fixed on your fingers as you nervously dig them into your palm. “Clearly I do, and I should have just explained it before when I asked you to stay with Haein tonight. There are a lot of things I need to explain to you, I think, based on how you are reacting and how Soonyoung said you left at work.” 

Now you feel like a fool. Embarrassment washes over you and you lift your head, meeting Jihoon’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m—that’s so… God. I am so embarrassed, Jihoon. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I acted like a child when I left work; I said stupid shit.” 

You watch a smirk pull at Jihoon’s lips before he glances down and nods. Obviously, Soonyoung had told him what had happened, perhaps in detail. “Made me realize that I’m maybe not alone in feeling something between us. If you can get that jealous over the idea of a date.” 

Heat rises along your neck and into your face as you look away from Jihoon at what his words imply. Pressing your lips together, you furrow your brows as your brain goes from misfiring to giving you approximately a hundred reasons to bolt for the door, including the fact that Jihoon is your boss. 

“Am I wrong? ‘Cause I like you, Y/N. I mean, fuck—I really like you.” Trying to hide your smile, you lift your hand, pushing at your lips, before Jihoon’s fingers wrap gently around your wrist, pulling your hand down to your lap as he whispers your name to get you to look at him. “Come on, talk to me.” 

READ THE FULL FIC NOW ON PATREON

© onlymingyus - all rights reserved. Reposting/modifying of any fic, or pieces of original writings posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations not allowed.

[visionsofcarnality]

can we get headcanons for gilf!Joel maybe? his slicked back hair in tlou ep3 stirred something in me 🥵🥵🥵

i like the way you think…

Silver Fox ! Joel Miller Headcanons NSFW!!

Traditional old man in every sense of the word, he doesn’t make cheesy comments when you grab a door handle but he does give you a scolding little glare that totally doesn’t light a fire in your panties.

Self conscious about his somewhat saggy skin around his chest, middle, and extremities even after you’ve assured him until you’re blue in the face. You do help him though. Watching how attracted you are to his body even aged as it is definitely strokes his ego.

Has an online refillable prescription for Viagra that gets delivered to his apartment, and when he takes it he becomes an absolute fiend.

Usually without the Viagra he still is able to throughly satisfy you with ages of foreplay and a nice thorough fucking, leaving you both satisfied after one climactic round.

But when he takes Viagra-

You better clear your schedule and invest in a massage gun for your legs afterwards because you are going to be SORE.

I’m talking several positions, screaming until your throat hurts, your pussy feeling raw and used, daylong marathon sex.

Joel doesn’t seem to soften even a fraction until your body is wailing in protest and you can’t feel your thighs anymore.

You don’t think he could possibly have any more left in him until he’s once again emptying his heavy, full balls into your cunt; adding to the previous loads from the past six rounds he’s already shot into your body.

When he’s not fucking you stupid with the assistance of his little blue pills, he’s treating you like the princess you’d expect he would.

Don’t even think about carrying your own groceries, what are you, crazy?

Speaking of groceries…

If you aren’t living together yet best believe he’s on your doorstep every Sunday at 11AM with a truck full of groceries, dropping them off after church let’s out and he’s free to go to the store.

He makes you sit and continue sipping your coffee/tea while he puts them away, simultaneously checking the sell-by dates of everything in your fridge and pantry like a man obsessed.

Like a true old fashioned southern boy, he won’t tell you he’s in love with you. But he will point out the amount of things expired in your house.

“Come on, now. You’re gonna get sick, this is ridiculous-“ As if he hasn’t brought you your favorite brand of cereal and all your preferred snacks. Even all those “Shitty, organic, cardboard crap” things you love.

Never had a good plate of grits? He’s making them meticulously for you the morning after a hookup. “Eat, you need it. That stuff’ll keep you goin’ all day.”

Is all too supportive of your flimsy little sundresses. The gauzy fabric floating around your legs like a visualization of your perfume, nearly beckoning him closer. Even when you’re looking like a good little church girl in your soft, flowy dresses… all he can think about is how easy it would be to bend you over and have his way with you.

Which he does the second he brings you home from his cousin’s cookout in the suburbs.

Did I mention that he got a vasectomy after his divorce? Still, seeing you with his now adult daughter makes him daydream about getting you pregnant.

Which he finds insane… He doesn’t want any more kids, he physically can’t have any more kids… But the only thing he can think about right now is burying his cum in your pussy and keeping you pampered in his house with your belly full of his babies.

That vasectomy won’t stop him from trying his damndest, though. Especially after Sarah (who he had young) has her first baby and he watches you hold the six month old infant for the first time.

This man is a GENTLEMAN in the most old fashioned sense of the word.

Like, I cannot stress that enough.

If you’re an independent person, prepare to be thoroughly pampered.

His old fashioned chivalrous ways may be frustrating sometimes but it really does come from a place of just wanting to show his love.

Like when he insists on driving you everywhere whenever you go places together, or when he always finds a way to move you to the side of his body furthest away from the sidewalk when you walk, or when he automatically picks up your purse when you meet so that he can carry it for you.

But you forget all about those minor annoyances when he bends you over your kitchen table and pounds you into next week, muttering nonsense about how you’re too young for him or how you’re such a dirty girl for wanting him and his old man cock.

You moan his name when he grips both your hips in a tight but loving hold, all too willing to forgive him for his incessant door opening when you’re all dumbed down on his cock, the cock which is now way too hard and blood filled because he definitely popped one of your favorite blue pills a while ago.

But much like the gentleman he is, after he fucks you into a blissed-out stupor, he carries you to the bed and wipes your spent pussy clean, cuddling you into the mattress and running his hands through your hair while you both come down from your highs.

When he does get insecure about the age difference between you, all you can do is kiss his leathery, stubbled cheek and wrap your arms around him… Convincing him with your actions instead of words that his age is only a factor in your attraction to him… And that you love him for what makes him him.

this post got way too long but NONNIE I HOPE I DID YOU JUSTICE!!

[latenightdaydreams]

Divorced!König x Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, divorced couple, fingering, oral, p in v, light angst/fluff

1.8k word count

.

.

After a failed marriage, you ended up with a 75/25 custody agreement with König; you getting your son 75% of the time. In the two years since the divorce, communication with König has been next to nothing. He asks you to communicate through lawyers and you agree, not wanting to deal with his childish rage. Every drop off has been done with you and his assistant. He’s found any way to ice you out.

This weekend is his, but you already informed his people of a trip your mother paid for all her grandchildren. König agreed to let him go and just take the next weekend. That’s why it's so surprising when your doorbell rings late Friday night.

Dressed in baggy shirt and biker shorts, you walk from the kitchen with a glass of wine in your hand. When you poke your head out the window to see who it is, you notice König’s Audi outside. Why is he here?

You open the door to be greeted by his intense gaze, his pale eyes locking onto yours. He’s wearing an expensive black on black outfit with a freshly shaved face. A small smile on his thin scarred lips. Different from his typical military uniform and stoic expression.

“Hello?”

“Hallo, Schatz.” His eyes drift up and down your body, appreciating your cute loungewear.

“What are you doing here?” You ask confused, his wandering eyes causing you to feel self-conscious.

“I’m here for Elisa.”

“I told you he’s gone with my family. Remember, you agreed for next weekend instead?”

“Ah.” König says, looking around, not moving. “May I come in?”

“Uh—I guess, yeah.”

You step aside to let him in. König walks in and sees the place he paid for in the divorce for the first time. It smells like you, home, and it’s comforting. You close the door and walk to him awkwardly, not knowing what to say. The surrounding air both feels thick and it’s uncomfortable.

“The place looks nice; homey.” He says, combing his fingers through his short hair.

“Thank you. And thank you for helping me with it—”

“You don’t need to thank me. It’s what a man is supposed to do for the mother of his child.” He says, trying to act manly, but in all honesty it’s because he never stopped loving you. The dead air makes things more awkward before he speaks up again. “Cheap red?” He gestures to the glass of wine still in your hand.

“Yeah, my favorite.” You laugh softly and take another sip.

“May I have a glass?” His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, nervous of your rejection.

“Sure, yeah.”

König follows you close behind as you walk to the kitchen, silently cursing the baggy shirt you’re wearing for making it harder to check you out. There is light stubble covering your legs, making him smile; recalling what it felt like rubbing your legs late at night before bed. His eyes observe you as you open the bottle of wine and carefully pour it out. He can tell that he’s making you nervous and hopes it’s because you still feel butterflies with him.

You step forward and hand the glass to König, his large fingers graze your own causing his stomach to do a flip. His eyes lock with yours as you lean back against the counter. He brings the glass to his lips taking a small sip of the overly sweet cheap wine.

“Danke.”

“Yup.” You pour yourself more wine as you run through all the possibilities of what he might be here to talk about. Is he stopping spousal support? Asking for more days with Elias? Is he getting married? You turn to König once more. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been…well.” He takes a small sip of wine breaking eye contact. “You?”

“Same.”

“That’s good.” The same painful silence plagues the air. “The place looks nice.” He repeats himself.

“You said that already.” His eyes snap to yours.  “So why are you really here?”

“I- I.” He looks around the room trying to think of an excuse, he forgot his original one. “I just wanted to check up on you.”

“Why? We haven’t talked in…years.”

König’s face turns a light shade of pink as he feels the heavy guilt of just cutting you out. In all reality, when you filed for divorce, it shattered his heart. The only way he could move on is if he pretended you never existed, but that hasn’t worked.

“I’m sorry about that. I always just wonder how you are, so I decided to show up.”

“Why not call? Email?” You put your glass down on the countertop behind you. “That’s what a normal person would do. Why are you really here?”

“I’ve missed you.” His voice comes out in a broken whisper before clearing his throat.

König looks down at you with the softest puppy eyes, waiting for you to respond. He knows that his neglect in the marriage is what led to its downfall so he doesn’t have much room to ask anything of you. His ego was too big of him to ask you for a second chance then, but these years without you have proved he can’t do it.

“What?” You snap.

“I said—”

“No, I heard you. Why would I care? Did you get dumped?”

“I never had a girlfriend.”

You look at him for a moment before snapping again, bringing up every moment that you can think of when you asked him to work on the relationship. Reminding him that he is the one that cut all communication between the both of you. He has been the one to give up and leave so easily while you drowned in life alone.

König didn’t dare defend himself or interrupt you. Everything you’re saying is completely correct. He just stands with slumped shoulders and a face full of regret. His eyes drift to your lips as you speak, noticing the way your soft lips pout as your words grow more emotional. With each second that passes, he gradually approaches, one small step at a time until he ends up just inches away from you. His free hand reaches out and cups the side of your face. Without another word, König leans in and kisses you.

A rush of powerful emotions comes flooding back to you. Just feeling his lips against yours once more was enough to melt you. Your lips press back against his as your hand grabs the glass from his hand and sets it down.

König wraps his arms around your waist and hoist you up on to the counter. His tongue presses past your lips, tasting your sweet tongue as he swirls his around yours. The kiss only briefly broken as he pulls your shirt off, tossing it onto the kitchen floor as he looks down at your braless breasts; just as perfect as they were last time he saw them.

König’s lips meet your once more while his hands move up to cup your breasts. He twirls your nipples between his fingers, leaving a trail of wet kissing down your side of your neck to your breast. In slow motions König flicking his tongue over your nipples. His rock-hard cock twitches in his pants.

“König, maybe we shouldn’t.”

“I need you, please.”

His fingers trace over the elastic in your shorts, pulling them off when he feels you lift your hips. A soft hum leaves his lips when he sees the floral-patterned underwear concealing what he craves the most right now. He wraps his hands around your hips, pulling you closer to him as he drops to his knees in front of you.

The warmth radiates between your legs, he craves it. His lips press against the cotton fabric, taking a deep breath in to savor your scent. He kisses hungrily, feeling the small wet spot growing on the fabric. With two fingers he slips underneath the fabric of his panties and touch your folds. His eyes meet you as he slips them into you, studying the expression of pleasure riddled across your face.

You drop your head back, resting on the cabinets behind you. Soft moans leave your lips as his thick fingers curl up pressing against your g-spot. His teeth pull your underwear to the slide more, slipping his tongue up and down your glistening folds. Your fingers find their way combing through his short hair.

The loud desperate moans leaving you only encourage him. This feels like when you were both younger and spontaneous, before König pushed you aside for work. He feels your sweet arousal begin to drip down from his fingers to his palm, your pussy white and creamy. His name leaves your lips like fire as you orgasm. Once your body stops trembling, he slowly withdraws his fingers from you. With his tongue flat, he licks the thick cream off your thighs and from between your cheeks, making sure he cleans you up.

Your eyes meet him as he stands up, rushing to undo his pants. His cock springs free as his pants fall, he pulls his shirt over his head to discard along with the rest. The look in your eyes is dreamy, full of lust of love.

König leans in and kisses your forehead as he lines himself up between your thighs. It’s been so long since he’s had sex, the fact it’s you he has again feel so unreal to him. He will never throw away the privilege of having your body ever again. You’re so beautiful, every inch.

As his cock slips in your jaw drops, a stuck moan lingers until finally he presses in completely. His forehead is presses against yours as his eyes close, letting the warmth consume him. One arm snakes underneath your thigh and pulls you forward more.

His broad hips snap against yours, a mixed melody of you both moaning fills their space in the kitchen. Your feel his hot breath brush across your face, he looks down at you through half lidded eyes. The silky walls of your cunt hug his cock so perfectly, he’s forgotten just how tight you are.

“You feel so fucking good.” His voice is almost a whimper. “I love you. I love you so fucking much, y/n.”

Your hands caress his jawline, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss. König responds by thrusting harder into you. The sound of your creamy cunt and feeling of your soft lips push his body to the point of no return. His hips slow to attempt to prolong the pleasure, but he can’t. His cock throbs deep inside of you, cum slowly dripping out when he pulls slightly.

The both of you try to catch your breath, his hands not leaving you as he squeezes you tightly as if he’s scared to let go. König gently lifts you from the counter and walks to the couch. With gentle hands he rests you back against the soft fabric. Still not pulling out, he climbs on top of you and hugs you to his body. He hopes that this is a sign of reconciliation.

[gavisuntiedboot]

Cherry on Top

Gavi X Physiotherapist! reader (birthday special!)

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: suggestive content!

