#not quite sure about the colours but I give up

[call-me-chips]

Alrighty this is gonna be long but I'm bored so HERE WE GOOO

Kyomu Mori questions

1.Are they associated with a certain colour? What colour do they wear the most?

Because if his hair colour, I'd say he's accosiated with light blue. He usually wears more muted-ish colours like grey, dark blue, and white, but he loves wearing yellow

2. What sort of music would they like? Have you thought about what genres or bands do they lean towards? Do they have a favorite song?

He prefers rock music. Basically any music that makes you feel like you can take on the world. He loves vibing to those. And just because I don't have a fav song, neither does he 😅 (my fav songs change within a week)

3. Weapon of choice? Any particular reason they chose their weapon?

Guns. Any kind of gun, though he prefers pistols and other small, handheld ones. He likes guns because he's always been talented with them. That, and that he was raised by Snipe

4. How crafty/resourceful are they?

I'd say about a 7-7.5 out of ten for this one. Not the greatest, but he can conjure up some resourcefulness when he wants to

5. How do they typically dress? Does their wardrobe lean more toward practicality or aesthetics?

Depending on how he's feeling, his clothing choice changes. On a good day, he'll go for a nice-fitting tank top. On a bad day, he night go for a loose-fitting t-shirt. His clothing style is casual, but kinda aesthetic in a sort of steetsy-kinda way(??). Fashion/aesthetics are important for him, but you'll never catch him wearing anything with pockets he can't shove his whole hand into

6. How do they wear their hair? Do they care a lot about how their hair looks?

He almost always wears his hair in a high ponytail. Although he does this to get his hair out of the way, he always makes sure his hair looks presentable. He's the kinda guy to use a bit too much conditioner

7. Favourite animal? Why?

Dogs. Specifically german shepherds. Because he thinks guard dogs are cool af

8. Do they have a nickname? Who gave it to them? If it's not derived from their real name, what's the story behind it?

His nickname is Kyo. Ashido gave him it randomly one day, and Kaminari immediately started using it too

9. Favourite food? Least favourite? Are they a picky eater? Do they have any dietary restrictions?

Fav: Burgers. Specifically bacon burgers. Least fav: Tomatoes. He's not really a picky eater, but he's not even TOUCHING anything woth tomatoes in it. And he doesn't have any dietary restrictions

10. If they wear jewelry, what kind? Do they prefer silver or gold? Do they have a favourite gem?

He wears earrings and has an eyebrow piercing, but he'll toss on a necklace or two if he wants to look presentable when going out

11. What do they have in common with you? How are they different? Would you get along with them?

He doesn't have a lot in common with me. Ig we both question authority?? Also we both live guns. Overall, he's MUCH more confident than me. We are quite different. I'd say I wouldn't get along the greatest with him, mainly cuz he likes physical touch, and that is something I HATE. You touch me randomly and I freeze, as well as shoot you a dirty look XD

12. How long have they been around? Do you know their birthday? Is their birthday the day you made them or another day? What do they think of celebrating birthdays?

He has been around for 16 and a bit years, and his birthday is on April 6th. This is not the day I made him (actually this is the first I'm hearing of making their release date into their actual birthday. I shall do this for another of my ocs :) ). He loves his birthday cuz it gives him attention xD

13. What languages do they speak? How fluently?

He can speak Japanese, English, and Filipino. He speaks Japanese fluently. His English isn't the greatest, but he's learning from school. His Filipino is REALLY rusty, but he can hold a basic conversation. He knows Filipino because his father is from the Philippines, and he learned the language as a kid, but he hasn't really used it since highschool

14. Are they any good with numbers?

Not really sure how to interpret this, but he's not the greatest at math

15. How big or small is their family? Who did they live with growing up? Do they live with anyone now?

His parents died. He lived with Snipe growing up. Currently, he's living in the UA dorms

16. Do they have any pets? What do they call their pets?

He doesn't have any pets, but he wants a dog. He also kinda maybe sorta wants a bird

17. How did they spend their summers/free time as a child?

He spent a lot of his time at the shooting range growing up, and it's always been a place of comfort to him

18. Their opinion on lying, stealing, and killing?

He thinks they're bad, obviously. But,,, he does think they are justified, and even necessary, in many cases

19. Are they quick to anger? What sets them off?

He doesn't really anger quickly. He's more laid back. And although he does get angry when someone hurts/threatens his friends, he also gets angry when many little things go wrong. Like, you know those days where everything seems to go wrong and you're tripping on things and dropping things? Yeah that gets him angy quickly

20. If applicable, can they drive? If they have their own, what colour is their vehicle? Is the inside neat and tidy, or a mess?

The legal driving age in Japan is 18, so he can't drive. But he may or may not fail many a driving test in the future... Also he has sworn that his future car WILL have racing stripes.

21. Their favourite place to be?

The shooting range

22. Do they sleep well at night?

Kyomu sleeps like a little baby, if that baby takes up the whole bed while sleeping and falls off the bed randomly in the night

23. How would you describe their voice? Can they sing?

His voice is on the louder side. I don't have a voice claim yet, but I may find one eventually. Also he can't sing. Granted, it's def not the worst out there, but it couldn't be considered "good"

24. Do they have any creative hobbies? (Art, writing, music, etc.)

He likes doing graffiti, tho he doesn't do it often. Other than that, he likes to listen to music

25. How good/bad is their hearing? What about their eyesight?

His hearing is a little better than what is considered normal, and his eyesight is good. Little fun fact about his eyesight: He sees yellow slightly better than any other colour. Yellow is very slightly more vibrant and bright to him

26. How do they move? Are they clumsy? Light on their feet? Do they use mobility aids?

Because of how his legs are built, he is slightly more light on his feet. His footsteps don't make a lot of noise. He can be a bit clumsy tho. He's not the most careful with his actions

27. If applicable, do they have a favorite sport? Do they play any sports or prefer to watch?

He likes basketball (probably cuz Kyomu has a height advantage over his friends). Watching sports is boring to him, and he prefers to play some friendly basketball with his friends

28. How do they show they care about someone? How do they express that they don't like someone?

Kyomu shows he likes someone by doing things with them and touching them (not like that. Stop it.). He'll ruffle his friends' hair or playfully poke them, and he's always down to give a massage if asked. Sometimes he'll even find his tail involuntarily grazing by the legs of those he loves.

29. Are they accosiated with any particular element (air, earth, fire, water)?

I don't think he's really "accosiated" with an element, but he'd probably be water

30. Do they smell like anything notable?

Nope. The only notable smell-related thing I can think of is that he sometimes uses women's deodorant because it smells better than men's "forest mud deodorant" or whatever it's named xD

31. Do they like receiving gifts? Giving gifts? What is their ideal gift?

He loves receiving gifts, but not giving so much, because he rever really knows what to get people. His ideal gift is any like, small, neat, unique, silly trinket. He loves collecting silly shit his friends give him

32. Do they have any hobbies that aren't particularly self-destructive, just maybe odd?

Not a hobby, but he drinks the pickle juice out of the jar when he finishes all the pickles.

33. If applicable, how would your other characters describe them? I mean specifically the people around them.

I don't have any other Mha ocs as of rn, but I can do this for his friends. Also I'm not gonna go into how each character would describe him, so ima do how the characters see him Kaminari, Ashido, and Sero see him as kinda like a cool older brother, and they live hanging out with him Kirishima and Jirou see him as a wee bit much, but they still love him and love the energy that he brings to class. Bakugou doesn't like him. Especially cuz Kyomu is taller than him and he doesn't like that Others like Iida, Midoriya, and Ochako don't care for his rebellious personality, but they will admit that he brings up the mood of just about whatever situation he finds himself in

(The thing above is being a bitch and is refusing to be coloured blue and now we must all suffer.)

34. How would your character describe themselves? It doesn't have to line up with who they really are.

Kyomu thinks of himself as more or less the "popular kid" that just about everyone likes. He would describe himself as brave, strong, and willing to stick up for what he thinks is right

35. Do they ever return home?

. . . . ?? He never "left" home?? I mean, he is living in the dorms rn, but idk what this question is getting at :/

Tagging @bluespider008 because I found these questions cuz you posted yours, but I didn't want this to take up a ton of space on my blog, so I just reblogged the original post 😅

Idk if you wanna see this, but you're seeing it now!

Also feel free to reblog with your oc :)

i wanted to make an oc ask game 😋 things i like to ask people abt their characters:

are they associated with a certain color? what color do they wear the most?

what sort of music would they like? have you thought about what genres or bands do they lean towards? do they have a favorite song?

weapon of choice? any particular reason they chose their weapon?

how crafty/resourceful are they?

how do they typically dress? does their wardrobe lean more towards practicality or aesthetics?

how do they wear their hair? do they care a lot how their hair looks?

favorite animal? why?

do they have a nickname? who gave it to them? if it's not derived from their real name, what's the story behind it?

favorite food? least favorite? are they a picky eater? do they have any dietary restrictions?

if they wear jewelry, what kind? do they prefer silver or gold? do they have a favorite gem?

what do they have in common with you? how are they different? would you get along with them?

how long have they been around? do you know their birthday? is their birthday the day you made them or another day? what do they think of celebrating birthdays?

what languages do they speak? how fluently?

are they any good with numbers?

how big or small is their family? who did they live with growing up? do they live with anyone now?

do they have any pets? what do they call their pets?

how did they spend their summers/free time as a child?

their opinion on lying, stealing, and killing?

are they quick to anger? what sets them off?

if applicable, can they drive? if they have their own, what color is their vehicle? is the inside neat and tidy, or a mess?

their favorite place to be?

do they sleep well at night?

how would you describe their voice? can they sing?

do they have any creative hobbies? (art, writing, music, etc)

how good/bad is their hearing? what about their eyesight?

how do they move? are they clumsy? light on their feet? do they use mobility aids?

if applicable, do they have a favorite sport? do they play any sports or prefer to watch?

how do they show that they care about someone? how do they express that they don't like someone?

are they associated with any particular element (air, earth, fire, water)?

do they smell like anything notable?

do they like receiving gifts? giving gifts? what is their ideal gift?

do they have any habits that aren't particularly self-destructive, just maybe odd?

if applicable, how would your other characters describe them? i mean specifically the people around them.

how would your character describe themselves? it doesn't have to line up with how they really are.

do they ever return home?

[eff4freddie]

Sittin'

Joel Miller x F!Babysitter Reader No outbreak Joel Miller AU - Words: 10k

Rating: Explicit, Minors DNI

You're working your way through medical school, supporting yourself by taking the occasional babysitting gig. One local single Dad needs someone to look after his 10 year old daughter Sarah on nights when he's late back from the jobsite. And it's all fine and good until your neglectful boyfriend decides to crash the party. Warnings: small age gap (Joel is 32, reader is in medical school), reader is babysitting Sarah as a side hustle to support her studies, Sarah is cute, reader has a shit boyfriend, Joel is trying really hard to resist, exhibitionism, thigh-riding, praise, dirty talk, thigh-humping, oral (f receiving), fingering, general defiling of a perfectly good granite countertop, Joel has opinions about how a woman should be treated as is not afraid to demonstrate them.

A/N: My attempts at writing PWP almost always end up like 10k lol. Whatever, I like a good slow burn. If you enjoy, comments and reblogs are always appreciated. Thank you - Freddie x

It was a hot night, the latest in a long line. You knew you were lucky getting to spend some of your evenings over at the Millers, simply because it meant you got to sit under Mr Miller’s air conditioner, the box wedged firm into the window in the living room, little droplets of water condensing and running down the pane of glass underneath it. You’d put a dishtowel down to protect the carpet.

You knew you were lucky, too, because once Sarah went off to bed you could spread your books over Mr Miller’s kitchen table, listening to the buzzing of the fridge as you tried to memorise the functions of the lobes in the brain. In class, your biomedicine professor had blown up balloons and handed out sharpies, inviting her students to draw the lobes in the right place, and yours had popped when you pressed too hard on the occipital lobe, and your lab partner had laughed and said that it was ironic, but you couldn’t figure it: the motor cortex would have been ironic, this was just startling.

You cracked your neck, rolling your shoulders and looking over to the clock on the wall. Nearly 10:30 PM. Mr Miller would be coming back soon.

Sarah was a good kid, and some nights she stayed up to ‘help’ you study, mostly by pointing to pictures in your textbooks and asking you to explain them to her. She’d hated the full-page coloured illustration of the eye, but had been fascinated by the heart, trailing her finger along the arteries, into the chambers, tracing the pathway in and out again. You’d make a cardiologist of her, yet.

Tonight, she’d only made it to twenty minutes past eight, her eyes growing heavy as she turned the pages of your book. This one didn’t have as many pictures, and you could sense her fatigue in the stuffy air.

‘What kind of doctor do you want to be?’ she’d asked, and you’d pulled your hair up off your neck to try and get some air on your skin. You weren’t sure how to explain it without sounding gruesome, without giving her nightmares. She was only 10.

‘When people have emergencies and they have to go to the hospital right away, they need to see a doctor to patch them back up again…’ you’d said, and she’d stared at you with a tiresome expression on her face.

‘I’m not a baby,’ she said, disapproving. You smiled at her.

‘Trauma surgeon,’ you replied. She nodded her head, deeming your answer satisfactory, and taking herself up the stairs to bed.

She was one of the easiest kids you’d ever babysat for, and over the years you’d racked up quite a roster. You’d started in high school, first saving up enough for the prom dress right in the storefront window, and then later keeping yourself fed during your undergrad. When you’d moved to Austin you’d rented a studio apartment in the back garden of a little old lady, a woman who had revealed herself to be an excellent cook if militant about her hydrangeas. You’d letterboxed the neighbourhood and picked up a few odd jobs but nothing lasting, until the evening you’d got a call from a very frantic Mr Miller, who was so beside himself he only asked how quick you could get there and didn’t even ask about your rates.

It turned out Mr Miller got caught up at the jobsite some nights, staying back later than he expected with his little brother to finish framing, or guttering, or wiring. He was running out of favours with his neighbours, he’d explained, and Sarah was still too little to feed herself. You hadn’t minded, his deep southern drawl doing something to you even over the phone, such that you found yourself cancelling plans just to go and sit on his couch that very evening, textbook over your knees.

Some nights with Sarah tucked up fast asleep you’d stand and stare at the pictures of the two of them, her holding up a soccer trophy nearly twice her size, him standing with his hand in his pocket, his other over the shoulders of a younger man you assumed was Tommy. If you were feeling particularly bold, or were procrastinating especially hard, you’d extend a finger and run them up and down the strings of Joel’s guitar, resting sentinel against the windowsill. You imagined his fingers pushing into the fretboard, the strings indenting the flesh.

It wasn’t even that he was handsome, although he definitely was. He was a young father, doing it almost entirely alone, and on any other man that would have made for grumpy, for overly tired, for entitled. On Mr Miller it made for kindness, for a nurturing type of strength, corded tight under his skin. For a single dad always thinking about his daughter, only ever wanting the best for her. For a man focussed on doing right for his family, small as it was.

You rolled your shoulders, the pre-frontal cortex just about beating you for the night. Just as you were wondering if the Millers kept any ice cream in the freezer, you heard the key in the front door. You listened as Joel followed the same routine, first toeing off his boots, letting out a little grunt as the second one hit the floor. You heard him huff as he stretched his back, rolling his hips in a little circle to try and get some stretch into them, before dropping his keys on the table and padding, surprisingly light on his socked feet, into the kitchen.

‘Hey, Sweetheart,’ he said, his pet name for you emerging on only the second time you’d sat for him and still, even after this many months, causing your stomach to do a little flipper.

‘Evening, Mr Miller,’ you said, and he tutted at you, moving over to the fridge and extracting a beer.

‘Told ya not to call me that,’ he muttered, but you could see the grin behind it. ‘How was my girl tonight?’

‘Perfect, as always,’ you said, smiling at him as he poured you a glass of sweet tea from the jug in the fridge without bothering to ask if you wanted any. You accepted it gratefully, suddenly noticing how dry your throat had become.

‘She’s a good kid,’ he said. He sat down, heavy, in the chair opposite you. The ceiling lamp buzzed above you both, and the light bounced off the fine sheen of sweat accumulating on his arms, on his cheeks. He glowed, even if it was under a layer of exhaustion.

‘You look tired, Mr Miller,’ you said, and he cocked a little grin.

‘You sayin’ I look like shit, Sweetheart?’ he asked.

‘No, never,’ you said, instantly regretting how quickly, how fervently, you had responded. He continued to grin at you, lopsided, the dimple on his right cheek popping out to greet you.

‘What is it tonight?’ he asked, and you held up your book to him. ‘The bio-mech-an-ics-of-thought: phys-ee-ol-o-gee of the brain,’ he intoned, before letting out a low whistle. ‘I don’t know how you do it,’ he said.

‘It’s interesting,’ you defended, unsure why. ‘So long as there are diagrams,’ you added.

‘So that’s where the magic happens?’ he asked, gesturing to the illustrated image of the brain in the centre of the page you had been working from.

‘This is where thought happens,’ you nodded. ‘Kind of like…where decisions are made.’

‘Must be a woman’s brain,’ Joel deadpanned, taking a swig of his beer. ‘Can guarantee men make their decisions someplace else.’

You caught a glimpse of something dark in his eyes as he glanced over you. You blushed, swearing it was just the heat, and furious with yourself. This wasn’t like you; you weren’t some shrinking violet type. You’d had boyfriends, you’d had fun in college. You had no idea what it was about Mr Miller that made you immediately go all giggly, all girly, but whatever it was you wished it would fuck off.

The two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence. You were used to this from him, the way his mind seemed to drift, the way he seemed content enough to let it. Gently, so as not to jolt him out of his thoughts, you closed your book, gathered your pens together. Everything tucked away in your bag you were surprised when you looked up to see he was watching you.

‘Apparently Sarah’s taken an interest in science,’ he said after a moment, his warm eyes watching yours for a second. You felt a tingle of pride in your chest.

‘Oh yeah?’ you asked.

‘Mmhmm, apparently after she pushed Simon Strzelecki off the monkey bars, she offered to patch him up again.’

You grinned before you were able to catch yourself.

‘That’s…very, umm…’ you trailed off and he huffed out a little laugh.

‘It’s very Sarah,’ he agreed.

‘M’sorry, Mr Miller…’ you started, but Joel stood up, waving you off.

‘Don’t be, Strzelecki’s a little shit’f the highest order,’ he said. ‘You gonna let me give ya a lift this time?’ he asked, and this time you shook your head at him.

‘No, I can walk it.’

‘Y’know I don’t like ya walkin’ around out there on yer’own,’ he grumbled, and you felt the insane urge to reach your hand out to rest on his bicep, to ease his evident discomfort.

‘I can handle it,’ you said, instead.

Something stole over his face for a moment, a sharpness in his eyes. For a moment you gazed up at him, the furrow in his brow deepening, the muscles in his jaw twitching as his eyes roamed over your face. Standing this close to him you were reminded how tall, how broad he really was. You dropped your eyes to his arms, crossed over his chest, and imagined him holding you with them, circling them around your back as you leant, safe, into his skin. You blinked yourself back to reality, worried for a second he could read your thoughts.

‘Know you can handle it,’ he said, his voice low, ‘just don’t like it, is all.’

You did this every time, this stand-off. You worried one night you would waver.

‘G’night, Mr Miller,’ you said, over dry lips. He nodded, once, at you, still evidently displeased something dark, something haunted, passing over his features before he brought them back into line.

He stood on the front porch, light still on, until you rounded his driveway and disappeared past the oak tree by the front lawn.

--

Mick was a guy from your Tuesday morning bio class, and you only realised he was your boyfriend when he introduced you to a few of his friends that way. You’d just gone with it, because it had seemed easier, and he was nice if a little full of himself at times. He was the son of the one the big ranching families, had been almost guaranteed a position at whatever college he chose on the day of his birth, hadn’t ever really considered that money was something you saved, something you worked for.

But he would never let you pay for dinner, and often he showed up to class holding a coffee just for you. You’d been on your own for a long time, had been self-sufficient well before you had any business to, and it was kind of nice to let yourself be cared for, if that’s what this was.

On nights when you had to work he would pout and complain, and you told yourself it was because he cared about you, because he wanted you around, even if some part of you knew he just didn’t like to be alone. Every once and while he would ask if he could come with you, ‘feel you up on the couch like it’s eighth grade’, and it made you feel exactly fourteen years old, like this was a summer job you had failed to grow out of. It didn’t help that he more than once referred to your sitting job as ‘cute’. His mother had stayed at home the moment she fell pregnant with Mick’s older brother, and as far as you could tell was yet to leave. You never asked about a future with Mick, terrified of what kind of picture he would paint.

On one such evening, after he’d been particularly insistent that you blow off your job and come and hang out with him and his friends, he’d starting blowing up your phone just as Mr Miller sat down beside you, weary-boned and sleepy-eyed, at his kitchen table.

You ignored the calls, tried to carry on reading even as Mr Miller arched his brow at your insistently vibrating device. You huffed, knowing at some point Mick would get bored.

‘You’re popular tonight?’ Joel prompted after a while, making you lose your place in the paragraph you’d read over at least ten times already.

You huffed out a sigh, reaching out and scrolling through the stream of notifications. He’d started texting, sometimes just sending a single emoji, sometimes entire paragraphs about how badly you were letting him down. You felt an ache bloom behind your right eye socket, and you reached up to your temple to try and massage it away.

‘It’s my boyfriend,’ you told him, and with your eyes still closed you didn’t see him scowl. ‘He wants me to come out to some bar with him and his drunk friends.’

Joel considered this for a long moment. When you opened your eyes they blurred under the sudden light, and you blinked away sleep to see him clearly again.

‘You should be out with your friends, it’s a Friday night…’ he said, almost looking guilty for a moment, and you rushed to reassure him.

‘No, no trust me…this is better. They’re boring when they’re drunk. And also when they’re sober.’

Joel smiled, straining just slightly, at this.

‘He a good man?’ he asked, and you scoffed a little.

‘He’s barely a man at all,’ you said, automatically. Later you’d reflect on this moment, feel it turn you inside out and scold your skin with the heat of your own shame. For now, though, you were too tired, and it was too hot in the kitchen, for you to catch it.

Joel caught it, though. He cleared his throat.

‘We met at college, and he’s…well, he’s kind of set up for life. He doesn’t have to worry about grades, or proving himself. He’s almost guaranteed his residency.’ You were aware you were starting to sound bitter, and maybe you were just a little. Something about Mr Miller, sitting at his kitchen table late in the evening with a beer, muscles wrapped in a plaid, his soft brown eyes watching you carefully, made you think he’d understand.

‘He doesn’t make you feel good enough for him?’ he asked, after a while.

You considered this, eventually shrugging your shoulders. ‘I don’t know if he makes me feel anything,’ you said, truthfully.

Joel leaned forward, elbows on the table, his chin resting in his hand as he watched you, gazed at your face.

‘What do you want him to make you feel?’ he asked.

‘Seen,’ you said, without hesitation.

‘Just seen?’ he asked. His voice was deathly quiet now, almost entirely gravel. His eyes were burning, sharp. You watched as they darkened, stealing your breath out from under you.

‘Desired,’ you almost whispered. He dropped a hand to the table, his fingertips only inches from yours, resting casual on your textbook.

‘What man’s out there runnin’ round this town not desirin’ you?’ he asked, almost as though he couldn’t believe it, and you felt scorching heat on your cheeks, rushing down your sternum, pooling heavy in your core.

You blinked, terrified to move in case you broke whatever spell had befallen him. He turned thoughtful, his eyes dropping to the woodgrain of the table.

