#printed scrub tops | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aliyahwritings · 4 days ago

Text

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (12)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player!Rafe & Supermodel!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 7k words

Aliyah's Notes: me when i come back to life after a month of inactivity ☝️😈 say goodbye to the good times guys we're slowly falling into hell

You stood in front of the full-length mirror, surrounded by a chaotic pile of clothes scattered across the floor. Dresses, skirts, jeans, and even your old sweatpants were strewn about like the aftermath of a fashion war.

Living with Rafe for the past two days had been an adjustment—his penthouse was sleek, modern, and always spotless… a stark contrast to your current state of disarray. It made you self-conscious sometimes, like when you’d spilled coffee on the pristine marble countertop and panicked while scrubbing it clean before he noticed.

Your brows furrowed as you held up a pair of ripped jeans and a plain white crop top. “Too casual,” you muttered, tossing them aside. Next came a flowy sundress. “Too try-hard.”

A frustrated sigh escaped your lips as you sank onto the edge of your bed, arms crossed. Why were you putting so much thought into this? It wasn’t like this basketball game was your debut as his fiancée. Well, technically it was, but it’s not like anyone expected you to look the part.

Or maybe they did?

Rafe hadn’t given you any details, just a cocky grin and a, ‘Don’t embarrass me.’ The memory of his smirk made you groan.

You picked up a sweater, holding it against your chest before throwing it onto the growing pile. Why does it even matter? It’s just his stupid game. You’re going because… You paused, biting your lip. Because you lived with him now. Because you were his fiancée. Because showing up wasn’t optional.

Your gaze drifted to the jersey draped over the back of your chair. His number, 13, stood out in bold print. Would wearing his jersey to the game feel too... personal? No, that was ridiculous. People wore jerseys all the time. It wasn’t special. It didn’t mean anything.

Right?

Right.

You hesitated before picking it up, your fingers brushing over the soft fabric. It smelled faintly of his cologne, and something about that made you pause. You shook the thought away and slipped it on, the material loose and comfortable against your skin. It paired surprisingly well with the black mini skirt you’d put on earlier—a little sporty, a little casual. Perfect. You turned to the mirror, adjusting the hem and smoothing out the fabric.

For a split second, you wondered what he’d think when he saw you. Would he tease you? Would he flash that grin that somehow made your stomach flip? The thought made your chest tighten, and you scolded yourself immediately because you didn't care about his opinion.

Your cheeks warmed despite your internal protest. Grabbing your bag, you made your way to the door, slipping on your shoes with determined efficiency. Your phone buzzed just as you were about to leave. Unlocking it, you found a series of messages from Rafe.

Rafe: You better not be late. Superstition or not, you’re about to be my good luck charm.

Rafe: BTW, try not to drool too much when you see me on the court.

Your lips twitched despite yourself, a reluctant smile creeping onto your face. You quickly typed back:

You: Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just going there for the snacks.

His reply came almost immediately.

Rafe: Liar. You’re obsessed with me.

Rafe: BTW, that jersey on the chair? My idea. You’re welcome.

You blinked at the screen, heat prickling at your neck. How does he know? The man must’ve had a sixth sense for reading your mind. Or he’d guessed—he did that a lot too. Before you could think of a retort, another message popped up.

Rafe: Also, don’t leave without turning off the kitchen lights again. Unless you want me to write you a manual for living here.

Your lips twitched despite yourself, a reluctant smile breaking free. He was insufferable, and yet the thought of him noticing the smallest things—like your mistakes or your outfit—made your chest ache in a way you weren’t ready to admit.

You: Good luck, Rafe. You’ll need it.

Rafe: The only luck I need is you in that jersey.

You rolled your eyes, locking your phone and shoving it into your bag with a shake of your head. His ego was unmatched, but as you stepped out the door, a tiny flicker of anticipation stirred in your chest—a feeling you couldn’t quite name but weren’t ready to let go of either.

The leather seats of the car felt cool beneath you as you shifted in place, fingers tapping restlessly against your bag. Gregory, your driver, glanced at you through the rearview mirror, offering a sympathetic smile.

“Sorry about the delay, Miss. It’s the construction on 5th Avenue—completely backed up. I’ll do my best to get you there on time.”

“It’s fine, Gregory. Not your fault,” you replied with a sympathetic smile.

Outside, the glow of brake lights illuminated the street, a reminder of how hopelessly stuck you were. The distant sound of car horns blended into the hum of the city, making the minutes feel like hours. You glanced at the time on your phone. Rafe’s game had probably started, or was about to.

With a sigh, you opened your messages, typing quickly.

You: Traffic’s insane. Running late.

The reply came almost immediately.

Rafe: Typical. My fiancée can’t even show up on time.

You rolled your eyes, already expecting the teasing.

You: Not my fault NYC doesn’t know how to manage its roads.

Rafe: I’ll pass the message along to the mayor. Very helpful.

You could practically hear the smirk in his words.

You: Be serious for once.

Rafe: I am serious. If you miss me scoring, it’s grounds for annulment.

Your lips twitched despite yourself, fingers hovering over the screen before typing back.

You: Don’t tempt me.

Rafe: Tempting you is, like, my full-time job.

You leaned back against the seat, biting back a grin. The nerve of this man. The audacity. Still, his ability to lighten the mood—even when he was being insufferable—was irritatingly effective.

You: Just play well. I’ll be there soon.

Rafe: Don’t worry, pretty girl. I’m saving all my best moves for when you’re watching.

You locked your phone with a shake of your head, stuffing it into your bag. Gregory, ever the professional, glanced at you again.

“Almost there, Miss. Just a few more blocks.”

“Thanks, Greg,” you murmured, tugging at the hem of Rafe’s jersey. The fabric felt oddly comforting against your skin, a reminder of the strange new reality you were navigating. Living with him, wearing his number, showing up to his games like a dutiful fiancée—it was all so... surreal.

By the time the car pulled up to the arena, the faint roar of the crowd was already audible. You stepped out, adjusting the strap of your bag and smoothing down your skirt. Gregory gave you a small wave before driving off, leaving you standing at the entrance with a mix of nerves and anticipation.

As you made your way through the bustling hallway, you couldn’t help but notice the lingering stares. Heads turned, whispers followed, and you caught snippets of conversations that made your stomach twist.

“Oh, my God! That’s her, isn’t it? YN YLN?”

“She’s gorgeous. I saw her in that Vogue spread last month.”

“Yeah, but don’t you think it’s a weird match? She doesn’t seem like his type.”

“I heard their engagement was super sudden. Like, out of nowhere.”

You kept your head high, forcing yourself to focus on the sound of your heels clicking against the floor. The familiar pressure of public scrutiny was something you’d grown used to as a model, but this was different. This wasn’t about your career. This was about you—your personal life, your choices, your supposed love story with Rafe.

The tension only grew as you climbed the stairs to the seating area. You found your seat with your name on a piece of paper, sliding into the seat and exhaling slowly. The crowd around you was buzzing with excitement, their cheers and chatter filling the air. You adjusted the jersey again, pulling it down slightly as your eyes scanned the court below.

Players were warming up, their movements fluid and confident. Your gaze lingered on Rafe almost instinctively. He was standing near the bench, laughing at something one of his teammates said. Even from a distance, his presence was magnetic—broad shoulders, easy swagger, and that stupid grin.

You were so focused on him that you almost didn’t notice the glances directed your way. A group of women a few rows ahead whispered behind cupped hands, casting subtle looks in your direction. Two men seated nearby exchanged knowing smirks, as if they’d just shared some private joke at your expense.

Your phone buzzed in your lap, pulling you from your thoughts.

Rafe: You better be watching. Game’s about to start.

You glanced down at the message, your lips curving into a faint smile.

You: I’m here. Stop texting me and focus.

Rafe: Can’t help it. You’re too pretty. I can’t look away.

You stared at his reply, the words making your chest tighten. He had a way of saying things that left you questioning whether he was teasing or if there was something deeper hidden beneath the surface. Shaking your head, you locked your phone, determined not to let him get to you.

But as you tucked your phone back into your bag, you couldn’t resist the pull to look up. Your eyes scanned the court, weaving through the blur of players warming up and the steady hum of the crowd. Then, you found him.

Rafe stood near the bench line, towel slung casually over his shoulder, his stance relaxed but commanding. He wasn’t talking to his teammates anymore or listening to the coach’s instructions.

His attention was fixed on you.

The moment your eyes met, it felt like the air shifted. The noise of the arena—the cheers, the clapping, the announcer’s voice—all seemed to fade into the background. It was just him, standing there, looking at you like the game didn’t matter. Like you were the only thing that did.

His lips curved into a small, knowing smile, one that was entirely too confident for its own good. Slowly, he tilted his head, his blue eyes holding yours with a softness that contrasted the cocky energy he carried on the court.

Then, he mouthed the words, “You’re so pretty.”

You felt your breath catch, the heat rising to your cheeks as his gaze lingered. It wasn’t just the words that made your chest flutter; it was the way he looked at you, like he was seeing something no one else could.

Heart pounding, you mouthed back, “Focus on the game.”

His smile deepened, transforming into a grin that made your stomach flip. He shook his head lightly, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Can’t.”

The unspoken word hung between you, and for a moment, it felt like the space between the court and the stands wasn’t so far after all. There was a vulnerability in his expression, a quiet intensity that made you wonder if he meant more than he was letting on.

He lifted his hand, brushing his thumb across his chin in a subtle motion, but the meaning was unmistakable: he was thinking about you.

The referee’s whistle blew sharply, breaking the spell. Rafe turned back toward the court, tossing the towel to a teammate with a practiced ease, but not before glancing at you one last time. His gaze softened, and for a fleeting second, you could have sworn there was something unspoken in his eyes—something that felt dangerously close to longing.

You exhaled shakily, your hands tightening around the strap of your bag. Around you, the crowd erupted as the game began, but your focus was still on him. The way he moved, so sure of himself, every step purposeful, every pass calculated—it was mesmerizing.

The arena buzzed with energy as the game commenced. The rhythmic dribble of the basketball and the sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished court filled the air, blending with the cheers of the crowd. You found yourself transfixed, your gaze locked on Rafe as he moved across the court with the ease of someone born to dominate the game.

He was commanding a force of nature. Every movement was deliberate, powerful and precise. He wove through the opposing team effortlessly, his presence undeniable as he directed his teammates with sharp gestures and focused intensity. The scorebag flashed: 2-0. Rafe’s team was already pulling ahead, and it was clear who the driving force was.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him. Every time he scored, the arena erupted, but your heart thudded for a different reason. There was something magnetic about the way he played—a mixture of skill, confidence, and an edge that made it impossible to look away. Even from a distance, you could see the determination etched on his face, the slight smirk when his shot landed perfectly in the net, the way he winked at you.

This was Rafe Cameron at his peak, untouchable and undeniably captivating.

Suddenly, the seat next to you shifted. You felt the slight weight of someone standing next to you, but you didn’t glance over. Your attention remained locked on Rafe as he leapt to intercept a pass, the sheer athleticism in his jump drawing another cheer from the crowd.

But then, a familiar voice cut through the noise, low and dripping with condescension.

“Well, this is unexpected.”

Your stomach dropped, and for a fleeting moment, the lively arena seemed to tilt and blur around you. Reluctantly, you tore your gaze away from the court, where Rafe had been dominating with his usual confidence, and turned to the source of the interruption.

There she was, Chiara Romano, lounging in the seat beside you like she owned the place. She looked as impeccable as ever, her designer coat draped artfully over her shoulders, not a single strand out of place. Her lips curved into a smug smile that made your stomach churn, her perfectly manicured nails tapping lightly against the armrest.

“Chiara,” you greeted flatly, forcing a polite smile that didn’t come close to reaching your eyes. “Didn’t expect to see you here... sitting next to me,” you added under your breath, your tone laced with barely concealed irritation.

“Of course I’d be here,” she said breezily, flipping her hair over one shoulder in a gesture so practiced it felt rehearsed. “Rafe and I go way back, you know. I’ve been to more of his games than I can count.”

You clenched your jaw but refused to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you turned back toward the court, your eyes automatically searching for Rafe. “That’s nice,” you replied tersely, hoping to end the conversation there.

But Chiara wasn’t one to take a hint.

“You know, basketball games can be overwhelming if you’re not used to them,” she continued, her tone dripping with faux sympathy. “The noise, the energy, the spotlight—it’s not for everyone.”

“I’m managing just fine,” you replied evenly, your voice steady despite the simmering annoyance beneath the surface.

“I’m sure you are,” she said with a patronizing little laugh. She leaned back in her seat, crossing one leg over the other as if settling in for a long chat. “So,” she said with an air of faux curiosity, “how’s life been since we last saw each other? It’s been, what, almost a month?”