A/N: I am back once again with more self indulgent fics for my baby boo thang's birthday !!!

~~~

"Doctoraaa! When are you coming home? I'm withering away from boredom and loneliness."

You could practically hear his pout through the phone, imagining him sprawled out on the couch with his feet in the air.

"Gaviraaa I am studying so that I can graduate on time! Or do you want me to keep making a student salary forever?" You held the phone between your ear and your shoulder, still furiously typing away at your sample notes for your advisor.

"What are you even studying? You basically run our whole club's rehab program by yourself. What else do they need to test you on?"

That was actually an excellent question. It was coming up on the two year anniversary since you had become a Barca employee, and you had almost fully taken the reigns. Dr. Gonzalez had checked out, waiting for you to get your degree so that he could finally retire. Nicolas was a good assistant, but was still heavily lacking in his ability to make quick decisions, so he was stuck doing basic PT most of the time. The show was essentially yours to run.

"This last year is testing my leadership ability and teaching skills. When I graduate, I will start running the intern program at the club, and so they have to make sure I can correct staff mistakes."

Your typing was getting progressively louder as you continued angrily editing the note in front of you.

"Take this idiot Aaron. He has not written a single coherent note since he got assigned as my mentoring project. If he were an employee he would have been fired weeks ago. But since this is a "training and learning" opportunity or whatever, I have to fix all his notes and send him the edits so he can learn."

You heard shifting on the other end of the line, and then a soft thud followed by some whispered profanity.

"Pablo please don't injure yourself."

"Maybe it will bring you home faster. Oh no my other ACL!"

Despite his giggle, you went quite on the other side of the line. The day of Pablo's injury had been one of the worst of your life. He had been playing for the national team, so you had no choice but to stare at your TV through glassy eyes, utterly and completely helpless. One of your friends literally had to prevent you from collapsing (though to this day you maintain that it was dehydration, not hysteria). He had called you from the sideline, and the pain in his voice just made you break further.

"I need you."

You had been waiting at the airport to receive him, official team gear on in an attempt to distract fans from the fact that you were fully embracing him and crying into his shoulder. You had almost gone insane in the lead up to his surgery, triple checking the credentials of everyone involved. You stayed by his bed for his entire stay, spending most days and night making sure he wore his brace and didn't make any stupid decisions. It was on one of these nights, when you were once again complaining about not having your favorite undereye cream at his house, that he once again asked you his favorite question.

"Why don't you just move in?"

As usual, you brushed the comment off. Gavi had been asking you to move in weekly for over a year now, always unfortunately dead serious. There was an innocence and simplicity in the way Pablo say the world that you wished you could emulate. He liked you, he was comfortable around you, and he wanted you to live with him. Simple, right?

But it terrified you. You loved Gavi, probably more than anything else in your life. But long withstanding trauma lives up to its name of being long withstanding. That feeling that the expiration date of your perfect relationship was approaching? That never went away. It was like the more time you spent with Gavi, the more you were terrified that he was going to figure out what was wrong with you, why no one could love you until this point in time, and run for the hills. Your apartment was the one space you still had to be irate and disgusting and genuinely yourself without being afraid of scaring him. And it would make it much easier when he eventually broke up with you to date a pop star or a model or Pedri.

"I'm being serious, princesa. You're here every night. You spend more time here than at your own place. You barely sleep in your own bed because you're just obsessed with me and want to take care of me all the time."

"Pablo, we've talked about this..."

"Yes," he said, sitting up and opening his arms in a gesture for you to come cuddle with him. "We have. Back when we had only been together for only three months and we didn't know if you would be able to put up with me."

"Hey!"

"Let me finish." He hugged you closer to his chest, resting his chin on your head and rubbing slow circles into your skin. It was hard to maintain your composure when you were like this, feeling the warmth radiating off his skin and the pressure of his lips kissing your crown every so often.

"We've been together for a year and a half now. I've seen you in bad moods, heard your yelling, plucked your chin hairs-"

He restrained you from getting up, giggling at your embarrassment. He really was the most adorable little thing on the planet.

"I've seen you at your lowest points. Which, admittedly mi amor, were not that low. I saw a tiktok of this guy who had to pull out his girlfriend's tampon. This could be much worse. Hey, look at me."

You turned over, your chest pressed to Pablo's as he brought his hands up to cup your cheeks. You had learned how to do this in the last year, how to steel yourself under his intense gaze. Pablo Gavi looked at you like he was in the presence of a divine being, eyes big and soft and filled to the brim with adoration. He looked at you like just your image was all he needed to keep breathing.

"I love you. So much that sometimes I don't know what to do with it. I want you to move in so I can take care of you, and so that it's easier to let you take care of me. I want to annoy you with my morning training alarm and make you coffee and maybe mess up your laundry when I try to do the washing."

"This is not a convincing argument so far, baby."

"I just want to live with you. And be around you. And hold you like a weighted teddy bear while I sleep."

"What if you get tired of me being around all the time?" You asked between smooshed cheeks, finally losing your ability to maintain his stare.

Gavi refused to even dignify the question with a verbal response, instead letting go of your face to lift the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it over your head. Your cheek was practically burning up pressed against his abs, still defined and solid despite days of immobility.

"Doctora, this is how close I want you to be. At all times. I am about to sew you to my torso. So will you please move in?"

And it was then that you agreed to it. Now the house was littered with so much merch on the walls and shelves it looked like a sports store, but it was yours. A home. You spent months taking care of Gavi, from driving him to appointments to at-home physiotherapy sessions. You took every opportunity to place a gentle kiss on the scar on his knee (ya know, when you were down there ;) ) and avoided all clips that showed him in pain.

"Come on, Doctora. I'm okay."

"I know, I know... it's just not a memory I can bring myself to joke about. Not while you're still in recovery."

"I'm sorry, amor. Can you come home and scold me about it?"

You groaned again, resisting the urge to slam your head into your keyboard. The progress notes were really terrible.

"And besides, you need to finish packing."

This was true. In about 6 hours, you and Gavi would be on a plane for his birthday trip to Ibiza. He had been buzzing with excitement about his birthday trip for months now, eager to take you someplace where there would be nothing to distract the two of you. Just perfect sand and perfect sea for a perfect weekend. He had talked about going farther than Spain this year, maybe Italy or at least Portugal, but injuries have a great way of canceling travel plans.

You reluctantly agreed, telling Pablo you would be home in about 30 minutes, before you began to tidy your workspace. You sent a polite yet pointed email to Aaron (with the head of department CC'ed) explaining that the work was too terrible to be corrected, and he should clear up some time in September to train with you before the season began in earnest and you would be too busy to teach him how to spell "bradycardia".

It was always a humbling experience to pull into the driveway and park your beat up little car next to Gavi's team-sponsored beauty. You were dreading the day he upgraded to something nicer - the neighbors would start thinking that someone was there to rob him. He was already standing at the door smiling wide when you pulled in. He walked up to your door, grabbing all your bags and ushering you inside away from the heat. This had become a regular for Gavi - tracking your location to greet you the second you arrived - so there was really no need to question it anymore. You leaned over and kissed his cheek, eternally grateful for the gentleness he showed you. After a quick yet heated rant about the incompetence of some of the students in your program, you headed upstairs to continue packing.

"Pablo, you think I need to pack more than two dresses?" You asked, looking over the satins and crocheted pieces that your friend ensured you was "totally in".

"I don't think you need to pack any dresses. Or even clothes for that matter."

You raised an eyebrow at your boyfriend, who was leaning casually against the doorframe.

"Am I supposed to be naked for the whole trip?"

"Not the whole trip. Just pack some bikinis for during the day and some cute underwear for the night. The outfit you wear to the airport should be more than enough incase we ever need to leave." He walked over to where you stood in contemplation, arms wrapping tightly around your waist, and his head resting on your shoulder in the perfect position to kiss your neck.

"Be serious, Pablo. What if we want to go for a nice dinner for your birthday? I can't go in a thong or in my plane sweats."

He didn't stop his attack on your neck for an instant, addicted to the warmth and taste of your skin on his tongue.

"Mi amor, mi sol, mi vida - at the risk of being vulgar, I have to say that you will be the nice dinner on my birthday."

Your eyes went wide at this statement, and suddenly you were glad for his arms there to keep you upright.

"I don't even think I have more than one bikini that still fits."

At this, Gavi released you, running to the closet with your yells to slow down behind him (if you had a euro for every time you told him not to run in socks, you could pay off the club's debt). He came shuffling back out with a large black bag, which he promptly dumped out onto the comforter. There were at least ten swimwear sets in various colors and prints, ranging from polka dots to stripes to... was that cheetah print?

"I picked these out the other day. Well, actually, that's a lie. I sent your size to Aurora, and she placed the order online and I just picked up the bag at the store. Can you imagine what Instagram would do with pictures of me buying lingerie?"

"But there's no lingerie here?"

"Fuck." He scampered off once again, returning with another bag to repeat his previous actions. This time the contents were much more sultry, with dark silks and satins staring back up at you. Mainly reds and blacks littered the pale covers.

"Pablo, you shouldn't have. This is too sweet! But we are only going for three days. There's like a month worth of stuff here."

"Are you planning on never going out again after this trip? Just pick your favorites for this weekend. The rest will be waiting for you when you get back, just in case we ever go to the pool or you want to surprise your football star boyfriend by wearing these to work."

You couldn't even be mad at his words when your heart was so full from his gesture. Pablo was always buying you things - that was nothing new. But you had been worrying for days about not looking good on this trip, not having anything new to wear, and he took that burden off your shoulders.

"So I can pick any of these? They look expensive."

"Ay Doctora, don't upset me. Nothing is worth more than your happiness. I do have one request though."

"Yes, mi amor?"

"You have to wear this one on my birthday," he said while reaching past you to pick up a white bikini with red cherries printed all over.

"Why is that?"

"Because you're like the cherry on top of my birthday cake. You always look good, but I want you to look irresistible."

"Okay, let's relax that's a lot of talk for a- oh my God." Your eyes widened, and you grabbed Pablo's face with a dropped jaw.

"Are you okay?"

"Oh my God."

"You said that already."

"Pablo!"

"Yes, princesa?"

"An adult. You're going to be an adult tomorrow. As in not a teenager."

"We arrive at like 11pm so it's more like I won't be a teenager anymore tonig- are you crying?"

"I'm not going to have a teenage boyfriend anymore!" You threw your arms around him, hugging him so tightly there was a fear of his ribs cracking.

"I feel like I should be offended by this statement."

~

"3...2...1... Happy 20th birthday Pablito!" You said softly, a single cupcake with a lit candle on the top held before the birthday boy. It was the same as the previous year (iykyk), but this time with a red and yellow swirl to match the Spanish national team.

"Thank you, mi vida." He closed his eyes, deep in thought regarding his wish, and blew out the candle. He scooped up a dollop of frosting, placing it on your lips before kissing it gently away.

"I can't believe I get to spend another birthday with you," he whispered out, scared that anything louder would destroy the gentle atmosphere around the two of you.

After sharing more sugary kisses, you fell asleep on Pablo's chest, soothed to sleep by his slow heart beat and rhythmic breathing. You woke before him, placing a kiss on his forehead before getting up to dress, snickering quietly at his snoring. The poor boy was so exhausted. You put on the swimsuit he had picked for you, the material fitting you stunningly. You looked at yourself in the mirror and couldn't help but smile. The white and red complemented your skin, your hair framing your face still bare and slightly puffed with the remnants of sleep. Gavi's necklace dangled between your collar bones, the metal cool on your skin. Everything on your body was an expression of love.

Stepping out of the bathroom in your bikini and wrap around skirt, you found the bed suspiciously empty. There was a light breeze coming from the terrace, where you found your boyfriend leaning shirtless on the railing. As if sensing your stare, he turned over his shoulder and wave you to join him. The sun was starting to shine in earnest, the smell of the ocean filling your senses. There was no place you would rather be.

"Good morning, beautiful. I know I asked you to wear that, but I almost want you to take it off. You look too good - I'm scared I'll have to beat every other man away with a stick."

He took a seat on one of the deck chairs, and you took your rightful place on his lap, arms around his neck.

"Good thing this strip of beach is private then."

Your lips found his in a deep kiss, fingers traveling to play with the short strands at the nape of his neck. It was an intoxicating thing to kiss Pablo Gavi. His plush lips molded perfectly to yours, bringing you in impossibly closer. He was always so eager, gently nibbling on your bottom lip whenever he could catch it, soft breaths and little whines spurring you on. Neither of you could bring yourselves to stop, tongues tangled like high schoolers as you made out in the early August sun. His hands were firm on your hips, more for his benefit than yours. He was eager to drag you to the sand, but knew neither of you would leave the room if he allowed your hips to act on their own accord. He relaxed back, allowing you to take the lead, and whimpered a little louder when you bit his lip. It was your giggling that broke the kiss, and you rested your forehead against his, breathless and chest heaving.

"Big Bad Gavi likes having his lip bit. Who would've thought?"

He whined again, finding the column of your neck and to town, nipping and sucking, unwilling to not have his lips and tongue occupied by you just yet. When you started digging into his biceps, he released you, admiring his handy work.

"Pablo people are going to see." You said, pout on your lips and big eyes trained on your boyfriend. He kissed your jutting bottom lip and lifted you off him.

"Like you said - good thing this beach is private."

~

Pablo had so many moments with you where he thought "she could never be more beautiful than this". The first was the first night you fell asleep on his couch, face peaceful with sleep. The next was under the stadium lights, as he thrust a trophy in your hands and lifted you above his shoulders. Then it was in some French hallway, in a ballgown with no heels as he kissed you senseless, finally brave enough to take what he wanted. In coffee shops and grocery store aisles and on his mattress, he always thought there was no possibility for you to be more stunning. But as you lay stretched out on the sand, eyes closed and muscles relaxed, he had the thought again. The sun tinted your skin slightly, making you gleam like a goddess that had just emerged from the sea. The bright white against your skin had Gavi tingling, wanting to remove the pure material and access what it was protecting.

Your hair was soaked, and you laid on your stomach in the sand to gain some color and dry off after the exertion of swimming with Gavi. The sun was phenomenal on your damp skin, and you had never been more at piece. You felt a hand creep up your back, and suddenly your chest wasn't as supported as it should have been.

"Pablo! Did you just undo my top?"

"I'm just unwrapping my present."

He brought you to sit on his lap once again, your loose top fighting to remain around your neck.

"How private is this beach?"

"You think I would let you go topless if there was a chance another soul would see?"

You felt like a teenager again, embarrassed and looking around frantically for someone who would catch you in such an act with your boyfriend.

"I heard beach sex sucks and I'm not eager to get sand in my vagina."

"We're not going to have sex on the beach. I may be more grown up, but I still like seeing boobs every once in a while."

"So you just want to look at them?"

"Among other things. You want to see my checklist?"

You wrapped your arms around his neck once again, kissing him deeply as he fully removed the fabric from your chest. He brought a hand to your back, pressing you against him, your breasts flush against his chest. It was a thrilling sensation, being topless and against your boyfriend with the sun beating down against you both.

Gavi laid back on the sound with you atop him, unclipping you hair to allow it to fall down your back. In your current situation, you were still covered enough to not face public indecency charges. He played with the strands of hair, weaving his fingers into the locks as his teeth caught your bottom lip and sucked on it like his favorite hard candy.

"I'm going to have sand in my hair."

"Guess we'll just have to take a bath together so I can wash it for you."

You kissed him again, his fingers trailing up your torso and brushing the sides of your boobs, sparking electricity in their path. It was so high school: topless on a beach, making out with your boyfriend. But made you stir low in your stomach, a mix of desire and the deepest form of love. You loved Pablo Gavi. You loved his little antics, you loved the pleasure he brought to every aspect of your life.

"Enjoying your birthday so far?" You asked, reluctantly pulling away from his lips, chest heaving against his. Gavi took the opportunity to grab your breasts and squeeze lightly, playing with them like it was his favorite activity in the world.

"More than I can even express."

He brought you against him, arms around you and bodied pressed together, and laid back down.

"So you just wanted to feel me up while we make out?"

"I want to feel you against me, mi amor. I want you to feel how hard my heart beats when I'm around you. I want to do everything that comes to my mind with you. Being topless on the beach. Ordering everything on the hotel menu. Skinny dipping at midnight. Every experience in my life is better when you're in it. I want to make every memory with you, so that when we're old and hold hands in our matching wheelchairs, I can say "Hey remember when we were hot and young and topless making out in Ibiza?" I want to do everything in the world with you."

You pressed your lips to his again, a deep kiss that winded the both of you.

"I love you, Pablo. Happy birthday."

"I love you more, Doctora."

~~~

Okay here it is!! Happy birthday to the love of my life, the light of my soul, Pablo Gavi. I love this boy more than I can express, and he represents so much good in my life. I hope his 20th year is filled with every happiness in the world.

As usual, please like, comment, reblog - all the good stuff. If you like this dynamic, I have a full 10 part series of these two idiots in my masterlist. I also have an ongoing Pedri series! Check that out if it's more your speed.

Please also take a moment to check out the links on my pinned post to help families in Palestine. If you don't have the money to donate but still want to help, every comment with a watermelon emoji under my pedri posts = $1 I donate on your behalf. I think that's all I have to say. Love y'all <3

xoxo, GUB

[writingwithfolklore]

Subplots are your side character arcs

              Subplots are incredibly important in longer works as they assist in pacing out the main plot, develop your characters, and give you opportunities to explore parts of your world you might not get to in the main plot.

              So where do subplots come from? Often, they are the character arcs of your side characters (or connected to them). Today we're mostly focusing on side characters that are allies or close with the MC. Let’s talk about it.

1. Developing your side character

There’s as many ways to create characters as there are characters themselves, but for the purposes of this post, I’ll take you through my favourite way to do it.

              You’re going to need: A goal, an objective, a disrupting characteristic, and a formative event.

Objective: The actionable (your character can work at it) objective they want. It is likely the same as your main character’s if they are allies, such as Sam also taking the ring to Mordor with Frodo, or Flynn also working towards taking Rapunzel to the lights.

The difference is in their…

Goal: To what end are they working towards this thing?