‘Y’been working a lot here…can’t imagine hanging out with me and a ten-year-old girl is the same as bein’ out there, living your youth…’

You felt something heavy shift in your belly, something essential curdle and erode.

‘I like it here, Mr Miller,’ you said, all big eyes and almost quivering lower lip. Joel moved away, sitting up straight and peeling the label off his beer.

‘Pretty thing like you, shouldn’t be spendin’ all night waitin’ on us,’ he said, almost to himself. You shook your head again, but he was closing off on you, you could see it in the way his shoulders were folding, the way his mouth was tugging down at the corners.

Without even considering it, operating almost entirely on instinct, you reached your hand out to rest on his bicep. You watched as his eyes drifted close, a long exhale through his nose. He grimaced, almost like you were hurting him, until he lifted his hand and held yours fast to him, wrapping his paw around you.

‘I really love spending time with Sarah,’ you said, just over a whisper, as he stared hard at the table. You could sense he was avoiding your gaze, and you wanted to say something to draw him to you, wanted to give him a little nugget of truth that he could take into himself, hold deep and quiet in his depths. ‘I love spending time with you,’ you said.

He raised his eyes to yours. His hand was so warm over yours, your cheeks so pink in the sleepless heat of the late evening. You saw his eyes fall to your lips and you slipped your hand from under his, reaching up to trace the contours of his jaw with your fingertips.

‘Baby…’ he whispered, ‘I been’ resistin’ you so long, don’t know if I can…’ and you pushed a finger to his lips. You didn’t want him to break whatever spell you were both suddenly under. Didn’t want him to take this from you both, whatever it was turning out to be.

‘Don’t argue,’ you instructed, quietly. With brows saddled, he nodded his head.

And he didn’t argue. Not when you moved your finger from his lips and traced it down over the hollow of his neck, over to his pulse where it thundered under your tough.

Didn’t argue when you leant forward, pressing your nose to his, giving him time to pull away, to move from your lips.

Didn’t argue when you pressed them to his, a little soft and quiet thing, earning you a wanting gasp from him, a prize you would hold in the cavity of your chest so long as your heart stayed beating.

Later, when you had gathered yourselves, when he had gazed at you and you had felt the want in him mixing with the regret, with the necessity of the un-having corrupting the want to take and take and take, you had simply gathered your books, tucking them quiet and neat into the bag at your feet. He didn’t argue with you about driving you home that night, suddenly quiet in a way that set your teeth on edge, and you felt an ache in your belly you couldn’t account for when he closed the door. You waited behind the trunk of the tree at the end of his driveway, counting the minutes he left the light on for you after you’d slipped from view, giving up when you got past 15.

--

You were unsettled. Joel hadn’t called for two weeks, and you were starting to worry that you’d ruined things, your silly little kiss bubbling corrosive at the base of your spine. You couldn’t help going over the whole evening again and again in your head.

You should have told him you preferred spending the nights at his house, that the way it smelt like play-dough and sometimes sawdust, sometimes pine, was so unique to the both of them that you felt your nerves settle the moment you stepped over the threshold. That the house was warm and quiet, that you could spread out your books and something essential to you, that in this space with them you felt more yourself than anywhere else on the planet, even locked away in your little studio apartment, even just you and your reflection in the bathroom mirror.

You wanted to tell him Sarah was funny, and smart, and kind, and being around her made you nostalgic for the childhood you never had but ached for, that you felt all that time with her she was giving you something precious and absent, something simple and something sweet. That there were nights you weren’t sure who was sitting who.

You wanted to tell him you didn’t expect anything from him, that it didn’t matter to you if nothing ever happened, if he regretted letting you kiss him, if it had just been that it was too awkward in the moment to say no. Just that you wanted to keep sitting for him, just that if all you got was a casual conversation at the end of the evening and an argument about driving home that would be enough for you, because it would have to be, and so you could make it so.

You begged off seeing Mick for the second Friday night in a row, wanting to be available in case Joel called. You felt silly but you could use the cash. Your textbooks were $400 a piece, and next semester you were taking three classes. Just feeding yourself was enough to stop your studies in their tracks.

Two things happened in the span of ten minutes. A knock at your door stirred you from your lecture notes, and your phone rang. By the time you had it in your hand you were holding Mick back from your face, your palm to his chest, as you craned your neck away from him to speak.

‘M’sorry, Sweetheart, it’s just…I know, it’s a Friday…’

‘It’s fine, Mr Miller,’ you said, ignoring the way Mick was making smoochy faces over your shoulder. ‘I don’t have any plans.’

When you got off the phone Mick was pouting again, and you sighed.

‘I thought I was your plans?’ he said, and you shrugged at him.

‘It’s good money for easy work, babe,’ you said, the nickname sitting heavy on your tongue.

‘I can give you money,’ he said, pulling you towards him by your belt loops and nipping at your jaw. You cringed away from him.

‘That would make me your whore, right?’ you said, and he grinned at you, wiggling his eyebrows.

‘Never seemed to bother you before…’ he said, and you bristled against him.

‘The fuck does that mean?’

“Oh, fuck me, babe, make me yours…” he imitated, his voice high in a general approximation of yours. You blushed, furiously. ‘You think good girls beg like little whores?’ he asked, and you knew he was kidding around, knew that he wasn’t smart enough to do it without outright insulting you, knew that you’d put up with this shit before so there was no reason why he wouldn’t assume he couldn’t get away with it now. You knew the way he spoke to you was basically your fault, and you couldn’t yell at him now that the precedent had been set. You felt yourself crumple, landing with a thump on the edge of your bed.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ he was saying, grinning at you like he’d won his prize. ‘You put the kid to bed, and I’ll come by and keep you happy ‘til Dad gets home.’

You hated the idea, the thought of Mick in that space you’d almost come to think of sacred making your stomach churn.

‘No,’ you said, and you watched as he arched his eyebrows in surprise. ‘You can’t come in…’

‘Say no more,’ he said, grinning again, and for whatever reason, you didn’t.

--

He arrived, just after 9 PM, already drunk. You winced as he parked his car in the driveway, right in Mr Miller’s spot, worried for a moment he was going to swipe the mailbox when he took the angle too fast. He skidded to a stop mere inches from Mr Miller’s garage door and you exhaled, realising you were bracing for the sound of splintering wood. He ambled over to where you stood on the front porch, tugging at your shirt sleeves in the cool night air.

‘Babe!’ he called, and you shushed him almost instantly. He was carrying a sixpack of beers, three of them already gone. His breath reeked and you wrinkled up your nose when he slung his arm over the back of your neck and pulled you in for a sloppy kiss.

‘This feels like high school,’ he said, and giggled.

‘This is my job, y’know,’ you corrected him, but he wasn’t hearing you, backing you up against the side of the house. You thumped into the brick, wind temporarily knocked from your lungs before he was on you, slipping his entire tongue into your ear in a way that made your skin crawl.

‘Easy…’ you said, and he ignored you, his hand not holding the beers rising up to paw at your breast over your shirt.

‘Mmm…such a tasty little slut,’ he said, and you closed your eyes. ‘Little naughty baby-sitter.’

‘Keep your voice down,’ you stage-whispered, not sure how well your voices wouldn’t carry over the breeze in Mr Miller’s cul-de-sac. He leant down, resting the beers on the front porch so that he could grope you with both hands.

He groaned as he rubbed his cock at your clothed centre. You moved your face to the side, letting your eyes slide closed again.

You tried to think of a romantic movie. Tried to remember some of the fragments of the romance novels your mother had kept stowed under the bed and that you snuck into the den to read to your giggling friends. Tried to imagine a different man, a stranger’s hands on your chest, a stranger’s fingers pinching at your nipples. Tried to imagine what it would feel like if they found the sweet spot, if they sent electric shocks into your belly, into your cunt. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push the sound of Mick’s heavy breathing out of your mind, focusing instead on rough and calloused fingers, the scruff of a beard teasing along your skin. Heavy accent and sweet pine, a groaned little ‘Sweetheart…’ as he slipped your shirt up over your shoulders.

‘The fuck’s going on here?’ you heard a gruff voice as your eyes sprang open, pushing Mick from you hard enough that he stumbled, backwards, landing on the grass.

‘Mr Miller!’ you exclaimed, shame burning bright on your cheeks as you righted your clothes. ‘M’so sorry, he just dropped by…’ you started but Joel was striding up his driveway, as you realised with a new flash of guilt he’d had to park on the street.

‘Hey, man…’ Mick was saying, his hands up in front of his face. ‘Just checkin’ in on my girl…’

You cringed, this particular pet name always feeling more like ownership when it came from him.

Joel looked up at you, his brows saddled. ‘You OK, Sweetheart?’ he asked you, and you realised for the first time he wasn’t angry but concerned, his fists balled up like he was ready to spring to your defence.

‘It’s Mick,’ you explained, glancing down at him as he tried to climb to his feet, getting as far as his knees and settling there for a second to plan his next move. ‘He…he wanted to…’

‘Yeah, I saw what he wanted to,’ Joel huffed out, reaching down to pull Mick upright by the back of his shirt. ‘Saw the way you were bracing away from it too,’ he said, looking directly into Mick’s grinning face.

‘What else you see, old man?’ he asked, and Joel dropped him back onto his knees.

‘You got your keys?’ he asked him, and waiting for the younger man to root around in his pockets.

‘Don’t steal my ride,’ he said, handing them over and not noticing when Joel slipped them into his pocket.

‘M’going inside, and I’m gonna call you a taxi, and you’re getting in. She can drive your car back to you tomorrow mornin’…if she doesn’t decide to drive it off a cliff,’ he said, abandoning Mick on the front lawn and coming towards you, grabbing your wrist gentle but firm in his hand and pulling you inside. ‘C’mon, darlin’,’ he said, and you followed, almost entirely on autopilot.

‘I’m so sorry, Mr Miller,’ you started but he waved you away, placing a call for the taxi while keeping you fixed in your spot with his glare. When he was done, he rolled his shoulders, sighing.

‘You sit,’ he said, striding into the kitchen and emerging moments later with two glasses of sweet tea. You realised, as you lifted your hands to take your glass from him, that you were shivering.

‘I didn’t know he was going to do that,’ you said, and Joel shook his head. You felt the waves of disappointment rolling off him and you worried for a moment you might cry.

‘He always touch ya like that?’ he asked, palming at the back of his neck.

‘Like what?’ you asked, your cheeks burning again.

‘All…clumsy and…disrespectful,’ he said, quiet. He stared at the floor between you while you perched on the edge of the couch.

‘Well…’ you started, but you weren’t sure how you wanted to finish that sentence. Sometimes he doesn’t even bother to touch me at all, you thought.

Joel scoffed, his jaw squeezed tight. ‘Guys like that are all the same, Sweetheart, just…selfish. Even in the bedroom. No lady should be touched like she’s a piece of meat.’

You considered, for one crazy moment, if Joel wasn’t so much disappointed in you as he was in Mick’s prowess. Suddenly you had to stifle a giggle.

‘What’s so funny?’ Joel asked you, surprised.  

‘Just…I mean, they all go to such fancy schools, get all that college for basically free…’ you started, trailing off when you saw him starting to smile. ‘He can’t even boil an egg, and I don’t mean mine,’ you said, and he laughed then, free and loud, and the sound of it made a little fizzle of joy spark up your spine.

This was fun, you realised, shitting on your terrible boyfriend with the most handsome single Dad you’d ever laid your eyes on. This was really, really fun.

‘So, I take it he don’t make you breakfast in the mornin’,’ Joel joked, and you snorted. ‘What you eat for breakfast, anyway?’ he asked, turning to you now, his eyes crinkling at the corners. You swallowed. ‘No, wait,’ he said, ‘let me guess.’ He pretended to look you up and down, his brow arching as he considered. ‘You’re not a waffles kinda girl,’ he said, thoughtfully. You grinned and shook your head. You’d never liked the sponginess. ‘But you’re too fun for plain old oatmeal,’ he said, and you felt a blush crawling across your chest. ‘You’re a pancake princess,’ he decided, finally. ‘Am I right?’

You pretended to consider it for a second before nodding happily at him. ‘Maple syrup and berries,’ you agreed.

‘Maple syrup and berries,’ he said, grinning in his victory. He paused, something passing between you. Suddenly he shifted forward, his knees just barely brushing yours. You found yourself mirroring him, leaning in enough that you had to put your hand out to steady you, landing it on the cushion only inches from his thigh. You could feel his warm breath on your cheek when he whispered in your ear, ‘tart…but a little bit of sweet for m’sweetheart.’

You felt heat scorch its way up your chest, reduced to kindling beside him.

‘Bet he don’t kiss ya like ya should be,’ he said, and you thought for a second of Mick, grinning and drunk out of his mind on the front lawn. You wondered if the taxi had come for him yet, and had absolutely no interest in going out to check on him.

‘Mr Miller…’ you whispered, and he groaned, then, his eyes rolling back in his head.

‘Please, baby, when you call me that…’ he trailed off, eyes blown wide and you felt, then, the thundering in your chest. From this distance you could see his racing pulse in his neck, the same pace as yours.

‘Mr Miller…’ you said, again, staring now at his lips. You wanted to reach out and just take a little nibble.

And he was on you, grasping the back of your head and bringing it down to him, crashing his lips into yours as you gasped, swallowing the echo down into his throat. His tongue, scorching hot, exploring your mouth as he teased it open, the scruff of his beard tickling your cheeks.

‘Thought about you…’ you said, without even thinking, and Joel pulled back a second to appraise you; your swollen lips, your doe-eyes gazing up at him.

‘Say that again,’ he mumbled.

‘When he’d take me, I’d think about you,’ you said, and you watched as his eyes fell shut, taking the moment to glance down at his heaving chest, the aching bulge between his legs. ‘Thought about your hands on me, Mr Miller, about your mouth.’

‘Fuck, Sweetheart…’ he said, almost as if it pained him, before his eyes snapped back open to gaze at you.

‘Kiss me?’ you asked, sweet as you could for him while you tried with both hands to hang on to the moment, to stay here in it with him. You would need to remember this, every corner of the room, every detail. Would spend nights reconstructing his face in your mind, the way he was looking at you now, wanting and red-cheeked, dark eyes and a hot little huff as your words landed their blows on him.

‘Canna touch you, baby?’ he asked, and you were nodding, pulling him towards you as he slid his hands over your waist. Threading your hands through his hair he brought you over him, straddling him on the couch as he stared up at you, brows arching high, as if he couldn’t quite believe it was happening. You smiled at him, feeling like his prize, as you brought your hips down on him and watched his eyes ease shut, heard his breath stutter. He was big, you could feel it even as the seam of his jeans rubbed at your core. You could feel yourself aching for him, hot and pounding where you ground yourself down.

‘Fuck, Mr Miller…’ you gasped as you felt him push his cock up into you, his hands on your hips and pulling you down.

‘So beautiful, baby,’ he whispered, reaching up with one hand to cup your breast, squeezing the nipple between his fingers that, even through your shirt, shot lightning bolts to your cunt. You gasped, a high-pitched little sound you were sure you’d never made before, and he soaked it down into his skin, kept it held tight and precious in the core of him, to keep him warm on cold evenings.

You felt yourself shivering, even as his warm fingertips dropped to lift the hem of your tee and trace their way back up to your tits along the skin. His enormous hands almost completely captured it, and you felt small, then, and shy, but when you looked down into his warm, brown eyes you saw only safety there, only naked desire for your pleasure.

You let your hips roll, that building ache in your core. You’d only ever felt this alone, had never had another person bring it out of you, and you felt the sharp edges of it as you felt a shard of panic slice through your gut. No one had ever done this for you, before. You weren’t sure if your body would allow it, weren’t sure if you could let go enough to fall.

‘Hey…’ Joel said beneath you, his eyes roaming your face. ‘Relax, Sweetheart,’ he whispered, reaching his hand from your hip to your jaw, pulling you down to rest your forehead on his. ‘Just you n’me, baby,’ he whispered as you rocked on top of him. ‘You can take what you need,’ he promised. ‘I got you.’

‘Joel!’ you gasped, the shiver in your body now ratcheting up your spine, your thighs burning as you rolled your hips on his lap, his cock still tucked away in his jeans. ‘I don’t know if I…’

‘Sssh…’ he cooed, raising a thumb to your lips and slipping it between your teeth. You sucked instinctually, swirling your tongue over the tip and letting your eyes drift closed. ‘Just feel it, baby,’ he said, ‘don’t force it. Let it grow.’

Never in your life had you felt like this. You took his thumb between your teeth as you ground, the spark of fear in your belly engulfed by the roar of your desire. You could feel your hips stuttering, could hear yourself starting to pant.

‘Good girl…’ Joel encouraged, slipping his thumb from your mouth now and smearing it across your lips. ‘Right here for ya, baby,’ he said. ‘Wantchya to feel so good.’

You cried out, smacking your hand over your mouth to stifle your cries. He was going to kill you, and you would let him again and again, let him bring you back to life just to kill you this way all over again. You had no idea bodies were made to feel this good.

‘Oh!’ you gasped, all the warning you could muster as he grabbed your hips with both hands, slamming his bulge up into you as he pulled you down, the seam of his jeans rubbing hard into your clit. ‘Yes!’ you whispered, your body shuddering as you felt yourself crest, the pleasure roaring from your cunt to your chest, exploding out of your skin as you rolled, roiled, boiled on top of Mr Miller.

‘Jesus, there she is…’ he whispered, and you opened your eyes to gaze down at him, your breath still coming in gasps as he watched you, awe and desire on his face. ‘There she is,’ he said again, like a prayer, a benediction.

--

You woke slowly, the dappled light streaming in through the oak tree beside Joel’s window. It took you a moment to orient yourself, to remember that you were in his bed because he’d considered it too late for you to take yourself home, even if you had Mick’s car. Because the pleasure he’d wrung out of you on his couch had left you boneless, because the idea of ripping yourself from his smell, from his heat, was unthinkable in that moment.

You stretched, noting that the other side of the bed remained made, that he had spent the night on the couch. You remembered that you had wanted to ask him to stay, that the words had formed on your lips, and that in that moment you saw the regret on his face, the longing to tuck himself in beside you and pull you into his chest, let the weight of the night take him and you with him, but that he wouldn’t allow it, that he was holding back. You weren’t sure why, but you assumed out of decency, out of respect. Out of some vague employee-boss professionalism you would both cling to in an attempt to paper over the grasping maw of desire opening up between you.

You had wanted him, and you had denied him, allowed him to deny you. You rolled to your back in a frustrated huff, surrounded by the scent of him, of his cologne and the scent of his skin imbued in the sheets beneath you.

After a while you heard noises in the kitchen and you left your cocoon, pulling your clothes on and padding down the stairs constructing a cover story for Sarah as to why you were still there. When you rounded the corner, though, you saw only Joel –in a pair of sweatpants and nothing else, standing at the stove.

‘Hey, Sweetheart,’ he said casually, as if you hadn’t come on his lap less than twelve hours before, ‘Sarah’s headed off to soccer practice, so you and me’ll have to take care of all these.’

He gestured over his shoulder to the kitchen table, where a stack of cooling pancakes stood proud. You felt a shiver of shock run though you at the sight of them, turning to Joel with the curl of tears tickling the back of your eyes. ‘No berries, sorry darlin’,’ he said, without looking up. ‘But we got enough syrup to make it up to ya, I hope.’

You weren’t sure anyone had ever done anything like this for you. You wanted to sob, wanted to walk over to the table and pick up the pancakes in your fists and mash them into your skin, wanted to drown them in syrup and eat until your belly distended, wanted to force feed them into Joel. Instead, you stepped forward, your arms opening all of their own accord, wrapping yourself around his back like a Koala. He huffed out a surprised laugh, growing serious when he turned you in his arms to face him, seeing the gathering tears at your waterline.

‘Hey, what’s this?’ he asked, and you grinned, watery, up at him.

‘No-one has ever…’ you started, catching your words before they spilled too much of the truth. Understanding passed over Joel’s face.

‘Oh, my sweet girl…’ he said, and you glowed for a minute, the words reaching down into your chest and igniting something long extinguished.

He leaned down towards you, pressed his nose to yours, his forehead resting gently on yours. You inhaled him, his scent and the sweet smell of the pancakes on the stove, tried to imprint the memory deep in your DNA.

‘What the fuck is this?’ an angry voice sounded from behind you, and you snapped away from Joel, taking several steps back. Mick, still in his same clothes from the night before, stood furious in Joel’s kitchen.

‘The fuck, you let yourself in?’ Joel asked, matching Mick’s anger with his own. ‘This is a private residence, man.’

‘That’s my girlfriend, man,’ Mick spat, his face twisting into an ugly mask you weren’t sure you’d ever noticed on him before. ‘The fuck you doing feeling her up? You stealin’ my car and my girl?’

‘Mick…’ you started but he was ignoring you, advancing on Joel. You stepped towards him, hands up to placate, but Joel was suddenly beside you, tucking you behind him and shielding you with his broad chest.

‘Back up, buddy,’ Joel said, a whispered warning.

‘Me, back up?’ Mick seethed, about to go on before Joel interrupted him.

‘Yeah, you back up. You need to sit your arse down and learn yourself somethin’,’ he said, advancing on Mick so that the younger man took several steps backwards, heading towards the kitchen table. You wondered if anyone had ever actually stood up to him, if usually his wealth was enough to make people cower. He backed into a kitchen chair, slamming down into it with a thud as he stared up at Joel, the older man red faced and pointing a finger at his chest. ‘You think that little display last night was any way to treat a woman?’ he grit out. You watched as Mick shook his head no. ‘You think she enjoyed that, being pawed at in the dark like a fuckin’ street walker?’ he asked.

‘She looked pretty whorish a few seconds ago,’ Mick responded, petulant and stupid. You could see by the way Joel braced his shoulders, his back expanding in resplendent fury, that Mick had made the wrong fucking choice.

‘Ya little shit,’ Joel said, stepping back from Mick and towards you. He held his arm to you, beckoning you into his chest and you went to him, tucking yourself against his side.

‘You have a woman like this, you fuckin’ cherish her,’ Joel muttered, tracing his fingertips along your side and making you shiver. ‘Look at these pretty little tits,’ he said, moving to cup them as you blushed, tucking your face into his neck. You heard Mick’s sharp intake of breath, mirroring your own as Joel rolled your nipples through your shirt. ‘The way you were grabbin’ at ‘em last night, you think that felt good? You make her groan like this?’ he asked, applying just the right amount of pressure on the sensitive nubs, eliciting a moan from you, unbidden.

‘Listen, man, this is…’ Mick started but Joel cut him off with just a look, stern and disapproving, before his face shifted back to adoration when he turned to you.

‘Let’s show him, baby?’ he asked, his brows saddled high. You knew you were safe with him, that at any moment you could call it off, but you wanted this. You wanted Mick to see what Joel could do to you, the sounds you could make. Wanted him to feel small and insignificant in the presence of a real man, of real pleasure. Wanting him to see what money couldn’t buy.

You nodded your head at Joel and watched as the grin bloomed over his face. ‘M’good girl,’ he said, quiet enough that only you could hear it, and you felt the bolt of want shoot down into your core. Your cunt already aching, already dripping for him.

‘Show me where,’ he said, stepping back as you surveyed the space. You nodded towards the kitchen island, the bench just above your hip height. Joel nodded, lifting you up easily to perch on the edge, your body facing Mick as he sat, frozen, at the table in front of you.

‘Slip these off, baby,’ Joel said, tugging at your sweatpants and you lifted your hips as he slipped them, your panties along with them, out from underneath you. The granite countertop cold on the top of your thighs you revelled in the sensation of it, the hard, cold surface so different to Joel’s hot body as he hovered at your side.