You resisted the urge to groan. The last thing you wanted was to engage in small talk with her. “Not much,” you replied curtly. “You?”

Chiara’s eyes sparkled with amusement, as if she relished the power dynamic of the exchange. “Oh, nothing too exciting,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. Then, with a calculated tilt of her head, she added, “But ‘nothing much’ seems like a strange way to describe getting engaged. That’s pretty big, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah, it is.”

Chiara’s smile widened, and she leaned in just a fraction, as though to share some intimate secret. You instinctively recoiled, unnerved by her sudden proximity. Whether it was meant to intimidate you or to ensure you heard every word of her next comment, you weren’t sure.

Either way, you didn’t like it.

“I have to admit something,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I was surprised to hear about the engagement—” Womp womp, you thought. “—I mean, Rafe never struck me as the settling-down type.”

You exhaled sharply, turning to face her with a calmness you didn’t quite feel. Your voice was smooth, but the edge was unmistakable. “Maybe he wasn’t with the right person to give you that impression.”

Chiara’s eyes narrowed, her lips pressing together in a thin line. The sudden shift in her posture told you everything—you’d struck a nerve. “And you think you’re the… right person?”

You leaned in just slightly, your gaze sharp and unyielding, your lips curling into a smug smile that didn't reach your eyes. “Well, I mean, I’m the one he plans to marry, aren’t I?”

The words landed like a slap, and for a brief moment, her face flickered with a blend of jealousy and frustration, a brief vulnerability that she quickly tried to mask.

“Right,” she nodded, the sound forced. “But you do realize, Rafe isn’t usually into girls like you. He has... a type. Or at least, he used to.”

You raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused by her attempt at a jab. “Okay?” you said, a little too casual.

She laughed bitterly, flapping her hands in the air, clearly trying to backpedal. “I didn’t mean anything bad by that. You’re beautiful, sure, but you’re just not the type Rafe typically goes for.”

Was she serious right now?

What’s so surprising about a white guy only being interested in white girls? Did she think I was born yesterday?

You scoffed, voice dripping with sarcasm. “And what exactly am I supposed to do with that info, Chiara? Am I supposed to fall apart? ‘Oh no, another white guy who doesn’t like brown girls like me. My life is over. I wish I was white.’ Is that the reaction you were hoping for?”

Chiara blinked, clearly thrown off by the intensity in your voice. The color drained slightly from her face as you held your ground, watching her squirm just a little.

“You think you're clever, don’t you?” she said, her voice now tinged with frustration, but you could see the crack in her facade.

“Not really,” you said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Just tired of people thinking they can throw their insecurities at me and watch me flinch. But I don’t play that game.”

Her jaw tightened as she glanced around, searching for a way to regain control. “You know, you’re not exactly what he needs. You’re all—” She gestured to you, eyes sweeping over your appearance, “—flashy, a model, all glitz and glamour. But Rafe needs someone real. Someone who actually gets him.”

You leaned forward just a bit, a challenge flickering in your eyes. “I’m pretty sure I get him just fine. What you’re really trying to say is that you can’t stand the fact that he’s chosen me. And it’s not because I’m not ‘his type.’ It’s because I’m the one who got him. And that’s something you can’t wrap your fucking head around.”

The words landed heavy, and you saw the small twitch in her eye. For a brief moment, she looked almost... vulnerable. Then, just as quickly, the facade slipped back on.

Chiara scoffed, her lips curling into a tight smile. “You’re just a placeholder. He’s going to get bored of you eventually.”

"Listen," you began, stepping closer to Chiara, your voice steady and sharp. "I’m here to watch my fiancé win his match, not waste my time arguing with someone who clearly peaked in high school. So why don’t you take your insecurities and your cheap, high-school jabs and shove them so far up your—"

"Hey, baby," a familiar voice interrupted, smooth and warm like honey.

Your head snapped to the side, and there he was—Rafe, running to you, with that signature cocky grin. His hair was damp with sweat, strands clinging to his forehead, and his jersey clung to every ridge of his chest, leaving very little to the imagination. The gleam of sweat gliding down his forearms and neck made your mouth dry, and for a moment, you completely forgot where you were.

"Did you see that dunk I just pulled off?" he asked, his tone a mix of pride and boyish excitement.

You barely registered the words because all you could think about was how ridiculously good he looked. His muscles practically strained against his jersey, his shoulders broad and commanding. Even the sweat dripping from his jawline seemed unfairly attractive.

Damn it, why did he have to look like that right now?

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus as Rafe jogged up the steps toward you, his eyes lighting up when they met yours.

"Did you see it?" he pressed, still grinning.

"Yeah," you lied, your lips curving into a soft smile as you reached up to adjust the collar of his jersey. "Don’t let it go to your head, though."

“Too late,” Rafe chuckled, leaning in just enough for you to catch the faint scent of his cologne. “That dunk? It was for you. Thought you might like it since, you know, you’re my good luck charm and all.”

You raised a brow, fighting to keep your expression indifferent, though the warmth creeping up your neck betrayed you. “Really? Do I look impressed?”

He inched closer, the grin on his face softening into something that felt almost intimate, his voice dropping lower. “You look hot, actually.” His eyes flickered to your lips for a heartbeat before meeting yours again. “Seeing you out there with my number on your back? It’s driving me insane.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat when his gaze lingered just a little too long, sending your heart racing.

“Cameron! Get your pussy-whipped ass back on the court!” JJ Maybank, his teammate, shouted echoed from across the gym.

Rafe groaned, the spell broken, before dropping his head dramatically onto your lap with a low chuckle. He turned his face to press a quick, feather-light kiss to your cheek, the touch leaving you both flustered and breathless, before he jogged back to the court.

For the next 30 minutes, everything was perfect. The energy was electric, Rafe’s team seemed to win and every time he did so he’d send a wink in your direction. You felt good, peaceful. You felt comfortable, almost like you were meant to be here cheering for him. It was too good that you almost forgot Chiara’s presence next to you… until she spoke.

“You know, Rafe and I used to have this little tradition after his games,” she said casually, as though the memory had just occurred to her. “We’d go to this rooftop downtown—he always said it was his favorite view of the city. We’d stay up there for hours, just talking about everything and nothing. It was… special.”

Your grip on your drink tightened, but you forced yourself to keep your eyes on the court. Rafe had just stolen the ball, and the crowd roared as he raced toward the basket.

“You know,” she began, almost lazily, “Rafe and I used to have this little post-game ritual. He’d always say I was his good luck charm—”

Your heart clenched painfully. The phrase echoed in your mind, sharp and cutting like broken glass. Good luck charm. That was what Rafe had called you just today, his lips brushing your ear as he teased you in the stands. It had felt personal, intimate, like a secret between you and him. But now it seemed cheap, rehearsed—just another line he used, a meaningless phrase recycled from his past with others.

You kept your face neutral, though your pulse thundered in your ears.

“He always said he couldn’t play his best unless I was watching,” Chiara continued, her voice tinged with amusement. “It was sweet, really. Afterward, he’d grab my hand, pull me into his car, and we’d drive down to this diner he loved. He insisted the milkshakes there were the best in town.”

You couldn’t stop your eyes from finding Rafe on the court. He was electric, his movements precise and powerful, his confidence unmistakable. But as you stared at him, anger and hurt churned in your chest. You felt foolish, betrayed, for letting yourself believe you were special to him.

“And when he scored that game-winning shot last season,” Chiara added, leaning slightly closer as if to deliver the final blow, “he said it was because I was there. He made me feel like I was part of it, you know? Like we were a team.”

The game’s final whistle blew, and the crowd erupted in cheers, but you couldn’t bring yourself to clap. Your hands stayed clenched in your lap, your eyes locked on Rafe as he turned toward the stands.

His gaze swept across the crowd until it landed on you.

You weren’t smiling. You weren’t even standing. You just sat there, staring at him, your emotions too tangled to mask. Hurt, anger, and disappointment simmered beneath the surface, your expression giving away enough for him to know something was wrong.

Rafe’s brow furrowed, his grin disappearing entirely as he took a step closer, clearly intending to come over. But you didn’t wait. You pushed yourself up from the seat and turned on your heel, weaving your way through the crowd toward the exit.

“YN!” His voice carried over the noise, confusion laced in his tone. You didn’t stop.

He called your name again, louder this time, his footsteps heavy behind you as he tried to catch up. “Hey, wait—what’s going on?”

But you couldn’t face him. Not now. Not with your chest tightening and your mind replaying Chiara’s words like a broken record. Good luck charm. The phrase rattled in your head, mocking you for ever thinking you were something new to him.

Just as you reached the corridor leading out of the stadium, Rafe’s hand grabbed your wrist, halting you in your tracks.

“YN, stop,” he said, his voice firmer now, though there was still a trace of confusion in it. He turned you around gently, his blue eyes searching yours. “What the hell is wrong?”

You yanked your wrist free, your emotions bubbling too close to the surface. “You're such a fucking asshole,” you snapped in your native language.

“I don’t know what you're saying!” he said, confused. “What is this? Why are you walking away from me?”

“Hey!” His tone was sharper now, frustration evident as he jogged after you. You were halfway down the empty corridor when his voice rose again, louder this time. “What the hell is going on?”

Still, you didn’t look back.

Rafe finally caught up, his footsteps heavy as he moved in front of you, blocking your path. “YN, stop!” he barked, his chest rising and falling with exertion. His blue eyes searched your face, desperate for answers. “What is wrong with you?”

You gave him nothing, your expression unreadable as you stared past him, silent and unyielding.

“Seriously? You’re just going to ignore me?” Rafe demanded, his voice rising with irritation.

You crossed your arms, your jaw tightening as you stepped around him and continued walking. He let out a low curse behind you but followed, his confusion giving way to simmering anger.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured as he touched his hair before going back to shower quickly and change.

Rafe stepped into the dimly lit private parking lot, his thoughts tangled in knots as he tried to make sense of your behavior. The tension from earlier lingered, gnawing at him with every step he took. What could he have done to make you this angry? He replayed the events in his mind, searching for answers but coming up empty-handed.

Then, he spotted you.

You were leaning against his car, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself as though shielding yourself from more than just the cold. Your gaze was fixed on the ground, a deep frown etched on your face. Rafe froze for a moment, his confusion momentarily replaced by something softer.

Even now, angry and upset, you looked stunning.

He noticed the way your bottom lip jutted out slightly in an unconscious pout, a habit he’d come to associate with your frustration. It was endearing, almost enough to make him smile if the circumstances weren’t so tense. His eyes softened as he watched you, taking in the delicate lines of your profile and the way your hair shifted slightly with the cold breeze.

But then his phone buzzed in his pocket, the sudden noise shattering the stillness. The sound caught your attention, and your head snapped up to meet his gaze.

The moment your eyes locked, Rafe felt like he’d been struck.

Your glare was fiery, your anger radiating in waves that he could feel even from a distance. It was a look that could melt steel, and for a fleeting second, Rafe thought you might actually set him alight with sheer willpower.

In stark contrast, his own gaze held nothing but intensity, a raw, unguarded passion that made him forget to breathe. He knew you were furious, but he couldn’t stop the way his heart ached for you—or the way you made it race despite everything.

The phone in his pocket buzzed again, but he didn’t bother checking who it was. He pulled it out, pressed ‘decline’ without even glancing at the screen, and slipped it back into his pocket. His focus never wavered from you.

“Can I walk over,” he called out, his voice a mix of humor and hesitation, “or are you going to eat me alive?”

You didn’t respond. Your piercing stare didn’t falter, and the silence felt deafening.

If Rafe was honest, he was a little scared.

Drawing in a deep breath, he willed himself forward. Each step he took felt heavier, weighed down by the intensity of your gaze. When he reached the car, he pulled out his keys, unlocking the doors with a soft beep.

The sound seemed to jolt you, and without a word, you slipped past him and climbed into the passenger seat. He noticed the way you folded into yourself, shrinking away from him as you hugged your arms tighter against the biting New York City air.

Rafe stood outside for a moment, his hand gripping the door handle as he stared at you through the window. You wouldn’t even look at him, your face turned resolutely toward the dashboard. The cold breeze tugged at his jacket, but he barely felt it.

With a quiet sigh, he got into the driver’s seat, the air between you heavy with unspoken words. The tension was suffocating, and as he started the car, he couldn’t help but glance at you again, his chest tightening at the sight of your distant expression.

The car ride was agonizingly silent.

Rafe’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel as he stole quick glances at you, each one more anxious than the last. The occasional flicker of streetlights illuminated your face, but you kept your gaze locked on the window, your expression unreadable.