Flynn’s goal changes throughout Tangled, but his goal in the beginning is to get back his crown because he wants to “be something” more than he is (rich). Rapunzel wants her life to begin so she works towards seeing the lights, he wants the crown so he works towards getting her to the lights. Same objective, different goals.

Disrupting characteristic: What internal reason do they not already have what they want? While characters tend to face external antagonists that keep them from their goal, it’s their internal conflict that is the thing they work through to provide change by the end of the story.

Let’s go back to Flynn—his disrupting characteristic is that he believes he has to be rich to “be someone”, so he’s turned to a life of crime.

A disrupting characteristic can be either a personality trait (selfish, self-destructive, naïve, relentlessly optimistic) or a belief about the world (I need to be rich to be worthy, I need career success to make my parents proud) etc.

Lastly, the formative event: An event in your character’s past (usually childhood but depends on how old they are) that has inspired why they are they way they are. The beginnings of backstory.

2. Building an arc

From this character development, we can figure out what the arc is. Take your character’s disrupting characteristic—what do they need to internalize or figure out in order to get past it?

              If your disrupting characteristic is, like Flynn’s, that he believes to be rich to be worthy, his arc is going to be discovering self worth separate from monetary gain—which we see throughout the story as he falls for Rapunzel, and caring for her becomes his new purpose.

              Your character’s selfishness keeps them from forming the close connections they crave with others—so they need to be thrown into a situation in which caring for another person over themselves forces them to be unselfish.

              That gives us an A to B.

3. Add conflict

To get from A to B, characters go through a whole lot of conflict. The conflict your side character will go through relates directly to their goal and objective—so the subplot is intertwined closely with the main plot while still exploring this side character’s internal change and journey. The conflicts they face on their own will likely be internal—typically side characters don’t have separate external antagonists from their main characters, but that’s not a hard and fast rule.

              Speaking of, check out my posts on antagonists and conflicts here, here, and here.

The last thing I'll say is that subplots that don't necessarily revolve around the MC but are kind of their own journey until they come crashing together with each other (such as the two POV characters that only meet halfway through the book) should be created as their own MC--so essentially two plots.

Questions?

[sometimesanalice]

What’s In a Name?

Summary: Bradley really loves the way you say his name. At the grocery store. At the bar. In his bed.

Warnings: fuff, and so much smut. Minors DNI

Length: 9K

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X Female Reader

(This is a one-shot for my ‘Like I Can’ series. You don’t need to read it first, but you might want to. It’s pretty cute! You can check it out here!)

Bradley loved hearing you say his name. 

He’d gone almost two years without hearing it. Back when he was ‘Rooster’ or ‘Bradshaw’ to you. Back when you weren’t sure how you would fit into the life he had built in San Diego when you had moved there for a promotion. Now he made it a priority to show you just how seamlessly your lives fit together, to remind you just how right you were for each other.

There were times when he still couldn’t believe that he was able to have you so entirely. You went from being just his closest childhood friend to being his everything. And now that he had you there was nothing he liked more than the sound of his name coming from your lips. 

He loved hearing it every chance he could. 

He’d never come so hard has he had the first time he’d heard you chanting his name over and over again as he’d fucked you in his bed. Your hair had been a riot on his pillow, your lips swollen from the attention he’d given them with his own. He’d just barely gotten you over the edge before he’d followed, so overwhelmed by your sweet voice so needy and breathy in his ear.

BradleyBradleyBradley

He had even changed his contact information in your phone from ‘Rooster’ to ‘Bradley’ one lazy Sunday afternoon when you had been dozing on his chest, adding a little sparkly heart next to it for good measure. In general, he wasn’t much of an emoji user, but he thought you might find it cute when you discovered it. He was very pleased with himself months later when he realized you’d never changed it back, pink sparkly heart and all.

He loved hearing you say his name at the grocery store. 

He had gone off to find his favorite brand of protein powder, the store had recently rearranged their health food section and he could never remember where it was stocked. He didn’t want to drag you around on the scavenger hunt, especially when he knew you’d rather be doing anything else than grocery shopping.

Once he had it, he’d tried a few different aisles before finding you standing near the baking things and spices, he would have recognized your curves in those jeans anywhere.

You were chatting away with an elderly woman like you were a pair of old friends. It didn’t surprise him, since you’d always been the type that strangers had gravitated towards, your warm energy apparent to who crossed paths with you.

Walking up to you, he put the powder in the cart with the items you had accumulated while he had been wandering the same three aisles over and over again before he found what he was looking for near the bottom shelf.

“Bradley!” you greeted turning towards him beaming, your smile pure sunshine, before cheerily spinning back to the older woman, “See, I knew he’d find us eventually.”

“And he’s just as handsome as you said,” your new friend replied, giving him the once over.

“Yes, he is. Very handsome and very tall,” you told her with a teasing lilt in your tone, glancing back over your shoulder to send him a wink.

He’d happily be objectified by anyone you wanted, including elderly women wearing fuzzy purple sweaters, just as long as it meant you were bragging about him to them. That they knew he was yours, and you were his.

“How can me and my six-foot-two-inch self be of assistance to you ladies?” he asked, putting on his most winning smile. It couldn’t be said that he wouldn’t commit to a bit when the opportunity was presented.

“Can you reach Ruth a couple of those containers of Hungarian paprika, please?” you asked him while pointing to the red and green tins on the top shelf.

He was glad you had waited for him. They were so pushed back that there’s no way you would have been able to reach them on your own without climbing on the bottom shelf for a boost. 

Safety first and all that, but also, he wouldn’t have wanted anyone to see the way your shirt would have ridden up your back. The dimples at the base of your spine were for his eyes only.

“Of course, I am at your service,” he pressed a quick kiss to your temple before stepping around the cart to grab the spice for the older woman. 

“Oh, and then maybe one for us too, Bradley. I’ve never tried making Hungarian Goulash before. You’ve made it sound so good, that now I think I have to.”

“If you want to make it, mine is the number one reviewed recipe for the dish on AllRecipes,” Ruth boasted, there was no hiding the pride in her voice. 

He hands Ruth the tins he had grabbed, and passes the other one to you to add to the collection in the shopping cart. 

“But what I left out is that I always use this specific brand of paprika, and that I make mine with half pork and half beef. I save that tidbit for friends and family, I couldn’t just give all of my secrets away to the internet people.” 

That had you laughing, “So sneaky, I love it! Thank you for sharing your secrets with us. Sounds like we know what we’re having for dinner tonight.” 

You were already opening pulling the recipe up on your phone for later. 

“I’m looking forward to it, especially since we know the tricks of the trade now.”

His eyes catch on the overflowing hand basket resting near the older woman’s worn Birkenstock mules. It looked heavy, almost like she didn’t originally plan on getting as many things as she ended up with.

“Can I carry that for you? Or if you have more shopping to do, I would be happy to go and get a cart for you,” he asks, gesturing to her overloaded basket.

“Oh no, those were the last things on my list,” Ruth replies, waving off his offer, “My youngest daughter is having her 50th birthday and the whole family is having a get together. I thought doubling my recipe would be fine, but I decided last minute to triple it.” 

She bends down to reach for it, but he beats her to it. His mom raised him right.

“No, ma’am, I insist.” He’s pretty sure he catches you checking out his ass when he stands back up, “I’ll be right back, sweet girl. Stay out of trouble.” 

He holds out his other arm for Ruth to take so he can escort her to the front of the store to pay.

“I don’t find trouble, it always seems to find me,” you joked.

“I believe that,” chimes Ruth.

He turns back to get a look at you, and sees you bringing your hand up to your forehead to mimic a full swoon.

He just smiles and shakes his head at you and your antics. Such a brat.

He helps Ruth at the check-out unloading the basket onto the conveyer belt, and then carries her packed grocery bags to her car getting them settled in her trunk. 

Once they’ve parted ways, he heads back inside to find you.

You’re standing in front of the cooler with all the dips and fresh salsas, your head cocked to the side as you deliberate your choices.

What he also notices as he makes his way to you is that you’ve caught the attention of another man, one who should be paying more attention to his bagged lettuce instead of eyeing his girlfriend. 

Sneaking up behind you, he wraps his arms around your middle lifting you up off the ground.

“Bradley! Oh my god, seriously?” He can’t help but laugh at how startled you are, he’s pretty sure if you were wearing pearls you’d be clutching them right now. 

“Here I thought you were a gentleman, helping sweet Ruth with her groceries. It’s rude to sneak up on innocent and unsuspecting women,” you protest trying to twist out of his arms once he has set you back down.

“Ah, don’t be like that,” he settles his hands on your hips pulling you back to his chest, letting his fingers slide through your belt loops, before lowering his voice, “Unsuspecting, maybe. But innocent? There wasn’t anything innocent the blowjob you gave me in the Bronco outside the Hard Deck last night.”

He knows the shiver that goes through your body isn’t from the cold case you are both standing in front of.

Looking over to his left, he sees the man who was checking you out putting down the bag of spinach in his hands. And he is hit with a feeling of smug satisfaction watching as the guy quickly wheels his empty cart out of the section completely.

“No getting handsy by the hummus, Bradley,” you tut, still set on giving him the cold shoulder, but the way you lean back against him gives you away, “Should we get that lemon beet kind again?” 

“Whatever you want, kid,” he murmured against your neck. “Plus, the word on the street is that you think I’m handsome, so that’s got to count for something.”

When you pull away from him this time, he lets you go. Getting a glimpse of the skin above the top of your jeans as you reach up to grab the square container of hummus.

You set it in the cart looking back at him as you toss your hair over your shoulder, before primly stating, “Oh, and Bradley, if you’re going to quote me I do believe I said you were very handsome.” 

And with that final word, you push off with the cart meandering to towards the fruit section, the sensual sway of your hips he knows is just for him.

He especially loved the way your voice sounded when you’d just woken up, when his name was one of the first words out of your mouth to start a new day.

There was nothing Bradley liked better than the nights you spent together in the same bed. It didn’t matter if it was his place or yours, just as long as he was able to wake up to find you warm and tucked away under his arm. 

“G’morning Bradley,” you’d whisper, voice soft and sleepy, a little raspy from disuse, as you turned to nestle closer burrowing your face in his neck.  He knew you liked a gentle wake up, and he was more than happy to trail his fingers along your back until you woke up a bit more. 

He was always up before you, his internal alarm clock permanently altered from his time in the Navy. For as much as you claimed to be a morning person, you were always the one snoozing yours in favor for spending a few more minutes in bed. It wasn’t something he’d ever expected to learn about you, and he liked being the one who got to share those intimately domestic moments with you.

The only surefire way to get you out of bed and moving on those mornings was the suggestion of hot coffee-- that or the promise of his mouth. 

He loved the way you said his name when you were surprised. 

When he’d gone to that furniture store you liked, his only plans were to find a new larger dresser for his bedroom. He had claimed he needed more space for his stuff, but really, he wanted there to be more room for you to keep your things at his place.

The home stylist at the store not only helped him pick out a new dresser he thought you’d approve of, but also convinced him to also purchase the matching king-sized canopy bed frame and set of nightstands. 

He was told the mood was “cozy mid-century chic”, whatever that meant.

Bradley knows he runs hot, you’ve told him enough times that he’s like a furnace. So when the stylist showed him the cloudlike and breathable comforter along with the 800-thread count white cotton sheets, he had them add that to his collection too.

You still wouldn’t move in with him, but he was working on it. He knew he’d reel you in soon enough. And if it took a payment plan, so be it. 

Although, he could only blame himself for the new lamps and giant rug he also purchased. He’d gotten a little swept up in the salesperson’s enthusiasm. 

Hopefully that guy got commission, he deserved every dollar. 

It had hurt a bit when he swiped his credit card, but it was worth it to hear the way you said his name when you saw it all for the first time after it had been delivered and assembled.

“Oh my god, Bradley!” you laughed, “I thought you said you were just getting a new dresser. Did you buy the whole store?” 

“What can I say? The salesperson was very good at his job, sweet girl,” he was trying to not let his leg bounce as he waited for you to say more. A little nervous now that he’d gone overboard and missed the mark, “Do you like it?”

“It’s absolutely perfect, Bradley,” you gushed as you slowly made your way around the room taking it all in. “It’s warm, it’s classic, it’s cozy. It feels like you. You’re going to have a hard time getting me to leave now, I love it in here.”

That was all he wanted.

He felt all the tension leave his body, grinning as he watched you sit down on the bed running your hand over the soft deep green duvet. It had become his favorite color the second he’d seen you in that green dress the night at the seaside restaurant when he’d told you how he felt about you.

“So, do you want to help me break it in?” he asked, pushing off from where he had been leaning against the doorframe and sauntered towards you. 

The way you slowly reclined back on the bed, your lips turned up in a mischievous smile was an answer in itself. 

He loved the sound of you saying his name at the Hard Deck.

Your voice was so familiar to him that he could pick it out anywhere. He was so attuned to the way you said his name that he could be in a conversation with someone in the noisy bar, but his ears would perk up if you said his name in a passing comment. 

It was like he was hearing his friends talk with one ear, while the other was always listening for you.

He could be with Mav catching up and chatting about the new plane he was working on, until:

“Yeah, I could use another one, let me see if Bradley needs one really quick and then I’ll go up with you.”

And then he would find himself standing next to you at the bar. 

He could be playing around of nine-ball with Hangman, until:

“No, you’re kidding me! There’s no way you caught Coyote doing that, has Bradley heard this one before? Oh my god, you have to tell him.”

And then he would find himself abandoning his cue on the pool table. 

“What the fuck, Bradshaw? You can’t just quit because I’m kicking your ass,” Jake would shout at him as he made his way towards you.

After all, you’d said his name and now he was curious.

He could be at the jukebox trying to find something better to put on than whatever terrible song Fanboy had picked, until:

“Oh! Bradley knows how to play that one, let’s see if we can bribe him to go perform it. I doubt we’ll have to try very hard, he’s such a little show off.”

And then he would find himself seated at the piano.

To everyone else he was ‘Rooster’, ‘Bradshaw’, ‘Lieutenant’, and soon to be ‘Lieutenant Commander’. 

To you he was Bradley. 

Seeing Bradley seated at the piano was a normal sight for you.

Since being permanently stationed in San Diego, he’d had all of the things from his storage locker shipped over, including his Dad’s old upright. He liked to play in the evening to decompress after his day and you liked to watch.

There was something about the way his large fingers moved over the keys so gracefully that was always so mesmerizing to you.

You still remembered how embarrassed he would get all those times when your moms would beg him to put on an impromptu piano recital. Usually fueled by a couple too many glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon, you realized later on. 

Your mom and Carole had definitely been the “Wine Moms” at the baseball and tennis games they’d sat through in support of you and Bradley.

He would get a little sulky in the way that all self-conscious teens got, but he could never hold out for very long before pulling out the wooden piano bench. Bradley wasn’t one to purposefully disappoint his mom, their relationship special in the way that only a single parent and an only child could understand.

Once he realized it was a good way to get noticed by the girls in high school, he’d been quick to change his tune. And now it was clear he reveled the attention it got him when he sat down and started tapping out a carefree riff before launching into a song, all preening posturing and smug smiles.

You were usually right next to Bradley when he put on a show, an arm wrapped around his shoulder, always one to want a front row seat to see him in action.

Tonight the bar was a bit more packed than usual. It took a little longer to move around, and a little longer for Penny to make your drink since you had opted for something slightly more complicated than a beer.

Slowly, but surely, you wove your way through the crowd. Careful to avoid any stray elbows to avoid jostling your full drink as you made your way back to your friends where they were gathered around the ancient upright. You were nearly there when a burly man stepped around you, giving you a clear view of Bradley playing. 

And you were stopped short by the picture in front of you.

The performance he was currently putting on at the Hard Deck was different than anything he did at his own home. His leg bouncing in tempo as he shimmied perched on the piano bench, like it’s a struggle for him to be contained to one spot.

He was captivating in the way that he commanded the room. 

Maybe it was the way the way the muscles of his forearms were flexing as his fingers were precisely flying over the discolored keys.

Maybe it was the way the light sheen of sweat was collecting in the hollow of his collarbone.

Or maybe it was the way the veins were standing out against his neck, the way the thick tendon that ran along his throat had you transfixed as he threw his head back to sing at the top of his lungs. 