‘Show him,’ he said, tapping you on the knee. You spread your legs, hooking one thigh over the edge of the counter and the other widening out to your side, your cunt unfolding before the two men in front of you. You watched as Mick’s face turned pink, sweat appearing on his brow. You turned to look at Joel, the hunger in his eyes as he devoured every inch of your skin. He reached over, running his fingertips over the inside of your thigh, moving closer to you, leaning over your body to whisper into your ear.

‘You’re dripping onto my countertop, baby,’ he said, and you could hear the glee in it, the wanting.

‘For you, Joel,’ you clarified. ‘Not him.’

‘Nah, never for him, I reckon,’ Joel agreed, his fingers slipping further towards your slit. You felt totally exposed and wanton, whorish, as Mick had put it, and your cunt was pulsing, aching from the desire of it. You felt like a priceless piece of art admired in a big city museum, like a stripper opening up her legs for hoards of braying men, like a girlfriend letting her disappointing boyfriend know in no uncertain terms he would no longer neglect her. You felt power coursing through your veins and into your cunt, your slick pooling on the top of your thighs as the most beautiful man you had ever seen stood beside you and teased the pleasure from every nerve.

‘Fuck…’ you whimpered as Joel’s fingers landed light and dexterous on your clit, the little bundle of nerves sending the pleasure roaring through your core and into your chest. You bucked your hips, nearly slipping from the countertop, Joel coming forward again to brace you against his chest.

‘God, look how much she wants it,’ Joel said over your head to Mick. ‘Bet you’ve never made her jump like that.’ You opened your eyes, not even having realised they’d closed, to watch Mick swallow hard and heavy. You beamed back at Joel, letting the pride in his face radiate warmth down upon you.

‘So good f’me, so good t’me,’ he said, spreading your lips apart with his fingers and pushing a fingertip inside. You gasped, shock on your face at the intensity of the need for him burning where he touched.

‘Please…’ you whimpered, just wanting more and just wanting him to never stop, just wanting him to reach inside you, to wring the pleasure out of you, to make you come so hard you forgot your own name.

‘Sshh…’ he cooed to you, ‘your boyfriend needs to concentrate so he can learn.’

You emitted a squeal of frustration, bucking your hips on his hand to try and draw him in, earning you only a chuckle from Joel.

‘Ok baby, m’sorry. Just like teasin’ ya,’ he grinned at you, before sliding two fat, rough fingers hard into your cunt.

For a second you lost touch with reality, your head flying back to the ceiling as sensations strong enough to take your breath roared from your cunt. The stretch was delicious, the heel of Joel’s hand rubbing hard at your clit as his fingers reached deep inside you, opening you up for him, your slick gathering in his palm.

‘Look how wet she gets,’ Joel noted, over his shoulder to Mick. ‘Such a shiny little cunt when she’s drippin’ like this. You ever work her up like this?’

You heard Mick grunt, a pleading note of displeasure, and you sighed as Joel started pumping, stoking the fire in your cunt that threatened to eviscerate you and everyone within the vicinity.

‘Joel!’ you gasped, rolling your hips again, trying to shove him deeper into your greedy little cunt as it grasped at him.  

‘Could lick ‘er up, whatchyu reckon?’ Joel asked, already getting down on his knees as you groaned, certain now he was going to send you into the stratosphere. ‘Can I, baby?’ he asked, and you nodded, frantic, unable to form words.

‘Bet she tastes sweet,’ Joel said to Mick, who was inching closer in his chair, peering over Joel’s shoulder as your cunt swallowed his thick fingers. ‘Like watermelon on a hot summer day. You ever taste her, Mick?’ he asked. You watched as the shame bloomed over Mick’s face. Joel scoffed. ‘Course not, ya fuckin piss weak little prick,’ he spat before turning, diving in to lick a fat stripe at your folds, settling in to lap at your clit as his fingers worked you.

You screamed, sucking in huge lung-fulls of breath just to let them keen out of you, your hips slamming shut on Joel’s head as he sucked at you, every nerve ending screaming now as you felt the blooming heat of release.

‘Oh, he’s gonna make me…’ you said to Mick over Joel’s shoulder, watching you with owlish eyes.

‘Don’t talk to him,’ Joel admonished you, pulling your focus down to him as he perched between your legs, ‘you talk to me,’ he said.

‘Sorry, Mr Miller,’ you said, watching as his eyes rolled shut, a shiver passing over his shoulders.

‘Be the death of me…’ he muttered, returning his attentions to your pulsing cunt. You gripped his hair, rolling your hips on his face and rocking into him, chasing the release now gathering at the base of your spine.

‘Jesus…oh, fuck…’ you cried, trying desperately to warn him, your eyes slamming shut only to open in shock as he found new ways to wring the pleasure from you.

Joel worked you up, his tongue never fatiguing, setting up the perfect rhythm to hold you just on the edge. You could feel your sweat pooling on your skin, the heat in your cunt spreading down your legs, the pull of the knot in your belly.

To your utter dismay Joel stopped, lifting his face to address Mick at his shoulder. ‘You ever make her squirm like this?’ he asked, and you cried for him, then, scrabbling to grip his shoulders, his chin, to push him back to your desperate cunt. He laughed, nipping at your fingertips as they passed by. ‘Look at her graspin’ for me. You seein’ this? This is what real pleasure looks like.’

You cracked open an eye, the room spinning around you as you fought to regain control of your limbs. You saw the look of shame embedded deep into Mick’s face now, the sight of it somehow intensifying your pleasure, the building pressure in your cunt.

‘Fuck me,’ you gasped, turning your attention back to Joel, his eyebrows shooting up. ‘Show him how to fuck,’ you groaned, pushing off the countertop and spinning up onto your toes, laying chest down on the granite now hot to the touch from your writhing body on top of it. You spread your legs a little, knowing that your puffy little cunt lips would be revealed to them both, and you heard them both groan, Joel’s chesty moan full of grit, Mick’s high pitched and brimming with regret.

‘Don’t do this, man…’ he pleaded, and you heard Joel’s little scoff.

‘That’s the thing, buddy, the lady always gets what she wants.’

You felt him come to stand behind you, heard the rustle of his sweats as he pulled his cock over the waistband. It took everything in you not to turn and admire it, knowing in that moment you would have plenty of opportunity.

‘Fuck, she’s got me weepin’,’ Joel said, and you heard the unmistakable sound of skin on skin as he wrapped his hand around himself and tugged. ‘Got me harder than a railroad spike, this little cunt…’ he muttered. You whined, swivelling your hips to try and entice him, begging him to move faster as the walls of your cunt fluttered for him. You heard him sigh, a happy little sound. ‘Ok, baby, I’m here,’ he said, running a hand up your spine to hold you gentle and firm at the back of your neck, the head of his cock nudging at your cunt. ‘Gotta be gentle with my sweet little pussy,’ he said to you, leaning over you to place a chaste kiss in the cup of your shoulder blade.

‘Please, let him see it stretch me,’ you said, and you felt Joel shudder, notching himself at your entrance.

‘Keep talkin’ like that and I’ll chain him up in the basement, make him watch me fuck you every day,’ he muttered, pushing gently at first, the tip enough to make you gasp.

He was big, you realised. All of this time working you up he’d been leading to his moment, preparing to tease you open. ‘Oh, shit…’ you gasped as he pushed.

‘You ok, baby?’ he asked, pausing until you nodded, frantic, hands gripping at the edge of the counter for purchase as you pushed back into him, sliding in a few extra inches, as Joel moaned.

You were dimly aware that Mick was moving, coming to stand in front of you, a look of sorrow and unabashed heat on his face.

‘Please, can I?’ he asked, rubbing himself through his pants and you swatted him away.

‘No, fuck you,’ you said, emboldened by Joel’s desire for you, by his cock currently splitting your folds. ‘You never get this pussy again,’ you hissed at him, and you felt a bloom of pride at the look of hurt crossing his face just as Joel cheered from behind you.

‘That’s my beautiful girl!’ he gasped, bringing a finger to your clit and rubbing tight circles into it, making you gasp as you let your head fall, resting on the countertop. ‘So good f’me.’

The burn in your cunt from the way he stretched you abated, the pleasure Joel was giving you from your clit causing more slick to gather, your cunt grasping him again, your walls fluttering as you felt the ache turn to sweet pleasure, to a blooming rapture.

You lost touch with the ground, Joel’s harsh thrusts pushing you further up the counter, completely at his mercy as your legs hung useless beneath you, hands braced against the granite to give him purchase. In this moment, spread out on his cock, your cunt open and dripping for him, the pleasure ripping the words from your brain, gasps racking your throat, you felt completely under Joel’s spell, his touch, his heat. Mind-numb, thoroughly fucked out, gripped in this moment between the build up and the threshold of release.

‘Oh, you’re gonna make me…’ you warned but Joel had you, was there already with you.

‘I know, baby, I know,’ he grunted between thrusts. ‘Can feel it, can feel that sweet little cunt grippin’ me.’

You cried out, nodding your head furiously, entirely at his mercy now. ‘Yes, yes…Joel, it’s gonna…’

‘Let it go, baby,’ he moaned, and you felt none of the panic, none of the terror at your impending release, wrapped up safe in Joel’s body, in his groans of rapture, in the pull of the knot as it threatened to snap entirely.  

‘Watch me make her come,’ he spat out over your head, and you were only dimly aware of what he was saying as your release sped towards you.

You writhed, your breath stolen from you by the roar of the wildfire across your chest. The push of your orgasm slipping you under, crashing your body into the shore, rolling and quaking underneath it as indescribable lust coursed through your veins.

‘Oh, fuck, there she goes,’ Joel spluttered, his hips stuttering as he started to deepen his thrusts. ‘Gonna fill up ya girl,’ he grit out, his final movements sloppy and desperate as he approached the edge.

‘Do it, baby,’ you whimpered beneath him, words finally able to escape the cage of your throat. ‘Need you.’

He did, then, his come exploding into you and washing you clean, cleansing you of Mick, of all your disappointments, of all your fears. You looked back over your shoulder at him as he crested, his eyebrows saddled and his eyes trained on you, a look of reverence and hunger, of sweet shock, as though he couldn’t believe how good it felt either, as if everything for him was also slotting into place, as if he knew in this moment he would never let anyone separate you, would never let anyone take you from his side, that in his moment you were his just as much as he was yours, that this was a forging of something solid and essential, something vital and something precious, something that was just for you.

--

You didn’t remember Mick leaving. Didn’t care to say goodbye.

Joel had peeled you off the counter and carried you upstairs, drawn you a bath and lowered you gently into the water, sat beside you and washed your body as you lulled in and out of a light sleep.

Drying you off he wrapped you up in his clothes, swamping you in cotton and his scent, before promising to make you a fresh batch of pancakes. You hadn’t let him, whimpering when he tried to leave your side, pulling him down beside you on the bed and wrapping his arms around you.

Later you would figure out lunch, and then Sarah, and then the rest of your lives. For now, you had each other, and cool sheets, and the light patter of rain as a welcome cool breeze blew new life over the garden beneath Joel’s window.

[lichenes]

Hi, could you do a young silco x nb! reader where they have been friends for years and have been pinning HARD on each other, and one of them(your choice idk who) over hears the other talking about how they feel, and basically, they are kinda forced into confessing...that kinda leads to smut with feelings..pleasethankyouso

Silco falls to his knees for you in this one btw. Just so you know. Tried to write the smut as gn as possible!! CW: vanilla sex?? nothing wild ig, no reader genitals mentioned, gn!reader, silco and reader being oblivious wc: 838 .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚

You stretched your body walking into the bar part of The Last Drop. “Morning.” You said to Vander who was preparing the bar for opening. “It ain’t quite morning anymore, luv.” You looked at the clock which displayed 7:30pm on the dot. “I couldn’t sleep all night...” You said still blinking back sleep from your eyes.

“Your shift starts in half an hour, by the way.” Said Silco appearing seemingly out of nowhere. “Clients don’t show up until like 10, relax.” You mused, a bit startled by his sudden presence, nevertheless happy he was there.  

You were dressed in your usual work clothing, nothing special, just a pair of slacks, a loosely fitted dress shirt and an apron meant to keep the uniform at least partially clean. You were wiping down the tables before more of the guests arrived, final touches as Vander liked to call it. You were the only person serving food and cleaning tonight so you had your hands full. 

Silco felt cornered. Mesmerised - he was mesmerised by you. Sitting at the bar and nursing a glass of whatever was cheapest, he purposefully ignored you. Were he to pay you any mind, he would go insane. Not an hour ago did he overhear you confessing your infatuation with him to your coworker.

“Okay, who is it then?” Said the newest addition to the staff. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop… truly, he was just about to ask you something menial when he heard his name being spoken. It rolled off your tongue with such adoration when you were sure he wasn’t listening. “I’ve got my eye on Vander…” Commented the girl. 

“Not my type.” Silcos heart beat faster. “You fancy Silco?” You hummed affirmatively, creating a memory for him, he was sure he’d never forget.

Vander waved his hand in front of Silco’s face, waking him up from the daydream. “You alright?” Silco’s face didn’t give away the whirlwind of emotions he was going through right in this moment. Although, he had slightly more colour in his face. “Yeah- listen.” He beckoned him closer. The bar, despite being quite loud, didn't offer enough privacy to say such things at full volume. 

“They said they fancy me.” Vander looked at him in disbelief. He then chuckled. “What, like you didn’t know?” Silco’s face went pale. He grabbed the bar’s edge. “Mate, everyone in the undercity knows this. The whole, you know, back and forth you lot have going on.”

Silco stood up. He was a calculated man. His actions were meticulous. Years of yearning. Months of planning a confession and that’s how he finds out the love of his life actually reciprocates his feelings!? He wasn’t following a script or a plan. “I need to find them. Now.”

You were taking your break in the back when Silco burst through the door. You smiled at him and just when you were about to greet him he closed the door and ran up to you. “Silco?” You questioned his erratic behaviour.

“...for years, and it feels like he doesn’t notice it!” 

He smashed his lips into your own ones cradling both your cheeks as he lowered himself to the floor, finishing his descent on his knees. You reciprocated the kiss, craning your head down so that he could stay close to you. 

You enjoyed the moment as much as you could, afraid it was to flee as soon as you separated. 

When you did, you put your foreheads together. Laughing slightly you looked at him and caressed his cheek with your thumb. “Took you long enough.” He then felt it, the hunger he suppressed for so many years. He dove back in, greedier than before. You moaned in surprise but welcomed it nevertheless. 

You battled for dominance for a moment, in the end he won. There never was questioning it. “I need you.” You managed to get out.

“I’ll make you need me even more.” 

You were resting your back on the door of the room which was locked to prevent people from interrupting your tryst. Silco had one of your legs propped on his hip, holding onto the neighbouring cabinet was the other thing keeping you upright. 

He was thrusting into you with vigour that was making you go cross eyed. Your arms around his neck were only adding to the experience, you needed him closer, right here - right now is all that counted. 

You saw white when he put his cold hands onto your most sensitive spot. A few circles is what got you to the edge and his blissed out words spilling from his lips - ‘come for me’ - for me. You’d do anything for him at this moment. 

And so you followed his instruction, causing his own orgasm after your own. He put his head on your shoulder when you both were basking in the afterglow. You brushed his bangs out of his face. His eyes were twinkling. 

“Tell Vander he needs to find a replacement for you tonight, I need you all to myself.” 

.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ masterlist

[quitesins]

Prince!Shouto x Writer/Artist!Reader

Masterlist

Sfw, Female!Reader, Fantasy Au, random thought that I just wanted out of my head, mind the typos! Dialogue under the cut!

You’re a writer/artist, gaining quick popularity across the kingdom due to the satirical works you put out, particularly the ones where you satirise The King.

Your pieces are doing numbers. Sung in pubs, tacked to every board in town, even shoved into the arms of royal guards who can’t do anything but stand at their post and take it.

And you’re beaming, practically swimming in money and praise. You let a bit of it get to your head, suddenly dismissive of any consequences that come with mocking the royal family. Especially with your foreign pen name, feeling safe signing the end of each work while cozied up in your little house hidden away in the forest… that is until you get a knock on the door and… it’s The Prince.

[Or Shouto, crown prince, can barely hold in his laugh every time his father calls a meeting to discuss the crudely drawn pictures of him being pasted around the city. And god the first time he heard one of your poems? Being read aloud in the formal voice of one of the guards? It wasn’t just Shouto who had to excuse himself from the table, but his mother too, trailing behind him with a soft smile on her face.

He makes sure the guards keep any of the flyers that make their way into the castle, citing it as “evidence,” crucial to the investigations. Really he just takes them to his room, gleefully pinning them up. Even taking comfort in them on particularly cruel training nights.

He’s never been malicious, but when it comes to his father, he can be quite testy. Petulant for good reason. Your drawings of his father, the harsh scribbles accompanied by wretched songs, somehow he feels seen. Like the awful hate in his heart is warm and somewhere appreciated.

Shouto also thinks the way you draw his father as just a massive rectangle with two deeply furrowed brows is really funny.]

“You know…” Shouto speaks, unintentionally solemn. You prepare to be scolded on instinct. “You’ve drawn my hair on the wrong side.”

In his hand he raises the crumpled remains of one of your works. Even with the paper having seen better days, it’s undeniably yours— with it’s infamous juts of ink, harsh lines and messy splashes of colour thrown across the page. In your handwriting, there’s a vulgar poem captioning the drawing. Implying the prince to be a bastard, with a women killing smile and a surprisingly impish attitude.

Your signature printed in bright red ink probably doesn’t help your case either.

“The scar is accurate howe—”

“Give me that.” You snatch the flyer from him, crumpling it into your hand and tightening around it.

Shouto doesn’t protest, seemingly entertained by your sudden shyness. The words of [Pen Name] have been always been so crass, he had never expected you to hold such embarrassment. He doesn’t want you to, but he finds it amusing all the same.

“Look.” You don’t like his smile, it’s too soft, earnest. “If you’re here to execute me just do it!” There’s a wobble in your voice when you speak. Not from genuine fear of death, instead you sound like a sulking child. “I can’t imagine the king would send his son for any other reason..”

“Shouto,” He prompts. “I’d like it if you called me Shouto.” In the blink of an eye, in front of you is another flyer. “See.” He points to the picture of him, his name written in massive letters underneath.

“How many do you have,” You groan, snatching the paper from him again. His little disappointed pout feels like a win, it must have been his last. “Then why are you here?”

Shouto stares as if he doesn’t quite know himself. His eyes glaze over you, your cluttered room and to where you fists have finally softened in their grip. Then, like a spark alights behind his eyes, he smiles, responding with blunt determination.

“To be your friend.”

I wishhh I had the brain power to write full fics coz this au is so fun to think about… maybe if the fantasising gets too big to stay in my head I’ll write drabbles of random nonchronological scenarios, or not!

[zenopic]

[sysig]

By the skin of your teeth (Patreon)

[primofate]

"Where'd you get that bruise--Oh," in which your Genshin lover gets a good look at the first hickey he left

Warnings: please excuse mistakes as I'm on a time crunch and also sleep deprived, suggestive but still safe for work, humorous in some parts

Other works in this series: (You say I love you for the first time)

Characters: Aether, Albedo, Alhaitham, Ayato, Cyno, Dainsleif, Diluc, Itto, Kaeya, Lyney, Neuvillette, Scaramouche, Tartaglia, Tighnari, Wriothesley, Xiao, Zhongli, gn!reader  

Aether

gets flustered

"Uh-Umm... Maybe, you should..."

he wants to say cover it up but who is he to tell you what to do?

Starts to second guess if he really gave you that

Will start to think about the events of last night and deflates with embarrassment

Finally points it out, feels kind of bad that he left a mark

"It's just...distracting...I'm sorry if it hurt,"

Albedo

stares at it for the longest time.

There's a half smile, half amused look on his face, like he wants to be happy about it but doesn't want to be too obvious.

Just chuckles and points it out without any shyness whatsoever

"It's rather obvious, but do with it what you will,"

Comes up with some sort of concealing potion to help you hide it

Brews about a 100 of 'em

Alhaitham

Sort of does a double take, looks at it for a few seconds then looks you in the eye

"I'd advise you to hide it,"

he really only says that to keep things professional when the two of you go out

but in the next second he snakes a hand up your arm with a small secret smirk between the two of you

"However, I can't say that it won't happen again...Specially when..."

He recalls the events of last night at this moment, and it seems as if he's staring into your soul. He breaks away from you with a slight hum.

"...I best be going now."

He leaves you confused, but he only hurried off because he felt an urge to give you another one then and there.

Ayato

chuckles to himself

"Well, there's no hiding that I enjoyed myself,"

but gives you helpful suggestions on how to conceal it or at least make the colour less obvious, like putting ice against it, or something.

Speaking of ice, you can simply get it from the kitchen but Ayato is a tease... "I suppose my dear sister can adequately help you with that...Though what, pray tell, would you tell her?"

You kind of shrug and say that you'll tell her an animal bit you.

Ayato is amused "An animal," but there's a twinkle and hint of lust in his eyes. "Yes, perhaps that's what I become when it involves you. The statement isn't exactly a lie,"

Cyno

is silent. Not sure if he's happy about it or horrified.

Feels like a crime cause it looks like a bruise.

Does not say anything for a good minute because he simply doesn't know what to say and is talking to himself in his mind

Like Was I really the one who did that? Last night must've been...

Snaps out of his stupor when he's reminded of the events and clears his throat to catch your attention.

"Y/N...You...I...I've managed to leave a mark...on your neck..."

You absentmindedly touch it and let out a small ohhhhhhh in understanding

Clears his throat again and looks away, pretending to be busy with something. Flustered and doesn't know what else to say.

Dainsleif

Eyebrows involuntarily raise up at the marks.

Points it out immediately

"My dear, it seems that I had a favourite spot last night," and taps on your neck to let you know what exactly he means.

"I can conceal it with a little trick of mine, if you don't mind," he says he can make it invisible to the ordinary eye but some "special" people can see it, so...

"I suppose if you run into the traveller that you'd have to be honest about it. Hm? No, I don't quite mind if they know of our relationship,"

Diluc

is surprised, then apologetic

He didn't know is fully aware how rough he had been last night

Apologizes with a slight tint of red on his cheeks and can't seem to pry his eyes away from it.

"My apologies, Y/N. It looks like I was rather...careless...last night. You should wear something with a collar today...or perhaps, my coat?"

Is seriously considering repenting about it

Itto

"Whoa--"

Is legit about to throw hands but then remembers

"Oh yeah. I did that." while scratching his head bashfully

No shame about it afterwards, even has the gall to say

"I'm surprised it doesn't look worse! It was pretty wild last nig--"

You have to cover his mouth to save yourself from embarrassment

Kaeya

smirks and leans in close to brush his fingers against the hickey.

"It isn't the most flattering of marks but... it gives me quite the sense of accomplishment,"

winks, deadass tries to give you another one right away.

"How about we try that again? Just to even it out on both sides of your neck,"

is only half joking

Lyney

mischievous laugh

is more happy about it than shy, embarrassed or apologetic

"That wasn't very nice of me wasn't it?" but is still smiling

"Unfortunately I don't think I have any magic tricks up my sleeve to fix this one,"

Grabs and hugs you by the waist "I guess we'll just have to stay in, the two of us, until it's unnoticeable"

always looking for an excuse to spend alone time with you.

Neuvillette

clears his throat almost immediately when he sees it, like he choked on water

"Y/N," he starts rather sternly but falters and takes a few seconds to think.

"May I suggest wearing a scarf today?" is awkward about pointing it out so goes the roundabout way. You're so confused because it's the middle of summer.