"YN," he started, his voice quieter this time, almost cautious. "Are you going to tell me what’s going on?"

You didn’t even blink.

Rafe’s jaw clenched. "Come on," he said more firmly. "I’m not a mind reader. Just talk to me."

Still, nothing.

He sighed heavily, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “I don’t know what I did to make you this mad, but—”

“Then stop talking,” you interrupted, your voice sharp and cold.

That shut him up. The rest of the drive was thick with tension, the kind that settled in your chest and made it hard to breathe.

By the time he pulled into the parking garage, Rafe’s patience was stretched thin. He parked the car, cutting the engine, and turned to you.

“Are we really going to keep doing this?” he asked, his tone edged with irritation. “You’re acting like I killed your dog or something. Just tell me what’s wrong!”

You ignored him, pulling open the door and stepping out into the cold. The slam of the door echoed through the garage.

“Great,” Rafe muttered under his breath, getting out and slamming his own door harder than necessary. “This is just perfect.”

He followed you into the building, his longer strides catching up to you easily. “YN, stop,” he said, his voice growing more urgent. “Will you please just stop for a second?”

You didn’t.

The moment you stepped into the apartment, you made a beeline for your bedroom. But Rafe was right behind you, his frustration boiling over as he grabbed your wrist to stop you.

“Enough,” he said, his voice low and firm. “What the hell is going on?”

You yanked your arm free, glaring at him with such ferocity that he actually stepped back. “Don’t,” you snapped, your voice cutting like a blade.

Without waiting for a response, you stormed into your room and slammed the door shut so hard the walls seemed to vibrate.

Rafe stood there for a moment, stunned. His hands rested on his hips as he exhaled a shaky breath. “Seriously?” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Are you for real right now?”

From the other side of the door, you could hear him pacing. His voice grew louder, tinged with disbelief and frustration.

“YN, come on! What the hell is your problem? Why are you acting like this?”

You pressed your back against the door, your arms wrapping around yourself as your emotions warred inside you. Chiara’s words played on a relentless loop in your mind—good luck charm—and your chest ached with a confusing mix of anger and betrayal.

When Rafe’s voice came again, it was louder, more exasperated. “I don’t get why you’re so mad!”

That was it.

You flung the door open, your eyes blazing as you stepped out to face him.

“You don’t get why I’m mad?” you snapped, your voice trembling with raw emotion. “Are you serious, Rafe? You really have no idea?”

Rafe blinked, caught off guard by your sudden outburst. “No! I don’t!” he shot back. “One second we’re fine, and the next you’re acting like I did something unforgivable!”

“Your good luck charm!” you practically yelled, the nickname tasting bitter on your tongue. “Every time I think you’re finally getting better, that I can finally get along with you, something comes along and ruins everything. It’s like I can’t trust a single thing you say, Rafe!”

Rafe’s brows furrowed deeply, his confusion palpable. “What are you even talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” you snapped, your voice breaking as emotion overwhelmed you. “Chiara. She said it—she said you used to call her your good luck charm. That you couldn’t play without her watching. And then you—you turn around and call me the same thing. Do you have a script you use with women, or am I just another recycled chapter in your pathetic little book of tricks?”

Rafe’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He stared at you, stunned, as if trying to process what you were saying. “I—I never said that to her,” he finally managed, his voice quieter than before. “I don’t even know why she’d say that. I’ve never called her my good luck charm.”

“Oh, so now she’s the liar?” you shot back bitterly, crossing your arms. “Convenient, isn’t it? Blame her, act like you didn’t do anything wrong. But why would she make that up, Rafe? Why would she lie about something so specific?”

“I don’t know!” he said, his voice rising in frustration. “But I swear, YN, I never said that to her. That nickname—it’s yours. I called you that because I meant it. Because that’s what you are to me. I don’t just throw that around like it’s nothing.”

His words were raw, almost pleading, but they didn’t soothe the ache in your chest. You shook your head, stepping back. “How am I supposed to believe you? After everything—after all the lies, the games, the constant reminders that I’m just another person in your long, messy history—you expect me to just take your word for it?”

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, the frustration evident in his every movement. “I’m not lying to you, YN,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “I know I’ve screwed up in the past, and I know I’ve given you a million reasons not to trust me. But this—this isn’t one of those times. Chiara’s lying, or twisting things, or—I don’t know. But I do know that I’ve never felt about her the way I feel about you.”

Your breath caught at his words, but you forced yourself to stay guarded. “And what way is that, exactly? Because it feels like I’m constantly walking a tightrope with you, Cameron. One wrong step, and it all falls apart.”

Rafe took a hesitant step closer, his expression pained. “I don’t want it to fall apart,” he said softly. “I’m trying, YN. I’m trying to be better—for you. I know I’m not perfect, and I know I don’t always get it right, but I care about you."

“If you care about me as much as you say you do,” you said, your voice trembling but steady, “then tell me what happened between you and her.”

Rafe froze, his jaw tightening as the weight of your words hit him. He took a small step back, almost as if putting physical distance between you could lessen the pressure. His eyes darted away, avoiding yours, and you could see the conflict etched into his face.

“Why?” he asked, his voice low and hesitant.

“Why?” you repeated, your voice rising as the flood of emotions inside you threatened to break free. “Why?!” Your chest heaved as you tried to contain the frustration boiling over. “Because if we’re going to have something real, something fresh and healthy, I need to know what happened between you two. I need to understand, Rafe.”

His brows furrowed deeply, and you could see the panic in his eyes. “I don’t… I don’t think I can,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

The words hit you like a physical blow, and your breath caught in your throat. You felt your heart tighten, the ache in your chest spreading as tears stung your eyes. You blinked rapidly, trying to keep them from falling, but it was no use.

“Okay,” you said softly, your voice cracking. It wasn’t angry or accusatory—it was resigned, heavy with disappointment.

“YN, wait,” Rafe pleaded, stepping toward you, his voice desperate. “I—”

“No.” You cut him off sharply, your voice suddenly firm despite the tears streaming down your face. You held up a hand, keeping him at bay. “I don’t want to hear it, Rafe. I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

Rafe stared at you, his jaw tightening as he struggled to find the right words. But for the first time, you didn’t want to hear them.

Before he could say anything else, you turned on your heel and walked back into your room, slamming the door shut once more, leaving him standing there in silence.

The silence between you was deafening.

Rafe’s hand hung loosely by his side as he stood outside your door, staring at the wood like it would somehow provide answers. His chest rose and fell unevenly, the weight of your words still pressing on him like a heavy stone. The anger in your eyes, the way you looked at him—he could still feel it burning into him. But more than than, there was something else, something far deeper that gnawed at him, something that felt like it was tearing him apart.

With a frustrated groan, he let himself slide down the door, his back hitting it with a thud. He bent his knees, resting his head in his hands for a moment as he exhaled deeply, his mind racing with confusion. Why did this feel so goddamn difficult?

He had always been good at avoiding things, at keeping his distance from complications, at never allowing anyone to get too close romantically. But with you, it was different. Every touch, every look, every moment felt like something that mattered. More than that, it felt like it was changing him in ways he wasn’t sure he could handle.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling up inside him like a storm waiting to break.

What the hell is wrong with me? he thought. Why am I so messed up about her?

The sound of movement behind him made him glance up. You had shifted as well, and now you were sitting on the floor with your back against the door. Your arms were crossed tightly over your chest, your face buried in your hands. It wasn’t a sobbing kind of silence, but more like two people utterly drained from the weight of everything that had happened.

He wanted to say something, anything, to break the tension. But words felt useless right now.

Ten minutes passed. Neither of you moved, both of you stuck in your own swirling thoughts. Rafe could hear his heart thundering in his chest, the confusion churning inside him. He wanted you. Badly. He could feel it—every inch of him aching for you, wanting to close the distance between you, but something held him back.

It wasn’t just the anger. It wasn’t just the words that had been said. It was the fear.

The fear of losing you, of fucking everything up, of showing you the side of him he’d spent so long burying deep inside.

Chiara. The past. His mistakes.

He had told himself that he could protect you from all that. That you didn’t need to know. But sitting here, staring at the door like it held all the answers, he realized how much he needed to open up. He needed you to understand.

“YN,” he muttered, his voice strained, “I… I can’t do this anymore. I’m so fucking lost.”

He hesitated for a second, feeling his throat tighten. “I don’t know how to do this,” he confessed, his voice breaking just a little. “I don’t know how to make it right between us. I just… I need you to understand. I need you to know what happened.”

Behind the door, you still didn’t look up, your face hidden in the shadows of the room, your eyes closed as though bracing yourself for the storm that was coming.

Rafe’s hands shook as he finally opened up, his emotions raw and unguarded in a way he had never allowed himself to be.

“Chiara,” he started, his voice low and rough. “She wasn’t just some ex. She was part of my life when I was at my lowest. When I was 19, I was… I was a fucking mess. I was lost. I was drowning in everything—drugs, alcohol, all that shit. I didn’t know who I was, and I didn’t care. I was just… numb. I needed something to keep me afloat, and Chiara, she was there. She was a part of that world. I don’t know why I thought she was the one who could help me, but she was. And I used her, just as much as she used me. We were a fucking disaster.”

He stopped there, the words tasting bitter in his mouth, but they were true. They were the only truth he had been hiding.

“I went to rehab, and when I came back, everything was different. But Chiara, she was still there, still holding on, and I didn’t know how to cut her off. I didn’t know how to let go. She was struggling, and I felt guilty—so I kept her around. I thought if I just… if I just stayed close, maybe I could make up for all the shit I did. I don’t know. But I wasn’t being honest. Not with her, not with mys I saidelf.”

His breath hitched, the weight of the past crashing into him like a wave. “And when I’ve never called her that. My good luck charm. I don’t know how she knows about it but I promise you, on everything precious in my life, I’ve never called her that… But when I say it to you, it’s different. It means something. You’re not some… replacement for her. You’re not some fucking substitute. You’re real. And that scares the hell out of me.”

He exhaled sharply, his voice barely above a whisper.Rafe leaned back against the door again, his head pressed to the cool surface, his eyes closing as a wave of exhaustion hit him. He was exposed now, more vulnerable than he had ever been, his heart in pieces. He had said everything that had been suffocating him, and yet, the silence still felt like it was swallowing him whole.

He waited, his breath shaky, his thoughts a whirl of regret and hope and fear. All he could do now was wait for you to respond, to open the door—or for you to walk away, to decide that he wasn’t worth the risk.

The waiting was unbearable.

chapter thirteen

INFO ABOUT UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @aliyahwritings-notifs and turn on notifications!!!

367 notes · View notes

angelfoxx · 1 year ago

Note

I just know Keegan looks so god damn hot in his casual clothing, going to bed in loose grey boxers and an old band shirt that rides up his stomach when he lies down, AND GOOD GOD his happy traillll😫I feel like he’s one of those guys with really bushy happy trails, doesn’t even know how sexy you find it. He’s lying in bed, one of his big arms around your shoulders while reading an old book. Raises an eyebrow when your hand starts wandering up his thigh, fingertips dipping under the waistband of his boxers..

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° ❝ NEED SOMETHING? ❞

…in which keegan entertains your perversions.

FEATURING: keegan p russ.

WARNINGS: keegan being a sexy motherfucker. also me giving him a tatted sleeve because it’s sexy and who the hell is gonna tell me no. also me drooling over his happy trail bc HAPPY TRAILS HAPPY TRAILS LOOOOOOOORD

NOTE/S: oh my god

It’s not your fault, really. Feeling like this. It’s not your fault.

It’s his.

He’s not ignoring you. His arm, slung up on your shoulders, is just a heavy, toned reminder that he’s with you. His attention is just elsewhere.

You aren’t totally sure what book he’s reading. Probably something of Stephen King’s. Last week, it had been Christine. The week prior, It. You hadn’t bothered checking; if it was a low-stress week, he’d tell you all about it once he finished it, true book-critic style. In any case, he’s got the thing casually in his lap, spread open by a splayed hand. He’s got a simple silver band on his middle finger, gnarled and twisted like barbed wire — every now and then, he taps it, just an occasional beat of sound as if to remind you that he’s right there.

You’re ogling his hand, now. He doesn’t seem to notice.

Your eyes travel upward. He’s got a pretty sleeve of black-and-white tattoos; churning ocean waves, storm-battered whitecaps, tossing ships. He’d explained it the first time you’d seen it; something about how he found peace in the chaos of an ocean storm. Just standing in a place where there was no resistance that he could give. Surrendering to the fury of nature. Something like that. It’s…um, attractive. Yeah. You swallow and resist the sudden urge to squeeze your legs together.