His sunglasses were sliding down his nose as his head bobbed between glancing down at his hands and scanning the room. He smiled when his eyes found yours over the top of his aviators. Your hand tightened around the glass in your hand, the condensation dripping down your wrist as you stood there and watched. 

You weren’t sure if it was your imagination or the tequila you’d been sipping on all night, but it seemed like he was working the keys of the piano a little harder, a little faster as he held your gaze. 

And then his tongue was slipping out. Just a bit, and just for you.

Thankfully no one could hear the way your breath hitched in your throat over the sound of everyone in the bar singing along. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so turned on. 

The intensity of Bradley’s heated gaze, the way his body was moving, the way you wanted to crawl in his lap and lick the taut line of his neck and taste the salt of his skin right there in front of everyone.

You probably looked as desperate as you were feeling, because his easygoing smile turned more knowing every second your eyes stayed locked.  

“I’ll be right back,” you said to no one in particular as you abandoned your spicy margarita on the nearest surface to make your escape.

You felt like you were about to vibrate out of your skin.

It was easier to slipping away to the bathroom than had been trying to reach Bradley in front of the stage, needing a moment to yourself out of his heady orbit.

Locking the door behind you, you lean against the worn wood that was littered with stickers that had been collected and brought back from around the world. You try breathing in and out a few times, the way you’ve learned to do at your expensive yoga classes, in an attempt to slow down the rapid pounding in your chest. Actively trying to not think about the way he looked at you.

There was no question in your mind that you suffered from an incurable Bradley kink. Now that you could let yourself revel in all sorts of unfriendly thoughts about him, everything he did was a turn on for you.

You had a sneaking suspicion that he might have one too. His eyes always a got a bit more heated, and his hands would grip you a little tighter when you said it. 

You knew that if you were to slip your fingers past the waistband of the dainty lace underwear you had just bought that you would find yourself wet. 

And for a moment, you’re tempted to do just that. To let your fingers skim up your thigh, along the scalloped edge of the panties you’d bought specifically with Bradley in mind, to think of him as you slide your fingers inside of yourself. 

You’re feeling so high-strung that you know it wouldn’t take long to come. It wouldn’t be the first time you would have used the bathroom at the Hard Deck to get off.

Your hand is halfway under your sundress, when you hear the chanting:

Roo-ster! Roo-ster! Roo-ster!

In your mind’s eye, you can picture him standing behind the piano doing his version of a touchdown dance. 

You’ve teased him about it before, calling him a “slutty little songbird”, which he didn’t deny. He thrives off the attention, and you can’t say you mind watching him do that sexy little shimmy he is so fond of. 

You also don’t mind helping him find other ways to work off the post-performance high.

Knowing that he will probably be looking for you now that he’s done, you smooth down the skirt of your dress with shaky hands and make your way to the sink.

Standing in front of the dingy mirror, you can see just how much a wreck your appearance actually is. Your cheeks look warm, your lips are slightly swollen from Penny’s special spicy margarita mix, and your eyes have that certain wild gleam in them that only Bradley brings out in you.

You turn the cold tap on, and stick your wrists under the running water. Hoping the cool water on your pulse points will help ease the heat that is spreading under your skin.

While the chanting has stopped now, you can still hear the lively sounds of the packed bar. Figuring it’s alright to leave the safe confines of the tiny bathroom, you turn off the water and dry your hands, determined to not let anyone see just how riled up you were.

You’re barely five steps outside of the bathroom, when a strong arm wraps around your waist.

“Hey, kid.”

And just like that your heart is racing out of control again. His woodsy smell paired with the faint hit of sweat has your brain going fuzzy. 

“You doin’ ok?” he rasps against the shell of your ear. He has you pulled against his warm, broad chest and you can feel the echoes of his question reverberate throughout your whole body.

You pull out of his grasp to turn and face him, taking a small step backwards towards the wall.

“Uh-huh, yeah. Everything is fine,” you ramble, nodding your head as you try to avoid looking in his honey brown eyes.

“You sure about that?” he asks taking a step towards you, which has you retreating another one back. “Thought I should check on you since you disappeared there for a bit.”

“Just you know,” you trail off briefly glancing at him and gesturing pathetically towards the bathroom like that explains your clearly unusual behavior. 

“Mm-hmm, sure,” he allows, his head tilting to the side as he observes you. 

You know the exact moment when he realizes what’s going on by the way his cheek twitches as he tries to control the wolfish smile he is fighting back. And you’re suddenly feeling very much like his prey when he presses forward again. This time when you step back you feel the wall against your back as he crowds into your space.

“We should probably go back,” you stutter out when he cages you in with one hand above your head.

“Maybe,” he muses, tracing his thumb along your lower lip, “You sure you don’t want to tell me what’s got you so ruffled?”

The way he is looking at you, the way he feels against you, it’s all too much.

“Bradley.” 

You don’t know what you were trying to sound like when you said his name, but there’s no missing the neediness in your voice.

“Yeah, I thought so,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low. He takes your hand in his, guiding you to his zipper, letting you feel him through his jeans. “You got me all worked up too, sweet girl.” 

The sound you make is lands somewhere between a wheeze and a whimper.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before he has you leading the way up to the bar, using your body to hide his hard on as he pays. Not even bothering to wave goodbye to your group of friends as he hustles you to the Bronco. 

He definitely broke the speed limit and a couple minor traffic laws on the drive back trying to get you home to his place.

You had looked so flushed when he had been pounding away at the keys of the upright at the Hard Deck, and you had dashed away abandoning your freshly made drink. He might have sped up the tempo to wrap it up faster so that he could check on you, worried for a moment that you might have caught a bug or food poisoning or something. 

That was until he caught you outside of the bathroom, and saw just how flustered you’d been and he knew.

It took everything in him not to push you back into the tiny bathroom and have his way with you right then and there. He was hit with an image bending you over the sink, and showing you just how good you looked coming around his cock.

However, a hot and dirty quickie at the Hard Deck wouldn’t have been enough for him.

He knew exactly how he wanted you: flustered, flushed, and thoroughly fucked.

So yeah, he floored the gas pedal needing to feel your body under his as soon as possible.  And it didn’t hurt that it probably cleared out some of the engine build up in the Bronco along the way either. 

He pressed you against the door the second you’d gotten inside, letting you rock your hips against his thigh as he sucked along the curve of your collarbone. Your hands coming up to tug at the curls at the top of his head.

“U-upstairs,” you gasp when he grazes his teeth along the swell of your breast.

You didn’t need to tell him twice. 

He lifts you up, and your legs wrap around him immediately. It had taken all of his will power not to slip his hands up your frilly dress at the Hard Deck. He loved any chance to he got to get his hands on your ass.

He almost misses the first step going up the stairs when you drag your hot mouth along his neck.

“Wait, wait,” you pant in his ear, “Put me down.” 

“It’s fine, I got you,” he promises as he tightens his grip on you.

You pull away and shake your head at him, “I don’t want either of us to end up in the Emergency Room for a sex related accident. Could you imagine? Jake would never let us live it down, and Nat would be worse.”

“It’d be worth it though,” he winks at you.

“You say that now, until you’re stuck in a neck brace unable to fly or have sex,” you admonish jokingly, stroking the side of his throat with the scars he earned from that night at Jason Cameron’s homecoming party.

“Yeah, but you could still ride me. The way I see it, it’s a win-win either way,” he chuckles at the exasperated way you roll your eyes.

“You’re handsome, but I don’t think even you could pull off the color of those hospital gowns,” you quip with a quick peck to his lips, “Now, hands off the goods.”

Giving your ass one more squeeze, he lets you slide down his body. He may not have his hands on you anymore, but it doesn’t stop him from admiring your figure as you bound up the stairs in front of him. 

He stops short at the threshold of his bedroom at the sight of you pulling your dress over your head. Of all your soft skin on display for him.

There were times he still couldn’t believe he got to have you like this.

How did he think it could have ever just been a friendship with you?

He liked how comfortable you were in this space with him, liked how perfectly your things fit in with his. 

He liked knowing that one of the pillows on the bed smelled like you.

He liked knowing that if he went in the bathroom he would find your expensive shampoo and conditioner in there next to his. 

He liked knowing that if he opened the drawer on one of the nightstands that he would find your lip balm, your lavender lotion, a vibrator from your place that had found a home here, and a notebook and pen in case you needed to remember to do something because you didn’t like having your phone in bed.

What he currently liked most about his bedroom was the way your dress was decorating the floor, and the way you were kneeling on his bed like a vision.

You were wearing a matching pale pink lace set he’d never seen before. Your skin was peeking through the floral embroidery of the sheer mesh in an all too enticing way.

You were his sweet girl.

“Come here,” you beckon, inching closer to the edge of the wooden canopy bed. 

He’s not one to deny you, he’d willingly go wherever you wanted. He saunters in towards you slowly, putting on a bit of a show for you as he comes to stand before you.

“I like this, it’s pretty,” he hums as he runs his knuckles slowly over the edge of the embroidered cups, enjoying the way you lean further into him. 

Cupping your jaw, he pulls you forward for a lingering kiss. Being this close to you, the smell of your musky floral perfume is intensifying thumping of his pulse. 

Your hands slide under his Hawaiian print shirt, helping to ease it off his body and then tossing it somewhere near your dress. You ruck the tank he has underneath up his chest and he reaches down to pull it over his head as your hands run over the ridges of his abs.

His body has been humming for yours since the bar. The hurried encounter at the door barely managed to take any of the edge off, and he was still just as starved for you as he had been when he saw you holding that drink looking at him like he was something to be devoured. 

His left hand moves from where it’s been settled on the flare of your hip and up your back to the clasp of your pretty bra.

He’s been letting you take the lead, but you’re not nearly naked enough for him. 

“Hands to yourself,” you mutter as you work to get his belt undone, “I’m trying to get you naked you here.”

Part of him wants to take his time with you, to take you apart slowly and see what new sounds he can uncover. The other part of him wants to have you holding onto that rich espresso colored headboard while he shows you just how much he appreciates you wearing this little set just for him.

“You like my hands,” he murmurs against your neck. He is quick to unhook the clasp of your bra with one hand, easing it down your arms and flinging it behind him.

Yet another offering to his bedroom floor. 

And then he is trailing his fingers down your soft stomach, dipping them under the band of your matching panties. 

He groans when he discovers you’re already wet for him. He finds your clit, and teases you there making gentle figure-eights with his finger, “Got yourself so worked up you couldn’t even stick around for the end of the damn song, huh?”

You’re quick to abandon your crusade against his favorite pair of jeans, leaving him unbuckled and half unzipped, as you circle your arms around his neck to pull him closer to you.

“God, your fingers feel so much better than mine,” you sigh against his mouth as he licks his lips before bringing them back to yours.

Your full lips soften under his demanding ones, the sensual slide of your lips against his has him desperate for more.

He slips his tongue in your mouth taking advantage of your gasp as his circles against you turn from teasing to purposeful. The kiss turning messy with need. With want. 

“I know another part of my body that you like just as much,” he murmurs, as he palms your ass.

Your hand starts moving down his chest, down his stomach. 

“Nuh-uh,” he tsks, catching your tricky hand before it has a chance to reach his cock, bringing it back up to rest on his shoulder. 

“I want to touch you,” you whisper against the spot below his ear that you know drives him wild. 

“I’m getting you off right now,” he says firmly as he speeds up his motions against your clit.

It doesn’t take long before he has you panting against his mouth, your hips rocking against his fingers. 

“That’s it,” he coaxes, “Let me give you what you want.” 

He knows from the sweet whimpers you’re making that you’re close, he breaks away from your kiss to hold your half-lidded gaze as you come for him.

He will never get tired of watching you fall apart. 

He will never get tired of seeing you satisfied and spread across his bed. 

Giving you a moment to catch your breath, he shucks off his jeans and his briefs, releasing a small groan as his cock springs free. He’s been hard for you since he cornered you by the bathroom at the bar. Sending you a lazy-half smile at the way your eyes take him in standing there above you as he slowly pumps himself. 

He knows he looks good, it’s literally his job to keep his body in peak condition. 

But you make him feel good.

No one knows him better than you, makes him laugh harder than you, makes him feel as important as you do. Your appreciative gaze of his body is just another bonus to the many ways you make him feel good about himself.

He climbs on the bed, settling between the cradle of your open thighs.

“You gonna tell me what got you so keyed up, sweet girl?” he asks in-between scattering kisses across your cheeks.

“That’s classified,” you retort breathlessly as you wrap your legs around him. 

“Is it now?” he grinned, kissing along the delicate line of your jaw. He’ll let you keep your secret for now, he had other more pressing questions he wanted answers to, “Did you touch yourself when you ran off to the bathroom?” 

“No,” you whine, as he pulls your nipple into his mouth, laving it with his tongue.

“Did you think about it? Think about me?” 

He wanted to know. He needed to know that he drove you just as crazy as you did him. 

“Yes,” you gasped out in confession when he moves to your other breast, giving it the same attention, “I’m always thinking about you.”

Good.

“Already know how you feel about my fingers,” he rasps as he kisses down your stomach, making sure to place one on the little tattoo near your hipbone. “Should I let you have my mouth too, sweet girl?”

“Yes,” you breathe working your hands into the curls at the top of his head, “Please.”

“Yeah, I think so too,” he agrees mouthing at the last little bit of lace still on your body.

He pulls off your pretty pink panties and throws them somewhere behind him, probably landing on that overpriced dresser he bought for you.

He loved that he was the one who got to see you like this. Your hair was a mess from his hands, you pupils were blown wide, and your flushed chest rising and falling with rapid shallow breaths.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he says reverently before licking a firm stripe parting you open.

It’s not long before his mouth is meticulously working between your thighs, his tongue gliding over your clit, one of your legs thrown over his shoulder. 

He’s sliding his finger into you and then another, making room in your body, determined to pull a second orgasm from you.

You’re so wet for him, so soft for him, so sweet for him.

He knows what you like. He’s studied your body just as thoroughly he did the aircraft manuals he was given, if not more so.

“More,” you moan, your hips rolling from the stimulation, “I need more.”

Pulling away from you with one more broad lick of his tongue, he leans his head against the thigh that’s thrown over his shoulder, watching your face as he pushes another finger into you. The way you’re pressing your heel into the muscles of his back has him fighting the urge to grind himself into the bed. 

“You look so good like this,” he praises, taking in the way you writhe against the three fingers he has buried deep in you, as he squeezes you hip with his other hand.

He’s seen a lot of unforgettable sights from the cockpit of his plane, but nothing will ever compete with the way you look as you chase your release. Your eyes fighting to say open as you watch him watching you.

“Oh my god,” you exhale when he hits that spot inside of you, your leg starting to tremble with the need, “Please, I’m so close.” 

Using his fingers and mouth in tandem, he works you with same pressure, the same pace. He feels you clenching around his fingers a few moments later, your back arching in pleasure as you fly apart for him. 

Teasing his lips and mustache along the sensitive skin at the crease of your thigh, as you come down from your high, before kissing his way back up your body. Your greedy hands reaching out for him, pulling him to your mouth. He feeds you his tongue, letting you taste yourself on him.

The way you’re whimpering beneath him is making him feel out of control.

“I want you inside me.”

Wrapping his large hand around his cock, he drags it through your folds few times before he finally lines himself up at your center. 

And then he’s finally pushing into you, savoring the way you cling to him as he gives you a moment to adjust to his size.

“Rooster,” you say with a sigh against his lips. 

He starts to move when your hips start to shift seeking more friction. And then he’s rocking into you with the smooth, deep strokes that never fail to make your toes curl. Once, twice, three times.

“What’d you say?” he asks, as he slows the pace down. 

Your hands are in his hair, and you tug on the strands when he pulls away to look at you. Your lips are swollen, but he knows that look in your eye.  He can already can guess what you’re going to respond with before your lips have even formed the word.

“R-ooster.” 

The word comes out a stutter, as he roughly thrusts into you again. 

He doesn’t know why he’s bothered asking, he should have known that you were going to make him work for the one thing he wants to hear.

“Say my name.”

He was so gone for you, he wants you riled up and feeling the same way as him. He wants his neighbors to hear you saying his name. Wants them to know that he’s the one making you feel so good.

“Lieutenant,” you taunt, not bother trying to hide the self-satisfied on your face.