"Well," he coughs once to try an explain to you. "I didn't have all manners of restraint last night...You were simply...irresistible,"

points it out by gently thumbing at it

Scaramouche

shit-eating grin at the sight of it

Doesn't tell you to cover it up, most likely wants you to go parading around with it.

"Tsk. What's the harm if people ask? Just be honest and tell them," he's just fucking around with your head now

but snatches your wrist and looks you straight in the eye with a confident smirk "And be sure to tell them who gave it to you. That'll teach them to back off,"

Tartaglia

laughs but is slightly apologetic

"Couldn't hold myself back, I'm sorry. How can I make it up to you?"

You tell him that the next time he leaves a hickey, he should leave it somewhere where it's more concealed.

"Oh?" sudden glint in his eyes. You might have said the wrong thing. "No take backs, Y/N,"

I think you know what or where he's thinking about

Tighnari

Doesn't say anything at first but immediately whips up a remedy for it. Some sort of green paste that helps with inflammation.

"Here," and hands you the bowl of herbs. "For that,"

He doesn't point at it but instead eyes it rather obviously

He also watches you put the paste on "Alright, just leave it for a few minutes and it should heal wonderfully,"

He doesn't exactly feel guilty but he's more worried that people will look at you weirdly.

"I suppose I'll have to be careful next time," with a sigh.

Wriothesley

laughs but bashfully face palms and tilts his head backwards

Recovers quickly and smiles apologetically

"Sorry love, couldn't hold myself back it looks like," lovingly takes your face in his palms

Can't hold his smile back "But can you blame me? I'm not gunna hide that I was way too excited,"

Suggests you to put a bandage of some sort over it.

"I'll try to be careful next time, but no promises,"

Xiao

Freezes while looking at it

For a split second is confused where you got such a mark but then flusters himself when he remembers it was from him.

"...Y/N..."

seriously does not know what to say

stands there staring at it that you finally just check in the mirror yourself. He hears you gasp and he kind of winces to himself and now feels a little guilty.

"I...didn't mean to hurt you,"

You quickly tell him it doesn't hurt, but you were just surprised.

Thinks for a moment, then mumbles, you can barely hear him "...So it's alright to do it again?"

Zhongli

chuckles, not shy about it. just amused.

"It's no one's fault except my own. I merely wasn't paying heed to how...carnal...my desires were,"

he again chuckles as he explains.

"Not to worry darling, I'm sure Bubu Pharmacy has something to remedy it. I'll be back with it in tow,"

brushes his fingers against the hickey as some sort of apology and promise that he'll fix it

End

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Here’s the Masterlist

[tired-biscuit]

I licked it so it’s mine

pairing: stepbrother!yuuji/fem!reader

premise: After a long day of work, you decide to make use of the empty house by having some drinks and a movie night with your older stepbrother. Eventually, one drink turns into two, two become three, and so on. As the buzz of the alcohol progressively fills you with more and more courage, interesting things commence.

cw: 18+ MDNI. stepcest, ‘in the flurry of the moment’ setting, no curses AU, characters are in their 20s, intoxication, dubcon, implied corruption, coersion and pressuring from reader, descriptions of size difference, manhandling and roughness — poor yuuji gets a little too into it in the end.

wc: 6.7k

divider credit: @/adornedwithlight

———

Your big stepbrother Yuuji is likeable. He always has been.

To be fair, what is there not to like? When it comes to his looks, Yuuji is tall, handsome, a proud owner of a pair of pretty honey-coloured eyes that make him resemble a puppy, and an even prettier smile. Every summer, his skin gets this wonderful, almost golden tan that makes him outright glow from within, and his face gets sun-kissed, causing his already rosy cheeks to get dotted with tiny, barely visible freckles that gather under his eyes and only enhance his cuteness.

However, after living with him for so long, you’ve since learned that he rarely actually pays attention to his appearance, much less dresses to impress.

After all, Yuuji is a simple man. He does not care about clothes besides the level of comfort they provide, and yet he still somehow manages to achieve victory. Catching girls checking him out when he’s in nothing but his trusty pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt is a common occurrence. Even listening to flustered whispers and giggles has turned into a regular thing at this point.

On top of all that, he’s also nice. Kind and open and warm – you could use so many more positive words to describe your stepbrother’s wonderful personality, but you’re pretty sure that they’d never do it justice. Perhaps the only bad thing you could say about him is that he’s too nice. Too helpful and giving.

Especially towards the people who don’t deserve it.

And as you watch him from the corner of your eye now, hanging out at the park and licking the ice cream that he’d treated you to as a reward for beating him in his favourite video game, you try to consider yourself as one of the people who do deserve his everlasting kindness. Who do deserve to be treated nicely by him, and to hear the laughter in his voice, and to accept his almost naive generosity.

It’s a nice day out today. The wooden park bench that you’re sitting on currently is warm from the setting sun that still filters through the leaves above your heads. Small, moving patches of light and shadow linger everywhere, causing you to stare, almost mesmerized, as some of them lazily continue to dance across your big brother’s face.

Yuuji’s arms are splayed wide open and draped on either side of the worn backrest that you’re both leaning against. He’s finished his ice cream ages ago, so now he’s got his legs outstretched and his head angled up towards the sky, enjoying the peaceful tranquility that this year’s summer brings. 

There are quite a few people out and about in the park during this time of day – most of them joggers and dog walkers that are using the slightly cooler temperatures to their benefit – but if you listen closely, you can make out distant shouting and laughter coming from a group of children who are occupying the playground that’s on the other side of the trees.

The sound makes you feel kind of old, so you zero in on your sandals to keep yourself busy.

“Remember when you used to scream like that?”

“What?” 

When you turn your head to the side again, Yuuji’s gaze looks expectant.

“Back when we were kids,” he explains, jerking his chin towards the direction of the playground. “You got all shrieky and high-pitched whenever it was my turn to chase you, remember? Made you sound like a deflating balloon just by running in your direction.”

“Oh!” You take another lick of your ice cream, fully flattening the scoop before sinking your teeth into the edge of the cone. The scent of strawberries fills your nose in an instant. “In my defense, that probably happened because I didn’t like playing tag with you all that much.” 

He quirks an eyebrow at this, intrigued. “How so?”

“Well, for starters, your legs were longer than mine, which made you catch up so fast that it wasn’t fun for me anymore. Aaand your hands were also always sticky for some reason,” you reply, still chewing on the wafer. “It was gross.”

“Wow, okay.” He rolls his eyes but it immediately gets followed by a brief chuckle that escapes his lips. “Excuse me for trying to be a little bit sentimental with my clean freak of a baby sister.”

“I’m normal… You’re just nasty,” you fire back, smiling when he goes to playfully shove you.

His hand is warm when it lands on your shoulder; so warm, in fact, that you can feel the rise in temperature even through the sleeve of the thin, cropped T-shirt that you’ve put on this morning. 

It doesn’t take you by surprise. For as long as you’ve known him, Yuuji has been one to have blood as hot as molten lava running through his veins. You’re unsure how he survives it whenever the weather is scorching hot, like today for example – August has always proved to be a bitch whenever it comes to heat – but so far he seems to be doing just fine.

And while it may be weird to some, him being hot-blooded is the reason why you sometimes like to drag him into your bed during the winter months, when it’s cold and you come back home from work feeling like your toes have turned half-frozen in your shoes. Besides being provided with good company, he’s also like your own personal heater.

And that’s it. There’s nothing else to it; how could it be when he’s your stepbrother, for crying out loud! You grew up together and have lived under the same roof for years. He’s walked into your room just to leave the lights on and the door open so many times. You’ve endured his godawful Fortnite phase and have seen him be at his worst just as he did with you. The only feelings that you harbour for him are strictly platonic. 

You’re both pretty set on that.

“I should take that ice cream from ya as a form of punishment for being so mean to me,” said stepbrother teases now, pulling you back from your thoughts. When you look up at him, he’s grinning like a little boy. From ear to ear and in a way that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

Cute.

“Nu-uh,” you respond, allowing the evidently distrustful tone to lace your voice. “I licked it so it’s mine.”

“Tsch.” He clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Like that’s ever been an issue before. C’mon, give.” 

“It is for me because unlike you, I’m not- Hey!” Before you can finish your sentence, he swipes the ice cream from your hand, successfully stealing it right in front of your nose.

You glare at him now, brow slightly furrowed in annoyance, as Yuuji proceeds to lick the melting sweet with exaggerated delight. Since whatever was left of the scoop sank deeper into the cone, you realize that you’re unexpectedly intrigued by the fact that he needs to push his tongue out a little more to get to it. 

And he does; of course he does. He twirls it across the flat, creamy surface, and it’s not long before the inside of his mouth is coated in milky pink and there’s a hum of overly satisfied approval sounding from the back of his throat.

You’re unsure how to feel about the entire thing, but you definitely don’t dwell on it.

“Mmm,” he purrs, squeezing his eyes shut. He even makes sure to go as far as to smack his lips. “Mmm-mmm-mm! So good.”

For whatever reason, you feel your stomach do a weird spin as you listen to the sounds he’s making now. It’s like there’s an instant flash of heat searing through your body, similar to the pesky one that you get in the middle of the night when you’re hormonal and on your period, but before you can even properly acknowledge it, it’s gone as fast as it came.

“Again: you’re so gross,” you manage to say with a huff that’s supposed to be disapproving but doesn’t sound like that at all. The shake of your head that you add to the jab also feels somewhat unnatural. Every one of your mannerisms does, actually.

Yuuji, seemingly blissfully ignorant of your inner turmoil, laughs before he takes a giant bite out of the side of the cone and finally hands it back to you.

“Hey, at least my hands ain’t sticky this time.”

———

The house is empty when you come back home that evening.

This too is not much of a surprise, really. Your parents have been gone for the last couple of days, enjoying their yearly vacation to the seaside that neither you nor Yuuji could attend this time because of your work schedules. 

So while your mom and his dad are basking in the sun and drinking sugary cocktails, you’re waking up at six in the morning every day to make it to your dull desk job in time, and he’s stuck flipping burgers at McDonalds and honing his social skills in the drive-through booth for eight hours every day.

Poor, poor you.

“Did you see the drinks they’re having over there? Gosh,” Yuuji grumbles on this exact topic as he throws himself onto the couch and flicks the TV on. His expression looks mildly conflicted at the list of movies he’s being offered by the streaming service you’re both leeching off of, but it eases back into neutral as soon as he rests his feet atop the coffee table and crosses his ankles. “They even had those fancy umbrellas on the top and everythin’.”

“There, there,” you say, quickly patting his knee before sitting down beside him. You’re not sure why, but you pay extra attention to the small sliver of distance that you keep between his leg and your own now. The feeling from earlier didn’t fully go away yet, so touching him or him touching you still feels kind of odd.

Meanwhile, Yuuji doesn’t seem to acknowledge it at all, because now he’s resting his head against your shoulder, invading your personal space whilst he pouts.

The action is nothing unusual for him – it’s normal, he does it all the time – and yet you still swallow thickly, trying to ignore the sudden hyper awareness. 

“What is it now, you big baby?” you manage to muster out, taking the remote from him.

“Eh… It’s nothing,” he says.

“Aha,” you say.

“Well… It’s just that I want nachos and cocktails with fancy umbrellas, too!” he bristles at your prodding, pressing the side of his face even further into your shoulder. His hair tickles your cheek because of it.

“We have nachos at home,” you utter, trying to avoid the ticklish sensation.

“Yeah. Shitty tortilla chips that come in a bag, with a side of tasteless dip from the fridge,” he quips. “Yum.”

You stifle your laughter. He’s making such a big deal out of a silly thing like nachos. “I’m pretty sure they all come in a bag, Yuu… Come to think of it, theirs are probably stored in one of those big, wholesale bags that most food places get.”

“Well, I want the wholesale ones, then.”

“You’re pretty set on this, huh?”

He just gives you a look.

“Okay, okay, okay,” you ramble, pulling back just enough to make him lift his head and look at you properly. “How about… we try to make semi-decent nachos and cocktails with what we have, and have ourselves a little movie night since we’re both off work tomorrow and we definitely deserve it after all the pain and suffering we’re going through?”

Yuuji muses. “All you do at your job is sit behind a desk all day.”

You feel your eyes narrow. “So?”

“So,” he says, sounding smug. “I’d hardly call that pain and suffering.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you chide. “I wasn’t aware that your job also consisted of crawling underneath barbed wire and coming face to face with excruciating death between all those burgers you flip.”

He pokes you in the side for the insult. After jumping a little bit at the ticklish sensation, you make sure to immediately return the favour.

“Do you want those cocktails or not, Ronald McDonald?”

Yuuji stretches his arms above his head and yawns before he gets ready to stand up. “Yeah, yeah… Let’s make ‘em fancy.”

He follows you into the kitchen then, where you both work to recreate the vacation food and drinks to the best of your – and your pantry’s – capabilities. 

The nachos end up being surprisingly decent after you sprinkle some shredded cheese on top and give them a spin in the microwave. The cocktails, on the other hand, are a mixture of cheap wine from the corner store and coke, adorned with pieces of sliced pineapple at the top because you sadly ran out of cute paper umbrellas, much to Yuuji’s disappointment.

Though in the end, everything works out just fine.

You have yourselves a nice, perhaps you could even call it relaxing kind of evening. You change into your comfortable pyjama shorts and tank top, he gets rid of his T-shirt because he prefers being shirtless during the summer, and you play a couple rounds of his favourite game again; all of which you lose because Yuuji decides that he isn’t holding back this time. Afterwards, you watch a movie that isn’t all that good necessarily, but isn’t half bad either, and take rather hefty sips of your makeshift cocktails.

By the time the credits start to roll, you’re both feeling a little buzzed and warm in the face. Neither of you feels like calling it a night just yet, though – being off work the next day at the same time happens so rarely, after all – so you decide on watching something equally as uneventful and drinking some more.

So that is how both yourself and Yuuji end up drinking more than you’d initially planned. The alcohol becomes easier to swallow down when you’ve already numbed out your taste buds and have adapted them to the cheap, shitty wine flavour. It even makes the pineapple slices look cool.

And now you’re both drunk. Not shitfaced, per se, but definitely more than tipsy. Enough that it’s making your vision a little bit blurry around the edges, your limbs soft and pliant, and your mind fuzzy. Enough that it’s making you feel like you could do just about anything you’d set your mind to.

You’re both giggling like morons as you sit cross-legged and face each other on the couch. He’s desperately trying to tell you a story about one of his co-workers, who, according to him, is supposed to be very weird, but he keeps on slurring his words and keeps on losing track so often that it’s making the entire thing outright incomprehensive.

“Dude-” Your voice falters as yet another set of giggles pushes its way out. Goddamn alcohol. “You have got to stop laughing and tell me whatever it is you want to tell me about this weirdo, because if you don’t, I swear to god that I’m going to fucking lose my shit.”

“Listen… Jus’ listen-” 

“I am listening, you dumbass!” you interrupt, reaching over to flick his forehead. He flinches at the action.

“No, but like,” he mumbles now, rubbing the aching spot. “I want to tell you, but at the same time… I kind of don’t.”

This instantly succeeds in sparking your interest. There’s something he’s unsure about telling you? How curious; you tell each other everything!

You lean forward slightly, resting your elbows on your knees. “How so?”

Yuuji’s eyes flicker towards the television for a quick second. The movie is still playing – it bathes half of his face with light and the other half in shadows. 

Much to your bafflement, he sheepishly bites his lip before he says, “‘Cause it’s a secret.”

“A secret? Really?” You groan as you grab the small decorative pillow just so that you can throw it his way. Despite his intoxicated state, he’s still rather quick to deflect it. It lands on the ground soundlessly.

“What was that for?” he asks now, trying not to laugh.

“Oh, I dunno,” you say, bristling. “Did it maybe ever cross your mind that telling me that is only gonna make me want to hear it more?”

“I mean,” he says, scratching the back of his head and shrugging. “I guess…?”

You give him a pointed glare. “You know how much I love secrets, Yuu!”

“I know.”

“Then tell me!”

“No.”

You pout in answer, clearly unsatisfied.

Yuuji looks at you, his expression slipping into something that’s a bit more sincere and apologetic. He watches as you continue to avoid eye contact and push out your bottom lip, clearly trying to appear upset as much as you possibly can in order to get him to change his mind.

Sooner or later, it ends up working.

A person like him is so giving… Who is he to ever tell you no?

“Oh, fine,” he says, sighing with defeat. “Just pinky promise that you won’t tell anyone, okay?”

Your grin is pleasantly lazy because of the alcohol that’s still coursing your veins as you chirp, “Of course.”

He hooks your pinkies together and shakes them from side to side lightly as if it’ll help solidify the promise better.

“So, what’s the secret?” you ask when you pull your hand back and use it to support your cheek.

After a short moment of silence, he finally forces himself to blurt out, “My co-worker, he, uh… He thinks you’re hot.”

You stare at him, arching one eyebrow. “Wait, that’s it?”

Yuuji can feel his entire face tingling with heat now. The blush that steadily continues to bloom makes his skin slightly itchy, but he refrains from scratching it. “Yeah, that’s it.”

You watch him closely. 

“What?” he inquires, not liking the fact that you aren’t saying anything. The flush of red has crept down to his neck now.

“You’re lying,” you reply at long last, expression blank.

He sputters when he inhales a sharp breath, ready to defend himself. “Am not!”

You throw another pillow at him. He avoids this one, too. “Are too!”

“Stop throwing stuff at me!”

“I will, if you tell me the secret!”

“I already did!”

“The actual secret, dumbass!”

“Fine… Fine! Ugh,” he groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. “He also said that, umm…”

You enthusiastically gesture at him to continue when his voice fades into nothing again. Curiosity is threatening to eat you alive at this point. “Yes? He said what?”

“He said-” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows thickly. “He basically told me that if you were his stepsister, that he would’ve been all over you ages ago. Or whatever.”

You stare at him once more. He stares right back.

“What?” he asks again, this time slightly more nervous. His pupils are huge and the blush is starting to make him sweat. “What is it?”

After a moment that seems like forever, you repeat, “...That’s it?”

Yuuji feels like his heart has dropped to his ass. “What d’you mean that’s it?!”

“Exactly what I said,” you say, shrugging. “Your co-worker has a ‘Oh no, stepbro, I’m stuck’ fantasy. So what?”

“I-” Yuuji’s eyebrows draw so tightly together until there’s a small v etched between them. He pauses for a long time before he says, “Don’t you think that’s weird, though?”

“Not really.” You take another small sip from your glass and place it back onto the coffee table. “I mean, have you never noticed how popular it is in porn? Lots of people are into that kind of stuff.”

“N-no…” He stutters, somehow succeeding in turning even redder in the face. “I don’t-”

“Watch porn?” you offer quickly, already rolling your eyes.

“Not porn like that,” he quips, suddenly sounding uncharacteristically snippy. 

You chuckle at the tone he uses, attempting to tame the upward curl of your lips. Things are getting interesting and dirty – something you don’t get to encounter a lot whenever it comes to golden boy over here. “Well, what kind of porn do you watch, then?”

Oh, that is very bold. If it weren’t for the liquid courage, you doubt you’d dare ask the question. But it’s out in the open now.

Hanging in the tense air that’s between you two. Waiting. Preying.

“Not the stepsister kind,” he says in a low mutter, surprising you that he even chose to answer. “I’m not into that.”

You can’t help but let the smile show now. “How can you know if you’ve never seen it?”

Yuuji gawks before letting out a nervous laugh. “...What?”

“I said,” you repeat, leaning ever so slightly closer. Enough to make him feel on edge, but not enough to scare him away. “How can you know that you’re not into it-” There’s another pause, another closing of distance. His freckles are visible now. “If you’ve never seen it? Hmm?”

“I just-” He tenses up when your knee bumps into his. The short moment of contact is electrifying for some reason; it jumpstarts his heart into a far quicker rhythm. “I just, uh, do.”

You look him directly in his sweet honey eyes. “Yeah?”

And he immediately rushes to break eye contact. “Yeah.”

“You know,” you trail off innocently, patting his knee this time instead of ‘accidentally’ bumping it. Unlike before, though, your hand remains on his leg. “For someone who swears up and down to not be into it… You really don’t sound so sure about it to me.”

“Well, I am,” he protests in a heartbeat, however the bite that’s supposed to be in the statement isn’t quite there. 

The reason behind it might be because he’s quite tipsy and can’t bring himself to be firm with you. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because he’s staring at his lap when he says it; right at the spot where you’re still touching him.

Your hand feels so warm as it sits on his thigh. And pleasant. 

He doesn’t exactly… want it to go away.

You watch as he huffs in defeat and shakes his head with evident frustration the thought must have evoked. It causes a giggle to bubble up your throat from how entertained you are. You don’t even try to stop it this time.

He could tell you off, call you names, push you away, whatever… But he doesn’t. 

No, he’s just too good of a big brother.

So you allow the flat of your palms to rest on both of his knees now. Still careful, though not nearly as much as before. Meanwhile, your own knees dig into the softness of the couch as you readjust your weight forward so that you can lift yourself just enough to be eye level with him.

Guilty anticipation pools inside his gut and turns him frazzled when you use the momentum to invade his personal space even further. All of a sudden, you find yourself nose to nose with your cutesy stepbrother. Chest to chest. So close that he can feel the heat of your breath on his lips and smell the fading scent of your perfume mixing with thin layers of sweat and sunscreen. 

“Prove it, then,” you say. Your voice could barely be considered above a whisper but the silence that follows after it is so loud.

Yuuji gulps from how unnerving this entire situation has become. Gulps. “Prove… Prove what?”

“Prove that you’re not into it.”

Thump, thump, thump! His heart is going wild. “How?”

“Watch it with me.” You move your hands upwards ever so slightly as you speak the words, but it’s not long before you’re sliding them all the way up to his thighs. 

They’re strong, his legs, and the muscles in them flex and harden underneath your touch, making the lines of his gorgeous, so profoundly male-like physique all the more defined. The hairs there are lighter in colour and they’re silky smooth. They tickle the tips of your fingers when you finally let them settle at the very edge of his gym shorts. 

Digging your nails into his skin just enough to make him jump a little, you add, “Please?”

God, you’re so drunk and… something else. Your pupils are huge; so big that Yuuji swears he can see himself in them, and the laugh you let out a moment later is girlish and kind of breathless. 

And he, well, he just looks so goddamn confused in response to it. Like a little puppy that’s been caught doing something naughty and bad. Big, round eyes, twitchy upper lip and everything.

“I, umm… I dunno,” he chokes out finally. He feels like coughing so that he can clear his throat, but he somehow manages to stifle the annoying sensation. “I just… I’m not so sure about that-”

“Pleeease, Yuuji,” you repeat, pushing, pushing, pushing. You even start pouting right at him as a means to get him to budge. “I wanna!”

Fuck.

The whine that’s appeared in your voice now makes his cock involuntarily twitch. What the actual fuck, his dick is responding to you – his baby sister. Little by little, blood is rushing south; right below his waistline until he can feel warmth slowly taking over every inch of his lower half. He tries to make it stop, to put an end to it, to slow it down at the very least, but his efforts prove to be completely useless.

His throat feels scratchy and dry now from not allowing himself to cough, and his skin feels too tight on his face. It makes him rasp as he says, “You, uh, you wanna?”

“Mhmm,” you purr in a mere instant, squeezing his thighs again just the tiniest bit. Goddammit, since when did those parts start feeling so fucking sensitive? “Wanna… wanna see you start sweating a little when you realize that your dick is getting hard over dirty shit like stepcest, you know? Wanna prove you wrong.”