The top of that sleeve — thick, billowing clouds — vanishes under the edge of his tee. Charcoal-gray, emblazoned with the title of an old rock band that you’d never really heard of prior to meeting him. He’s still wearing his dog-tag, hanging on a silver chain around his neck and rising on his chest every time he breathes.

Christ, you should stop staring.

His shirt’s ridden up on his stomach, and god, you really shouldn’t look because then you won’t be able to look away. But you do look, because what are you if not a swooning idiot for the sniper sitting beside you?

Every time he breathes, his stomach sinks in and you can see the outline of his abs. God. Fucking Christ. You can see the outline of his abs but not really the middle, because along the middle he’s proudly sporting a long line of short black curls.

You’re basically salivating.

He’s just got some loose gray boxers on, sitting dangerously low on his hips. He’s left the v-line of his hips exposed; your senses are on high alert, eyes catching on every little mole spotting his waist, every little white scar, the edge of the paw-print tattoos he has just below his stomach (it’s where Riley’s front feet go when the dog stands up on his hind legs, tail wagging and tongue lolling), and it’s such a cute little tattoo but your thoughts are anything but and—

“Don’t forget to blink.”

You flinch like you’ve been shot. Your mind goes blank, and your gaze shoots upward.

Tiny smirk caught in the corner of his mouth, Keegan looks down at you with lidded, quietly humored eyes. They seem brilliantly blue, moreso than usual — though maybe that’s just the lighting in here. His hair’s a mess; short and still damp from his earlier shower, undercut scrubbing against your arm as he turns his head, just a little, one eyebrow raised. There’s a little scar through his left one; the hair splits unevenly there. You’ve told him several times that you find it sexy.

He agrees.

“What?” Your mouth feels like it’s filled with a fat wad of cotton. You feel like your thoughts are visible in your eyes.

“Don’t play stupid.” His response is honey-smooth. “I’m not dumb.”

“I didn’t say y…you were.” You swallow. “I’m just sitting here.”

“Mm.” Keegan narrows his eyes. “Mhm.”

And then he goes back to that book.

It’s kind of ridiculous, how hard you stare at his hand holding that book open. It’s almost pathetic, actually. You’re sure he’d say the same if he knew exactly what thoughts were running through your head right now. Pinkie finger on one page, index on the other, middle and ring both resting so lightly along the inseam of the spine.

Christ.

Trying to shake yourself out of your own head, you turn yourself inwards. Keegan needs no words; his arm tightens around you, hand sliding down to your hip and tugging it over so that you’re fully facing his side, head resting against his chest and body slung down along his leg. It’s comfortable like this; it goes without saying that he’s built like a motherfucker and so his pec is a comfortable resting-place for your head. He’s warm, too, deliciously so; his body heat seeps up through his tee, prickling against your skin. He’s comfy, so comfy; on other nights, you’d fallen asleep like this, cuddled up to his side with one of his arms wrapped around you. Those nights were sweet; when time started to slow and all of your senses started to bleed together, you always heard him call your name, so quiet you wouldn’t catch it if you were awake. When you didn’t answer, he’d laugh — and then you’d hear the rustle of sheets as he stooped over and pressed a little kiss to the top of your head.

You weren’t totally sure if he knew that you knew he did that.

Tonight, though, you can’t do that. You can’t fathom it, because your hand is just itching to move. It’s just casually resting against his thigh — god, his fucking thighs, hard and thick and oh, you have to stop ogling him. You have to stop thinking about how that muscle feels, flexing so slightly under your hand as it moves up.

Moves up?

Oh.

Oops.

Keegan doesn’t say anything when your hand cups the warm spot between his legs. He lets out a short breath — it almost sounds like a laugh. There’s a curve taking shape on his lips, and his eyes glint with humor as he shifts, purposefully pushing his pelvis so slightly up into your palm.

The weight of his dick pushes between your fingers and your legs instinctively snap together. Above you, Keegan’s breath cracks into a nearly-silent laugh.

He’s onto you.

You bite your lip, risking a glance up at him as you do. He isn’t looking at you; he’s still reading, hawkish blue eyes scanning from left to right, over and over again. The hand on your hip lightly squeezes a handful of your thigh.

His hips roll so slightly up again. He’s daring you to continue.

Cocky sonofabitch. You swallow as you move your hand up, up, over the slight angular swell of his abdomen and up past the elastic of his boxers. For a moment, you rake your fingers up his abs and you shudder in response to the way his stomach flexes and his breathing oh-so-slightly breaks.

No words. Just the sound of him turning the page.

Bitch. You bite your tongue as you shift your head around. You can hear his heart thumping beneath your ear, and — god fucking dammit — it’s not beating quicker at all. It’s like you can’t disturb him. Get under his skin like he gets under yours.

You pick at the elastic of his waistband. On one hand? You’re rubbing your legs together, biting your tongue, and there’s a million and one dirty images in your head. You can practically hear Keegan’s growl in your ear: too needy to sit still, princess?

But on the other hand, he’s being mean. He’s ignoring you and all of your signs. And you kind of want to just roll over and go to sleep and maybe, just maybe, he’d been hoping for you to go further.

But you won’t. So he’ll get frustrated, and then it’ll be him slowly reaching his hand under the elastic of your waistband, fingers curving over the shape of your body and feeling for wet warmth. He’ll breathe in your ear with that stupid rasp of his and he’ll ask, voice raw, if you were really planning on hanging me out to dry like that? and you’ll say maybe I was.

Or he’ll get frustrated, but he’ll reach into his own pants. He’ll leave you alone, but you’ll wake up to the quiet sound of his muted groans and his hand stroking back and forth under the thin material of his boxers and then maybe he’ll do that thing where he tips his head back, swallows, and his eyes flutter shut and he cursed, quiet and hoarse.

Or maybe—

“Cold feet?” There he is again, short phrases and little questions. He’s not looking at you; he’s looking at his book, tilting his head as he turns the page. He raises an eyebrow to you, tongue clasped between his teeth.

“What?”

No response this time. Keegan’s eyes shift over to you; he cocks his head in your direction, and under that messy black mop of hair and those thick black lashes that you’ve always been envious of, Keegan silently asks if you’re really going to play this fucking dumb.

You’ve arrived at a stalemate. You don’t move. He doesn’t speak. You two just stare at each other, blinking back-and-forth like a tennis volley until Keegan finally sighs and looks away. His eyes return to the book.

You’re about to snap, ready to rip the godforsaken thing out of his lap, when the hand on your hip shifts. His arm lifts off of your back; it pulls around your shoulders instead, crushing you into his armpit.

His fingers clasp around your wrist, and you catch the undeniable edge of a smirk on his face before he takes your hand and pulls it into his pants.

get fucking cliffhanger’d bitches

#cod smut #call of duty smut #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #keegan x reader #keegan p russ #keegan russ x reader #keegan smut #cod keegan #LORDDDD

2K notes · View notes

wetslug · 8 months ago

Text

i got myself to leave the house despite feeling shitty and i hit the goodwill and bought a frilly white shirt that u might see at a baptism or job interview in 1988. but i have a vision in mind....

i can never have all 3 -good weather -time to go out/run errands -a good mood

#i think it would be a good layering shirt idk #also got a hear print scrub top but hear me out i think i could wear it as a normal shirt. or is that illegal #also got a pitcher for my various liquids

9 notes · View notes

storiesofsvu · 7 months ago

Text

Decadent Desire Ch 8

Emily Prentiss x reader warnings: language, alcohol, smut, rougher sex (ish), minor breeding kink. ngl it almost feels like a bit of a filler chapter, but it reunites what bits i had combined previously to make full chapters. Also sometimes filler is needed, I needed something else in there to break things up and that's why i kept staring at the word doc having NO clue what i wanted to do. SO, hopefully it doesn't take two weeks til the next update. lol. thank you for reading, extra bonus love to everyone who comments, sends asks and reblogs! you're the best!

After a lavish breakfast of stuffed French toast, all the delicious sides you could ask for and the best tasting coffee you’d had in ages you figured you should take advantage of the fancy shower once more. You took your time, scrubbing your skin with exfoliant before washing with a rose scented body wash and combing through your hair with a leave in conditioner. Wrapping yourself in one of the fuzzy robes you added in some hair treatment, doing your best job of braiding your still damp locks to air dry while sipping on a second cup of coffee. Finally it was check out time so you collected your things and headed downstairs, the Sunday morning air was the perfect balance of crisp while warm, the breeze floating through the streets spreading the sense of summer on the way.

You weren’t totally surprised when you found a bouquet of flowers on your front step, a note from Emily in the florists font scrawled across the front. Scooping it up you took it inside, kicking off your shoes and dropping your purse to the kitchen island before unwrapping the flowers. Picking a vase from the cabinet you filled it with some water and placed the bouquet inside, placing them on the coffee table to display. You dug through your bag for your phone, finally finding it and opening the text chain with Emily.

‘The flowers are gorgeous, thank you.’

‘You’re such a good girl I figured you deserved a little treat.’

‘It’s much appreciated.’

‘Speaking of… your upcoming events, do you need anything for them?’

‘I’m picking up a couple of dresses from alterations this week, haven’t looked through my accessories though.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

‘Thank you. Enjoy New York, eat a bagel or a slice of pizza for me.’

‘Oh now that’s just a guarantee’

You chuckled as you locked your phone, sliding it back onto the island before you turned back to the fridge, eyes flicking through what was left and still usable for you to meal prep a bit for the upcoming week.

Said upcoming week flew by faster than you’d expected, likely due to all of the added on extra tasks you had to complete by six p.m. on Friday. Even with the slew of assistants strewn through Heather’s team, everything had to be perfect, double or triple checked, approved by Heather or yourself before appointments were confirmed, meetings were booked, or things were publicized or printed. You often wondered if it was actually financially worth having your own personal assistant considering the amount of things you either did yourself or had to be redone. (Not that it really mattered to you, they weren’t on your payroll).

Friday’s banquet wasn’t much for you to worry about, just made sure you were dressed the part and were ready when the car rolled up to your condo. Dinner was over and cocktails were in full swing, time for schmoozing, networking and making sure that everyone went home remembering the Dunbar name and philosophy. You’d stepped outside briefly after dinner, chatting with a congressman while he had a cigar and gave you the opportunity to stretch your legs. Walking back inside you found a high top table to settle against, pulling out your work phone to read a handful of emails.

“You know, you are allowed to put that thing away, right?” Heather teased, sliding a glass of Cristal across the table to you and you rolled your eyes, locking the device.

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew I was confirming some very affluent last minute sponsors for tomorrow.” You took a sip of the champagne, thinking back to your conversation on the terrace “and you’re welcome, Blythe will be voting in favour next week.”

“Good girl.” She grinned, clinking her glass with yours before her eyes drifted to the bracelet around your wrist. Her gaze lingered for a moment then moved upward and she reached out, lifting your earring with a curled finger before her eyes dropped to the gem resting on the swell of your chest. “Matching set?”

“Mmhm.” You nodded over a sip of your drink.

“Haven’t seen it before.”

“It’s new.” You replied, a small smirk on the corner of your mouth.

“Looks expensive.”

“If you’re trying to suggest it’s out of my budget, you’d be correct.”

“It’s nice to see Emily has good taste.”

“Among other things.” There was a gleam in your eye that Heather was eager to find out more about, a smirk on her lips as she took another sip of her drink.

“Glad to hear.” Was all she had time to reply with when another body sauntered up to your table.

“Not surprised to see you two here.” Tony greeted with a wide smile, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek before he reached out a hand, “Ms. Dunbar.”

“You know, I am surprised to see you here.”

“Drew the short straw.” He shrugged, “director had something come up, Gibbs would rather be caught dead than at one of these things and McGee doesn’t know his Dolce from American Eagle.”

“What about that other Agent you have right now, the little feisty one?” Heather asked, sly smile on her lips as Tony chuckled, scratching at the back of his neck in an attempt to distract from the blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Ziva? These aren’t really her style; she wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“I mean you could’ve at least brought her as a date, shown her the ropes so she knows for next time.” You offered, nudging at his shoulder and he let out another little huff.

“Oh, no, I mean, she’d hate that. She’d spend half the night flirting her way through the crowd and the other half having to convince everyone we weren’t actually together.”

“So she’s available?” Heather asked with a teasing smirk, pulling an awkward laugh from Tony.

“I— uh, well…” He stuttered, “maybe a little too… controlling… to be your style.” He suddenly leant against the table with his elbow, “but you know McGee does have a sister…”

“Do tell.” Heather grinned over the rim of her glass, pulling an eye roll from you.

“No!” You punched Tony’s arm before swatting in Heather’s direction. “Your dance card is already full,” you turned to Tony, “and she is way too young.”