If he wasn’t going to get what he wanted then neither were you. 

He pulls out of you completely, flipping you over on the forest green duvet. His hand coming down on your ass, a quick sharp slap.

The sting of it has you gasping into your forearms pillowed underneath your head, and your cunt fluttering around nothing.

Leaning forward, he kisses down the length of your spine admiring the way the goosebumps pebble on your skin now.

“Say my name,” he coaxes again.

He tugs your hips up and licks deeply into you once before pulling away. Watching smugly on his knees at the way your hips tilt up after him, your legs spreading further apart as you offer more of yourself to him.

“Bradshaw,” you counter.

Closer, but still not what he wants to hear. 

His open hand connects on the other side of your perfect ass, earning him a sweet moan from you.

Grasping his cock to slide it through your wetness, he stops just short of where he knows you want to feel it the most. 

He wants you dazed. He wants you desperate for him.

You’ve always been the type to take a mile when you’re given an inch. And he intends to only let you have exactly eight inches tonight.

“You want this cock?” he rasps.

He knows he’s got you where he wants you when you don’t reply with another bratty remark, only desperately nodding ‘yes’ into the mattress.

“Look at me,” he demands. 

You’re slow to lift your head up to look back at him, your eyes are a little glazed over as you take him in. You look as wrecked as he feels. He can only imagine what he looks like through your eyes. He can feel the sweat collecting at his temples, can feel the flush that’s working its way down his neck to his chest.

“You know what I wanna hear, kid.”

That makes you whine. 

“Oh, you wanna be my sweet girl now, huh?” he asks, squeezing your hips.

He wants to taste that lower lip, the one that’s pouting prettily at him as you nod for him again. Even now as you writhe against him you’re still trying to get your own way, still trying to get him to break first.

“Well, you know what to do,” he feels like barely hanging on now, “Say. My. Name.” 

He punctuates each word with the rock of his hips, his cock just grazing your clit. Enough to keep you on edge, but not enough to give you the stimulation that you want.

“Bradley!” you cry out.

He’s inside of you before you’ve even gotten the second syllable out. 

Groaning your name, he throws his head back at the sensation of finally being surrounded by you again.

“Good girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he tries to ask teasingly, but it comes out more a rumble than anything else. “My sweet girl.”

Your pussy squeezes him harder at the praise as you roll your hips up more to better accept his body in yours. He loved the view he had, loved seeing how wet you were for him, loved seeing just how well he filled you, loved seeing you stretched around him.

He leaned forward a bit, brushing back your hair off your face to see you better. The change in angle making you gasp as you fisted the material beneath you.

“Say it again,” he prompts, smoothing a hand down your back, “I wanna hear you say it again.”

His name. 

The only thing he wanted running through your mind. 

His name. 

The only thing he wants coming from your mouth, other than the sweet whimpers and moans he is pulling from you. 

“Bradley,” you indulge, his name sounding something between a plead and a purr.

Without disrupting the pace he’s set, he nudges your knees further apart. Wrapping an arm around your middle to pull you up against his chest, needing to be closer to you. 

“Go on, let them hear who is making you feel this good,” he grunts roughly in your ear.

“Brad-ley,” the staccato of his name punctuated by his steady thrusts against you. Your hand digging into his hip.

Interlocking his fingers with yours, he lifts your arm to hook it around the back of his neck, holding you to him there. Turning your head, you greedily mouth at the column of his throat, frenzied and wet.

You were it for him, there was no question about it. And he would happily prove to you in all the ways he could think of that he was it for you too. There’s nothing he wants more than to make you feel good. To please you. To give you the best you’ve ever had. 

His other hand slides up from where he had been squeezing your waist to get his hand on your breast. He loves how perfectly you fit in his hand.

He meets you for a kiss, sloppy and perfect, messy and deep. 

He can’t control the sounds of satisfaction escaping him as you move together, feeding off of your sighs and moans. Your hands are grabbing onto whatever part of him is in reach: his hair, his thigh, his arm. 

Enjoying the drag of his cock as he moves in you, he lets himself get lost in the sensation of being connected with you like this. The room filled with the sounds of labored breathing, of your bodies coming together, of you saying his name over and over again.

You’re starting to tremble in his arms, he’s pretty sure your legs would have given out by now if it were for the way he was holding you against him. Your nails biting into the back of his neck, as he slowly drags a hand down your body to where you’re connected.

“I love this,” you murmur into the base of this throat. 

He doesn’t know if you realized you said it out loud, doesn’t know if you meant to say it out loud, but he loves hearing it all the same.

“God, you feel so good,” he can feel the sensation building at the base of his spine, “You’re perfect. So fucking perfect.”

The way his circles his fingers against your clit has you gasping into his waiting mouth. 

“Bradley, please.” 

He’d give you anything. He’d give you everything.

“C’mon then,” he insisted hoarsely, pressing his forehead against the side of your temple, “Say it for me one more time, sweet girl.” 

He speeds up his fingers, set on ending you. Working your body with the precision that he handles his sixty-five million dollar aircraft. Determined to give you what you’re so sweetly asking for.

And it’s his name you gasp as you come undone.

Your is head thrown back against his shoulder as you spasm around his cock, your hips rolling as you are lost to the pleasure of your orgasm. He kisses your neck and lightens the pressure of his fingers on your clit, wanting to extend it out for you as much as possible, enjoying the tiny pulsing aftershocks he is drawing from you. 

It’s only when he feels you go boneless that he starts to lose his own composure. His breathing going completely ragged and hips snapping erratically against you as he chases his own climax.

A few more powerful strokes later he follows you coming hard with a groan, burying his face in your neck as he spills in you.

Somehow, he manages to get you both sprawled out horizontal on the bed without him completely crushing you.

“Holy shit,” he curses flinging an arm over his eyes, his other reaching out to touch whatever part of you he can find. There’s nothing but the sound of the blood rushing in his ears as he tries to catch his breath.

Time gets away from him as he runs his hand up and down your back. It could have been a few minutes or an hour when he feels the bed move, and you slipping out of his grasp as you get up to use the bathroom. 

“No, stay,” he attempts to pull you back to him, feeling the need to have you close again as he tries to settle back into his body. You’re seemingly recovering much quicker than he is at the moment.

“I won’t even be gone two minutes, you can time me.” He can hear the soft affection in your voice. 

“Don’t think I won’t,” he grouses halfheartedly lifting up the arm with his watch on. He manages to raise his head up in time to get a glimpse of your naked figure as you close the door behind you.

True to your word, you are back one minute and forty-seven seconds later. He opens his arms to you as you climb back on his bed and drape yourself half over him.

Much better.

He feels you shift yourself up a few moments later to press a kiss to the scar on his shoulder. 

“I just want to try something,” you murmur before making your way along the bend of his collarbone. 

Up the side of his neck.

He feels his pulse start to kick up again as you work your way up the line of his jaw. He tilts his head away to give you more access to his skin there, basking in the feel of your lips on his body.

“Bradley,” you whisper lightly against the shell of his ear.

The guttural groan that rips through him surprises him. He feels his cock twitch against his thigh, a visceral reaction to you.

And then you’re giggling.

“I knew it,” you get out between fits of laughter, “You’ve got a name kink.”

Your face pure joy at your discovery. He’ll happily let you tease him for the rest of his life as long as you keep looking at him like that.

“Nah, I got a you kink,” he says as he hauls you on top of him.

“I’m already planning on letting you have your way with me again tonight, Bradley,” you proudly declare, propping yourself up on his chest, smiling down at him. “You don’t have to try so hard, I’m a sure thing.” 

If he wasn’t already gone for you, the cheeky wink you sent him would have sealed the deal.

He feels himself already starting to get hard again, one of the perks of being a part of the 1%.

“Sweet girl, you’re gonna be the end of me,” he chuckles, running his hands up your back, “And I remember someone once telling me that they give as good as they get, so I won’t be dialing it in anytime soon.”

And then he is pulling you down for a kiss.

Later that night when you’re riding him so good, you get him chanting your name. 

Over, and over, and over again. 

A couple hours later, he watches you slip away into slumber, satisfied and spent beneath the fluffy comforter on the bed.  

His bed. Your bed. Their bed.

It was just as much yours as it was his, regardless of whether you were officially living together yet or not. He bought it for you, after all.

Even on the occasional nights you spent apart, you were still everywhere. 

He liked the plants you had picked to fill out the empty spaces in the room. He liked that the right side of the bed was your side of the bed. That those were your books on the nightstand, the bookmarks peeking out waiting for you to pick up where you left off. 

There was a trinket tray for your jewelry on top of the dresser right next to the to the leather watch display box that you had gotten him for his birthday. And the drawers of that well-made, but overpriced wooden dresser were filling up with more and more of your things, just like he had hoped for when he got it.

He smiled to himself as he gently stroked your hair. The last time he was at your place, he had accidentally seen the letter from your apartment’s leasing office confirming your decision to not renew your rental agreement and your move out date. He hadn’t told you he knew, he’d rather hear it from you anyways. 

You would always be worth the wait.

The packages that were delivered to the door?

His, for now, until you moved in a couple months from now.

The name signed on the lease for the condo? 

His, for now, until you were ready to ink yours down on a deed for a new home with him. 

The little velvet box tucked away in the back corner of his nightstand? 

His, for now, but always meant to be yours.

You can thank @mak-32 and her photo set of Rooster at the piano for this fic!

Also, many many thanks to @gretagerwigsmuse​ for being my go-to gal! I wouldn’t have been brave enough to post the smut if she hadn’t given me the all-caps go ahead! 

Here’s Bradley’s bedroom, if you’re curious!

You can check my other fics out here!

Taglist:

@sehnsuchts-trunken @top-hhun-main @itscheybaby @prettylittlelauraa @startrekfangirl2233 @marantha @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @itsizzythebell @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @boltgirl426 @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @torres-espana @uzumegui @dont-talk-me-down @fandomunite2107 @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pariahsparadise @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @nina-sj @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @misty-inferno @angellwingsss @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @mrsdaamneron @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @melllinaa @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @mandolin22 @imaginecrushes @soleilgrec @keyrani @finelytaylored @phantomxoxo @viridianphtalo @chicomonks​ @starryeyedstories​

[just-a-creep-babe]

What Makes You Tick - Chapter 1

(Ticci Toby x Reader)

Waah idk why I'm so nervous to post this part T~T 🖤🖤 I really hope you enjoy! And it would make me super happy if you lmk what you think!! 🖤🖤

Commissions are open!

Check out my ko-fi if you'd like to support me!

Masterlist: x

Divider by @plum98

The scream is loud.

It’s shrill and abrasive, and it ends as quickly as it began—like the person’s breath was abruptly interrupted.

You bolt up. The sound awakens a deep, primal urge within you, and in a matter of seconds, you’re on high alert.

The fact that you’re home alone really only makes the whole situation that much worse.

You count the seconds ever so slowly ticking by. You don’t dare to move an inch. You just hold your breath, waiting, listening to the sound of your own heartbeat in your eardrums.

When you reach 100 and there isn’t another piercing scream, only then does your body recover from the freeze instinct. You move to the windows, try to see something—anything outside.

When nothing seems to be out of the ordinary, you nervously chew at your lip. Did you just imagine it? You don’t see anyone outside; no worried onlookers trying to find the source of the noise, no frantic person wandering the streets for help, nothing.

What are the chances only you would’ve heard it?

The scream replays itself in your head. It sounded like it could’ve come from your downstairs neighbor.

You’re probably the closest person in the vicinity, you realize. If they need help, you might be the only person who could assist them.

You grab your phone and rush out the door. Down the steps, you reach your neighbor’s door and offer three quick knocks against the wood.

You wait, nervously, anxiously, every second ticking by feeling much too long for comfort. When there’s no answer, you knock again. The memory of the scream rings in your ears again, and you feel your hands get sweaty with stress.

No one answers the door. You check your phone, calculate that at least seven minutes have gone by. Would it be appropriate to call the cops?

You open the phone app, then hesitate. Would they even take you seriously? You never once called the police in your life, and just thinking about it has you conjuring up a whole slew of ways it could go wrong.

You linger around the door for a few more minutes, then eventually give up and return up to your apartment. Your plan is to call your parents or roommate or maybe even your friend—anyone who might be able to advise you on what to do. But as soon as you reach your door, you get an eerie chill up your spine. Something isn’t right.

Your door is open.

It’s just a crack; barely even noticeable, and though you did leave in a rush, you’re fairly certain you didn’t leave the door open. It’s not something you would do.

You clutch your phone between tense fingers. Calling for help—even though it should be—is no longer on your mind. All you’re thinking about is who the fuck is in your home right now—and why.

It’s, again, like a fight, flight or freeze instinct kicking in. Except this time, your usual sense of self-preservation is overridden and you’re fully ready to fight.

You open the door, half expecting to see someone in the middle of your living room, but there’s no one there. Relief nearly washes over you, until you glance down and notice a trail of dirt leading deeper into your house.

Seeing it suddenly makes it all the more real.

There’s really someone here. There’s a stranger in your house.

As quietly as humanly possible, you follow along the trail. You’re so focused that your surroundings almost seem to melt away. When you see it; the silhouette of a person you don’t recognize, who doesn’t belong here, in your house, you act without second thought.

One hard hit to the back of the head is all it takes. The person crumples to the floor on impact. You gasp, the sound completely involuntary because holy shit—did that just happen?

Suddenly remembering your phone, you yank it up and dial 911.

The person seems to be knocked out cold, and as the line is ringing, you realize your hand hurts from hitting them so hard. A wave of fear tightens in your chest. Surely, you didn’t severely injure them, right? Surely, they’re just knocked out for a little while, and then they’ll wake up, and they’ll be fine, and you won’t get into any trouble, right?

It all counts as self-defense anyways, right?

Having never called the cops before, you don’t think much of the wait time. Your mind is so preoccupied with what you’ve done, with what’s happened in such a short amount of time, that you don’t even realize how long you’re waiting for.

But then you start to get nervous that the intruder will wake up. Or, worse, that they won’t wake up. The line is still ringing, and when you bring your phone down to check how long it’s been, you find that over five minutes have passed.

What the fuck is going on?

You can only stand to wait a few more minutes before you realize no one’s going to answer.

Maybe something’s down with the lines, or some other big emergency happened elsewhere and they don’t have the staff required to answer. Whatever it is, you’re on your own right now.

You hang up, tell yourself you’ll call back in a few minutes, and then you’re left staring at the knocked-out body of the intruder.

Judging by the shape and size of the figure, they seem to be male. They’re relatively tall and lean, with a square kind of build that tapers down at their hips. You can’t see their face, but they have thick, curly brown hair that reaches below their ears.

You should flip them over, you think. You should flip them over and take a picture of their face so that you have some kind of proof.

You kneel down, wrap your fingers around their form, and, as gently as you can so as to not wake them, you turn them over.

Your stomach drops at the sight. You can’t see their face since it’s hidden beneath orange-tilted goggles and some kind of mouthguard. But it’s what you see on their clothes that has you feeling light-headed.

Blood.

They’re covered in it.

It’s splattered along the front of their hoody, staining the fabric in a dark crimson color. You can’t tell if it’s theirs or someone else’s, and though all logic points to the former, you don’t even want to piece everything together.

You notice as well, now that they’re turned over, that they have a belt tied around their hips. And two blood-soaked axes are hanging from it.

You nearly scream, but the bile threatening to rise up your throat has you holding it all in. And you’re thankful for it, because god knows you don’t want them to wake up now.

If you weren’t high on adrenaline, you’re certain you’d be panicking—more so than you are now, at least. But it’s like your senses are heightened, and your thoughts are much clearer than they otherwise would be, and something inside you is forcing you to stay as calm as possible.

Secure them.

You need to find something to secure them before they wake up.

The best thing you can find on such short notice is a long-sleeved shirt you’d haphazardly left in the living room. You’d meant to put it away, but you hadn’t gotten to it yet—and you’ve never been so thankful for your laziness.

Your hands are shaking as you wrap the sleeves around the stranger’s wrists. You try to make it as tight as possible, and then you knot it over and over again until you’ve no more fabric left to tighten.

You’re grabbing your phone and dialing 911 again as soon as you can. But when you bring it up to your ear, the line doesn’t ring. You wait—fifteen seconds, thirty, a minute—expecting the ringing to start at any moment, but it doesn’t.