A second twitch, a second rush of blood. Yuuji’s stomach spins and tightens with anxiety. His nerves go haywire. With each passing second, he can feel his cock getting heavier in his shorts. Can feel pre-cum turning the front of his underwear more and more sticky. Can feel his mind going dizzy with quick-paced lust.

You’re just so goddamn close. Staring right at him, with your tits almost on full display in that tiny thing you call a shirt, and with that infuriating, shit-eating smirk plastered on your lips. Kneeling right between his legs, talking about stepbrothers fucking stepsisters, allowing your breaths to intermingle as if it’s no big deal.

But that’s not all. Besides being too close for comfort, he’s also pretty sure that you’re quietly hinting at the possibility of something happening tonight, like letting him stuff your pussy with his cock. Hell, forget stuffing – even just seeing it would be nice. 

Not that he’s ever thought about laying eyes on his sister’s cunt, much less filling it, but now that this entire thing is unfolding in real time, before his very eyes, and he swears that he can feel the tips of your fingers subtly brushing against the ridge of his hard-on over his clothes… He doesn’t feel like refusing the idea necessarily, if it were to actually happen.

Fuuuck!

“It-it won’t,” Yuuji stammers in one last attempt at keeping his sense of morality, however all he does is end up fumbling over his own damn self like some pathetic loser. He’s so red in the face, it’s obvious now. “I, ah, I already told you-”

His sentence gets interrupted by a sudden kiss that you press right onto his still half-open mouth. 

You don’t know what exactly it is that compels you to do it, but here you are. Kissing your big brother. Latching yourself to him. Offering him things you shouldn’t.

Oh, here you are, all right.

The kiss itself is clumsy, rash, idiotic. Your teeth clash as you hurry forward to wrap your arms around his neck, and there’s a small, muffled noise – that terribly sounds like a squeal of excitement – escaping your lips when his big hands find your waist and he yanks you forward until you’re fully seated on his lap.

One second ago you were merely looking at each other, tip-toeing the line but never quite overstepping it, and now you’re grinding against one another like animals in heat, tangling tongues and tasting each other’s spit. Everything happens so fast and it’s all based on pure instinct and executed with zero thinking, because if it happened any other way, you’d surely regret it.

He tastes like pineapple and the lousy chewing gum that he bought back at the corner store earlier in the afternoon but spat out pretty soon after. You shouldn’t find the odd combination of flavours that good, you know this, but right now the inside of his mouth tastes like sweet, sweet heaven.

And possible release.

“Fuck, Yuu,” you pant between messy kisses, running your fingers along his undercut. “You’re so hard, look… Proves me right, mm?”

Yuuji wants to tell you to shut up, to stop saying things like that, to stop making him feel both so guilty and turned on at the same time because it’s complicated and he doesn’t fucking know what to make of it.

But all he ends up saying instead is, “Yeah...”

Because, as always, he’s simply too good of a big brother. Too good to tell you no.

Especially when you’re right.

And even if your big brother’s cock is hiding underneath several layers of clothing, you can still feel it pressing firmly between your legs now. Thick and heavy and in urgent need of some tender affection; a little sisterly love, if you will. It’s making you grow more and more expectant of what’s to come. There’s no space for shame left.

His size seems promising – at least judging by the feel of it. Each time you push your weight against him, circling your hips a little, he responds by pushing you down even further with the help of his hands on your hips; spreading your folds slightly apart and allowing the seam of your shorts to dig straight into your clit.

Your breathing grows laboured because of it. Slowly but surely, you’re becoming a hot mess of mm’s and ahh’s. And Yuuji, poor, sweet Yuuji, is nowhere near to being any better after he’s forced to hear all of it.

He’s sweating like crazy. Is throbbing between his legs. Is trying to tame his pulse but it just keeps on hammering and ringing inside his ears. The blush is making his entire face itch all over again and his clothes feel too tight on his body. What else is there?

Oh, even his heart feels like it’s jammed itself inside his throat when he pulls back just enough to break the string of saliva that’s bridging the narrow space between your mouths and asks, “You sure you wanna do this?”

“Just fuck me already, god,” you hiss in response. You’re so sexually frustrated that it’s making you pissy.

Neither of you has planned this nor expected this to happen, but you’ve both been feeling lonely, terribly single; are yearning to be touched. It’s been a while for the two of you, shit happens and people get too busy to enjoy the simpler pleasures in life, and you both consider the other to be attractive, so… why not?

Why not? Maybe because this entire thing could, quite possibly, be a disaster in the making.

Still, it doesn’t feel like a disaster when Yuuji’s hands wrap around your sides and slam you down on the couch. Doesn’t feel like a bad thing when he blindly hooks his fingers to the waistband of your shorts and you bring your legs closer to your chest and lift your hips a little so that he can tug them off easier.

Either he’s too impatient to wait or he did it by complete accident, but he manages to pull down your panties right along with your shorts. They’re both left dangling from your left ankle now, hanging uselessly and completely forgotten because he’s too busy trying to push himself inside you.

His back is hunched and his rosy lips are parted as he sucks in and exhales sharp breaths above you. They fan your forehead, cooling the sweat that’s gathered there, only causing you to shiver. 

You press your foreheads together when you lift yourself slightly with the help of your elbows so that you can reach between you, tug his waistband low just enough to expose him and guide him inside you. He grits his teeth, baring them like a threatened animal as soon as your fingers curl around the base of his cock, mindlessly stroking the impressive length, spreading the pre-cum that’s gathered at the tip without any sense of patience.

Neither of you looks into each other’s eyes; all of your attention is aimed at the spot where you almost connect. After all, his fat cockhead is bumping against your sticky pussy now, inconsistently gliding up and down and smearing arousal. Every time he teases your entrance, your breath hitches in the back of your throat and you cling onto him a little harder.

“Yuujiii,” you whine, teeth sinking into your bottom lip so harshly that you fear you might have drawn blood. He almost doesn’t recognize the sound of your voice. “What’re you waiting for?! Put it iiin!”

“Yeah… Y-yeah, okay,” he bites out, trying to stop the persistent flutter of a muscle in his cheek. His arms feel like giving in but the muscles in his biceps still flex and shudder with anxiety and anticipation when he finally presses in.

His cockhead pushes past the initial ring of muscle pretty effortlessly from how wet you’ve gotten from mere kissing and a little bit of grinding. Perhaps it’s the alcohol that’s making you so pliant and eager, but it’s easy to open your legs wider so that you can let in even more of him.

Yuuji feels dizzy; like the entire world is spinning. You’re underneath him, panting so loudly and you’re so warm inside, so accepting, so wet. Your pussy hugs him just right, walls squeezing around his girth, sucking him in further. The sensation makes him drop his entire weight right on top of your writhing body the second he allows himself to slowly rock into you and sink balls deep.

He hides his face into the crook of your neck as he begins to lazily thrust inside you, doing whatever feels best because he can’t possibly bring himself to form thoughts right now. In and out, the strokes are long, slow and deep. So deep, in fact, that they make you wince each time he hits the sweet spot that’s hiding inside.

You’ve ended up so close yet again; with your limbs intertwined and your bodies pressed tightly together that your shirt is crinkling between you. It rides up with the movement of his hips slamming against your own, exposing your stomach, making you stick to each other from how sweaty you’ve gotten.

“Nngh… You feel… s’good,” he grits out, quiet moaning already lacing his voice. His breathing has gotten so heavy that it’s creating moisture on the small patch of skin on your neck that he’s got his mouth pressed against. “Won’t last long… Ca-ah… Can’t.”

He sounds so fucking drunk as he continues to say pure nonsense into the side of your throat and keeps on pressing you into the softness of the couch. Not only on alcohol, but also on your pussy it seems. 

It makes him practically start pounding into you now. Abusing your tight little hole. He slips one arm underneath you and pulls you even closer so that he can steady himself a little bit, and wetness squelches between you as a result. Skin slaps against skin, breaths intermingle. His fingers tangle into your hair crudely – it hurts when he tugs at the roots even if you’re well aware that he doesn’t mean to.

He’s so big above you. So strong. So stupidly male. And he’s also gotten lost in the moment. For a second it makes you scared of him a little bit even if he’s the sweetest man you’ve ever met, a real proper marshmallow. And it doesn’t help that his cock is as big as the rest of him is; stretching you so deliciously, splitting you wide open, causing tears to prickle at the corners of your eyes even if the booze that’s coursing your veins is supposed to numb you out to a size like that.

“Yuuji, wa- fuck, wait…!” You cross your ankles at his waist in an attempt to slow him down, heels panically digging into his back dimples and toes curling. 

“N-no, I can’t, please… Don’t make me wait, please, please, please, c’mon,” he babbles, still not slowing down, not stopping. His eyes are half-closed and they show concern, but they’re also dark and foggy when he lifts his head just enough to look at you. “Just a lil’ more, yeah…? Yeah? Just a lil’... Ugh, keep still just a bit longer- I’m almost there. So… mmh… close.”

You try to fight against him, tugging on his hair and sinking your nails into his back, but all he does is endure it, not really caring much about your thrashing and turning. He’s got you caged underneath him, crying out his name, clawing raw red lines into his broad back. It’s all drunken breeding instinct and no brain as he uses your body like a toy, and the realization that you can do nothing but take it is terrifying as much as it is thrilling.

His pounding has turned borderline ruthless by now and in his urgency to cum, he’s pushed himself so deep inside you that you’re pretty sure he’s fucked his way straight into your goddamn womb. In his weak attempt to make you last until the end, he’s even started to messily rub irregular circles into your clit.

It makes a thin line of drool dribble down the corner of your mouth from how fucked out you’ve become in a mere fifteen minutes. The overstimulation is probably completely accidental, but it achieves the same result just the same. He outright forces the climax out of your body, and the second he feels you squeeze around him, abused pussy trying to milk him dry, he’s giving in, not resisting anymore, shooting his load inside you in an instant.

The groan he lets out is almost like a growl. He arches his back again, balls tightening, grip almost turning iron-like. You can feel the warmth of his cum as it fills you in steady waves of pleasure. 

You both stay still for a long while after that, trying to gather your senses, attempting to calm down your trembling. His cum is warm and sticky; tacky between your thighs. It starts to drip out of your hole by the time his cock softens enough to create more space. 

There’s just so much of it. A fuckload.

And he’s still breathing so hard. You both are.

“I’m so sorry… Fuck, I-” he rasps out. His mouth is so dry that he feels like he could chug an entire jug of water, but he pushes that need away for now in order to get a good look at you instead. “I just- I-”

Yuuji stops mid-sentence when he sees you push two of your fingers between your legs before bringing them up in front of your face again. He watches, eyelids heavy, as you spread them then, toying with the glimmery, cloudy white substance that’s gathered there until you gently push them inside your mouth, licking his release right off of your fingertips.

His jaw almost hits the floor. He’s so baffled by what he’s just seen that he barely registers the fact that his cock is trying to get hard again, throbbing against his thigh.

“What?” is all you say in response to the incredulous look that sits on his face now. Your voice is muffled from the way you keep your mouth stuffed full.

“I licked it so it’s mine.”

[chaussetteblanche]

and they were roommates pt. 3

pairing : Spencer Reid x fem!student!roommate!reader summary : life on campus with a killer on the loose, the FBI makes an arrest word count : 2k warning : canon-typical violence, swear words (one use of the f-word) A/N : thank you so so much for all the love on this story !!! I'm so glad you all enjoy it <333 I'll probably do a part 4, it may be the last part, idk yet :)

part 1, part 2, part 4

"Spencer, I realise your concern, but lots of women look somewhat like this." It wasn't lost on Spencer what Hotch was trying to do by calling by his first name. "Hotch, she- she could be right next to them. She fits his type right down to the colour of her eyes!" "Spencer, man, you need to think rationally." Derek placed a hand on Spencer's shoulder. "Lots of women have that hair colour and length, it's in style right now, right Emily?" "Yeah, definitely." "Look, I just- I need to make a call."

When Spencer had called you sometime in the evening, you'd been expecting him to tell you he was going to come home late and to not wait up for him. What you weren't expecting was for his voice to be the most serious and stern you'd ever heard it. "Don't go outside until I come home, okay?" He knew it was entirely irrational. The unsub only took women in broad daylight, you weren't facing any more risks than usual. But he couldn't take a chance. Not with this. Not with you. "What? Why?" "Just- I'll explain everything when I come home, I'll be there in a couple hours, but please, don't leave the apartment. And make sure everything is locked." "Spencer, what's going on?" "Can you just-" He paused, forcing himself to remain calm. "Look, do as I say, please. I'll explain everything later, I promise." You hesitated for a moment. Luckily for you, you weren't working at the bar tonight. Luckily for Spencer, you liked him enough to indulge him. "Okay." "Thank you."

"Oh my God, no, absolutely not!" "Y/N, it's for your safety, don't you understand that?!" "My safety? What about my life?"

This was the first real fight you'd ever had. You'd had disagreements, of course, he didn't like you leaving your empty cups and glasses all over the place. You told him off for waking you in the morning by making too much noise. Sometimes you'd get jealous if Geoffrey slept in Spencer's bed rather than yours. Yes, you'd had your fair share of arguments, but none quite like this.

"I'm not asking you to give up your life, you're being totally-" You scoffed loudly, interrupting him. "Spencer, you might as well! Do you realise what you're suggesting I do? You want me to give up on going outside, not go to any of my classes, not see any of my friends, not go to work, don't you see what bullshit that is? It's putting a cross on my social life, my education and my work!" You gesticulated angrily as you speak, feeling heat rising to your face. "I already told you, it's for your own safety." He sighed loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. He wasn't even looking at you. A tiny, tiny piece of you wanted to slap him. "I will not stop living my life because some psycho thinks it's fun to kill innocent girls! I won't!" You crossed your arms over your chest and resisted the urge to stomp your foot.

"You're being incredibly childish right now." You hated how he managed to stay calm. You wanted him to get just as angry as you were, livid even. It wasn't fair that you were the only one getting upset. "Are you making all the girls who look like me give up everything for the sake of their safety?" Your tone was mocking and mean but you didn't have it in you to care at the moment. He met your eyes at last, lips turned downwards into a frown. Finally, some sort of emotion. "Don't do that, Y/N," he warned in a low voice. "No, I think it's a valid question. Is your boss making an announcement to the press that all the girls in Mary Washington University who look like the three last girls should stay inside? Is he?" you pushed. Spencer looked away from you again, shaking his head in disbelief at your attitude. "No, he isn't."

"Then why do you expect me to do that?!" You threw your hands in the air, beyond frustrated. For a logical person, Spencer's behaviour wasn't making any sense at the moment. "I don't expect you to do it. I want you to do it, I need you to do it." You could feel his calm facade breaking, piece by piece. "Why, Spencer, fucking why?!" "Because!" He finally exploded, jumping to his feet and slapping his palms onto the table. You didn't jump. "Because it's you, Y/N! I can't work this case if I know you're in danger every single day! If I know yours could be the next dead body students ogle at on the university's front lawn! If I know it's your picture they're going to hang up next to the other victims! I just can't do it!"

Oh.

You let yourself fall down on the couch, running your hands over your face. You were both stepping into uncharted territory. You'd tip-toed this line before but had never crossed it yet. And this was not the way to do it. You were not going to cross the border from friendship into something more by screaming at each other. Spencer seemed to read your silence as distress.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell." He softly trudged over to the couch and sat down next to you. "No, it's okay, I- I kind of wanted you to. I'm sorry for getting so upset." You take his hand in your lap and intertwine your fingers. "I understand, I'm asking too much of you, it's selfish." He gives your hand a squeeze. "I just can't stand the thought of anything happening to you." You sit in silence for a little while, processing.

"I just can't hide while I wait for other girls to be killed, Spencer, it wouldn't be fair." Sometimes, Spencer hated how good of a person you were. If your morals and personal ethics were some of the things he liked about you the most, he couldn't help but curse them in this moment. "I don't care about fair," he mumbled, hating how puerile he sounded. You cooed and laid your head on his shoulder. "I know, I'm sorry."

"I won't promise you anything, but I'll try to always be with someone around campus. I'm usually with my friends anyway. And I can share my location with you all the time if that's reassuring for you." "I'd like that, thank you. And... what about when you're at work?" "I can ask Paul to walk me to my car." Paul was the manager at the bar you worked at, Quantequila. His past was a mysterious blend of prison, MMA fighting and crochet clubs. He liked you plenty and you knew he wouldn't mind walking you to your car for a while. "Thank you."

Over the next week, you did just that. Many students started moving in groups and avoiding being alone at all costs after the FBI released the profile and the pictures of the last victims.

"We're looking for a local white man, early twenties. He may have moved here a year ago, we figure he's either in his first year of BA or MA. This is someone you don't notice, he's shy and introverted, he doesn't participate in class and he won't talk to people if he can help it, especially not women. This man is a loner and does his best to be invisible. We think he stalks his victims for a while before attacking them, so if you start seeing someone you've never seen before in strange places, please notify us. My name is Aaron Hotchner and you'll find the hotline on the screen you're watching this on."

You always had at least two friends with you whenever you were roaming about on campus. Though no one really spoke about the situation, the energy had changed. People were becoming tense and suspicious. Friends were fighting over who should accompany who, when and where. A place which had once gathered so many motivated and joyous students now had those very people looking over their shoulder.

You hated it.

Truly, you didn't want to underestimate this killer, but you were getting tired of it all. You'd wish the BAU would just catch him, but, as Spencer had explained to you multiple times, they had incredibly little to go on. What you knew without him telling you was that they needed another victim to predict his next move. Still, you were a person who appreciated alone time and you had gotten none in the last 10 days. So, when two of your friends who were supposed to walk with you from your class to the subway bailed on you, you weren't that upset.

You put your headphones on, listening to your favourite song of the moment and started walking. You had a tendency of getting lost in your thoughts and didn't notice the sound of heavy footsteps following your own over your music. What you did notice though, was the reflection of someone walking close behind you in a cafe window. You looked over your shoulder, frowning. The sun was in your eyes, blocking your vision, but you managed to perceive an average-sized man with long-ish black hair which hung around his face in greasy strands. Not thinking too much of it, you continued on your way.

You didn't think too much of it when you saw him sitting a few tables away from you when you were studying one afternoon at the library. You were captivated by the Middle English poem under your eyes, wondering what the author had meant with the particular use of the kenning "earth-cave". When you looked up and caught his eyes, cold and unnerving, you didn't overthink it. There were some weird people on campus. Who were you to judge?

When you saw him at your grocery store, though, that was when you started worrying. You were picking up a box of After-Eights for Spencer when you saw him looking at oatmeal raisin biscuits. What really tipped you off was that no one really liked those, so he must have been pretending to look occupied. A chill ran down your spine as all the other places you'd spotted him came back to you. Your lecture hall, the cafeteria, sitting in the lawn under a tree, the main hall,...

You decided that the next time you would see him, you'd tell Spencer. You didn't want him to worry if this turned out to be nothing. Maybe the man was just an exchange student? Or had joined during the academic year?

Two days later, the FBI made an arrest. A man named Ben Colton fitted the profile exactly. In his dorm room, they'd found pictures of women who looked exactly like the last victims and of resembling women on campus, you were part of them. You didn't know that, Spencer had felt you didn't need to be aware of that specific detail. The only problem was that the BAU had no physical evidence tying him to the crimes yet. The arrest had been sanctioned by higher authorities while physical proof was searched for. Police dogs and officers had been tearing through all of his possessions while Garcia had gone through his entire online life. Nothing tying him to the murders had been found.

The general public knew nothing of this, of course. To them, someone getting arrested meant they could go on with their usual lives. The man you'd been seeing left and right had left your mind entirely as you celebrated your regained freedom with your friends.

Of course, Spencer had warned you. They were 99% sure this was the unsub, they just needed the evidence. That didn't eliminate the 1% chance it wasn't him. But 99% chances were good enough for you. You trusted the BAU. Specifically, you trusted Spencer. With your life.

So you started living your life normally again. You left for class a little later because you didn't need to walk with your other friends. You stopped sharing your location with Spencer. You put the volume of your music higher again. You started leaving your pepper spray at home. You started texting while walking again.

Needless to say, you were wholly unprepared for the violent blow to your head as you walked to class one morning. How ironic, you thought as you blacked out, that Mary Goldman had probably experienced the same thing exactly two weeks prior.

Taglist : (all of you who asked for a part three <3) @princess-ofthe-pages @usuck @theylovemelody @empressgraytea @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @lillianacristina @venomsvl @user-3113s-blog @pumpkin-cake @redros3y @faunrasthewinterelf @puppykinsthepotato @bookishnerd1132 @bonza-bear @teeshamcbeesha @hades-disappointment-child @princesssparkle2024 @darlingcharling-blog @yasmin12312 @khxna @jamieeboulos

[princessbrunette]

In need fathers day with baby daddy rafe, pretty pretty please princess 💕

ᘏ ⑅ ᘏ   ഒ    zᶻ

you always felt nervous going to tannyhill. not that you felt unwelcome, everyone in his life made it clear that rafe’s baby was of utmost importance to them — so with that came the kind and supportive treatment toward you. however, you couldn’t help but feel like a burden. if rafe wanted to be around you and his kid 24/7, he would do so — hell, he’d get back with you. due to feeling like this, your palms were all sweaty by the time you’d reached the front door, card tucked under you and baby carrier weighing down your arm.

he looks surprised to see you when he opens the door. still in his shirt and slacks, it’s clear to you that rafe had buried himself in work today. it only then occurs to you that father’s day might be difficult for him, giving his circumstances at all. you inwardly wince.

“uh, hey.” he eyes you, itching his cheek and peering into the baby carrier.

you clear your throat, bashfully holding out the card. he takes it in silence and you place the carrier down, picking up your sleepy baby and holding her to your chest. “happy father’s day, daddy.” you smile, voice soft as to not disturb your child too much. he softens a little, blinking.

“that today?” he breathes and you stiffen a little. surely he knew?

“uh, yeah. we got you a card, wanted to let you spend some time with her today if you’re not too busy.”

“if i’m not too— listen i’m never too busy to see my kid okay? or you. i’m— i’m never too busy to… see my family… and stuff.” it’s awkward, the sentiment too soft for his liking and he looks down, staring at the sweet, milk-plumped angel in your arms. “let me…” he reaches out and takes her, her fat little fists immediately stretching for him and curling into the material of his shirt making your heart swell. he was always oddly a natural at this, handling her so well. it always filled you with a strange kind of sadness, one that regressed you slightly to something more scolded and childlike because your own father hadn’t offered you that same generosity. yet, you were thrilled your baby would receive that love even if you weren’t together with her father.

“come in, please.” he stands aside, holding the door for you before picking up the carrier in his other hand— effortlessly walking it with the baby to the living room. “you walked here?” he converses, setting the carrier down and placing the baby back inside, crouching down to stroke her tummy with the side of his finger.

“took the bus. no way im walking with that heavy thing.” you chuckle quietly and he swivels his head to glance at you.

“should’ve told me you were coming i would have got you. y’know i really don’t like you getting on the bus with her, it’s not safe alright, there’s all kinds of lunatics out there.”

“we survived.” you shrug, and there’s a short silence before he stands up, reaching for the card and opening it up. you fiddle with the hem of your dress awkwardly. you never quite knew what to do around rafe these days.

you watch as he reads the contents. ‘to daddy, thanks for being the best and always looking after me. can’t wait to be able to tell you myself how much i love you.’ you sign it off as your daughter, but his eyes linger over it, your sweet handwriting scrawled around the brightly coloured paper — almost for a moment like you were saying it yourself.