“From what I heard, that’s how she likes it.” He muttered and you rolled your eyes as Heather chuckled.

“Age is just a number.”

“She graduated high school last year. That puts her younger than your kids.” You retorted, watching the way Heather’s nose crinkled before she laughed, happy to have found some amount of amusement from a night like tonight.

She let out a soft sigh as her eyes fixated on something across the room, “there’s Conway, looks like my time is now.” She turned back to you, “Durant may need some more convincing and I haven’t seen Sharp yet.”

“Please, all I need to do is bat my eyelashes in Jackie’s general direction and she’ll do whatever I want.”

“That’s why I keep you around.” With a smile and a nod to DiNozzo, she scooped up her champagne flute and made her way across the ballroom.

“Was… she serious?” He asked hesitantly and you laughed.

“No!” You took another gulp of your drink, “besides, like I said, her schedule’s full, she can’t take on more right now.”

“Speaking of schedules.” He grinned, waggling his eyebrows at you, “I’m surprised to see you here on a weekend, thought those were for secret romps and exchanges of sugar.”

“You know, sometimes I wonder just how suave of a man you could be if you just let your brain think things through before they came out of your mouth.”

“Stop.” He groaned, leaning against the table as he turned to you, “or are you just saving your hot date for tomorrow night?”

“This week didn’t line up, I’ve got that fundraiser all weekend, which, you should bring your team to make it a little family outing.”

“I’ll think about it.” He took a swig of his beer, “really puts a wrench in your plans then, I can already tell you’re getting grumpy.”

“Anthony…” you warned, “we met up last weekend. It was kind of last minute but we made use of the time we had.”

“So no hot dates during the week?”

“Not usually, but we’re both busy, plus she was in New York all week at conferences.”

“A rich woman, who travels for work,” he began to tick them off on his fingers, “outranks NCIS, has significant style tastes, works full time during the week and sometimes weekends… are you sure you aren’t dating a politician.”

“I—” you paused, head tilting for a second before you nodded, “yes. Government employed but not by the White House.”

“Isn’t everyone technically government employed?”

“And we’re not dating, I thought you of all people would understand the stipulations of a financial beneficiary pairing.”

“Oh yeah, and what’s that?” He asked, eyes gleaming.

“She buys me nice things, pays for my hair or nail appointments, adds to my jewellery collection, makes sure my fridge is always full, sends fresh flowers weekly.” You spotted one of the people Heather wanted you to talk to on the other side of the room and drained your drink, “and in return I meet up with her at high end hotels on the weekends and let her fuck my brains out.”

Even though Tony had been expecting it, your brashness still left him choking on his beer as you smirked at him, picking up your empty glass to grab a refill from the bar and one for Durant.

Seven days later and fucking your brains out was exactly what Emily was doing.

It had been less than an hour and if she’d asked you about dinner, you wouldn’t have been able to remember a single thing. All you could think about was the feeling of her buried inside you, hitting deeper with each powerful thrust of her hips. Your hands clawed at the bedspread, eyes scrunched shut as your cunt pulsed around the toy, moans louder with each time she sunk into you. Her hands tightly gripped your hips, hard enough you were sure there would be fingerprint shaped bruises come morning. You let out a little whimper, your nipples rubbing against the duvet every time she fucked into you, the multiple sensations driving you absolutely wild.

“More…” you groaned out, a gasp leaving your lips when she spanked you.

“God you really do like it rough, don’t you?”

“Mmhmm.” You managed to nod, fire shooting through your body, your clit throbbing as you ground it down onto the bed.

“Gonna need you to come soon princess.” She dropped over your body, husking into your ear while one hand tangled into your hair, yanking at the roots and you let out a blissful cry. Her mouth latched onto your neck, teeth scraping the sensitive skin as her free had wound around your middle, fingers pinching at your clit.

“Fuck!” You cried out, “oh fuu-cck. Don’t stop!”

Your teeth sunk into your lower lip, holding back any louder moans, whimpers and whines bouncing off the walls along with the wet sounds coming from your pussy. Your juices coated Emily’s cock, smearing across both of your thighs, more than enough for her to gather up as she rubbed your clit. She could feel you trembling in her arms, your hips bucking back against hers as you started to lose control.

“That’s it baby, you’re so close. Come for me.” She nipped at your earlobe, her breath hot on your skin right as she pressed harder on your clit and you were coming undone in her arms, a shaky cry coming from deep in your throat.

“Oh fuck…” you muttered, collapsing down onto the bed while she continued to fuck you through your orgasm, her hips slowing just a hint.

“So good for me.” She panted, “where do you want my cum? In that pretty mouth? Hmm? Or maybe on this gorgeous ass?” A breathy gasp left your lips when she spanked you again and you moaned, pussy fluttering around her cock as you were coming up on a second orgasm.

“Inside me!” You whined, “please!”

“She likes it rough and she’s dirty?” Emily chuckled, “we’ve got a lot more to explore.”

She watched as your body shivered, thighs clenching together and your hands bunched tightly into fists as your second peak washed over you and then she let out a groan, stilling with her hips right against yours. Her hand quickly found the base of the toy, squeezing hard and you let out a satisfied moan at the feeling of her spilling deep inside you. Emily’s hand soothed up and down your back, watching as you caught your breath before she pulled the toy almost all of the way out of your pussy. She let out a low swear at the sight of it coated in a mixture of your cum and the lube before slowly nudging it back into you, fucking her cum deeper into your drenched cunt. You trembled again, a sheen of goosebumps breaking out on your skin and she finally pulled out of you, skilfully ridding herself of the strap to be dealt with later.

“Christ…” you muttered, your head burying itself into the pillows and Emily let out a small chuckle as she dropped down onto the bed beside you.

“Seems like you’re a little fucked senseless?” She offered and you let out a small laugh, your eyes barely blinking open to look over at her.

“Not to deflate your ego,” you let out a large yawn, “because you certainly did, but I am also just completely fucking wiped. I barely slept all week. Between Heather’s bill proposals and the upcoming endorsements I’ve been working twenty hour days.” Emily snuck under the blankets, an arm draping over the top of the pillows and you practically nuzzled into her side, yawning again as your eyes fluttered shut.

“Hey!” She swatted at your side, “none of that, you need to use the bathroom.”

“C’mon…” you whined, burrowing yourself deeper into the blankets and Emily tsk’d at you, pinching your chin until you opened your eyes.

“If you want me to come inside you again you’re going to use the bathroom missy.”

“Fine.” You grumbled, shivering as you pushed back the blankets and padded to the en-suite, much to Emily’s satisfaction. You returned a few minutes later, make up wiped from your face and teeth brushed, climbing back into the bed as you let out another yawn, curling around Emily’s side. “Are you staying?”

She shrugged, “got nowhere else to be. You mind if I keep the tv on?”

“Not at all. I’ll probably be dead to the world anyways.”

She chuckled softly, feeling you relax against her body as she started to flick through the channels. It wasn’t that late and while her week had been long it clearly hadn’t been as taxing as yours was. You were asleep within minutes, softly snoring against her and she made a mental note to start sending you good night texts in an attempt to make sure you were getting enough rest.

__________________

@daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @regalmilfs4me @ara-a-bird @five-bi-five-mind @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @hotchs-bitch @ollysmulti @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @hopedoesntknow @venromanova @waitaminuteashh @noahrex @imlike-so-gaydude @wittygutsy @cx-emerald-cx cx @momily @nilaues @borinxnovak @soverign @v3nusxsky @blackbird-brewster @mccdreamys-writes @l4yne @obsessedwjill @supercorpstan97 @asolitaryrose3 @lisqueen @mrs-prentiss @whitewinewithice @d33pd3sire-blog @daffodil-heart @maximoffcarter @i-lovefandom @chimnlex @moonlightjxuregui @chestnutninny

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #criminal minds #decadent desires #bff: anthony dinozzo #heather dunbar guest star

250 notes · View notes

mintmatcha · 8 months ago

Text

Inevitable Things: chapter six

Aizawa x reader fic

cw: cisfem reader, no quirks, office au, miscommunications, slow burn. full tags available on AO3 (linked in masterlist)

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

Fridays are also the only day where you don’t go directly home after work. Instead of catching the late night Orange line, you snag the Blue and take it down, down, down, right out of the city and it’s the almost surreal serenity of the suburbs. Street lights and cars turn into trees as the sun dips low. Only the ambient sounds of your music and the wheels on the tracks keep you company as you pass familiar stops, all the way to the end of the line.

From there, you walk: down the dark sidewalks, across the one lane roads, stopping only in the little diner along the way. It’s hours later when you finally make it to the doorstep. Before you can knock, the door is ripped open.

“You’re late.” The shortest woman you’ve ever seen stands there, hands on her hips and glasses shoved to the top of her nose bridge. Her scrubs are baggy, but clean, with the name of her service stitched on the pocket: UA Palliative. “I thought you were hit by a car.”

“Sorry, sorry.” you try to laugh her concerns off.

“And you’re sweaty.” Nurse Chiyo clicks her tongue at you as she hands you a face mask. “You should really let him send a car.”

A car would be faster, but you can’t justify someone footing that bill when your metro card has money on it. “The exercise is good for me.”

The woman scrunches her face and gestures to the bag you’re holding. The bottom of the brown paper is practically see through with grease. In the other, you have two styrofoam cups, taken from the diner down the road. “And that food is good for you too?”

“It’s a friday treat.”

“Just don’t feel bad if he’s not hungry,” she sighs with the weight of someone who knows. “Towards the end, the appetite tends to dwindle.”

You slip on your face mask and slip off your shoes. Toshinori Yagi’s home drips with old money; subtle detailing mixed with hints of extravagance, it's the air of wealth with none of the gaudiness. The halls are sparsely decorated, only the occasional artwork and statue to keep you company as you walk to the back of the home, past the luxurious, yet almost never used kitchen and through the abandoned living room. There, in the middle of it all, hangs an oversized picture of Yagi back in his acting days.

If it was anyone else, it might seem egotistical, but the man on the wall might as well be a completely different man, a Yagi from another universe. Bound solely in brightly colored latex, this Yagi grins ear to ear, flexing an obscenely thick bicep for the camera. The Hollywood cameras and actors are a blur in the background. It’s from the set of his first All Might movie-- the one you’ve seen hundreds of times. The longer you stare, the more jagging it is. At 55, Yagi is twice the man that he was in his twenties, but a quarter of the size. All of the important pieces are there -his smile, his laugh, his energy- but there’s a part of him, always locked away in a time where this picture was taken.

You press on into the study. This room is a stark contrast from the rest of the house; it’s cluttered, all flat surfaces stacked with magazines and printed articles. Coloring pages litter the floor, in between broken crayons and pencils.

In between it all is a stick of a man, dirty blonde hair buzzed short enough you can see the shape of his skull. He’s pouring himself over some reading, tired eyes tracing the page with a monotonous haze. He’s lost weight again; you can see it in the sharp dip of his cheeks.

“Happy Friday.” You rap on the door frame and he jolts up in surprise. Hand over heart, he laughs in delight, even though he knew you were coming. “How are you?”

“I thought-” He inhales. You can’t remember all of the details of what’s happened to him, but you know one of his lungs is practically nonfunctional and the other struggles keeping up. “You’d be celebrating your birthday.”

“You remembered.”

“Of course.” He pushes up to stand, but you wave him back down. “You should be. Out with friends.”

“I’m happy where I am, sir.” You place everything on the table in front of him and then retreat to your side, your drink still in hand. Once you’re far enough away - six feet- you take off your mask. “Chocolate Peanut Butter shake and extra crispy fries, just for you.”

It’s his favorite. No, it doesn’t have the nutrition he should be getting, but… well, he’s going to die no matter what. Let the man have a fucking milkshake. He takes it in both hands, like he’s cradling an award or a piece of gold.

The first time cancer struck him, Toshinori Yagi decided to leave acting and do something with his money. He didn’t have a family to take care of -- and his sister is independently wealthy-- so he invested in medical technology. He hired a team that knew better than him, put some of them through school, and grew a rather successful business from the ground up, no formal training of his own. Now, ironically enough, he’s wealthier than ever, and still pouring it into product development.

“You do too much.” He picks the darkest fry of the group and crunches down on it.

It’s the least you can do. Isolation is taxing; you don’t mind sacrificing a bit of time and $19.76 for a quick meeting and meal. You settle down in your usual spot- a fluffy velvet chair in the corner of the room- and take a long sip from your own drink.

“How are things with Shouta?”

You choke so hard it goes up your nose. How did he know? Did the interns figure it out and pass along the word to the whole office? How are you going to explain to your boss that you’ve sexted his colleague? Or did Aizawa tell him? Oh, what if he shared those pictures--

“Wh-what about him?”