On the other end of the line, there’s just silence. Eerie, cold, dead silence. The ends of your hair stand at attention from the goosebumps rising on your skin. Something’s definitely not right.

Just as you’re about to hang up—static blares from your phone. It’s loud and unbearable and completely overpowering, like the sound is ringing inside your own head. It's impossible to think straight.

You scream, throwing your phone to stop the noise. But even with the phone away from your ears, it’s like the noise keeps echoing in your mind. All you can do is press your hands to your ears and squeeze your eyes shut and scream in agony.

It’s dizzying. It’s nauseating. You have no space to think, no space to do anything but clutch your ears and pray the noise will stop. It’s maddening.

You feel like you’re on the verge of passing out from the sheer pain and intensity of it all when, in an instant, it stops.

You don’t pull your hands away from your ears for a good few seconds afterward. Your heart is pumping loudly in your chest. Your jaw hurts from grinding your teeth. Every muscle in your body feels sore from overexertion.

What just happened—are you losing your mind?

Slowly, you hesitantly let go of your head and open your eyes.

He’s awake.

You don’t know if it was your screaming that woke him up—all you know is that he’s conscious, and he's sitting upright and looking at you.

A mix of emotions wash over you at once. You’re relieved he’s alive, confused as to what the hell just happened—and most of all—you’re fucking nauseous with fear.

Fear regarding the source of that noise, but also regarding the fact that there’s a stranger in your house, covered in blood, and the cops aren’t answering. There’s something wrong with your phone, you're home alone, and your neighbor might be bleeding out beneath the floor under your feet. And there's a stranger restrained in your house and you have no idea what the fuck to do.

The worst part is that the person—that man—looks like he's completely calm and at ease. Like he's in total control of the situation.

The nausea worsens, butterflies making you utterly sick to your stomach. It almost feels like you're the one restrained, not him. You’re trapped with him.

You don’t know what to do with yourself.

You stare at him, and he stares back. Or, at least, you think he does; it’s hard to tell beneath his colored lenses.

Your gaze flickers to the hatchets, still secured around his waist. You kick yourself for not taking them off of him. And then you look at your phone, which you threw halfway between you and him, and you swallow back the lump in your throat.

When you look back at him, you notice that he’d followed your gaze to also look at your phone. He looks back at you, tilts his head, and your stomach twists in knots.

Why isn’t he saying anything?

You feel like you’ve accidentally trapped some kind of predatory animal in your apartment. It feels like, at any moment, if you make the wrong move, he’ll lunge at you and rip your throat out.

Never once breaking eye contact, as if he might free himself the second you look away, you slowly creep forward to reach your phone.

He doesn’t say a single word as you move, which makes it all the worse. He merely watches you, curiously, like you're one of the most fascinating things he's ever seen.

When you finally reach your phone, you pick it up, open it, and dial 911 again.

You’re hesitant to press it to your ears. You don’t know what kind of malfunction happened earlier, but you’re not too keen on repeating the experience. You hold it at somewhat of a distance, just in case.

It doesn’t ring.

Just like earlier, all that comes through the line is dead silence. You wait maybe a minute before, out of fear of the static interrupting again, you close the line.

You try not to let your panic show through, because you can feel the stranger eyeing your every move. You dial your roommate’s number, but it’s the same problem.

With unsteady hands, you text your parents that you need help contacting 911. Although they don’t live close to you anymore, they’re usually the fastest to answer your texts. And you need help fast.

When they don’t answer, you text your roommate and friends the same thing. Surely, at least one of them is bound to see the text and help you—right?

“You can—you can try all you want. You won’t be able t-to reach anyone, a-anyways.”

Your blood freezes.

It takes you a second to register his words, and another to react.

“What… what do you mean?” you ask, though the words make your tongue go numb, as if your body’s warning you that just talking to him is a bad idea.

“He’s watching.”

In the culmination of your entire lifetime, you don’t recall having ever felt such pure, tangible fear.

The feeling is similar to that sensation you get when you’re at the peak of a nightmare—when you’re just about to come face-to-face with the monster, or when you’re about to reach the ground after falling from a great height—when you’re just about to die and it all feels so real.

But this moment feels surreal.

“Who’s watching?”

There’s more conviction in your voice than you feel in your entire nervous system. You don’t know how you manage to sound so calm, so self-assured and in control of the situation, but it’s certainly not how you feel on the inside.

“He is. The one who’s—“ he cracks his neck abruptly to the side, interrupting his own sentence before finishing, “always watching.”

Another chill up your spine, though you manage to mask it fairly well, all things considered.

“Don’t—don’t worry. The police will be here—here—they’ll be here soon. Maybe 15, 20 minutes?”

You don’t know whether you should be relieved or unnerved by his reassurance.

“How… do you know that?” you ask hesitantly.

He shrugs, the movement entirely too comfortable, entirely too nonchalant.

“S-s’almost always the same.”

You want out. You want out of this conversation, out of this whole situation. You want him out of your house.

“What do you mean?” you ask, “How many times have you done this?”

You don’t know if you want the answer to your own question. In all honesty, you don’t even want to consider what the “this” in your question even refers to.

But it’s out of your mouth before you can even stop yourself.

He tilts his head, like he’s considering it. And then, after a few seconds, he shrugs again.

“Lost count.”

You don’t like his answer.

15-20 minutes, you think. There’s a chance he's lying, a chance he just said that to put you at ease and prevent you from trying to call again.

But there’s a chance he’s right.

There’s a chance some of your neighbors heard, or your friends and family saw your text and have managed to call for help. Either way, you realize that you have time to burn. You need to stay calm, focused.

He doesn’t seem agitated, which you take to be a good thing. He doesn’t seem frustrated or angry or unstable. If anything, it’s like he’s open to talking.

What more could you ask for?

You rack your brain for the best course of action. But you’re at a loss. You’re panicking on the inside.

You realize that one of the best things you could probably do is keep him preoccupied, keep him distracted.

“…How old are you?”

You don’t know why that, of all things, is the first question to come to mind. But it seems like a safe enough bet; it’s not too personal so as to upset him, and yet it might help narrow his identity or motivations down.

If only you’d had the chance to remove his mask and snap a pic of his face before he woke up.

You don’t expect him to take as long to answer as he does. He tilts his head again, looks up like he’s trying to calculate something in his head.

And then his answer sends another wave of unease through your system.

“Lost count,” he admits.

You don’t know what his answer means, what it might entail, but part of you doesn’t even want to know that either, at this point.

You rack your brain for another neutral question, when he suddenly jerks his shoulder and pops it in a motion that doesn’t look entirely voluntary.

You pause.

Is he on drugs or something?

That would explain a few things, though not everything.

He seems to be coherent enough to hold somewhat of a conversation, but it’s not like he’s making the most sense. At the very least, having something to blame some of the strangeness on makes the situation somewhat more tolerable.

To test out your theory, you ask him outright, “Why are you here? Do you know where you are?”

He looks around, like he’s only now noticing he’s in your apartment.

“This the—this the—the upstairs unit? Your place?”

You nod, slowly, but even as you do, you’re not entirely sure you want him to know that. And then you also don’t really want to know the answer to the next question, but you need to ask.

“What happened?”

Nothing could’ve prepared you for his answer. The way he states it too—so simply, so obviously, like it was as normal of a thing as going out for groceries—makes you completely sick to your stomach.

It’s like the magnitude of the situation fully crashes down on you when he answers.

“I killed her.”

[nana-au]

JJK bf's take care of you when you're sick

₊˚ପ⊹ N.Kento & S.Gojo

₊˚ପ⊹ wc: 1.1k

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

N.Kento:

The moment your throat so much as tickles, Nanami does his damndest to get you back to your usual self. It feels strangely paternal how attentive he becomes, not allowing you to lift a finger for yourself. 

You first notice that you woke up sweating, your throat dry, and your eyes heavy. You check to see you still have another 3 hours before work but God you need some water. It’s all you can think about and you stumble into the kitchen, filling a glass. You drain the cup of its lukewarm water clearing your throat repeatedly as you notice it doesn’t go away. You fill it up twice. Then thrice. You begin to panic, realizing you feel freezing cold and boiling hot all at once. 

“Baby? Where’d you go? Come back to bed sweetheart.” He stumbles out, entering the threshold of the kitchen. You hate the fact you are trying to blink back tears, you always become such a baby when you get sick. “What’s wrong doll?” he asks you, pulling you into his bare chest. You babble out that you don’t feel good and his big hand goes to check your temperature. His cool palm feels good against your burning forehead and you can almost make out the concern in his eyes. He clasps his hands in yours and walks you into your shared bathroom, helping you down on the toilet seat before rummaging in the medicine cabinet. He pulls out the thermometer and you stick your tongue up for him to place it under. While you two wait he strokes your hair wordlessly. You can tell he is barely awake, eyes squinting and his hand in your hair forgetting to move. 

The thermometer beeps and he pulls it out from under your tongue. He puts the results up close to his eyes, forgetting his glasses on the bedside table. He doesn’t tell you the number because he knows it will only make you upset. “Looks like we’re gonna spend the day at home.” 

The two of you call out of your respective jobs and Nanami gets to work. He draws you a warm bath with lavender soaking salts, helping you strip from your night clothes. You sniffle and you hardly notice the fact you are giving him pathetic puppy eyes once your shirt comes off. He clicks his tongue at you, telling you that you have nothing to worry about. “I’m here,” he reassures you. 

While you soak he sets up the couch for you with a pillow and blanket. When you're out and after he assists you in putting on clean clothes and fuzzy socks he already has your breakfast on your lap. “Do you need me to feed you too?” he teases, squeezing the plump skin of your cheek. He puts on your favorite show and rushes to get you a pain reliever and vitamin c gummies. He makes sure to sit on the couch with you so you don’t become lonely but is quick to get up when you need a cold cloth against your face. While you nap he runs a few errands, grabbing your favorite sport drinks for extra hydration and the soup from your favorite place. He spends the rest of the day with you, tending to your every need. Nanami refuses to entertain you when you babble about how guilty you feel that he is taking care of you. “Focus on getting better and I’ll focus on making you better,” he promises.

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

S.Gojo:

Gojo knows that he can’t take away your cold, but he will make sure your high-strung personality doesn’t get in the way of you getting better.

He can’t take you seriously when you throw your head back and groan. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought you got news the world was ending. You went to the doctor for your yearly check up when they discovered a fever and swollen lymph nodes. You were shocked, you felt completely fine. That was until you woke up the next day with the worst sore throat of your life, paired with a perfectly obnoxious cough. When Gojo called you that morning you made a huge deal about it, telling him not to come over and to cancel your plans for the rest of the week. He mentioned dropping off some cough syrup and you frantically told him to skip it. You would be fine! He just had to stay away. You would die if you got your boyfriend sick. 

At around 6pm, the white-haired sorcerer was at your door carrying a grocery bag of goodies for you. You groaned, exasperated that he showed up. You were fine! It was him who needed to stay away. He flashed his teeth at your reaction, pushing past you and setting out the supplies he got you on your coffee table. “I got you the cherry flavored cough drops, I hope you don’t mind. I wasn’t sure what you would like.” You made sure to thank him before feebly attempting to kick him out. He crossed his arms at you, eyebrow raising, “Or what bunny?” You throw your hands up and sit down on your couch in a huff. The abrupt action causes you to break out in a coughing fit and Gojo rolls his eyes. He unwraps a cough drop and once your coughing fit calms he pushes the red menthol past your lips. You start to speak up before his finger hovers over your mouth, “Quiet,” he commands. If you felt even an ounce better you would have rolled your eyes, but instead you obeyed. He began moving the couch pillows down to one end before sitting down, leaning against them. He pulled you close into his arms and laid your head against his chest. Grabbing the remote, he turns up the volume of the movie you had playing and sits there in silence with you. You two hadn’t been dating for very long and it was odd to be quiet with him. Your relationship was founded on the chaos you two thrived on. But here the two of you were, dead silent with his slender fingers rubbing soothing circles on your skin. You grew incredibly sleepy from soaking in his warmth, the dialogue in the movie turning into radio static in your mind. Satoru’s chest was moving you up and down to the rhythm of his breathing and his left hand was tangled in your hair, massaging your scalp. You were probably drooling from how relaxing it was but you couldn’t muster the strength to bring your hand up to wipe it. “Just rest,” his voice broke out from your fading thoughts, “Satoru’s got you,” if you were any more conscious you could have heard the smirk that his words broke through. 

[babysukiii]

not her type

// leighton is a bit sweet on you (the librarian’s student assistant). you begin to fall for the blonde, until you hear her say something that causes you to reconsider your feelings. //

warnings: leighton is an idiot when it comes to emotions, reader is oblivious but so is leighton, misunderstandings, mutual pining don’t let the title fool you, jealousy (leighton gets jealous), kinda angsty

(i changed my username i was @fckoffjakegyllenhaal)

DISCLAIMER; english is not and has never been my first language. i usually edit my works well but don’t have time anymore. sorry for any spelling errors!

leighton didn’t have the most common sense when it came to dating. she was a genius, and she was the smartest person she knew. she was top of most of her classes, and she knew she was beautiful. though when it came to emotions, and her love life, leighton was nearly hopeless. to put it frankly, she’s an idiot when it comes to love.

when leighton first met you, she already wasn’t off to a very good start. she sauntered into the library in her expensive heels, along with her matching skirt and blazer. as soon as you saw her you were extremely intimidated by her. you were only able to attend this school because your grandma had left you a nice wad of money in her will. even with what she left you, you still had to get a job at the school’s library to pay off the remaining student loans. but you knew you didn’t fit in here. the school was full of pristine, preppy, rich kids. like her.

“i need to rent a copy of the black sun.” she deadpans, as she stands up straight in front of the counter. “then maybe you should go and get it so i can check it out for you?” you suggest in a sardonic manner, and the blonde looks visibly stunned by your careless tone. “okay, i’m assuming it’s your first day here or something, but it’s literally your job to find the books students need.” she points out, and you quirk a brow. “no, my job is to keep the library organized, and help students when they ask for help. key word ask. which you didn’t; you waltzed in here like princess diana and ordered me to get you a copy of ‘black sun’.” you remind her, your words as hot as the fire in your tone.

that’s when leighton takes you in; your long curly hair, and high rise jeans. that top your wearing fits you nicely, and for some reason the fact that you aren’t hurdling to do what she says, leaves a fluttering sensation in her belly. “hey, you don’t have to be such an asshole! excuse me if i thought someone who works in the library was competent enough to get me the correct copy of a book. my mistake.” she fires back, and you shake your head.

“i am plenty competent enough, blondie. i just don’t help self entitled jerks who think the world has to stop at their convenience.” you retort, “now, if you excuse me, i’m taking my first break now. come back in half an hour.” you deadpan; your voice is dry, and leighton’s eyes widen in shock. “you can’t just do that!” she shrieks, and if she wasn’t such a mean girl, you would’ve thought the way her voice changed in pitch was cute as hell. you smirk, “just did.”

leighton lets out a huff, “fine! i’ll just get it on pdf, jerk face.” her lame insult makes you bite back a laugh as she storms away. you can’t help but watch her hips move as she leaves; god, she’s hot but so fucking rude. maybe this job isn’t so bad; getting to tick off straight, prissy girls like blondie was going to the highlight of your career. though you put aside a copy of black sun later that day, just in case she comes back.

which she does.

she returns the next day with this determined look on her face. “okay, yesterday i was a bit of a bitch.” she starts carefully, and you quirk a brow in a bit of interest as you look up from your phone. “a bit?” you question, and her fake smile falls immediately. “i’m trying to be nicer now.” her stony expression causes you to sigh. you reach inside the desk drawer where you hid the copy away for this exact moment.

her eyes nearly widen for a split second as she realizes you did in fact retrieve her the copy of the book she needed. “so you did do it for me.” her voice sounds a bit different now; a little lighter, but you try not to dwell on it. “yeah, well, it’s my job, right?” you respond dryly, as you begin to scan the book, “library card or student id.” you command, and she reaches into her expensive bag, pulling out her matching wallet. she hands you her library card, which you scan quickly and hand back to her. “you have two weeks to return it.”