“and before you ask, yes she said all of that herself.” you joke to ease the tension and he snaps out of it, looking up at you with a chuckle.

“our little wordsmith, huh?” he smirks, wandering over to the mantelpiece and displaying the card. it filled you with some kind of pride, though it wasn’t about you. “look uh…” he strokes his jaw, glancing over at the baby. “let me take you both out for dinner, yeah? my treat.”

“your treat? rafe its father’s day, we’re supposed to be treating you—”

“i know, alright but… i’m supposed to be looking after you, right? looking… looking after you both.” he corrects himself, walking closer to you until he was basically looming over you, eyes wide. “and— and i know this is a hard day for you too, alright— shit, it’s a hard day for me. gotta bond as a family at some point, you know that right?”

you nod, feeling a weight off your shoulders a little at the way the tension fizzles out.

“you sure? i don’t wanna take up your time—”

your incessant apologising makes his eyes flutter in irritation and he takes your cheeks in his hands, forcing you to look at him as he ducks his neck down to be more at your level.

“you’re not… yeah? you’re not. so quit.”

you blink all dumb, not realising how badly you missed his hands on you even if it was just as an innocent gesture and you nod, not trusting your voice. you try not to overthink the way he leaves his hands there for a moment as he glances over at your baby, thumb absentmindedly stroking your cheekbone for a second before pulling away and patting his pockets. “has she slept?”

your brain malfunctions so it takes you a second, but soon you choke out a “y—yeah. had her afternoon nap she’s just still waking up.”

“good. i know somewhere quiet, got a host there who owes me a favour.” he strides to the carrier and lifts it before turning back towards you, blinking at you obviously. “well are you coming or— or what?”

“yeah. yes. i’m coming.”

ᘏ ⑅ ᘏ   ഒ    zᶻ

[slytherinshua]

BROUGHT THE HEAT BACK

genre. vampire au/bthb au. established relationship. warnings. sunghoon is very jealous. profanity. kissing. slightly suggestive maybe. reader wears a dress. pairing. vampire!sunghoon x fem!witch!reader. wc. 1k. request. no. a/n. bthb is probably one of their best mvs ever it was so well made like omg?? giving tim burton film vibes esp at the end and every scene was just so stunning, obv it gave me fic ideas ksdjks. written esp for @blue-jisungs @hursheys and @loserlvrss

“Jesus, fuck, Sunghoon—” You shrieked when you entered your apartment, not expecting your boyfriend to be hanging from the ceiling, eyes staring at the door. He floated down to the floor, not moving a muscle. You were used to his… supernatural way of moving around by now, but you hadn’t expected him to jumpscare you like that.

“What did I say about hanging from the ceiling?” You muttered, brushing your coat off. Sunghoon slid over to you, hovering over your shoulder, eyes piercing your cheek. You figured something must be up. He didn’t act so vampirish unless he was pissed, reverting back to his old habits of hundreds of years.

“What did I say about going out without telling me?” He grunted in response, a very evident scowl etched on his face.

Ah, that’s why he was pissed.

“I did tell you, dumbass.” You slid your heels off next, padding your bare feet over to your shared bedroom. Sunghoon followed you, still too lazy to use his legs. 

“You didn’t say you’d be going in that outfit.” He countered, scarlet eyes shining brighter with his annoyance. 

“Seriously? I thought I looked pretty.” You huffed, grabbing one of his hoodies draped over a chair and glancing at the full-length mirror. You quite liked the dress you had picked out. Sure, it was a little revealing for your taste, but you wanted to try something different. All your friends were going to be dressing up nice. The dresses in your wardrobe were all gloomy colours and long-sleeves; very witchy thanks to your profession. 

The dark vermillion stained dress was sleeveless, adorned with jewels and a slit on the leg. You had bought it the week previously with your friend after trying it on and falling in love with how it looked. The colour reminded you of Sunghoon’s eyes. 

“You do look pretty. That’s the problem.” He muttered, biting his lip with his fang.

“There’s no need to be jealous, babe. I wasn’t looking at anyone else.” You assured him, pulling his black hoodie over your head. 

“People were looking at you, though. And for the record, I’m not jealous.” He frowned, his eyebrows furrowed as he too looked at the mirror, seeing the obvious absence of his reflection next to you. He hated that. Why did he always feel invisible?   

“Whatever you say.” A hint of a smile played on your lips. No matter how annoyed and angry Sunghoon got, you were never intimidated by him. He couldn’t hide the fact that he was secretly a softie. You pulled on his arm, and as he held no resistance, his body fell perfectly into your arms. 

“Geez, you’re burning up. Sure you’re not a little jealous?” You giggled, feeling his forehead and cheeks. Although they didn’t hold any colour, they were warm to the touch. You knew enough about vampires to know feelings of jealousy made their stolen blood boil. Literally. You had focused on vampires in your witch studies. 

“The room is just hot.” He made up an excuse, dipping away from your reach before you could see that he was lying. You shook your head, amused at him. He pursed his lips, taking a seat on the bed and avoiding eye contact with you out of spite.

You slid the dress off under his hoodie and grabbed a pair of pyjama pants to put on instead. His clothes were always the perfect amount of oversized on you, plus the added bonus of smelling just like him. It was like you were wrapped in a warm hug at all times.

“Burn it.” Sunghoon’s voice broke the silence in the room. You turned back around to him, quickly figuring out that he meant the dress.

“Good grief, you’re ridiculous—” You started to protest, but seeing his serious look painted in his eyes, you figured it was probably best to not test him when he was sensitive. You picked up the dress, using a simple spell to burst it into flames.

“Happy?” 

He nodded, satisfied. He tilted his head, and you felt a tug on your sleeve; his sorcery yanking you gently, a silent plead to come sit with him. You complied, knowing already what would get his mind off the burning jealousy he was feeling.

“Need your kisses now, hm?” You ruffled his hair lovingly, enjoying the grumpy expression on his face. Sliding his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose, you drew closer to his face. He couldn’t wait a second longer to taste your lips, his scorching possessiveness creeping in every cold vein of his body, heat shuddering through his skin.

He was annoyed at you and how you occupied his every thought. He just couldn’t get you out of his head, whether you were by his side or away from him. His entire life had turned upside down the second you walked in and trampled all over his heart. Now, he was stuck, inexplicable feelings swallowing him whole. He wasn’t used to it. No one else had such a big effect on him. He loved you too much.

He poured out his frustration into the kiss, fangs nipping at your lips, one hand holding the side of your neck to pull you closer. It wasn’t enough. Even as his tongue melted with yours, it wasn’t enough. He still felt the jealousy creeping up his spine, the thought of other guys seeing you look so pretty distressing his mind. 

You pulled apart for air, the eagerness of Sunghoon’s kiss depleting your breath quickly. He peppered kisses to your face and neck as you rested, tracing over every inch of skin he could reach as if to dispel any doubt that you were his. 

“Still burning up.” You mumbled to yourself, feeling the skin of his neck and shoulder junction. You smiled, wondering how many kisses it would take to cool him off again. Something was telling you that you would be there for a while.

↳ enhypen taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @ddeonudepressions,, @minholing,, @delcakoo,,

@kpoprhia,, @weird-bookworm,, @cha3w0n-hearts,, @candewlsy,, @blossominghunnie,,

@amara-mars,, @wccycc,, @seunghancore,, @heavenfilm,, @sobun1est,,

@bananabubble,, @talkingsaxy,, @sxmmerberries,, @nicholasluvbot,, @dimplewonie,,

@50-husbands,, @hursheys,, @stannwjnss,, @gong-fourz,, @nonononranghaee,,

@forever-atiny

[misstycloud]

Yandere cowboy x fem.reader

Yandere! Cowboy who’s the towns sweetheart. How can he not be? He helps every troubled soul he comes across, doesn’t matter who they are. He works hard every day to easy the load of providing for the family, he’s not a child anymore, of course he’ll do anything he can to help out! Besides, who wouldn’t fall for those muscles and pearly smile? You’d be crazy if you didn’t.

Yandere! Cowboy who you meet the first day of your ‘vacation’ to stay at your grandparents. Your parents though you’d been acting up the last weeks so they decided it was best to send you away for the summer, much to your dismay. Now you’d have to text your friends that you can’t hang out at all. Damn it. Being forced to stay in a in-the-middle-of-nowhere town definitely wasn’t your top priority. There was practically no service and nothing to do all summer. You’ll be bored out of your mind unless you manage to find something to entertain you. Luckily, there does appear to be something worthy of your attention- or rather, someone. It’ll certainly make things more interesting.

Yandere! Cowboy who you think is kinda cute, if not a little weird. He’s no doubt very different compared to the boys in the city- speaking in that special accent, wearing worn overalls, sweat at his forehead everytime you meet and practical thinking above all else. Still, you find yourself intrigued by his contrasting personality.

Yandere! Cowboy who is enchanted by you. You’re just so….wonderful. Funny enough, he also thinks you’re different, which interests him. Normally, he isn’t the type to brag and is quite humble, but he isn’t blind. He can see the way the girls in town drool over him. He knows he’s attractive. But you, you don’t fall over your feet whenever you gets a glimpse of him. You don’t stutter over every word while talking to him- in fact, you’re as cool as a cucumber. It almost seems like you’re flirting with him.

Yandere! Cowboy who notices you way your eyes sparkle when you speak of your interests. He starts thinking about the way you sound when laugh, how you pout when you’re frustrated and what you look like when you’re sad. It’s all beautiful. You are beautiful. Soon, it’s not only that he focuses on. Now, every time you’re walking ahead of him, he pays attention to the curve of your ass, how your hips sway when you walk, and suddenly he finds himself having to adjust his pants.

Yandere! Cowboy who you enter a special relationship with. You’re more than friends but less than actual lovers- that’s how you see it at least and you believed that’s what yan! Cowboy wanted, too. You two spend all your free time together in each others arms and going on cute dates around town and in the forest.

Yandere! Cowboy who wishes to marry you. You’re his perfect match! It must be fate that you ended up in their little town. He’d give you a big beautiful ring- he’s saved up quite a bit during his years of working, so he can easily afford it- and let you have whatever wedding you imagine. He’d make sure it’s exactly how you want it. Then, he’ll personally build you a house. Of course, before he starts working on that, he’ll need to know if you want a porch, what kind of shutter you want and what colour should the exterior be, would you like a fireplace?

Yandere! Cowboy who can’t believe it; you’re leaving? You say that summer is over and you don’t have to stay there with your grandparents anymore. You almost seem…relieved. No, that can’t be it. You love him! Right? Or was the connection he felt just one-sided?

“Sorry, you weren’t meant to catch feelings for me or anything. I just wanted to have fun, pass the time y’know.

“So I didn’t meant anything to you? Not even a little bit?…”

“I do like you. But I live in the city and my stay here was never going to be permanent. Like I said, I’m sorry it got a little too serious.”

“…….”

“Yeah, I gotta go now. I wish you well though, see ya.”

Yandere! Cowboy who spiraled after you left. You’ve dug yourself too deep in him. He can’t imagine going on about his life like you never existed. He thought you could be happy there, even if wasn’t like the big city you were used too, but that was clearly not the case.

If he had to uproot his life and move to be with you, then so be it. He wonders if you’ll be happy to see him again.

[brailsthesmolgurl]

"Where's Mummy?"

A oneshot fluff, entirely headcanon based, featuring all 3 of the LNDS men being a father. Requested by a lovely follower of mine. Hope this is an enjoyable read for you all. The names of the kids are based on my take, but if you want to include names of kids you had thought of with your husbandos, you may slot that in on your own will!

Want some angst? Go with this series of mine, tears guaranteed: Damnation

Warnings: Fluff as per usual however, there shall be suggestive themes for this, soooo let you imagination run free :)

RAFAYEL - FATHER TO A GIRL

"I'll be fine. Stop worrying would you?" Rafayel groaned with a smile. "Our daughter will be alright." He walked beside you, accompanying you towards the front door. "I am more worried about you with your work instead. So take care of yourself, please? For our sake?"

His concern made you rolled your eyes playfully, leaning in to give him a long kiss. "I will be home by evening, I promise." Your eyes stared into those mauve purple eyes of your husband's, only to have him yank you back into his arms and pressing his lips to yours again. Provocating you into a minor makeout session. Breaths becoming heavier by every passing minute.

You bit your lip the moment he pulled away, reminiscing the feeling of his soft and tender lips against yours. "Don't want you to be late, unless you want to call in sick for the day, hmm?" He winked, a hint dropped for you to decipher. "You know I can't Rafayel." Your answer made the man pout, arms crossed, but eventually surrendering to the reality of your situation. He press a small kiss against your cheek and sent you off on your way. He stood at the entryway, watching you get onto your bike and rode it out of the front yard and onto the empty streets.

Heading back in, he sat at his usual thinking corner, eyeing the piece of artwork he had yet to finish. Thomas was expecting this piece to be done by two days ago. But an artist's work should not be rushed, Rafayel being an advocate for quality over quantity. He sighed, walking over to pick up his palette stained with an array of colours, before sitting himself in front of the artwork and continued working on his piece.

Hours had passed since then, the strokes of the painter finally stopped when his artwork is finished. He grabbed his phone off of the coffee table and called Thomas. "Rafayel, where the hell is the piece of---"

"It's done, you can come and collect it tonight once it is all dried up." Rafayel spoke, then Thomas started to inform him about the upcoming interviews that he has to attend, one for the local magazine, one for an exhibition taking place abroad... Pitters and patters of feet across the marble floor made Rafayel lost his focus. He turned around to find his daughter, Mariela awake. "Daddy duty calls."

The phone call ended abruptly, with Thomas ending his note on 'There was also an artwork you have to---' Call ended. Ever since Rafayel had taken on his duties as a father, he made sure his works are delayed long enough just so he could spend time with his own family. Recently, you had been called on for many more missions as there has been a shortage of deepspace hunters.

Rafayel and you had discussed about the delegation of responsibilities while being parents to a newborn. Rafayel insisted that you should quit your job so that you could stay at home with him and Mariela. Money not being any concern to your family to begin with. But you could not, you could not abandon your duties as a deepspace hunter, especially when there are not a lot of new recruits coming in.

So you both settled on a solution that meets both ends. Rafayel would delay his paintings and take care of Mariela if you happen to not be at home, but your sacrifice would be to not work past evening times. Him not wanting you to overexert yourself and still being able to spend time with you as a family. The miniature version of you and Rafayel clumsily walked over to him. Small and chubby hands rubbing her cheeks in circles.

"Good morning my little fishie." Rafayel knelt down and gave her a hug, a usual greeting for morning and night. "How was your sleep?"

"Good." She replied, arms curled around her father's neck as he carried her up in his arms. "Where is mummy?"

"Mummy has to work so today, you will hang out with daddy, yeah?" Rafayel sat her at her baby chair by the dining table. He took a plate of ready-made mini pancakes and poured a cup of warm milk into a cup. "Mummy even made you your favourite breakfast." The idea of having his kid eating such sugary stuffs in the morning is unfavoured. But since y/n had woken up extra early today to prepare the breakfast for her daughter, Rafayel will let it slide for this once. but we all know he too soft of a father to reject that if it ever happens again

Watching his child dig into the pancakes, Rafayel started allowing his mind to wander. Mariela's name came about while his wife was pregnant, and you had both agreed on wanting your child to have names related to the sea to remind the child's origins of being half-Lemurian. Rafayel was thrilled to have their names being related to the waters he used to live in and so the naming process is entirely within his control. Both of you settled on Mariela eventually, the name a direct representation of the star of the sea.

...

When y/n rode past the main gates and towards the yard, you found you husband, with your daughter standing next to him, waiting for you at the front of the door. Mariela the size of a toadstool next to her 6' tall father. But her big, doe-like eyes took the shade of Rafayel's, a mirror of his lilac-blue mixture. "Hey there!" You greeted excitedly, quickly pushing yourself off of your motorbike and rushed over to hug your daughter tightly in your arms.

"Mummy!" The brunette toddler giggled, arms wrapped around her mother and head tucked into your neck. The hug between the two was interrupted with Rafayel hugging both of them. Three of them within a circle of a hug. "Hi, mummy. I missed you."

"I missed you too, so so much." A big kiss was given to the toddler's cheek and they all walked further into the house. "What did you do with daddy today?"

"Daddy taught me how to draw fish and he taught me Wewuma." She spoke, a wide grin evident on her cherubic cheeks. This made y/n confused and you turned to look for Rafayel for an explanation but sees him being on the phone. Assuming it is Thomas on the other end of the line.

"That's good darling." You held her close to you, legs directing towards her bedroom. "But I think it is nap time for you okay? Mummy and daddy will make dinner and then later we are going to have pasta!" Mariela's eyes lit up at the word 'pasta', for she is a huge lover of carbs just like you. No doubt you two are of the same bloodline.

Once you had laid your daughter to nap, you started prepping the ingredients in the huge kitchen. Rafayel came by your side and hugged you from behind, breathing in your scent deeply. "I missed you wifey." He mumbled into the crooks of your neck and drew circles on the side of your hips.

"What is wewuma?" You turned over slightly, the question directed towards your husband. But his expression matches yours, confusion written all over his face. "Our daughter said you taught her wewuma today."

That sentence made Rafayel laughed, releasing you from his embrace and with him smacking his hand against the marble counter a couple of times. "Wewuma!" He continued his laugh, but mellowed down when he noticed that you became more confused than ever. "I taught her how to speak Lemurian." He said, the wide, cheeky grin not leaving his face anytime soon.

"Oh." Realisation hits you about his lesson for the day and you shake your head, chuckling at how your daughter had the word pronounced earlier. You can't blame her, as she is not a preschooler yet. Rafayel attached himself to your back again, his lips pressed a kiss to the shell of your ear and you blushed. Despite being married for quite some time, his intimate actions never failed to make you feel like a giddy teen girl.

"Lemurian is already a dying language. So, wifey..." He nibbled your ears lightly, whispering his question quietly. "How about we make one more little us?" His arms tightened around your hips and you felt something pressed against your bum, making you gasped in teasing pleasure. He turned you around forcefully and pushed you up onto the kitchen counter effortlessly, spreading your legs. "Right here. Tonight."

˚ · • . ° .

ZAYNE - FATHER TO A PAIR OF TWINS

"Thanks a lot, my love." You leaned forward to hug your husband, after knowing that he had planned an itinerary for you to get yourself pampered for a whole day. That includes making the necessary bookings and paying for all of the expenses. Not to mention the extra money he had given you so you may use it to buy anything you please from the mall you would be visiting later in your itinerary. "You deserve it. Given how much you had cared for the kids the past few days as I was busy with work." He leaned down slightly, pressing a kiss to your forehead as a loving gesture. "In return, I shall take care of the kids today."

Zayne fetched you to the middle of Linkon city, where all of the activities planned out in the itinerary are located before he headed back. Not wanting to go home to his toddlers being awake from their sleep. When he arrived home, he heard the creak of a door as he was placing his shoes on the shoe rack. Lumi and Iver, hand in hand, facing their father.

"Daddy?" The both of them spoke in sync, given their connection as twins. Fraternal twins, a rare occurrence for any mothers in life. They are considered a miracle given the statistics whereas out of 100 births that happen, only 2 mothers would end up with fraternal twins. And the percentage of getting fraternal twins are way lesser as compared to conceiving twins of the same gender.

Short way to put it, y/n and Zayne have a very special family, in fact they may be one of the few families within Linkon city to have a pair of fraternal twins. Hence, they are very lucky indeed. Both of the twins were named after snow or winter season, with Zayne's evol being the main inspiration. Zayne's daughter Lumi, carries the meaning of snow and light, while Iver's name means winter in French.

Contrary to their names, none of them have any features that are pale as the cold weather, except for their milky white skin. There had always been a debate on which child inherited the looks of which parent, in this case, Lumi looks like her mother and Iver takes on his father's looks. And it could easily be differentiated from their hair and eye colour.

"Both of you just woke up?" Zayne's voice was gentle, going over to both of his kids and bending down to their eye level. They are both 3 years old, so you can imagine how tough it was for him to lower his height just to meet their eyes. "What do you want to eat?"

"Daddy, can we watch you make eggs?" Iver asked, his hazel green orbs twinkled under the sun rays shining in through their sky light. "The ones that are flat?" He even used his hand to draw a line in the air, to demonstrate the word 'flat' to his father.

Zayne smiled, nodding his head and walked towards the kitchen with the two toddlers bobbing behind him. Their standard breakfast had consisted of nothing but nutritious food which are vital for their growths. For their father is a doctor afterall. Zayne sat them both into their respective baby chairs and put on an apron, not wanting to dirty his outfit, and he started to cook, with the twins watching his every move. A few 'wah' and 'daddy, daddy, do it again!' slipping from their mouths every once in a while when Zayne does something out of the blue.

Half of the day passed, Lumi and Iver sat in the living room after Zayne had given them a bath and a change of clothings. They will be heading out soon for dinner. Zayne has never been a huge fan of cooking, but only does it out of necessity. The same rule applies even now, breakfasts can be done at home but for dinners, if time allows for both of the parents, Zayne would much rather eat out with his family.

"Daddy, time! Time!" Lumi shouted from the living room when they heard the cuckoo's chime, hailing from the handmade wooden clock that you bought a while ago. Although the toddlers had yet to enter pre-school, they are both surprisingly fast-learners. 9 months in, both of them had already started learning alphabets, and by now, their vocabulary has expanded beyond the age of usual three year olds. You strongly believe Zayne's genes are the cause behind this.

Zayne appeared from the room, a long-sleeved black turtleneck clad to his well-built physique, his iconic black slacks makes yet another appearance, and his hand held a dark grey coat. The weather was getting chilly and he decided to bring along a coat for you, the colour identical to his.

"Lumi, Iver, get your coats and I will help you to wear them." Zayne instructed, picking his car key off of the key holder on the wall. He had decided to go with the Maserati Levante i am not sponsored by them but the cars does scream his taste today, a comfortable SUV for his family of four.

"It's okay daddy. Iver will help me." Lumi responded, arms held up horizontally as Iver put on one of the sleeves for her light grey coat, then running over to the other side to help her to put on the remaining sleeves. "My turn." Lumi did the same for her sibling. When they are both done, they walked over to Zayne and held their arms up in sync again, urging their father silently to help them to tie their coats.

Zayne did just that, hair as dark as the night cascading in front his face when he bent down to help his kids tied a knot to secure their coats. Satisfied at the way their knots turned out, he gave each of them a kiss on their cheeks. "Are you both excited to see mummy?"

"YES!" Both of the kids shouted, arms raising, a sign of elatedness. Zayne held onto both of their hands, one on each side and slowly walked them to the car.

...

Zayne had chosen a western restaurant for dinner, reservation timing marked at 6pm. Now, here he sat, with both of his kids secured tightly behind in baby car seats. He was parked temporarily at the valet parking, patiently waiting for his wife. Soft piano music was played in the car to ease the silence as the kids were sound asleep in the back.

Seeing a familiar figure closing in, Zayne got out of the car and walked towards the passenger side, greeting you with a warm hug. "I could not have asked for a better day to pamper myself." You sighed contently, face flat against his chest, inhaling the scent of his cologne. A scent he would only use whenever he is out with you, a soft mix of pine wood and oakwood as the top notes, vanilla as the middle notes and cinnamon as end notes. A scent you are all too familiar with.

"Then I shall plan more of this for you." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips. "You must be hungry, I had already booked us a table at one of the nearby restaurants." He opened the car door and you got into the car. Getting into the car, he added. "The kids are sound asleep behind, I will wake them up once we arrived at the restaurant."

"Hello my babies." You greeted once the car door to the back was opened, watching your twins stirred in their sleep, before eyes slowly fluttering open.