Yagi gives you a strange, tired look, brow knitted with a kind concern. “You called me- about his employee?”

You physically sigh with relief; no one knows. Everything is good; you need to stop panicking. Aizawa won’t share the pictures; it’d ruin his career faster than it’d ruin yours. Besides, he’s apparently embarrassed of you, so why would he even show you off? “Oh, well, everything’s good. Kaminari is back in the office.”

Your boss chews a single fry for a long while. A melancholic twang stirs inside you. No, you haven’t known him as long as some people, but over the years you’ve gotten attached. He’s a fair man, a good one too. Watching him waste is… it’s hard. Plain and simple. On the books, you say that you visit for work, but it’s honestly a social call, something to quell your worries.

“He wasn’t very happy when-- I called,” Yagi draws in from his nasal tube as he talks sometimes and it cuts his words short.

“Yeah, I know.” That’s an understatement. You chew on your straw as you try to decide how to respond. “Aizawa had some choice words for me afterwards.

The look on Yagi’s face tells you that he already knew that. Word always makes it back to the big boss one way or another; even sick, he always has his fingers in every pie.

“Don’t let him-” He runs out of breath in a weird spot. “Push you around. He’s a strong personality.”

That’s an understatement too. You wish you could stomp your feet and demand for his removal, but unfortunately Aizawa is very, very good at his job. Besides, you don’t especially want him fired. Maybe just… a series of paper cuts everyday for the rest of his life. Or that his train never comes on time. Nothing serious.

“Trust me- I won’t.” You throw an arm up and flex. “I can put up a fight.”

“No fighting.” The man tries to give you a stern look, but it just looks a bit silly. As demanding as it sounds, it's like being scolded by a grandfather; there’s too much affection between you for anything to feel threatening. “Don’t wage any wars in my office.”

“No promises!” you tease. “Ready to go over reports?”

He smiles back, those hollow cheeks pulling into tiny apples. “Of course.”

…

It’s late when you finally make it home. Yagi had forced you into a car, calling it a birthday gift, and the drive was long and quiet. The driver turned on some soft music, songs with the tinkle of piano, and you almost dozed off by the time he rolled into your apartment complex.

You kick your heels off and strip out of your work clothes as you enter your apartment, letting everything stay where it falls. In the wake of Touya, your place is pretty much empty, with the carpet still pressed in spots where lamps and tables used to be and a jammed lock that won’t click closed. The less time you spend here, the better. You throw yourself onto the couch -something too big to take, apparently- and flick on the television. The usual mindless garbage you like is already on; perfect background noise as you play on your phone.

There’s nothing super new going on. Couple of group chat notifications. Nemuri had texted you to check in-- so did Hizashi. And-

Aizawa’s unopened messages stare at you. There’s no reason to read those texts, right? It’s just mindless sex talk. In fact, he probably doesn’t want you to ever see those texts again.

…Unless he said something important. Maybe he had told you to play dumb at work! Oh, that would open its own can of worms, but at least it would explain why he said to forget everything-

Wait, that wouldn’t make sense. You two were alone at that point. He could have been normal or said something like ‘wow, love your tits!’ or--

Ugh. He wouldn’t say that! Ugh!

You pull on your messaging app again. You need to get this over with.

-> I bet you looked so pretty when you came.

The preview still makes your skin prick with unwanted excitement. The lust nipping at your ankles isn’t easy to ignore as you tap the button and open the conversation. The immediate visage of your words, your drunken musings and flirtations, makes you physically cringe. Luckily, the new messages take up enough space to keep you from seeing your own nude visage.

The first response hits you like a truck.

-> Do you have any idea what I’d do to lick your fingers clean? What I’d do to smell your perfume on your skin?

The thrum of your heartbeat goes funny for just a flash of a moment and you have to shake off any semblance of arousal. No-- you do not like this. There’s absolutely nothing sexy about that thought! You don’t want the warmth of his tongue or the tickle of his breath against your pulse point, or that little bit of scruff against your lips-

The video is below the first message. It’s paused on an out of focus still, but you can make out the golden touched skin of his stomach and the blur of hand. Heat flickers in your core at that, but you tense your legs and try to ignore it.

Get yourself together. It’s just a fucking jerk off video. You scroll right by it.

-> Look at what you do to me. It’s all for you.

There’s a couple of minutes between that text and the final one.

- >I think you fell asleep. Talk in the AM.

And… that’s it. Nothing else.

That told you nothing, other than the fact that Aizawa Shouta is just like any other man: a horny freak. A sexy, amazing texter of a freak, but still a freak regardless! When you move, you can feel the wetness between your legs spread against your pussy lips.

You turn over and try to focus on the medical drama that’s onscreen. Ugh. Ugh! You're over this man and his fucking bipolar attitude and his work bullshit and his, his, his….

The click on the wall ticks away.

His kind of alluring demeanor.

You turn back to your phone. Maybe the video has an answer. Yeah.

The volume on your phone thrums with audio, low and deep, when you click the image. It takes you a second to realize it’s a groan- unabashed and loud- and you swear it resonates deep down into your own lungs.

This video is aimed a bit higher than the other and is shot from farther away, probably resting on a desk from the looks of it. It feels silly that you ever confused him with Touya. Shirt clutched between his teeth, Aizawa’s skin is a deeper color, completely untattooed, and his chest is filled out with weight. A broad, thick hand is white knuckle tight around his cock, glazed and dripping with wetness. It’s thick, oh god, it’s thick, and he’s holding it so tightly that it must hurt. Your jaw aches at the sight of it. Everything about him is wide//, from his cock to his thighs to his slightly soft middle.

A bead of precum rolls from his tip as he slowly drags his hand up and back down. His entire body jumps and twitches with the sensation, a red blush tickling down his chest and another moan on his lips, muffled by the fabric of his black shirt. He makes the same sound again, this one softer, almost affectionate--

And you realize something that feels like a punch to the gut.

He’s saying your name.

Heat flushes your body. Oh, you can barely breathe out of fear you’ll miss something. With a high, tight sound, Aizawa’s body goes stiff, but his cock kicks as he comes undone. Spend splatters down his chest and onto his black shirt, pearl string after pearl string. Just like everything about him, it’s too much.

And then the video ends.

You digest this for a long moment. Then, you watch it again. And a third time.

There's a tremor in your hands as you put your phone down. Okay, that didn't give you any information, but it- well-

Fuck, it was hot. Really fucking hot. Unfortunately, terribly, awfully, horrendously hot. You want to scream and kick and rub your clit just a little, because all you need is a little friction and you'll cum for him again--

No. You can't give that victory to him, not again. Even if Aizawa will never know about it, the universe will.

You grip the remote and turn up the television's audio, trying to shift your focus on to the interpersonal drama on the screen. You’re stronger than this. The little thing between your legs does not dictate your behavior!

You don’t jack off that night.

Or the following night.

Or the following.

No, you resist. You punish yourself for even entertaining the idea of cumming to the idea of him again.

Monday morning you are unsurprisingly cranky when you settle into your desk. Kicking off your shoes and booting up your computer, you stretch in your chair and try to pop the kink in your shoulder. Thirty must be catching up with you, because you didn’t sleep well all weekend. Every muscle in your back is bunched, but the little bits of movements seems to be helping-

“Jesus fucking christ, I'm sweating through my fucking shirt.”

Bakugo's accent slips out as he gripes, pulling his shirt collar away from his neck as he walks. It’s easy to forget that he and Izuku grew up in the same hometown, but when he’s genuinely pissed, that homecooked Southern twang comes out. You look up to see what's gotten him so aggravated before nine. Sweat dampens his hair and glitters his skin. Oh, and he's right, that white shirt is absolutely clinging to his middle, into that tight, tiny, toned, slutty little waist of his--

Oh, god. You slam your foot into the edge on your desk in hopes the pain douses whatever horny monster had overtaken you. Is this just life now? Practically drooling over every man with a pulse? Bakugo Katsuki is gay and very much not your type-

“You okay?” Izuku gives an awkward laugh. He and Denki are apparently right behind Bakugo, equally worn. Well, almost equally. Denki doesn't seem to be sweaty at all, despite his puffing. “You're like, making this weird face.”

Shit. Quick-- lie. “Cramps.”

“Damn, hate that,” Kaminari grips his stomach in sympathy. The other guys share an uncomfortable glance.

“So-” You change the topic. “Why are you guys..?”

“The elevator is shot.” Bakugo hooks a thumb behind him towards the stairs. “Had to carry this fuck ass bed up to the fifth floor for that meeting today.”

The investor meeting: even though Toshinori Yagi is wealthy, the newest bed prototype still needed outside funding. These fine millionaires require occasional proof that their money is being used well, so once a quarter they get jammed into the nicest room in the building and get a rather boring lecture from the important department heads. You usually sit in and try not to nod off when Enji starts in with the accounting information.

“The entire elevator?” You lean back in your chair and try to see. Sure enough, some technician is fumbling away at the buttons. “No one tell the ADA.”

“Actually, the ADA is a law, not a governing body,” Izuku chirps. “It's enforced by the DOJ, EEOC, and, oddly enough, the DOT-”

“How do you know this shit?” Denki says.

“Healthy curiosity,” Izuku tries to say.

“‘cause he's a fucking genius.” Bakugo says at the same time, louder and more confident. “Using that big head of his all the time.”

Izuku touches his temples with a concerned frown. “You think my head is big?”

“Massive.” Bakugo elbows his lover, all saccharine smiles. “It works for me though.”

Kaminari snorts and the other blonde throws him an icy glare.

“What? You gonna make a joke about massive head?”

Kaminari throws his hands in the air and rolls his eyes, surprisingly annoyed at the jab. “I was going to joke about his head working for you, but whatever! Ruin my fun.”

“As much as I love head jokes-” you interject. “I do need to get work done.”

Kaminari turns to you with the sweetest of smiles, so syrupy that everyone else recoils a bit with suspicion. “Like what?”

“Getting everyone’s powerpoints together, printing out our reports, putting those reports into actual human words and not engineering garbage, greeting our guests-- blah, blah, blah.” Just talking about it makes your head ache. “Plus the other daily reports and---- Kaminari, no.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask!”

“You were going to ask me to do your work again!” you say.

“Come on, please?” He puffs his bottom lip out like a kicked dog. “I have to leave early this week and -”

“Denki, you’re so fucking stupid.” Bakugo groans. He starts to leave and the other two follow behind. “I'm too tired for your shit today.”

“There’s a gay joke hidden in there.”

“I'm going to report you to fucking HR.”

“See you at lunch?” Izuku asks from over his shoulder. You shake your head-- you’ll probably just sneak one of the forgotten italian ice cups from the freezer when no one’s working. There’s so much to do and not quite enough time.

You’re solving that little frozen treat into your mouth when Aizawa makes his appearance. It’s strange to see him so late in the day; pure embarrassment must be keeping him away. His usual sunny yellow sweatshirt means you can’t even pretend not to see him when he rounds the corner.

Aizawa is as he always is; a bit scruffy and properly annoyed. His expression is neutral, if not a bit sour, but the crinkle in his brow is tighter than ever. The bunch to his shoulders only gets higher when he spots you.

This is really the guy that's been tearing you apart? Really? Why couldn't you have fallen for Hizashi or Enji or-- anyone else that isn't wearing a neon hoodie in the office.

“You should really take a proper lunch.” Those deep bags under his eyes are darker than usual, almost purple; he must be drained, but he’s been avoiding the coffee machine. A twang of sympathy hits you-- lack of caffeine might actually kill the guy.

When he walks towards you, you're reminded of how pretty he is, even without proper sleep. High cheekbones, smooth olive tone skin-

Your fighting spirit almost fades, but the post it note taped to your monitor catches your eye. Be mean. Yes, that's right.

“Well, uh. What do you want?” Your tone is a bit snappy.

His eyebrows twitch up in momentary surprise, but Aizawa recovers quickly.

“The elevator won’t be fixed until tomorrow.” He raps his knuckles against the wood once. “Move the investor’s meeting from the top floor.”

“Say please.”

Aizawa is half turned and midstride when he realizes what you said. He looks back at you, brow knit.

“Excuse me?”

“I said.” You hit the spacebar with a bit too much force. “Say please.”

“I-” You expect him to fight or argue, but he just sighs, hands on his hips in defeat. “You're right. I'm sorry, I shouldn't demand things. Can you please move the investor’s meeting from the top floor down to the ground floor? Thank you.”

That was more sincere than you expected. Your stiff upper lip almost wobbles. Almost.

“No.”