“i know how the library works.” she grows irritated with the lack of emotions in your voice, and she assumes you’re probably just annoyed by her presence. “sorry, i wasn’t sure considering you don’t know how manners work.” leighton gasps, a look of clear anger and offense etching itself onto her pretty features. “i already apologized for that!” she defends, and you tilt your head, cocking a brow at her. “i never heard an “i’m sorry”.” your fake confused tone is enough to irk her but keep her interested in talking to you.

she closes her eyes for a second, before releasing a defeated breath. “i’m sorry…” she trails off, realizing she didn’t even get your name. “… y/n.” you finish, and her belly flips at the revelation. “y/n. i’m sorry.” she repeats, and you roll your eyes a bit playfully. “it’s fine. i guess you weren’t the rudest rich-priss i dealt with yesterday. why do you think i saved the book for you?” you taunt her, and the flush on her cheeks causes your smirk to widen.

“mmm, i’m sure you probably have a drawer full of books that those “rude rich-priss’s” asked for.” she challenges, and you offer her this infectious smile that causes her to lose her train of thought. “only the pretty ones. the eye candy makes the lack of human decency worth it.” you hand her the book and the mischief in your eyes allows her to know you’re kidding, but your words make her snort. “aren’t you a charmer. see you in two weeks.” she waves the book at you, before turning on her heels and leaving.

god, the pants she was wearing today made her ass look great.

you shamelessly watch her leave, and before she gets to the doors, you call out, “i like watching you leave, blondie.” your crude comment causes her to stop in her tracks; her face is suddenly red as a tomato. leighton’s brain that is usually amazing at thinking of insults or remarks, cannot conduct a single thought. she only scoffs, as she pushes the exit door open, and your grin widens.

you really don’t expect to see leighton outside of the library. it isn’t because you assume she doesn’t go out or hang around campus, it’s because aside from your dorm, you’re only ever in your classes and the library. so when you see her walk into the cheap bar downtown you decided to try by complete chance, your gaze zero’s in on her. an inevitable grin tugging at your lips, and she doesn’t seem to see you. she’s looking around the other side of the room, like a lost puppy. when she walks by, you keep you head low, trying to go unnoticed by her. once her back is to you, you turn your head in her direction; “nice ass, blondie.” you comment with a sneer, and leighton freezes at the sound of your voice.

when she spins around, she attempts to plaster a vexed expression on her face, but as soon as she sees you she sighs. “ugh, what are you doing here?” she asks, attempting to sound annoyed. you wave a can of hard seltzer in your hand, “sorry excuse for a drink.” she mumbles, as she takes a seat in the empty bar stool beside you. you shoot her a defensive look, “hey, i get buzzed quickly and it has less calories in it.” you mutter, a surprise expression taking over the blonde’s face. you just sounded so undeniably girly.

she doesn’t respond before flagging the bartender down, “one long island iced tea, and two shots of tequila.” she orders, handing the bartender her card as she speaks. you gaze at her, “jesus, blondie, rough day?” you can’t help but ask, and leighton sighs. “rough week. you wouldn’t even know the half of it.” she responds, as the bartender begins to make her drinks. “try me.” you challenge, and she glances at you. for a moment she considers closing herself off, but then she remembers what esme and francesca said. about how closed off she was.

she downs a shot that’s placed in front of her and proceeds to tell you everything. how lonely she’s been since she started school, how her brother doesn’t even know how she’s feeling… she even tells you about francesca and esme. “wait, were you really closed off with them?” you ask, and she huffs. “closed off is a little bit of a stretch.” she responds, and you flash her an “are you serious” sort of expression. “you said you were friends with them since you were kids. you aren’t supposed to be closed off with them.” you remind her, and she frowns, taking a long swig of her drunk, finishing the rest of it in a gulp.

“now you sound like them.” she states, causing you to scoff. “look, i’m not saying you being closed off was entirely your fault, blondie. i mean, those girls must’ve been pretty shitty if it made you wanna hide who you really are.” you tell her, and she goes quiet. “i think you just naturally hide yourself from everyone. i mean, i thought i had a little bit of you figured out, then i saw you in this place…” you trail off, and the blood rises to leighton’s cheeks.

“didn’t expect a rude “rich-priss” like me to be in here?” she questions, and the way the ends of your lips quirk upwards causes the butterflies in her stomach to flutter. “exactly. i thought you were more of a frat party kind of girl. i’m sure those kind of boys go crazy over you, blondie.” the way your eyes roam over her mercilessly causes a strange heat in her abdomen. she shakes her head, the thought of frat boys making her snicker, “yeah, they’re into anything with long legs.” she murmurs, “good thing i hate men.” she adds, and your eyebrows seems to raise in interest.

“i just mean—“ she tries, but you cut her off,

“hey, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. there’s plenty enough about guys to hate.” you assure her, and she sinks into her seat. “is that why you’re here tonight instead of hanging out on campus?” she questions, “don’t think i haven’t noticed how many jocks are suddenly going into the library now. just cause you’re working there.” she adds, blabbering slightly. your smile widens at the very leighton-like compliment. “tell me about it, i don’t even think some of the guys who’ve gone in there can read past an eighth grade level.” you throw out, and leighton releases this carefree laugh that causes you to stare at her in awe.

thankfully the look of adoration you’re flashing her goes unnoticed as she adds, “eighth grade is generous.” she jokes, making you giggle.

things change between you and leighton after that. you’re sort of the first person who makes her feel normal. you don’t really expect her to be anything, and talking to you is so much easier than talking to anyone else. eventually leighton begins to find herself, and ends up growing close to her roommate and her roommate’s friend group. you smile at her whenever you see them in the library, and the blonde doesn’t hesitate to approach you.

even though she’s reluctant to admit it to herself, she begins to realize she’s developing a bit of a soft spot for you. maybe it’s more than “a bit”. she starts to sought you out in every room she enters, and every time she’s on campus. when she enters the library, she beelines to wherever you are. you’d be lying if you said leighton isn’t the best part of your days; she is. it’s silly, really, every morning you wake up and get ready with the hopes that maybe she’ll pop up in the library.

when she does stop by, she attempts to make it seem like she’s looking for a book. she doesn’t want you to know that sometimes she just drops by when she wants to see you. so maybe leighton is sweet on you; after hooking up with a few girls at the beginning of the semester she began to notice women more and more. she noticed you the first time she saw you. even though you were nothing like what leighton was usually into; you were soft, and sweet underneath all the sarcastic and witty remarks. you weren’t vastly intelligent, but you were really smart. you read more than anyone she knew.

it only takes leighton four months to pick up on everything about you. your mannerisms, what makes you laugh, your interests, and your disinterests. she pays so much attention to you, she doesn’t even realize she’s becoming enthralled by you. even her friends notice how soft leighton is with you. it’s much more than just a silly crush though; leighton thinks of you as a confidant, and more importantly one of her close friends. you’re actually the first person she tells when she begins to see alicia.

though you feel a little jealous about it, you’re happy leighton is finally coming to terms with who she is. you even tell her this, and it causes leighton’s heart to swell. she still hasn’t figured out why her heartbeat quickens around you, or what the fluttering sensation in her belly is that’s caused by your laugh… but she is trying not to ruin the best friendship she’s had.

you never meet “alicia”. you aren’t sure what they look like, what their last name is, or how they behave around leighton. though you do notice a lighter aura around the blonde. it’s nice to see her so relaxed, and not so tightly wound up. though the relaxation was short lived because one evening leighton comes storming into the library, and she’s glaring daggers at anything in her way.

“woah, hey, what’s wrong?” you ask, immediately hopping off the edge of the desk you were sitting on. you close the book you had been reading, and your attention is suddenly on the raging force of nature in front of you. “alicia broke up with me. you remember how i told you they got upset about me asking them to take down that picture?” she asks, trying to keep her voice at a leveled tone, but you can hear the bitterness seeping through. you nod, “the one with your expensive ass purse in the back that would’ve been a total give away?” you ask, and she nods, not even adding onto your sarcasm. usually she would.

you frown, “what happened?” you ask her in a gentler manner, “they said they didn’t want to be with someone who’s not out. they don’t want to my secret.” you frown, looking visibly upset by the revelation. “are they serious? it’s been like two months, that’s like a blink! how does alicia expect you to be ready in two months?�� you sound just as vexed as leighton, and it causes the blonde’s anger to simmer ever so slightly. “that’s what i said… i haven’t even told my friends… you’re the only person who knows.” the taller girl reveals in this washed out voice that makes your stomach flip.

“yeah, but that’s different. i’m just me.” you shrug, and she furrows her eyebrows, “it’s just easier for me to talk to you, and be me around you.“ she adds, and the heat rises to your cheeks. “why?” you can’t help but ask, and leighton looks taken back by the question. as if she’s never even thought twice about it. she pauses before giving you a little shrug, momentarily forgetting all about her breakup. “well, you’re you.” she explains vaguely, and you let out a breathless little chuckle.

“i’ll take that as a compliment, blondie.” you taunt her, and she feels a smile tugging at her lips for the first time all day. “take it any way you want.” she responds, and you grin. “look, my shift ends in like twelve minutes. wanna go get a few drinks? on me.” you promise her and she rolls her eyes. “my dads loaded, remember?” she asks, and you giggle, “okay, drinks are on you then.” you retort, and she lets out this breathless little laugh.

so maybe you make leighton feel better than anyone ever has. after a night of getting drunk and laughing at drunk couples argue in the bar, she finds the courage to tell kimberly she’s gay. after that, telling people gets easier. maybe it’s because she’s realized you’ve become one of the most important people in her life, and she was starting not to care about the opinions of anyone else. in fact, leighton found herself coming to you for your opinion on everything. even what shoes she should buy.

it was amusing; becoming leighton murray’s favorite person. she complains about everything, she’s prissy, and keeps tide sticks in her purse. she’s your polar opposite, yet you can’t get enough of her. every friday night you both end up in that same shitty bar, giggling while talking about nothing and everything. it’s actually become leighton’s favorite part of the week.

you don’t want to admit it’s become your favorite part of the week as well. the longer you spend with her, the harder you fall for her. her cute smile, those intense blue eyes, the way she complains about every single thing. you like everything about her, even the parts that should annoy you and scare you away. a part of you thinks she feels the same way; there are times when you’re both the only two people in the library, and you catch her staring. not to mention how obviously happy she is around you.

“so there’s this party on friday. usually, i wouldn’t go, but whitney begged me. it’s at the kappa sorority house. can you come? please?” she questions pleadingly, and you flash her an uncertain expression. “a party?” you ask ambiguously, and leighton nods eagerly. “yeah, i know how it sounds, but i’ll be there and the drinks are all free. i mean, of course there is that exception to getting drugged but i can totally be your knight in shining armor.” she begins to ramble, and truthfully, you had already decided to go the moment she flashed you those begging eyes. “okay, fine. i’ll go. but to set the record straight, you aren’t a “knight in shining armor”. you’re more like a knight in vicuña wool.” you clarify, and she can’t help but laugh.

you keep your promise and end up at the frat party on friday. though you’ve been here for a whole semester now, you still hadn’t been to a single party. you weren’t sure if the tight flare jeans and tight yet basic fitted top, was good enough, but you tried not to overthink it. you were here because leighton asked you to be, and you were beginning to think you’d do just about anything she’d ask. as soon as you walk into the dimly lit frat house, the loud music and uncomfortable warmth of the room hits you.

you scan the hoard of students for the blonde, and you find her quickly. you smile at the sight of her, except it falters a bit when you notice how many girls are surrounding her. ever since leighton came out, it was no secret she was always getting hit on by various girls now. hell, she got hit on by girls before she was out, but now it was a whole different story. she was getting all sorts of attention, and a part of her really loved it. you could see the cocky smirk etched on to her features, as she holds onto her glass loosely. she doesn’t seem to see you as you get closer to where she is.

that’s when you can hear what she’s saying to one of the brunette’s flirting with her. “none of you are really my type.” she admits, and one of the girls doesn’t even seem phased. “well, what is your type?” she asks, and leighton shrugs. “my perfect woman would probably be 5’6, good style, preferably from a major metropolitan city, blonde…” you feel your heart crack in your chest as you realize you don’t fit any of those categories. you didn’t really have a type, but you certainly knew you were interested in leighton. it hurt to realize you weren’t anything she wanted.

it’s silly how much her words affected you, you shouldn’t have cared. besides, you and leighton are friends. it’s not like you’re anything more… sure she’s nice to you, makes you laugh, visits you at work every day, and even carries your favorite snack in her purse… but it doesn’t mean she wants to be anything more than friends with you. you turn around to leave quickly, you would have to give leighton some lame excuse about why you didn’t show, but it didn’t matter to you right now.

after the party leighton notices something is wrong right away. you had told her you didn’t feel well over text, and when she asked if you were okay, you didn’t text her back until the next morning. throughout the day, leighton was waiting on your replies; which was strange. you always texted her back fast. right after her last class, she makes her way to the library. when she gets there she gets a bit upset to see you don’t even seem remotely busy; yet as she gets closer to you, she can’t help take in how off your demeanor is.

you look sad, but you’re trying to keep your focus on a book that’s laid down on your desk. “hey y/n.” leighton pipes up, causing you to look over in her direction. you look like a deer in headlights, but you a press your lips together in order to force a smile. it doesn’t quite reach your eyes, and it causes a wave of concern to wash over the blonde. “hey leigh.” you greet her, and she eyes you uncertainly. “you didn’t see my texts?” she asks, and you grimace. “i was super busy earlier, i barely got a break ten minutes ago.” you lie easily, and leighton wants to believe you, but she doesn’t.

you were acting weird, and it wasn’t enough for her to call you out on it. “mhm, well i was wondering if you wanted to grab lunch later?” she asks, flashing you a hopeful smile that makes it very hard to say no to her. “i-i can’t tonight. i have to study for my psych test on friday.” it’s not an entire lie; you have a test coming up in your psych class, but you don’t necessarily need to study for it that much. you know most of the material. you try to ignore the way leighton’s face falls in clear disappointment.

“oh, yeah. sure, maybe we can do something tomorrow?” she questions optimistically, and you nod meekly. “y-yeah! i’ll text you.” you assure her, and you mean it. you’re not just going to ghost and avoid leighton, you just needed a few days or so to get over her. or at least try to. “okay… i’ll see you later then.” you can hear the disappointment etched into her voice clear as day. you simply smile and nod, and she holds in the urge to let out a frustrated huff.

the blonde leaves the library feeling unsatisfied, but she isn’t sure what’s wrong so she hopes it passes. the entire day dragged on without you, and sometimes you were one of the few things that could actually get her to smile.

when leighton texts you goodnight later on that night, a wave of guilt washes over you. she was genuinely worried about you, and even though you had a hopeless crush on her, you knew she considered you a real friend. so the next day, you go back to texting leighton about every detail of your day, and when she shows up to visit you, you come up with some lousy excuse claiming to have had a long lasting migraine yesterday. leighton doesn’t buy it, but she’s just glad you aren’t acting different anymore.

the next two weeks are normal; you and leighton go out for drinks every friday, you get lunch from various restaurants and cafe’s together, and she still comes to visit you at the library every day after her classes. you’re back to you usual happy self in leighton’s eyes. maybe you really did have a migraine that day. though what leighton doesn’t know is whenever she’s not around you go back to feeling down. even quieter than usual.

sure, you knew the chances of leighton murray returning your feelings were slim to none… but you thought you had read all the signs correctly. apparently you were wrong. but you didn’t want to dwell on it too much; besides, leighton was just a crush, right? it’s not like you were in love with her or anything.

sure, you had denied every person who’s asked you on a date, or shown interest in you… but that had nothing to do with leighton.

oh who were you kidding? everything you did was because of leighton. she was your dream girl, and was also becoming your bestest friend. but you knew you had to get over her for the sake of that friendship. maybe that’s why you ended up giving your number to dani martinez, one of the girls on the softball team. she was tall, and had dark black hair that fell just bellow her shoulders; her eyes were dark and full of mischief. she flirted with you every time she came into the library, which wasn’t very often, but she was definitely very persistent.

today you had finally given her your number after rejecting her for two months. the gigantic smile that overtook her features as soon as you did, caused you to genuinely giggle. leighton ironically walks into the library as soon as dani walks out, and she greets you with that colgate smile which always causes the butterflies in your belly to burst. “hey you, come on we’re trying this new greek place today.” she tells you.

you flash her that sweet little smile, and that’s when it hits her that this is the first time in a month that she’s seen that genuine smile. it causes her to falter for a moment, “everything okay? you look happy.” she comments, trying not to sound too suspicious. you nod, “yeah, i’m good. come on, let’s go get some greek food.” you tell her, nudging her shoulder with your own. leighton decides not to press any further. she thought things were okay between you two, but perhaps she was wrong.

relax, leighton, you’re probably just overthinking things.

leighton’s subconscious attempts to soothe her, but she can’t help but wonder if maybe she did something wrong. did she say something rude? she had a tendency to say the wrong thing all the time… but you always understood her. you somehow always knew what leighton was trying to say, and it was nice. she felt like she belonged right beside you, and when she was talking to you, opening up came so easily. not to mention how kind you are, and leighton wasn’t blind. she was aware of how beautiful you are.

in her opinion you were perfect. that’s why it was so hard for her to just make a move on you; if you didn’t feel the same, it would crush her. everything you did already affected her, hell, when she thought you were upset with her last month she had a mini panic attack. today was friday and you canceled on her via text. she couldn’t even complain or ask you why, she knew it wasn’t really any of her business what you were doing on a friday night… but you always spent friday nights with her.

she ends up hanging out with whitney. the two were picking up some food from an italian restaurant down the street from the university. whitney has been wanting to try it for weeks, but leighton wasn’t even in the mood to eat. she was too busy wondering if you were busy with someone else tonight, or if you just didn’t want to hang out with her. she didn’t know which option was worse. she quickly gets her answer a few moments later. as if the universe hates her, she hears that carefree giggle of yours that always made her heart lurch in her chest.

her head snaps around at the sound, and the sight of you sitting in front of dani martinez— the softball teams pitcher— causes her heart to sink into the pit in her stomach. her gaze lingers on you as her eyes dare to tread down to see dani’s hand playing with yours on the table. you’re smiling at the raven haired girl with the same smile leighton thinks about nonstop throughout the day. to see it directed at some cliche jock made her angrier than she cared to admit.

dani martinez doesn’t deserve that smile.