"Iver..." Zayne cooed to his son, standing on the other side of the door, unbuckling the baby seats for the twins. "We had arrived at the restaurant. Let me give you a lift, alright?" You had never imagine Zayne with kids, given how cold he is of a person. Not mean and ignorant, but just, monotonous, quiet and calm. Having kids with him was unexpected, but him asking for kids was even more shocking.

The young man lifted his son into his arms, smoothing the back of his son's coat to make sure he is fully covered from the brazen cold wind and he headed in after locking the car. With you, holding onto your half-awake daughter behind in, walking swiftly into the restaurant.

The dinner was enjoyable, with the twins munching on to their kids meals and with you sat next to Zayne, having a delectable meal based on the waiter's recommendation. "The food here is good." You commented and your twins looked up, Lumi smiled and nodded, while Iver, with his face stuffed, nodded as well. "So what have you kids been doing today?"

"We watched cartoons." Lumi said, eyes mimicking your eye colours radiating her giddiness. You assumed the cartoons would be more educational rather than entertaining as Zayne does prefer the twins having to gain some form of knowledge from the cartoons. For him, the method is practically killing two birds with one stone. "Daddy also read some storybooks for us." Iver added in, still chewing onto his food, which made Zayne leaned forward to wipe the boy's lips clean with the napkin. "And we took a nap on daddy's chest."

"Be careful of choking, Iver." Zayne warned, his tone soft, giving him son's cheek a soft pinch. Zayne's lips tugged upwards, there is no way he could be mad at his own twins. That is how much he loves them.

"That is good to hear. Sounds like an eventful day for today. And I think daddy did a great job." You happily stated, resuming your meal. A hand on your thigh made you jerked slightly and you looked over, your husband's smile had exchanged for a smirk.

"It is my responsibility to take good care of the kids." He eyed the twins, and facing back to you, his orbs turning a shade darker. "But, it is also my responsibility to make my wife feel good. Mentally..." He trailed off, hands smoothing up your thighs till his thumb glided slowly over your intimate area. The table cloth a good disguise as Zayne's fingers worked his way to pull your panties to the side, collecting the wetness that was pooled there.

You shot daggers towards your husband as this is a public area but he paid no mind to you. The tip of his middle finger, the one adorning the wedding ring, slowly pushed its' way inside of you, pumping an agonizing pace into you. "And physically, of course." pls do this to me too Zayne, i want more babies too

˚ · • . ° .

XAVIER - FATHER TO A SON

"DADDY! DADDY! DADDY!" Lucian came bursting in through the door leading to his parent's room, causing Xavier to stir in his sleep. Eyebrows furrowed at the loud sounds of his son's voice at the early start of the weekend. The copy of Xavier jumped onto the bed and grabbed ahold of his father. "Wake up daddy!"

"Yeah, yeah I am awake now." Xavier yawned, rubbing his eyes with one hand and the other coming up to secure his son on him so he don't fall off. "What's the matter?"

"Mummy said you can take me to go get ice-cream today." His light blue eyes just a tone lighter than his father's when he propped himself up on his father's chest, patiently awaiting for a response. "Daddy please?"

"Okay okay." Xavier chuckled, hugging his son tight in his arms and the young boy laughed. With that, Xavier got out of the bed, with Lucian in his embrace. The hallways outside of the room wafted the smell of noodles and he knew immediately that you are still within the house.

But he was wrong, when he saw you being all dressed up, in a white t-shirt and blue jeans, sitting at the front of your door when you are tying the shoelaces to your sneakers. "Where are you going?" Xavier asked.

You turned at the sound of his voice and watched as Lucian was placed onto the floor by his father and the little boy came running to hug you. "I am heading to the mall with Tara for a little while. She needed me to help her pick out a dress." Standing up, you checked your outfit in the standing mirror for one last time. "At the meantime, you okay with bringing Lucian out for ice-cream?"

Xavier smiled and nodded obediently, taking long strides to press a loving kiss to his wife's lips and he sees her off. Lucian waving his small hands to say bye-bye to his own mother. "Have you eaten yet kiddo?" Xavier asked his son, only for the toddler to shake his head. "Alright, come on, let's have breakfast together. Then we will go for ice-cream later."

Xavier placed Lucian into the baby seat at the dining table and he took off the lid of the pot that was on the stove and he noticed that you had made tomato soup noodles. A dish that you had recently learned from social media. Your first try at making this dish however, was a failure. With Xavier finishing the tasteless noodles and struggling with diarrhea for the next few days. This time, he had his fingers crossed, hoping that the soup would be edible and not cause any unwanted effects.

Before giving the bowl to his son, Xavier tasted the soup base first, to taste if it would be too hot for his son to ingest. To his surprise, the soup was sweet and tangy, which marks a win for your cooking this time. He hungrily filled up his own bowl, before scooping a few spoonfuls of soup and noodles into Lucian's bowl. He also made sure to cut the noodles short enough so it would not cause Lucian to choke on his own food.

"Did mummy made this?" The 3 year old asked, eyes wide, moving in between his father's lips, and to his bear-shaped plastic bowl. Lucian have had a fair share of his father's cooking. The experience of watching his father cook was just as traumatic as eating the food his father had made. There was even this one time, Xavier nearly set the kitchen on fire because he added in some cooking wine into a very hot pan filled with oil and that made Lucian cried for the whole night.

"Yes, your mum made this." Xavier ate his noodles, slurping onto it like a champ. "If she asks me to make breakfast for you, we can just skip breakfast and go for ice-cream instead." Xavier acknowledges his incompetence when it comes to cooking, and it is the only one thing he would not dare to compete with you. he just cant cook anything that deals with fire or electric, just admit it with me boys and girls

...

"Daddy, what do you want?" Lucian asked his father, looking at the flavours that was on display. "Do you want the blue one? Or the green one? Or the red one?" He swung his short legs back and forth, all the while sitting on Xavier's shoulders. The little one did not feel like walking earlier on and that was why Xavier gave him a lift on his shoulders.

"Which one would you like kiddo?" Xavier smiled politely at the waitress behind the counter and the waitress returned the smile, a blush coming onto her face. Who would not blush at the sight of a good looking young man with a son that looks just exactly like him? "How about the blue and red one?"

"Okay!" The young boy excitedly agreed, watching the process of the ice-creamed getting scooped out of the canister and placed onto a cone. Xavier slowly lowered his son down and held onto the hand of the young boy before making the payment at the counter. "Thank you!" Lucian spoke to the cashier when the ice-cream was handed to him and they both took a seat by the window in the store, facing the streets.

Xavier had always wanted a boy, the sole purpose being he could train the son well enough so you can be protected. You were not buying into his idea to begin with but the moment you found out that you were pregnant with a boy, Xavier could not be more than glad. He was so happy to the point he said. "We should name him Lucian, as he shall be the light in our lives." Xavier's words touched your heart and since then, Lucian has been the light in both of your hearts. just like you are the light in OUR HEARTS hello?

The young boy took a lick out of the blue ice-cream, then switched to the red ice-cream and took another lick. Seeing his tongue turning purple, Xavier pointed at his son. "Your tongue is turning purple because of the ice-cream, kiddo." Taking his phone out, he took a picture of Lucian with his purple tongue hanging out of his mouth. He then sent the picture to you, with the caption 'Brain Freeze'.

"Daddy, here." Lucian stretched his arm out, the ice cream in hand and held it in front of his father's face. Xavier took it as an invitation and he took a big bite out of the ice-cream. His action made the young boy flabbergasted, mouth forming an 'O' when he realised that his father just bit off a whole chunk and now he is left with a few more lick of ice cream.

The son's intense gaze at the ice-cream made Xavier felt guilty that he took such a huge bite. His son was not much a naggy child, but he still would not want to upset his little boy. "I'm sorry kiddo, I can---" He wanted to offer to buy the boy another ice-cream but Lucian only laughed, his tone amused.

"That is so funny daddy, when you go AHHH---" Lucian mimicked the way Xavier bit the ice-cream, mouth widely opened and face all crinkled up to show just how big of a bite Xavier had conducted. His son's reaction made Xavier laughed as well, Never knowing his son has such a sense of humour.

The door opened, chiming of the bells at the door could be heard and Xavier looked up, seeing you walking in with a bag in your hands. "Hey boys!" You called out and Lucian turned in his seat and called out to you, arms opened and waiting for you to hug him. Xavier took the ice-cream out of his son's hand so he would not dirty your shirt and he stood up, taking his place to stand next to you.

"How was the outing with Tara?" Xavier took the bag from you and pulled a chair over from the other table as you set your son back down onto his chair. The ice-cream that your husband was holding previously was returned to its rightful owner.

"It was eventful. We only managed to find the dress she wanted at the highest floor." You fanned yourself, sweat beading at your forehead. Your husband took a piece of tissue out of the tissue holder and he dabbed it across your forehead, not wanting to ruin your makeup since you are still on an outing with him. "Thanks a lot."

"No problem." Xavier purposely avoided your gaze, hiding his smile. "The tomato-based noodle soup you made this morning is very good by the way. I enjoyed every bite of it." He complimented, looking over to his son and noticing the young boy, staring out of the window, in the direction of two kids playing by the park, chasing one another.

"Daddy, mummy." Your son's voice beckoned the both of you to turn your heads to face him. His stubby little fingers pressed against the window, pointing towards the two kids at the park. "Can I have a brother?" The way he phrased the questions sounded like siblings could be bought off of a shelf. Your jaw dropped.

But Xavier was expecting this, expecting the fact he would not just settle for one child. He loves you so much, not only as his lover, but he also loves the way you look, with your stomach bulging during the days you are pregnant, carrying a miniature version of him inside. And not to mention, he enjoys the process of giving you a baby. Just the thought of seeing you pregnant again, his cerulean eyes catch yours, similar to a gaze of a predator awaiting to jump onto its prey. He reached his hand out to take yours on the table, giving it a small squeeze of comfort.

"Of course you can." Xavier's gaze darkened, hungry for intimacy. He dragged his fingertips up and down your arms, and stopping right at the back of your hand to draw mindless circles on it. Doing all that without getting his eyes off of you. "Daddy will not stop until you get a brother."

Sorry this took wayyy longer than expected, the toughest part was to find the pictures that would match the faces of the kids and also having to do research for their names and figuring our scenarios that would make the fathers take care of their kids. Other than Rafayel, Zayne and Xavier are going to be out most of the time due to their work!

But I had fun creating this piece, hope you guys enjoyed this! Lots of love <3

[luveline]

what about aaron x inexperienced!reader,(Maybe she's a teacher? Or is that too close to ur other teacher ones?) who's like in her 30s but has never been in a relationship so is surprised when hotch asks her out, and she wants to date him yes but she is so awkward about it. She does not know how to date or flirt it's painful and funny, and this poor middle aged man has to navigate it because he likes her

“Hello.” 

Hotch talks to you with a fondness that gives him away, he knows. He likes your surprise too much. 

You flinch a few steps from your front door with one earphone in, the other falling out at your sudden movement. When you turn to him, he thinks you’re prettier than you know. You're shy and then smiling, all surprise swapped for an eagerness to see him. 

“Hi, Aaron. What are you doing here?” 

He’d parked at the end of your street to stop your annoying neighbours complaining, and it’s no surprise you hadn’t heard him coming —he can be light on his feet when he wants to be— yet he can’t help feeling remorseful for sneaking up on you when he hears that breathlessness that colours your tone. 

He laughs. “Sorry, honey. Would you have liked some warning?” 

And flirting is just as bad as sneaking. He can practically see the steam pouring from your ears as you realise what it is he’s doing. “Yes,” you say weakly. “I think so.” 

Hotch closes the stretch of sidewalk and gravel driveway between you to stop just in front of you. “Sorry. Can I apologise? Is that okay?” 

“What–” You clutch your phone and keys to your stomach. “What sort of apology?” 

“A gentle one.” He raises his brows. 

You touch his chest hesitantly. Hotch grins at your silent go-ahead, taking your upper arm into a hand to hold you as he ducks his head carefully to one side and leans in, your eyes falling shut. Your lips connect, a kiss he’d describe as tame and you perhaps wouldn’t shared between you. He’s very careful with you in your shyness, but his hand gets away from him, squeezing up your shoulder until his thumb is rubbing at your neck. You kiss back slowly. His chest burns with it. 

He turns his head and takes a short second kiss, leaning away reluctantly. 

He wants to ask, Forgive me? but he fears that’ll send you into a meltdown. Your eyes flutter open, mildly, mildly dazed, and he doesn’t have the self control to stop from stealing half a hug. Face pressed to yours, his lips on your forehead. 

“I’ve come to see you because JJ thinks we might be requested out of state tomorrow. Or, she’s hoping we will be. There’s a bad case she’s following in Tampa that won’t accept our help.” Hotch pulls away to see you clearly. “Are you busy?” 

“No.” You clear your throat. “No, I’m not busy. You’re welcome. I mean, you’re always welcome to come see me.” 

You’re so apologetic about it that Hotch actually considers sitting you down for the conversation he’s been planning early. It’s evident to him that you are… inexperienced. Hotch is in no rush, and so doesn’t care nor mind, and surely wouldn’t care anyhow. But he doesn’t like that you seem to mind. 

He quite enjoys you. It’s amazingly enjoyable to be met with this much timidity; it’s both endearing to watch you fluster and gratifying to think he can have this effect on you. It is only occasionally exhausting. (See: when he tried to rub an eyelash off of the well of your eye at dinner and you immediately closed your eyes to wait for it to be over, and then stammered for the rest of the evening, despite his well-intentioned hand on your thigh that failed to calm you.) 

“What do you want to do?” you ask. 

Honestly, he’s not fussy. Hotch just wanted time in your company. He thought about it on the way over, and he knows that women appreciate dinner and drinks and being shown proudly, but he also knows you for who you are, and he assumes that without prior warning, you’ll likely want something small. Takeout, a cable box office movie. He wants to hold your hand and he wants to lay you out and kiss you, too, but mostly he wants to see your smile when you’re relaxed. It’s ten times as beautiful as the flustered one. Your eyes get heavy and you let yourself press your cheek to his shoulder when the lights are off. 

He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and guides your lips back to his. 

There’s time for both tonight, kissing and your smile. 

“I have some stuff to grade,” you say, letting your face fall forward, your nose to his lips. “Lots of stuff I’ve been putting off, but I– I’m a free agent after that.” 

“Then let’s grade them, honey.” 

“I’ll order in?” you ask tentatively. 

“Yeah, whatever you want.” You laugh guiltily. He pulls back. “What? What’s that laugh mean?” 

“I think we should go inside.” 

You offer your hand, which he takes, but he’s too stubborn to let it go as you lead him to your door. “What’s funny? Don’t make me ask you again.” 

You laugh again. “Aaron, if I told you what I want, I think I’d spend the next week in hiding. Or hospital.” 

“Yeah?” he asks. 

“Stop. Just… let me grade my milk cartons and tease me afterward.” 

Hotch smiles to himself and gives the back of your hand a loving rub. It’s as good a plan as any for the night. 

[pucked-bunnie]

family skate ⎜q.hughes

pairings: quinn hughes x reader genre: fluff ⎜romance ⎜ warnings: none! this is just cute and wholesome. synopsis: you haven't been on many dates in your life time - but you definetly haven't been on one quite like this one. word count: 4.5k authors note:  this is a much anticipated and requests part 2 of book club. I hope you all enjoy!! I doubt this will top book club but it's worth a shot

(unedited)

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“Is this date acceptable?” You ask, twirling a little in front of the mirror - trying to get your outfit from every angle. You huff, pushing your hair away from your face as you turn to face your cat currently perched on the edge of your bed. “You are no help.” You pout at him, the cat tilting his head in confusion before jumping off the bed. 

Quinn was going to be at your apartment in less then fifteen minutes and you were still second guessing your outfit. 

The mirror offers no new insights, no reassurance, just the same reflection you’ve been scrutinising for the last twenty minutes. You tug at the hem of your top, debating whether it looks too casual. Then you turn your attention to the necklace—is it too much? Not enough?

“You could at least pretend to care,” you mutter, glancing over at your cat, who’s lounging on the floor besides your bed, casually licking a paw. He pauses to give you an unimpressed look before resuming his grooming routine, as if to say, this is your mess to figure out, not mine.

You sigh dramatically, flopping onto the floor beside him. “You have no idea how hard this is,” you grumble, scratching behind his ears. He leans into your touch for all of three seconds before deciding he’s had enough and saunters off toward the windowsill.

“Traitor,” you call after him, sitting up again. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, and your stomach tightens. A quick glance at the screen tells you Quinn is on his way and will be there in less than ten minutes.

Panic sets in. You shoot to your feet, suddenly hyperaware of every little thing about your outfit that might be wrong. 

The shoes—do they match? 

The colour of your pants—too bright? Not bright enough?

You shake your head, trying to push the doubts away. This is supposed to be fun. It’s just a casual date, not a job interview, you remind yourself. But the butterflies in your stomach refuse to listen.

Your cat lets out a soft meow from his perch, and you look over to find him watching you with a curious tilt of his head. It’s almost as if he’s saying, relax, you’re overthinking this.

“Easy for you to say,” you mutter, smoothing a hand over your hair. “You don’t have to worry about impressing anyone. You just show up, purr, and everyone loves you.”

The doorbell rings, and your heart leaps into your throat. Okay, showtime. You grab your bag, stealing one last look in the mirror. “Here goes nothing,” you whisper, before heading to the door.

When you open it, there he is—Quinn, with that easy, lopsided smile that makes your heart do somersaults. He’s holding a small bouquet of flowers, looking just as nervous as you feel, and somehow that makes it all a little better.

“Hey,” he says, his eyes lighting up as he looks at you. “You look... wow.”

Your cheeks heat up, and you can’t help but smile. “Thanks. I, uh... wasn’t sure about the outfit.”

“Well, I’m sure,” he replies, holding the flowers out to you. “You look incredible.” You step aside to let him in, the tension in your shoulders melting away. 

“The flowers are stunning.” You say as you round the kitchen counter, quickly reaching for the vase underneath the sink - filling it with fresh water and placing the flowers inside.  

“I remember you mentioning you have a cat and probably spent about two hours checking what was toxic to them.” Quinn says with a nervous laugh, his hand raising to rub the back of his neck. 

“So is this ice skating appropriate?” You question gesturing down to your outfit, the simple flared jeans and Canucks blue knitted sweater seeming overly casual the more you look down at it. “Maybe I should change?” You say quickly, Quinns head shaking vigorously as he reaches forwards to grab hold of your hand. 

“As long as you’re warm that’s all that matters.” He says lifting your hand to place a soft kiss against your knuckles before glancing down at his watch. “Besides we have no time.” He almost drags you out of your apartment only pausing to let you lock your front door, before pulling you out to his car - opening the door for you to slide in. 

You settle into the passenger seat, the warmth of Quinn’s earlier gesture still lingering on your skin. The soft scent of his cologne fills the car, and you find yourself relaxing just a little. The tension in your shoulders eases as he jogs around to the driver’s side, sliding in and starting the engine.

“You really didn’t have to rush,” you say with a small laugh, buckling your seatbelt. “We could’ve been a few minutes late.” He grins as he pulls out onto the street. “Not on my watch. First impressions matter. I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t stick to a plan.”

“First impressions?” you tease, raising an eyebrow. “I think we’re a little past that.”

“First official date impressions,” he counters smoothly, shooting you a quick glance before focusing back on the road. “Totally different thing. Higher stakes.”

You smile, his playful energy easing the last of your nerves. The city lights blur past as the car glides down the road, and you steal a glance at him—his fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel, the corners of his mouth quirked up in a way that feels impossibly genuine.

The car hums softly as Quinn pulls into the lot underneath the Rogers Arena when the thought hits you this wasn’t just a casual skate. It was the family skate, surrounded by Quinn’s teammates, their families, and probably more cameras than you cared to think about. Quinn parks and turns to you, his signature lopsided smile breaking through any lingering nerves. 

“Ready?” he asks, though his voice carries a hint of uncertainty.

You let out a soft breath, unbuckling your seatbelt. “Are you ready? Don’t think I’m going easy on you just because this is your turf.”

His laugh is soft, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’d be offended if you did.”

He hops out of the car, grabbing the a bag from the trunk as you step out into the cool air outside the car. The sound of blaring music muffled by the stone walls of the building making you buzz with excitement. Quinn holds his hand out towards you, waiting patiently as you look down at it and then back up at him. He nods towards it once, a smiling breaking out on his face as you slide your hand into his. 

You’d held hands with Quinn before, most times without even thinking about it, but this time for some reason felt different. Quinns hand was warm against yours, his fingers intertwining with yours as he pulls you closer to his side, nodding a quick hello to the security guard at the entrance. 

“Quinn do people know about me?” You ask softly, as the thought hits you. “I kind of feel like I’m intruding.” You whisper as you follow him down the hallways, the music getting louder the close you get to the ice. 

Quinn slows his steps, turning to face you with a reassuring smile. “They know about you,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Not everything—but enough to know you’re important to me.”

Your stomach flutters at his words, but you still hesitate, glancing down the hallway toward the growing buzz of voices and music. “Important enough to bring me to this?”

He grins, leaning closer so only you can hear. “Important enough that I want you to see this part of my world. And… well, if I’m being honest, I think they’ll love you.” You balk at his words, a little Quinn quickly adding, “But watch out for Elias, he’s way too excited to meet you.” You nod your head. 

Quinn had talked about Elias Pettersson - his best friend - several times when you have spent time together in the store. Explained how despite Elias always wanting the best for him, the swede couldn’t help but mess with his captain whenever present with an opportunity. 

You raise a skeptical eyebrow. “Even if I wipe out on the ice in front of all of them?” You say, suddenly second guessing all of your athletic abilities. 

Quinn chuckles, the sound warm and genuine. “Especially then. They’ll think you’re just like me.”

That earns a laugh from you, easing some of the tension in your chest. “You’re really not worried about that?”

“Not even a little,” he says confidently, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “Besides, I’ll be right there to catch you. The thought of falling doesn’t seem so bad when he says it like that. Taking a deep breath, you nod, letting his calm confidence steady you. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

With your hand still in his, he leads you into the rink. The air is colder, sharper, and the arena is alive with activity—kids darting across the ice, laughter echoing off the walls, and players chatting with their families near the benches.

As you step closer to the boards, you notice a few of the players turning to look your way. Some of the guys offer warm smiles, a few nodding in greeting, most looking between you and their captain in astonishment. 

“A lot of them thought I was bluffing.” He whispers to you as he reaches to grab a pair of skates from the bag he’s carrying and hands them to you. “Think you can handle these?” He questions, showing you the tan coloured Bauer hockey skates - the fleece lining already calling your name. 

“Quinn these are like three hundred dollars.” You hiss under your breath, leaning forwards to make sure no one else can hear you. Quinn shrugs, leading you over to the bench motioning for you to sit down. 

“Consider it payment for being willing to go on a date with me.” He says softly, dropping one skate on the bench besides you before fiddling with the one still in his hands. Quinn loosens the laces on the skate, adjusting it until it’s ready to slip on your foot. “Shoes off.” He says quickly, leaving no time for you to argue, as you toe your sneakers off and slip them under the bench. 

Quinn bends a little, helping you slip your foot into the skate before lifting your leg till your foot sits comfortably between his two thighs, his hands making quick work of fitting the skate to your foot. “Let me know if it’s too tight.” He says softly, his brows furrowed in concentration as he pulls each lace tight, one by one. He asks you to wiggle your toes, making sure the fit is comfortable before gently dropping your foot to the ground and repeating the process with your other skate. 