He gives you the most deadpan stare you’ve ever seen. “What do you mean, no?”

“I said no.” You push back from the desk and let your wheeled chair roll away. “There’s no reason to move it. The room upstairs is already set up for the meeting-- full demo bed included. I’m not moving everything.”

A muscle tightens in his jaw. Seems like that good attitude is on a short fuse. “There's a second demo. I'll have the boys wheel it into the meeting room on this floor-”

“It’s a less finished model though, right?”

“That's…” Aizawa huffs. You know you’re right and so does he. “Yes. Sure. A less complete model, but it’s still leagues ahead of what they saw last time- ”

“We shouldn’t use it.” You have no right bossing him around, but you try to embody Bakugo and his cunt-like behavior. “They are going to see the best we have to offer. Besides, the fifth floor meeting room is bigger and nicer-- and it's already set up.”

“I-” He leans forward, arms crossed on to your desk. It’s not threatening, but rather humble, as he meets your eye. The silver healed skin of his scar catches the light differently than the rest of his face. “It’s four full flights of stairs.”

“And you can walk.”

A beat passes. Then another. Aizawa stares at you, dark eyes hooded with exhaustion.

“I have never, ever thought of you as a cruel person.” He doesn’t blink the entire time he speaks, deep, endless black eyes boring into yours. “But time and time again, you show me that side of you. “Well-” You don’t blink either. “I’ve always thought you were awful.

“Fuck you,” he grits out, quiet but with an edge. His lips are curled so high you can see his gum line.

You should let it die here. Let him walk away. Escape with your dignity.

But your teeth and tongue are sharp, and the look on his face is only sharpening their edges, so follow the instinct and go in for the kill. As you stand, you lean on to your hands and push yourself face to face to Aizawa. Unabashed, unafraid, unblinking.

“You wish you could.”

His face collapses. Then, it hardens again, even tighter and more disgusted than usual. The flat ridge of his nose is crinkled with a snarl, eyes narrowed so thin they're practically closed. When he pushes away to stand, Aizawa jams his hands into his sweatshirt and flexes his jaw, up and down like he's chewing on every insult and curse he wants to throw your way. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again with a deep exhale.

“Fine.” He says through closed teeth. “Fifth fucking floor.’

And with that, he turns and marches off back down the hall.

By the time you breathe again, you realize your hands are quaking. The adrenaline is still pumping through your veins, rushing your heart faster and faster. This must be how a marathon runner feels when they cross the finish line-- because this is victory.

Sorry, Yagi. War has been waged.

You did say no promises.

291 notes · View notes

buckysgrace · 5 months ago

Text

Awkward Encounters

Single dad!Billy Hargrove x fem!reader

Closer to My Heart Masterlist

CW: Fem receiving oral sex, light spitting, the word daddy is mentioned

Theo has a mishap with gum. Your night with Billy takes a bad turn.

Gum was not allowed in your classroom. Under no circumstances. It ended up everywhere. On the desks, in the toy bin, on the rugs and on backpacks. And in hair. And oh boy, was this a rather large wad of gum in his hair.

You had tried everything; gum, toothpaste, vinegar and ice cubes. Nothing was working. Poor Theo’s blonde locks remained stuck to the top of his head, making you wince every time you brushed through it.

“You done yet?” The toddler squeaked from in front of you, trying to glance back at you before you gently tilted his head in the right direction once again. He huffed, clearly bored from how long he’d been forced to sit in front of you.

“No,” You sighed as you rubbed your wrist against your nose, careful not to touch your sticky fingers, “Theo, how did this happen?” You asked seriously, sighing as you tried to massage the gum out of his blonde strands.

“I chew it,” He nodded his head as you continued to gently brush at the wad of gum, “And then I blew a bubble and this happen!” He replied dramatically as he popped his hands up towards his head. You frowned as you dropped your heads in defeat.

“Uh huh,” You sighed, “Okay. I’m going to have to call your dad.” You told him softly, finally confirming that you wouldn’t be able to get it out of his hair. You breathed out deeply, worried about what Billy would say.

“Am I in twouble?” He asked you worriedly, blue eyes wide with concern. You shook your head, sighing softly. You were pretty sure you would be the one in trouble. Billy had such beautiful hair, clearly well taken care of. You were fairly certain he cared about Theo’s hair in the same way. You feared this would be a breaking point.

“No,” You told him gently, “I just can’t fix your hair.” You responded, wincing as you took one last look at the stuck lump.

“Uh oh,” He whined, his bottom lip trembling, “I bald?” He asked you worriedly, almost making you laugh at his concern.

“You’re not bald,” You responded softly, unsure if he would be by the time it came out, “Why don’t you go back to your desk and leave this part of your hair alone, alright?”

You scrubbed your hands clean, trying to give yourself a little pep talk in the mirror before you moved on to the dreaded phone call. You had no idea how you were going to explain this to Billy. You just feared he wouldn’t be mad.

You held the phone between your cheek and shoulder, staring down at the number on the paper before you finally got your fingers to work. You winced, shutting your eyes tightly as you chanted for Billy to not be there. For no one to answer. Please. No one pick up.

“Speak to me.” You wanted to punch the air as someone answered on the last ring, sounding a little out of breath. Or perhaps exhausted. But there was no mistaking his raspy tone. It left you warm and prickly on the inside.

“Hi, Mr. Hargrove. This is -,”

“So formal,” He teased, his tone smug as he interrupted you, “Calling me while you’re at work is risky. What are you wearing?” He teased you as you looked around, ensuring that no one had heard him.

“I’m still teaching,” You squeaked out as you stared down at your cow print skirt, “And I’m calling because Theo got gum stuck in his hair.” You shut your eyes tightly, waiting for the blow.

“Did you try peanut butter?” He asked casually, not sounding nearly as upset as you thought he would.

“And everything else,” You sighed, “I’m so sorry. I don’t even know how he got it.” You told him quickly, nearly promising that you hadn’t had this happen since your first year of teaching. You thought you had learned your lesson then.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t know either,” He laughed softly, like he knew more than he was letting on, “He’s a kid, it happens. You can cut it.” He suggested, leaving you speechless.

“Me?” You asked in disbelief, “I only have safety scissors.”

“You don’t own any adult scissors?”

“Well, I’m sure someone does,” You gulped softly, “But I don’t in my classroom. It causes too many issues.” You explained slowly, knowing that anytime you pulled out a pair of regular sized scissors every single one of your students wanted to use it. It was too much of a hassle.

“I’ll be there soon.” Came his response, quick and to the point. You blinked, about to answer before you were cut off by the line ending. Shoot.

You felt dread sinking into your bones as you waited and waited. Surely Billy wouldn’t actually leave work to come over some gum in Theo’s hair?

Snack time was always a bit chaotic. You divided your time between punching straws in juice boxes, opening bottles, peeling fruits and opening different plastic containers. Theo always opened his own snacks on his own. And it was always the same. Half a bologna sandwich with ketchup.

“Hey,” Billy interrupted everyone, a pained look on his features as all of your little students turned their heads in his direction, “I’m here for Theo.”

“Daddy!” He yelled happily, scooping his sandwich up in one hand before he rushed to grab his backpack. Billy followed, giving him a small shake of his head.

“I’ll have him back in an hour or so,” He told you as he hung Theo’s backpack up, keeping it behind, “We’re just getting your hair fixed, bubba.”

“Shi-,” Theo paused, the word hanging on the tip of his tongue as you felt your eyes widen, “Shoot.” He corrected a second later, making you sigh in relief.

“I’m really sorry,” You apologized, feeling awful as you approached them, “They’re not supposed to have gum. I don’t know how it snuck past me.”

“I got it from-!” Theo stalled by Billy covering his mouth, smiling stiffly in your direction.

“No tattle telling,” He teased Theo softly, making your eyes squint playfully at him, “We’ll see you soon.”

It was a little over an hour before they returned, right in the middle of lunch time as you worked on your salad and listened to Peggy’s story about her dad and moms recent fight. You always got good gossip from them, however you couldn’t always be sure what was true or not.

Theo strolled in, his happy meal in hand with a pair of sunglasses on. He strutted towards his desk, giving his head a little tilt to show off his fresh hairdo; a mullet. He perfectly resembled a little Billy now, mirroring him exactly.

“Sowwy,” Theo replied as he plopped his Happy Meal down on his desk, “You see my hair?” He asked happily, touching his palms against the little curls as he showed it off to everyone.

“Wow,” Betty giggled as she covered her mouth, looking at her little friends with wide eyes, “I wike it.” She grinned as she leaned forward to touch it, making him smile a little brighter.

“You look very handsome, Theo,” You agreed with a smile, pressing your lips together as you glanced towards Billy, “Just like your daddy.” You added softly, stomach flipping repeatedly as you met his eye.

“Oooh, teachew,” Caleb snickered from his desk, “You wike him.” He pounded his fists against his desk, giggling hard as you snapped your gaze in his direction. You knew where this was going. Once this got started, it never ended.

“I do not.” You said quickly, huffing to yourself as you shook your head. Your fingers twitched from the flushed sensation that spread over you, nervous as you refused to look in Billy's direction.

“Teachew and-,” He paused as he tilted his head, “Mistew, what youw name?” He asked directly, making your eyes widen. You did not want your students to start singing the kissing song about you and Billy.

“You don’t have to answer that,” You pleaded with him quickly, “Don’t answer it.” You held your finger up, not caring how immature you sounded right now. You still had a reputation to try and uphold.

“That’s my daddy,” Theo said proudly as he dunked his nuggets into his ketchup, “Teachew come over fow pizza!” He added excitedly, hitting the nail on the coffin as you lost control of all of your little students.

“Ooh!”

“Not like that.” You started again quickly, looking to Billy for support as you tried to think of a good answer. He just shrugged his shoulders, looking a little proud.

“They’re like four,” He chuckled softly, “See you later, bud. No more gum or it’ll rot your teeth out.” He said before he delivered a little kiss to the top of Theo’s head. His blue eyes widened, jaw slacking in disbelief as he turned towards your direction.

“Teachew?”

“Well-,” You sighed deeply, heart hammering as Billy glanced back at you one last time before leaving, “Ten minutes before lunch is over.” You said meekly instead, wondering how you’d gotten in such a position.

You weren’t sure how Billy had managed to find a babysitter so quickly, but he had. You weren’t really concerned with eating dinner, but did so to prove a point. It was nice. You learnt a bit more about him, although it was apparent that he was very reserved. Many walls were placed up, hiding him away from you.

Your apartment felt too small when you dragged him back inside, your heart hammering harshly as you thought about the last time you’d been here. You shook away your guilt, reminding yourself that this had to technically be a date. And not your first either. It was fine to have fun with him. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself.

His hands fell to your hips, squeezing you tightly as his tongue dragged over yours. You moaned at the sensation, your body pressing further against his as his fingertips dug into your flesh. Your heart hammered roughly, your nerves jolting with electricity.

“God,” He groaned as he pulled away, his bottom lip dragging against yours slowly as he inhaled deeply. His nose brushed against yours, his warm breath coating your face as he slipped his fingers across your damp panties, “Already wet? Slut.”

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t think you were this desperate for me,” He teased as he stripped you down, blue eyes twinkling as he ran his palms over your thighs. He squeezed your thighs roughly, smirking as he leaned forward to kiss at the front of your panties, “You gonna be a good girl and take my cock?”

“Uh huh,” You muttered, completely in awe with the way he lazily dragged your panties down your legs. He leaned forward, his lips dragging across your inner thighs as your clit ached in pleasure, “Please, Billy. Wanna feel your tongue so badly.”

He smirked up towards you, his expression cocky as he slowly dragged two of his fingers through your wet folds. He licked at your inner thigh, holding eye contact with you before he dragged his teeth against your skin.

You yelped, jolting forward before he pushed you back down. You gaped, pulse racing as he used his two fingers to spread your folds apart. You gasped, body burning as he spit onto your cunt. He mumbled something under his breath, making your veins ache in pleasure as he began to rub his saliva against your pussy.

Moans fell free from your lips as you gripped your sheets, your hips slowly rocking forward to meet his movements. You shut your eyes in bliss as he continued to rub your swollen numb between his fingertips.

“You’ve got such a pretty pussy,” He praised as he leaned down to give your clit a little kiss, making you jolt in pleasure as he grunted softly, “Tastes sweet too.” He hummed as his large hand fell to your thigh, pushing you apart as he delivered another swift kiss to your folds.

You exhaled deeply, your lungs burning as he slid his tongue across your pussy. You moaned at the way your hole contracted around nothing, leaking as he began to trace the tip of his tongue across your clit.