“is that y/n?” whitney asks, squinting in your direction, “oh my god, is she here with dani? from the softball team?” the dark haired girl asks in a scandalous manner, causing leighton to scoff. “i’m sure they’re just here as friends or something. if y/n had a date tonight she would’ve told me.” leighton sounds as though she’s trying to convince herself more than her friend, but whitney doesn’t let up. “friends? friends don’t sit across from each other while holding hands.”

leighton frowns, her expression hardening as her gaze fixates on you. “i’m just gonna go ask her.” leighton declares, as she attempts to walk over to you, but whitney’s grasp around her wrist stops her. “you’re gonna crash her date?” she incredulously asks the blonde, who’s angry expression falters for a split second. “what else am i supposed to do? just let dani martinez sweep her off her feet?” leighton asks, and whitney flashes her a pointed look.

“haven’t you had months to make a move on y/n?” whitney inquires pointedly, doing nothing to ease the blonde’s vexation. “i’m working up to it!” leighton answers, agitation seeping through her tone. whitney cocks a brow in clear skepticism, “since when do you work up to anything? you’re the most impatient person i know!” whitney counterpoints, and leighton physically deflates. “it’s just… i don’t wanna ruin our friendship.” leighton’s voice is lower than before, and it causes her friends features to soften.

“yes you do; you’re just afraid she doesn’t feel the same or that it won’t work. it’s okay to be scared, you know?” whitney assures the blonde, who scoffs. “i’m not scared. leighton murray doesn’t get scared.” she tries to sound as confident as usual, but whitney can see right through her. leighton’s eyes trail over to you, and her heart cracks as she sees dani lean over the table to move a strand of hair out of your face. the way your cheeks flush in the same way they do whenever leighton fixes your hair for you, causes pure betrayal to course throughout her body.

she knew you weren’t technically hers, but watching someone else do something she always does for you makes something inside of her snap. “order for whitney.” the hostess says, as she brings out a bag of food. whitney gets distracted for a minute and it’s like leighton’s legs have a mind of their own. she begins to walk up to the table you’re sitting at; dani clearly didn’t know you preferred sitting in a booth.

you clock leighton as soon as you see her approaching the table. your eyes widen in slight panic, not because you don’t want her to interrupt your date, but because you didn’t even tell her about said date. the blonde really isn’t sure what comes over her; she hasn’t acted this rude or catty with you since you two started getting closer. yet as she stands beside your table, gazing at you with this intense pair of blue eyes that tell you firsthand just how upset she is… you know you’re in for it.

she folds her arms, not even bothering to greet you or dani. “hey leigh… what are you doing here?” you sound like you’ve just been caught doing something wrong, when you know you haven’t. you’re single, and not even leighton’s type, so why would she be upset about you having dinner with dani? “whitney and i came to pick up some pasta. what are you doing here?” she practically interrogates you, and before you can even think of a proper response, dani— who can nearly feel the jealousy radiating off of the blonde— beats you to it.

“we’re on a date.” the jock pipes up, and leighton can’t even contain a scoff. “i wasn’t taking to you, babe ruth. i was talking to her.” leighton doesn’t even bother looking at the raven haired girl, who’s jaw nearly falls agape due to the rude attitude of the blonde. you feel yourself getting smaller under her gaze, “i’ll let you two talk, i’m gonna get a drink from the bar.” dani declares as she stands up, and flashes you a small, reassuring smile. her gaze goes serious as she looks at leighton before walking off.

a silence takes over the two of you once you’re alone with the blonde. “this is what you bailed on me for?? shitty italian food with dani martinez?” leighton interrogates you, and your eyes lock with hers. “the foods not that bad.” you try to lighten up the mood, but it clearly doesn’t work because leighton is staring at you with this abnormally cold expression etched onto her features. the anger is still practically seeping off of her, and you can’t figure out why leighton is so upset about you being on a date with dani.

“you ditched our friday night hangout so you could go on a date with some wanna be max kepler.” she sardonically says, and you pause. “i don’t know who max kepler is… but dani is nice, leigh. what’s the actual problem here? i know this isn’t about me canceling.” you call her out, and leighton’s cold exterior falters; for a minute you can see just how betrayed she looks. “i just thought… i thought you’d rather go out with me. not some lame jock.” the way she says the words causes something inside of you to snap.

“of course i’d rather hang out with you, leighton, but dani asked me on a date.” you know it’s a stupid response, and you can tell by the way she’s staring at you with a look of disbelief. “so any lame jock asks you out and you’re saying yes? just like that?” leighton’s voice is catty and vexed, yet it sends a jolt of emotion into you. “well, yeah, at least someone’s asking me out. why do you even care? i’m not your type so who doesn’t matter who i choose to go out with?” you ask her, in an inscrutable manner that she’s never seen from you. leighton looks taken back for a moment, and for less than a second, her confused expression makes you feel a little bad. until you remember her words from that night. she specifically told you that you weren’t her type, you were actually far from it.

“what are you talking about?” she questions demandingly, and you go silent, unable to bring it in yourself to reveal to her that you were at that party a few weeks ago. how were you supposed to tell her that you heard what she said, and you were hurt about it? you didn’t want leighton to know you felt anything for her, you already knew she didn’t feel the same so what was the point of admitting it? you didn’t want to ruin your friendship, and you figured the best way was dating someone else to forget about her.

“y/n, what are you talking about?” leighton repeats, pulling you out of your thoughts. “i’m talking about that party you invited me to last month. i heard you talking to your little fan-girls. about your type.” you pettily throw out before you can even think about taking it back. leighton freezes, her entire demeanor shifting from confused to shocked in less than a second. “y/n i didn’t know you were there if i did—“ you cut her off, flashing her a look of disbelief. “if you did you would’ve what, leighton? lied to spare my feelings?” you inquire, undoubtedly angry.

leighton shakes her head rapidly, “no, i—“ she tries but dani returns before she can. “hey… i got you a strawberry margarita.” the jock has this nervous smile on her face, but leighton doesn’t seem to care that dani’s intentions are clearly pure. she doesn’t want any other girl taking you out on friday nights, and buying you fruity drinks. “we aren’t done talking here, martinez.” leighton angrily says, and you frown. “yes we are. dani and i are getting dessert after this.” you glare at her, mentally telling her to stop and go away.

her shoulders fall, and she visibly deflates. “y/n—“ she tries, but you shake your head. “please just go.” you can barely meet her gaze, and her heart clenches in her chest, as if it’s being squeezed so tight it might pop. the blonde wants to say something else, except she doesn’t know what else to say. or maybe she does. maybe leighton knows she should tell you how much she likes you; how despite you being nothing she’s usually into, she is. she’s very into you.

but she doesn’t.

no, instead leighton turns around and makes her way to where whitney is waiting for her. her best friend has a pointed look on her face; she clearly already knows things didn’t just pan out well for the blonde. “let me guess, she got pissed at you for crashing her date?” whitney questions, and leighton is too deep in thought to even hear the dark haired girl. “did you see y/n at that party last month? you remember the one you invited me to for girls night?” leighton asks, and whitney shakes her head.

“no, i didn’t see her there. why? did something happen?” whitney questions, and the look on leighton’s face tells her everything she needs to know. “oh god, what did you do?” the dark haired girl asks, and leighton’s eyes widen. “okay, first of all, why do you assume i did something? and second of all, it wasn’t even that big of a deal. i don’t know why y/n is being dramatic.” she mutters, “she’s only on a date tonight so she could hurt me. i bet she knew we’d be here.” leighton doesn’t sound convincing in the slightest, “we didn’t even know we were coming here until an hour ago.” whitney points out in an irritated manner.

leighton’s facade falls, and whitney can see the way leighton’s face contorts to a genuine expression. “she heard me talking to a few girls at that party last month… i was just talking out of my ass, you know? i was describing my perfect “type” of woman, and y/n heard.” leighton downplays it, and whitney raises a brow. “well, what did you say your type was?” the dark haired woman inquires, as they make their way to whitney’s dorm room. “i just said my perfect woman would probably be 5’6, good style, preferably from a major metropolitan city, blonde…” leighton’s voice fades off as she repeats her words from last month. there’s this overwhelming sense of dread that comes over her, and whitney stops in her tracks to throw leighton a surprised look.

“you basically said y/n wasn’t anything you wanted, leigh.” she points out, and leighton shakes her head quickly. “but i didn’t mean it! i was mostly describing a girl like me.” leighton admits, and whitney cocks a brow at her best friend, “and how would you feel if you heard her saying she wasn’t into blondes? or if she was describing her dream girl and you didn’t fit any of the criteria?” whitney asks, and leighton goes quiet.

“i have to go back and explain to her—“ leighton tries to speak, but her friend cuts her off with a sharp look and a shake of her head. “not now. she’s on a date, leigh. you gotta let her enjoy what’s left of her night. you can talk to her tomorrow.” whitney pointedly says, and leighton glances down at her shoes, letting out a breath. “fine. i’ll just let daniella try and get her into bed.” leighton bitterly says, and whitney laughs. “girl, y/n is so down bad for you, she’s not going to sleep with dani.” whitney assures her, and leighton sighs, unable to shake the thought from her mind.

tonight was going to be a long night.

[cinnaleaf]

「 FaceTime | Trent Alexander-Arnold 」

summary: your man facetimes you for a yap sesh before his plane takes off

warnings: contains link to tiktok (not mine) to show restaurant mentioned 💌: this is sooo incredibly self indulgent of me but i had to when i saw that video 🫣 begging someone else to do one so i can read 👀 wc: ~1.0k

Your phone lit up with Trent’s name just as you were finishing adding the final touches to your makeup – lip gloss. You smirked, knowing exactly why he was calling. He was supposed to be on his way to a match, but he couldn’t resist checking in on you. When you answered, he was already grinning ear to ear and you could hear his footsteps making it up the plane’s airstairs.

“Couldn’t even wait til you landed, huh?” you tease, dabbing at your lips. “Such a lover boy.”

He laughed, adjusting the camera so you could see him settle into his seat. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. What’s wrong with me wanting to see my girl before I fly out?”

“Nothing…” you smirked, pressing your lips together to smooth out your lip gloss. “But...you literally just saw me a few hours ago.”

“Can’t help it,” he gave you a cheeky grin and leaned closer to the camera, eyes glued to you through the screen. “That face and voice of yours gets me through the day. What am I meant to do on this plane without hearing you before takeoff?”

Your cheeks were hurting from smiling so much by this point, so you tucked your lips, trying to settle the butterflies fluttering around in your stomach. “You’re such a sweet talker, T. Very Libra of you.”

“I’m just being honest, baby,” he mused. “I could listen to you all day and never get enough.”

You tilted your head slightly, softening your voice into playful flirtation. “And I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that.”

He smirked, but then he started chomping on his gum which made you roll your eyes. “Boy...you and that gum. What’s that about?”

He tilted his head back, fake annoyed. “Agh, here you go again. It helps me focus, baby.”

“Mhm..sure” you teased, pretending to be skeptical. “Whatever you need to tell yourself to feed your addiction, I guess.”

“Nah, serious. My head is clearer when I’m chewing gum.”

Trent shuffled in his seat a bit as his teammates started settling down around him, and then he lowered his voice, like he didn’t want them to hear him sweet-talking you.

You tried not to laugh, but you couldn’t help it. “Trying to keep your smooth talk on the low, huh? Don’t want your boys to know you’re soft for me?”

He grinned, his gaze still fixated on you. “Trust me, they already know.” Trent pulled his phone back a bit and his thumb hovered over the screen like he was about to tap a button. The telltale sign of a screenshot being taken popped up on your phone and you squinted at the screen.

“Are you taking pictures of me?” you asked playfully accusatively, striking a playful pose for him.

“Yeah I am,” he flashed you a cheeky grin. “Gotta capture how good you look right now.”

Him gassing you up like that had you feeling very flirty, so you played along and gave him a few more poses before sliding into a sultry one. You leaned forward just enough, pretending you were fixing your lip gloss so you could give him a nice view of your cleavage cutting dangerously low in your dress.

Trent’s eyes widened and he looked around, trying to hide his phone. “Nah, save that for when I’m alone” he teased, but you saw him quickly snap another screenshot anyway.

“Mmm..seems like you liked it though?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, I did… But I won’t keep you too long..gotta let you get on with your night. Girls night, right?”

You nodded, running your hands over your hair to adjust two strands of your braids to frame your face. “You have to make an assist or get a goal tonight..I’m not playing with you,” you bantered, narrowing your eyes.

“Oh, you giving me a challenge, huh? May have to look at those pics I just took to help me pull off something special on the pitch,” he winked. “All for you.” You were too busy still messing with your hair to respond, but you heard him and gave him an eye roll because he was being extremely corny. A couple of silent seconds followed before he added, “When I’m back we’re going to Fenix. Already have date night planned out.”

The thought of a date he planned himself made you smile and gave you something a little extra to look forward to. “It doesn't sound like I have much of a choice..but I’m down regardless.” you said jokingly, still fiddling with your braids to pull the curly pieces in place perfectly. Trent’s gaze lingered on his screen for a moment, his voice dropping a notch as he watched you in awe.

“Damn. I can’t wait to get back home to you. Enjoy your night, alright?”

“Yeah..” you replied back softly, blown away by how intense this Facetime call was. Trent always had a way of making you feel like no distance could dull the connection the two of you shared, even if it was through pixels on a screen at the moment. “Good luck tonight, T.” You blew him a kiss with your hand. “I love you.”

You noticed someone next to him lean into view, clearly trying to get in on the moment. A snicker came from off-screen – probably Szobo.

“I love you too,” Trent said in a low tone before quickly shoving Szobo back out of the frame. “Ring me when you get back home?”

You nodded. “I will. Byeee, miss you already.”

“Same. Bye, baby.” he echoed, and the screen went back to your home screen.

You sat there for a moment staring at the screen, completely mesmerised by what was supposed to be a simple Facetime call.

This silly, gum chewing, puppy eyed, bow legged man shouldn’t have you wrapped around his finger like this, yet here you were grinning ear to ear like an absolute idiot.

Another victim of a charismatic Libra man...but you liked it.