You watch Quinn as he works, his movements careful and deliberate, his hands steady as they tug at the laces. His focus is so intense that you almost forget where you are, the buzz of the rink fading into the background for a moment.

"You're really good at this," you say, breaking the silence.

He glances up, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "Well, I've had some practice."

"Yeah, but still," you tease. "This is next-level service. I feel spoiled."

He chuckles, finishing the second skate and giving your knee a playful pat. "You're supposed to feel spoiled. That's the point."

Your cheeks warm at his words, and you’re grateful for the excuse to look away as you flex your feet in the skates, testing the fit. "These feel amazing," you admit.

"Good," he says, standing up and offering you his hand. "Now let's see if you can stay on your feet."

You laugh but take his hand, letting him help you up. The skates feel sturdy, even though it takes a moment to adjust to the feeling on walking on the blades, Quinn keeping his hands ready as he follows behind you. 

“Your lack of trust in my ability is astounding.” You call, as you step up to the open door on the bench, bracing both hands on the sides as you finally step onto the ice. The chill hits you immediately, sharper and more invigorating than you remember, the surface is smooth and gleaming, and your skates slide easily, almost too easily as your body gets back into the routine of skating. 

"Okay, this is a little harder than I remember," you admit as you wobble slightly. Quinn grins, skating backward in front of you, his hands reaching out to grab hold of yours. 

"You're doing fine. Just trust your feet." He says, thankful for his assistance as you remind yourself to keep your knees bent. 

You glance down at the ice, then back up at him. "Easy for you to say, Mr. NHL Star." You laugh, panicking as he moves to pull his hands from yours. “Don’t you dare.” You hiss, Quinn let out a bark of laughter as he pulls you closer to the centre of the rink. 

With his steady guidance, you feel your confidence grow, giving him a quick nod as he slowly releases your hands you body finally remembering how to skate confidently as Quinn sidles up besides you, his smile infectious as you make your way around the rink comfortably. 

"You’re a natural," Quinn says after a while, his voice warm with encouragement.

“I told you I knew how to skate,” you reply, but you can’t help smiling, “with maybe a bit of a rocky start.” 

"Maybe a little," he admits with a wink. "But you’re doing great."

As you glide along the boards, a few of Quinn’s teammates skate by, some offering waves or teasing remarks. One of them—a tall guy with a mischievous grin—calls out, "Quinn’s got his hands full tonight!"

"Jealous, Petey?" Quinn shoots back, his tone lighthearted.

The guy—Petey—grins. "Always, Hughesy. Always." Quinn’s teammate circles around once before making his way back to you and Quinn, slipping himself between you and your date with a cheeky smile, shooting his captain a wink before linking his arm with yours. “I need to borrow her for a minute.” He says, Quinn opening his mouth to complain but you’re already being dragged away from him. 

You’re whisked away before you can even process what’s happening, your skates gliding awkwardly as Petey pulls you along. You glance over your shoulder at Quinn, who shakes his head with an amused smile, clearly letting Petey have his moment.

“Sorry about Hughesy,” Petey says, steering you toward a quieter corner of the rink where a few other players are gathered. “He’s not usually this good at showing off.”

“Showing off?” you ask, your voice tinged with playful skepticism.

Petey smirks. “Oh, yeah. Trust me, this is peak ‘look at me, I have a girlfriend’ energy.”

You laugh despite yourself, feeling a little of the lingering tension ease. “I wouldn’t say he’s showing off. He’s just…” You hesitate, searching for the right word.

“Obsessed?” Petey supplies, his grin widening. “It’s cute, don’t worry. We’re all rooting for him.” Before you can respond, another player skates over, clapping Petey on the shoulder. “Stop scaring her, man. She just got here.”

“Am I scaring you?” Petey asks dramatically, placing a hand over his heart like he’s offended.

“Not at all,” you reply, unable to suppress a grin. “You’re more… enthusiastic.”

The second guy laughs. “Come on, man, let her get back to Quinn before he skates over here and kicks you in the ankles.”

Petey sighs theatrically, releasing your arm. “Fine. But only because I’m nice.” He pauses, looking you over with an approving nod. “You’re good for him. Don’t let him mess this up.”

“I’ll do my best,” you promise, chuckling as Petey skates off with his friend.

When you return to Quinn, he’s standing with his hands on his hips, shaking his head. “I can’t leave you alone for five seconds, can I?”

You shrug, your grin wide. “Your teammates are… lively.”

“Yeah, they’re something,” he says, rolling his eyes fondly. “What did Petey say?”

“Nothing you need to know.”

“Great you’ve already got secrets with my friends.” Quinn groans, “It wasn’t anything bad was it?” 

“I’m just glad you think I’m worth showing off for.” You tease, watching as Quinn spin shooting a glare at his friend who is already laughing as he skates to the bench. You laugh with Petey, slipping your arm through Quinn’s. “Don’t worry, I think it’s cute.” You say, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

His cheeks flush slightly. “Glad to hear it. Now, ready to show these guys you can out-skate them?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you say, feigning confidence. Quinn grins, pulling you back toward the centre of the ice. “That’s the spirit.”

As the evening goes on, you find yourself relaxing more and more. The gentle guidance of Quinn’s hand, the light teasing from his teammates, and the vibrant energy of the rink all blend together into something that feels magical.

When you finally step off the ice, your cheeks are pink from the cold and laughter, your legs pleasantly tired. Quinn helps you sit back on the bench and starts unlacing your skates with the same careful attention he’d shown earlier.

“Thank you,” you say softly, watching him work.

He looks up, his expression warm. “For what?”

“For bringing me here. For letting me be a part of this.”

Quinn’s smile deepens, and he reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I wouldn’t want to share it with anyone else.” Your heart swells at his words, and as he finishes with your skates and helps you into your shoes, he makes quick work of pulling off his own skates, slipping on his sneakers as he pulls you up from the bench with him. 

As you rise, Quinn keeps your hand firmly in his, leading you out of the rink. The arena is quieter now, the echoes of laughter and skates on ice fading as families and players begin to trickle out. The cold air nips at your face as you step into the hallway, but it’s nothing compared to the warmth still lingering from Quinn’s words.

“So,” he says as you walk side by side, his voice soft, “what’s the verdict? Best date ever, or are you just being polite?”

You chuckle, giving his hand a playful squeeze. “It’s definitely up there. Though, I feel like there’s some bias—being surrounded by professional skaters might give the date an unfair edge.”

Quinn grins, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “I’ll take that as a win.”

As you approach the exit, a few of his teammates call out their goodbyes, and you wave shyly, still getting used to the attention. One of them jokes, “Don’t let him scare you off, okay?”

Quinn groans, shaking his head. “I’m never bringing you around these guys again.”

You laugh, squeezing his hand. “Oh, I don’t know. I kind of like seeing you in your element.”

“Yeah?” he asks, glancing over at you, his expression softening.

“Yeah,” you reply, your smile matching his. “You seem… happy. Comfortable.”

“I am,” he says, his voice carrying a weight of sincerity that makes your stomach flutter. “More than I have been in a while.” As you reach his car, he opens the passenger door for you, and you slide in, the warmth of the vehicle a welcome contrast to the crisp night air. Quinn joins you a moment later, turning on the heat before glancing over at you.

“Hungry?” he asks.

“Starving,” you admit.

“Good,” he says, pulling out of the parking lot. “Because I know a place.”

The drive is quiet but comfortable, the kind of silence that feels natural rather than forced. The city lights blur past the window, and you find yourself stealing glances at Quinn, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the dashboard.

When he pulls up to a small, cozy diner, you smile. “This is the place?”

He nods. “Best milkshakes in the city. Trust me.” You follow him inside, the warmth and smell of comfort food wrapping around you like a hug. As you slide into the booth across from him, you can’t help but think that this night, with its mix of nerves, laughter, and quiet moments, has been just about perfect. 

Quinn leans back against the booth, his eyes scanning the menu even though it seems like he already knows what he wants. He glances up at you with a smirk, catching you mid-gaze as you try to take in every little detail of him—how the corners of his mouth curl up slightly when he’s relaxed, the way his fingers drum lightly against the table.

“Caught you,” he teases, his voice low but warm.

Your cheeks heat up as you quickly pick up your own menu. “Just deciding what to order,” you reply, attempting to sound nonchalant.

He chuckles softly, clearly not buying it but letting it slide. “Well, if you trust me, I’d say go with the chocolate peanut butter shake. It’s a classic.”

“Noted,” you say, still scanning the menu. “And what are you getting?”

“Same,” he says, setting the menu down confidently. “And the fries here? Unreal. We have to share.”

You laugh, finally closing your menu. “Fine, but only if I get to steal more than half.”

“Deal,” he says with a grin. The server comes by, taking your orders with a friendly smile, and as soon as they leave, Quinn rests his elbows on the table, leaning forward slightly. His eyes, even under the warm diner lights, hold a softness that makes your stomach flip.

“So,” he says, his tone teasing, “what’s the verdict on skating with a bunch of NHL players? Intimidating or not so bad?” You think for a moment, tapping your fingers lightly against the edge of the table. 

“Not so bad,” you admit. “But I think I was more worried about falling and making a fool of myself than anything else.”

Quinn’s smile widens. “You handled it like a pro. Way better than I did my first time skating with those guys.”

“Wait, are you telling me you’ve fallen on the ice in front of your teammates before?” you ask, your eyebrows shooting up in mock disbelief.

“Not just fallen,” he says with a laugh. “I’ve wiped out. Full-on face-plant. And they will never let me live it down.”The image of Quinn sprawled out on the ice has you laughing so hard your sides ache. 

“You? The guy who skates backward without even trying? I need to see proof.”

“Oh, there’s proof,” he groans, shaking his head. “But you’re not getting your hands on it.”

You narrow your eyes at him, pretending to think. “We’ll see about that.”

The conversation flows easily, a mix of playful banter and genuine moments, and by the time your milkshakes and fries arrive, it feels like no time has passed at all. Quinn slides the basket of fries toward you first, motioning for you to take the first bite.

“Okay, you hyped these up,” you say, picking one up and dipping it into the side of ketchup. “They’d better be amazing.”

You take a bite, and your eyes widen in surprise. “Okay, wow. These are ridiculous.”

“Told you,” he says smugly, grabbing a fry of his own. “Now you see why I keep coming back here.” The two of you fall into a rhythm—sharing fries, sipping milkshakes, and trading stories about everything and nothing. It’s easy, comfortable, like you’ve been doing this for years instead of just one night. At one point, Quinn tells you about a prank his teammates pulled involving a lost skate blade and a bucket of confetti, and you laugh so hard you almost choke on your milkshake.

When the food is gone and the server drops off the check, Quinn is quick to grab it, waving off your protest before you can even get a word out.

“You can get the next one,” he says with a grin, slipping his card into the little black folder. “If I let you win.”

“Oh, you’re planning on more dates?” you tease, though your heart skips at the implication.

He leans forward slightly, his expression playful but earnest. “Absolutely.”

The drive back to your apartment is quieter but no less comfortable, the kind of silence that feels natural, like neither of you needs to fill it with words. When Quinn pulls up outside your building, he hops out quickly, coming around to open your door for you.

“Chivalry isn’t dead,” you tease, stepping out.

“Not on my watch,” he replies with a wink.

The cold night air greets you as you step outside. Snowflakes drift lazily down, dusting the cars and sidewalks with a fresh layer of white. Quinn pauses, looking up at the sky.

“Perfect end to the night,” he says, his breath visible in the chill.

You tilt your head back, letting the snowflakes land on your face. “It really is.”

Quinn watches you for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Then, without warning, he scoops up a handful of snow, quickly packing it into a loose ball.

“What are you—” you start, but before you can finish, he gently taps the snowball against your shoulder, laughing.

“Oh, you’re asking for it,” you say, bending down to gather your own snow.

What follows is a brief but spirited snowball fight, laughter ringing out into the quiet night. Quinn, as it turns out, is both fast and surprisingly accurate, though he’s careful not to pelt you too hard. You manage to land a shot right on his chest, and his mock-offended expression is priceless. Finally, breathless and grinning, you both call a truce. Quinn brushes the snow off his jacket, his cheeks pink from the cold.

“You’re pretty competitive,” he says, his eyes twinkling.

“You bring it out of me,” you reply with a shrug, still smiling.

You both linger in the snow, his soft brown curls slowly becoming more decorated with the dropping snowflakes, the quiet of the night wrapping around you like a cocoon. With the snow falling softly and the world feels impossibly still. Quinn looks down at you, his hands tucked into his pockets, his expression softer now.

“Thanks for tonight,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He steps closer, his breath visible in the cold. “No, thank you. For saying yes.”

For a moment, it feels like the world stops entirely. Then, Quinn reaches up, brushing a snowflake off your cheek before letting his hand linger, his thumb grazing your skin gently. Your breath catches, and before you can think, he’s leaning in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s as soft and warm as the snow falling around you, his hands latching onto your sweater to pull you closer.

When he pulls back, his eyes search yours, his voice quiet. “Can I see you again?” 

You smile, your cheeks flushing, but this time it’s not from the cold. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I’d like that.”

[silverfairywings]

— IN THE WAKE OF FLAMES. PT I

eris vanserra x archeron!reader

summary: even before you became fae, your favourite season was autumn. it’s a little hard to hide this when your least favourite newly appointed high lord has made it his life’s mission to be the most annoying male in your life.

a/n: not sure what this is but let me know if u want more lol

You’d think that hiding behind the Spymaster of the Night Court, a literal Shadowsinger, would allow you to blend in well enough to go unnoticed.

The auburn silk of your dress is a near perfect match to the grandeur of the Autumn Court ballroom you’re unfortunate enough to have to be in, and you tell yourself that the attempt at camouflage is the reason you were so drawn to the colour.

When Rhysand approached you and the rest of the Inner Circle with the invitation of a ball thrown by Eris to celebrate his newly inherited title of High Lord, your sister Nesta had dragged you out to shop for new dresses. You were adamant to wear an old gown until the dress caught your eye, the gold beads glinting in the light, almost mimicking a gently burning fire. The deep orange hue of the silk slip was muted ever so slightly by the sheer overlay, cinching at the waist before cascading to the ground and the wisps of fabric around your legs gave the illusion of sparks every time you moved.

Nesta had made a comment about the dress being perfect for Autumn Court and you had to physically restrain yourself from grimacing. You just liked the colour. It didn’t mean a thing.

Nesta and Feyre looked like perfect representatives of the Night Court and even Elain was donning soft shades of purple and blue tonight, a perfect embodiment of twilight. You loved your sisters, but you felt like you never quite fit in to the Night Court the way they had grown to. And you certainly felt like you stuck out like a sore thumb tonight.

Eris was definitely going to comment on the dress and you curse yourself internally, not having thought it through. He was jarring at the best of times, let alone a night that was solely dedicated to him. And you were dressed in the colours of his court.

You were extremely glad when Eris’ mother was the one to greet you all when you first entered the Autumn Court and not him. It allowed you to fully appreciate the beauty of his lands with unrestrained awe. Your sisters knew that Autumn had always been your favourite season, so the way you were so happy catching each falling leaf out of the sky was even more amusing to them considering they also knew how little patience you had for Eris.

That’s why you find yourself hiding behind Azriel’s wings tonight. As soon as you spot Eris making his way to greet Rhysand and Feyre, you sneak behind the Shadowsinger in an attempt to make yourself invisible.

“Seriously?” mutters the Illyrian, but he stays still for you all the same.

“Keep quiet,” you hiss, prodding him in the back. “You know very well how much he targets me. Gods, I thought he hated Cassian, but I seriously give him a run for his money.”

Mor, overhearing you, snorts into her cup. She creeps up next to you, lowering her voice to match yours. “You are so oblivious. He doesn’t hate you. He wants-”

“Might I interrupt the riveting conversation that I’m sure is going on behind the Shadowsinger’s wings?” you hear a voice drawl from in front. Your blood runs hot at being caught and you nearly burst into flames when Azriel starts to lower his wings, revealing you and Mor. She rolls her eyes at Eris’ attitude and walks away to talk to the pretty faerie in the green dress.

The years have softened the strained relationship between the Circle and Eris and none of them view him as a threat any longer. That doesn’t mean they find him any less irritating though.

Eris smiles at you when you cross your arms and clench your jaw, already feeling impatience with him bubbling up inside of you. He glances down at your dress and his lips quirk up a little higher. “Looking stunning as ever, Y/N.”

The others have already dispersed, and even Rhysand and Feyre have started to garner the attention of other important people they need to talk to. As they start to leave however, Rhysand speaks to in your head. Let me know if he’s bothering you too much. Just… try not to throw a plate at his face this time, please.

You glare at the back of Rhysand’s head. That was one time.

He doesn’t respond but you see his shoulders shaking with laughter for a millisecond before Feyre nudges him to behave in front of an Autumn Court official.

“Talking about me?” Eris asks, amused. You open your mouth to snap back at him, but notice the growing number of guests that are around the two of you now that the others have moved away. You bite your tongue for once. He is the High Lord now after all.

You plaster on a sweet smile. “Only good things… High Lord.”

Eris raises his brows at that, but chooses not to comment. He holds out his hand instead. “Dance with me.”

You’re about to laugh in his face and tell him absolutely not, but his request has caught the attention of a couple guests and they nosily look over in what you’re sure they think is a subtle way. “I’m a little tired. Sorry,” you say through gritted teeth, still smiling.

“Surely you’re not going to deny me such a small request on tonight of all nights?” he says softly, part mocking and part pleading.

You know for a fact he won’t force you to dance, but if you deny him in front of the other guests, it’ll undermine him and while you dislike him, you’re not that cruel. Plus, Feyre would probably have your head if you were to insult a High Lord in public. In private, she only ever laughs when you disparage him, but appearances are everything.

“Of course not,” you deadpan, reaching for his outstretched hand and trying not to react to the way the warmth radiating through his palm is warming your previously cold fingers.

He leads you into the crowd of dancing guests, placing his free hand on your waist as you rest yours on his shoulder, keeping a respectable distance. He rolls his eyes and tugs you forward so your chest is nearly flush against his own. When you glare at him, he merely smirks. “It’s a little hard for two people to dance when one of them is halfway across the room from the other.”

You hear a giggle from one of the guests near you and nearly whip around to glare at them. Eris catches the expression on his face and it’s as though he can read your mind with the way he’s holding back a grin. “My apologies,” you mumble, before lowering your voice to a whisper that only he can hear. “Smartass.”

“I do so enjoy your pet names for me,” Eris teases, utterly unbothered. Every time you interact with him, you swear to yourself you’ll keep a cool head. And every time, you fail. “I like your dress.”

You narrow your eyes at the compliment, but since he hasn’t actually said anything insulting or with a double meaning like he usually does, you don’t have anything to be annoyed about and begrudgingly accept the nice words. “Thank you.”

“You look ravishing in the colours of my court.”

You step on his foot.

He hisses in pain, but the grin doesn’t leave his face when he sees that he’s succeeded in irritating you.

“I didn’t choose the colours on purpose,” you say, defensively. “I just happened to like the dress.”

“You know, you often happen to like Autumn colours,” he muses, expression turning thoughtful and not in a sarcastic way this time. “Or any colour that isn’t of the Night Court’s fashion. Tell me, do your sisters know how you long to find someplace you actually belong?”

Your stomach drops and you feel like you’ve been doused in freezing cold water.

“I wasn’t aware you were a Daemati, High Lord,” you say, scowling. Eris furrows his brows at the title and spins you out before bringing you back in, this time a little closer than before. “You’re wrong.”

“Stop calling me that,” he mutters, a hint of impertinence in his voice. It takes you by surprise since you assumed he’d be revelling in all the glory, the power of High Lord coursing through his veins. Instead, he sounds like a boy being denied his favourite sweets. “Call me Eris again.”

“No.” You frown at him, pulling back slightly to meet his stubborn gaze. “We’re not friends. You’re the High Lord of Autumn now and I’ll be addressing you as such.”

“What, I’m High Lord now, so you have to respect me all of a sudden?” he asks, tilting his head.

“Yes,” you sigh, already anticipating this conversation taking a turn you don’t want it to.

“You have to be pleasant with me?”

“Yes.”

“Listen to my commands?”

“Yes.”

His smile turns wolfish. “Then I command you to call me Eris.”

“I can think of a few other things to call you, if not High Lord,” you mutter, careful not to allow any eavesdroppers to hear.

“And while I’d love to hear them, I doubt they’d be suitable for the delicate ears of court officials.”

While he’s exactly right, the way his eyes twinkle with mischief tells you that he’s insinuating a completely different type of unsuitable and your cheeks burn.

“Don’t you ever tire of being so wearisome?” you say, drily. His eyes soften ever so slightly as they scan over your face.

“Don’t you ever tire of pretending?” he asks quietly, meeting your eyes determinedly. You don’t bother asking him to clarify.

“Why can’t you just mind your own business?” You try to snap at him, but the way his words hit you deep have all the bite leaving your voice and instead you sound imploring.

Eris doesn’t answer your question and just keeps going as the two of you dance. “My mother wants me to tell you that you’re welcome to visit any time, by the way.”

“I’ll let Rhysand know.”

“She didn’t say Rhysand, she said you.”

”What?” You look up at him, shocked. That was probably the last thing you expected him to say, “Why in the world would your mother want me to visit? She saw me hurl that plate at your head last month.”

“Yes, and she told me I probably said something to deserve it,” he grumbles, but without any real malice when talking about his mother. It’s clear as day that he has nothing but love for the sweet woman.

“She’s a smart one, your mother,” you say, grinning at the thought of Eris being reprimanded. You catch him watching you without speaking and immediately frown, not wanting him to think you’re actually smiling at him. Which you definitely aren't. “I still don’t understand why she wants me to visit.”

Eris shrugs, although his eyes stray from yours, and he’s seemingly bored with the conversation as he looks down to the floor as your feet move gracefully across it. “She likes your attitude.”

“My bad attitude?” you ask, wrinkling your nose in genuine confusion.

“Passionate,” he corrects you, meeting your eyes again, and you find no traces of humour in them. “And ‘fiery’ as she called it. Don’t feel bad for not being able to always control your emotions in front of others like the rest of them. You’re allowed to feel.”

Any response you might have had is lost to nothing and the silence stretches as your heart feels like it’s slamming against your chest. It’s a mix of fear and something else with the way he’s looking at you and you suddenly need to be anywhere else.

Clearing your throat, you step back in the middle of dancing and lower your hand from his shoulder to smooth down your dress. Your other hand is still ensnared in his and it lingers there while he speaks.

“If you do accept my mother’s invitation, you don’t have to see me if you don’t want to,” Eris adds and you try and listen out for any veiled mocking.

“Why do you even care?”

At this, his lips quirk up almost involuntarily. Slowly, his fingers start to loosen up around your hand and he begins to let go, faintly trailing his hand down your own as he does so. Instead of stepping away, he walks closer, stepping to the side slightly to lean down so his lips brush against your ear in a way that makes your breathing erratic.

“My mother was telling me that she saw you practically light up like a forest fire surrounded by the trees. She feels as though you should be able to stay longer next time,” he says in a normal voice before lowering it to a whisper. “She also overheard one of your sisters call Autumn your favourite season.”

Before you can protest and, let’s face it, lie to him, Eris calmly walks away and you know for a fact that the smug bastard is smirking at the way he’s succeeded in getting under your skin.

There’s no way you’re accepting his mother’s invitation, as sweet a woman as she is. You think about all the possible ramifications and decide to push the thought in its entirety out of your mind.

Nothing good ever comes from agreeing to dance with Eris. It’s extremely similar to playing with fire, you think.