He wrapped his pretty lips around your clit then, sucking softly and melting your bones in the process. You felt weak as you slowly rocked your hips forward, enjoying how he played with your clit. The pleasure burned inside of you, leaving you craving for more of him.

“Billy,” You moaned as your fingers lightly fell to his hair, twisting through his strands as your hips began to rock against his mouth, “Oh God.” You breathed out, nipples hardening in the exposed air as he continued his motions. You felt like you were floating and drowning at the same time.

He lapped at your cunt, licking away your slick and wetness while groaning to himself. The vibrations of his sounds left you weak, your thighs shaking as he dug his fingers deeper into your flesh. You craved the sensation, liked feeling like he was desperate for you.

The feeling of his tongue rapidly lapping against your clit left you squealing, blubbering as you gripped the sheets and rocked your cunt up against his face. He held onto you tightly, burying himself in deeper as the muscles in your stomach twisted tightly.

You felt the rough waves of pleasure crashing over you, leaving you breathless as you reached for the head of the bed. You came with a loud cry, overstimulated with the rough way his tongue was lapping at your clit the whole time. It all felt too good.

You felt weak as he slowly spit onto your pussy before he then licked away your mixture. You moaned deeply, your throat tickling from the rough sounds as he slowly pulled himself away. His lips were slick and red, eyes hazy but arrogant. He knew what he was doing. The bastard.

You gripped his strong muscles, pulling him over your body before you crashed your lips against his. You moaned as you tasted yourself, savoring the feeling of his tongue sliding against yours as he removed his remaining clothes.

He pressed your legs apart, spreading you wide for him as he slid his knees against your skin. You gaped, sitting up a bit to get a better look at the way he lazily dragged his fist over his hard cock. Butterflies spread through your body, leaving you needy as you wiggled your way closer to him.

“Please.” You moaned as you reached down to squeeze his cock, looking at the way his precum slid from his red tip. You gaped, hungrily watching as he tore open the wrapped condom with his teeth.

“What do you want?” He teased as he slid the condom over the head of his cock, nearly making you drool at the way his thick girth filled it out. You moved your hands to your sides, trying to keep yourself from playing with your clit.

“I want you to fuck me,” You begged, gaping as he slid his hard cock around your slick cunt, “Please daddy.” The name slipped free awkwardly as you stumbled over your tongue, your eyebrows furrowing together as you were unsure of yourself. You weren’t sure where that came from, but it certainly bursted free roughly.

“Uh,” He froze for a moment, blinking quickly, “What?” He settled back on his knees, blue eyes filling with surprise as he stared down at you. You winced as the mistake washed over you.

“Um,” You gulped harshly, quickly realizing that you had misspoke as the embarrassment set in, “Sorry. Too far.” You apologized awkwardly, your insides burning from humiliation. So much for trying your hand at dirty talk. Maybe calling him a slut would’ve been better.

“No, no,” He shook his head, watching the way you wiggled yourself free from underneath him, “I just-, I’m a dad you know.” He gestured towards himself, making you look away quickly. You felt your defensive walls coming up, not meaning to make it so weird.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” You protested as you sat up, pressing your knees up to your chest as you tried to think of a quick escape.

“It’s fine,” He shrugged his shoulders, “Just freaked me out a bit.” His smile was soft, but your ego was far too bruised at the moment. You were shutting down. You needed to be alone and try and figure out why your tongue had betrayed you in such a way.

“Maybe you should go then,” You gulped as you pulled your blanket over yourself, feeling a rush of shame, “I have to work tomorrow anyways.” You said awkwardly, refusing to look at him and instead staring at the schedule on your wall. Almost as if to prove that you weren’t lying.

“It’s not-,” He sighed as he watched you, but you kept your eyes peeled towards the floor, “Alright.” He replied gruffly as his movements shifted you back and forth on the bed. You continued to stare, almost afraid to look at him.

You held your blanket tightly over your chest, breathing in harshly as you listened to the sound of his footsteps on your floorboards and then the eventual sound of the door shutting as he left. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You had totally and definitely just ruined things between the two of you.

Tags: @cassandracorvo @marshmallowgem @shes-an-odd-bird @stormy-stardust @highwaywildflower @amberpanda99 @sssstarstruck @zoexme @missingbillyhargrove @let-love-bleeds-red @empath-bunny

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove smut #Billy Hargrove x reader #Billy Hargrove x fem!reader #Billy hargrove x female reader #Billy Hargrove x you #Billy Hargrove x Y/n #Closer to My Heart #Single dad!Billy Hargrove #Dad!Billy Hargrove #Billy Hargrove x reader smut #Billy Hargrove x female!reader #Billy Hargrove series #Billy Hargrove fanfiction #Billy Hargrove fic

141 notes · View notes

deadhands69 · 1 month ago

Text

*❆ White Elephant: Jututsu Kaisen ❆*

What happens when you select their white elephant gift? *This is absolute crack and in no way did I put any consideration into where in time it occurs/what side you’re on/why all of these people/curses somehow got along well enough for a holiday gathering together. **yes, i’m very aware of how out of context the header image is

Gojo: This one is wrapped… interestingly. It doesn’t look bad by any means, the shiny white paper is just folded in a way that feels like it should defy physics. Upon opening, a small strange object falls out. You’ve never seen anything quite like it and its presence weighs heavily on you. You’re about 90% sure that thing is cursed beyond reason and there’s absolutely no way you’re bringing it home with you.

Did he just forget and pick up the first thing he saw on his desk? Absolutely.

Itadori: You selected this one because you can tell someone put so much love into wrapping it. Sure, it looks a little sloppy with the twisted ribbon and fold marks on the cute snowman printed paper, but A+ for effort. When you open it, you find a silly coffee mug filled with random odds and ends. A cute keychain. Human Earthworm action figure. And an assortment of stickers. Overall, a pretty thoughtful gift.

Todo: With the nice reusable gift bag, this one caught your eye. Worst case, you still get a cool bag. Once you open it, you peel back the layers of protective paper to find - a framed photo of Nobuko Takada. What else did you expect?

Maki steals it from you three turns later.

Geto: The wrapping is immaculate. Crisply folded dark blue paper. Symmetrical gold bow on top. 10/10. It’s perfect. Of course, you had to choose this one. Peeling back the paper and digging into the box, a small glowing ball rolls out. In what he thought would be the funniest inside joke ever (coming from someone who doesn’t joke often), Geto left the curse you had all fought together for you to keep in a nice little orb. How sweet. There’s also a religious pamphlet and invitation to his cult’s gatherings.

Jogo: The messy wrapping leaves something to be desired, but this one has a presence. When you peel back the green paper, you discover…one of sukuna’s fingers.

This does not feel like it should fit within the $25 spending limit, but whatever.

Nanami: This envelope almost went unnoticed until you saw it poking out from behind another gift. When you open it, you find a gift card for $25. Low effort but certainly useful.

Yuta: A small silver box with a cute blue bow. When you open it, you find a beautiful locket. That's from Yuta. Inside is a photo of Yuta. That's from Rika.

Maki: Green paper with a big red ribbon. This gift looks exactly like someone mimicked the most stereotypical Christmas wrapping they could manage (she did.) It’s hefty for its size. When you open it, you find a large bottle of Pinesol, a scrubbing brush, and some gloves with a note that ‘some of you need to pull your weight more around here.’

Megumi: The wrapping is nice. Simple. Minimalistic. A red paper so dark it's nearly black. When you open the box, you find an assortment of new pens, pencils, lighters, and a phone charger. He wanted to introduce a surplus to the group in the hopes that now everyone will stop stealing his. (If you can’t tell, the Zenin clan isn’t so big on Christmas.)

Nobara: The gift bag is cute. A nice bow, shiny star covered paper. Great choice. When you pull out the tissue paper and look inside, you find a hammer. Also, a holiday scented candle - gotta cover all the bases.

Panda: Crinkled snowflake print wrapping paper and a few bits of fur in the tape holding it together, but overall something really draws you to this gift. When you open it, you know immediately it’s from Panda. One of those packaged gag gifts you’ll be able to use or re-gift next year for a laugh.

Choso: This is the largest box. It's wrapped up in candy cane patterned paper with big holes stabbed through the top and sides. "Don't shake it!" he screams from across the room when you pick it up. Ripping through the already mangled paper and opening the cratered box, you find a tiny stray kitten with a cute red bow tied around its neck in place of a collar. Awwweee.

Inumaki: This one is larger than most and surprisingly well wrapped in cute santa hat Pikachu paper. When you open it, you find the absolute weirdest garden gnome you’ve ever seen. It’s wonky, in an endearing/funny way. You genuinely wonder where it came from.

How tf did he wrap it so well with only o-[SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER]

Mahito: A transfigured human. It’s not wrapped or anything. He didn’t really understand the game.

Shoko: A cute gold box with a red ribbon tied around it. It feels lightweight but you’re sure there’s something good in there. When you untie it and peel off the paper, you find a pack of cigarettes and a scribbled note that says ‘happy holidays.’

Toji: A crumpled paper bag with the top rolled over. It’s the only one left and you’re feeling adventurous. Opening it, you find a roll of toilet paper (which you return to the bathroom from which it went missing.)

***Sukuna declined to participate. He says his mere presence is a gift to all of you mortals and you’ll be lucky if he graces you with that.

In the end:

The toilet paper has been returned and Gojo confiscated the transfigured human and finger. Well, he tried to. Sukuna's mouth appeared on Yuji's hand and ate both while they were being passed across the room.

This leaves us with:

Gojo's creepy cursed object (he swears it's safe)

Yuji's cute mug/Human Earthworm nicknacks

Todo's framed idol photo (Maki is glaring daggers at you for even considering it)

Geto's curse orb and religious materials (Gojo stole this one to take it out of rotation so they might be off-limits too)

Nanami's $25 Applebees gift card

A locket with Yuta's photo glued inside

Maki's cleaning supplies

Megumi's box of frequently borrowed items (each of which have now been transformed by Mahito to look like small people)

Nobara's hammer. And candle.

Panda's gag gift (Toge is trying to hide this and not make eye contact in the hopes that you will forget it exists)

Choso's kitten that everyone is keeping away from Mahito (Megumi already named it so good luck prying it out of his hands)

Toge's quirky gnome

Shoko's cigarettes (minus the two Nanami already smoked after stealing a lighter before Mahito could transfigure it)

You have one more steal left, what are you going home with?

m.list

76 notes · View notes

kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year ago

Note

This just reminded me of konig idk why it’s just something about it and I was like ohh!!

“My German boss was in love with me for 3 years. I didn’t know. He was so mean to me. I signed a petition to have him fired. When he was removed they found my picture in the top drawer in his desk. 🙃

Boss König who makes you print out stupid boring stuff for him so that he can see you more often, the notorious, cold-hearted Colonel seems to enjoy making you his errand girl who brings him coffee everytime he wants :( Treats you like his personal secretary who's barely fit to scrub his boots, intimidates and follows you around during company parties, why does he have to be such a mean prick??

Complaining about him to upstairs won't work because he's ranked so high and can use all his power to bully you, mainly comments on how indecent your skirt length is or how it irritates him to listen to the loud noise of your heels, when you switch to something more soft he becomes even more grumpy, now he can't hear if you walk in on him when he's stroking his cock to the thoughts of you :(

You don't even know that he jerks off furiously during lunch breaks, fapping himself with your name on his lips and cum spilling all over the underside of his desk, no: your only reality is that your boss loathes you for some reason. He never scolds other women in the building for wearing heels and skirts, he only seems to have a fixation on what you wear and has decided to play some fashion cop with you, probably trying to make you feel slutty and dirty in a professional, testosterone-filled military base like this.

But you never budge: you keep wearing your pencil skirts and high heels just to irk him, storming into his room after a hurried knock and with your breasts spilling out your blouse because you "forgot" to button it all the way up. He always looks up from his desk with his nostrils flaring from rage, the quick once over he grants you simply an attempt to make you feel uncomfortable. You don't know if he's just an old perv or if he simply despises you personally, it should be none of his business what you wear, but it's driving you insane to run on his errands and then get looked down like that.

You almost slap him once, but he catches your hand by the wrist, and for the first time ever during your time here in this lousy base you see a hint of a pleased smile tug at his lips.

"Tsk," he talks down to you like you're a misbehaving kid. "We don't want to get you fired now, do we...?"

He even dares to button up your shirt, taking a generous look at your cleavage while doing it, saying "There... Let me get that for you," as he tugs at your too tight shirt and tries to cover you up as if you were just some poor, naked girl there at his office. (Jerk!)

#perv!könig #tw: power imbalance #könig x you #he's awful i hate him

352 notes · View notes

theunbearableweightofpedropascal · 1 year ago

Text

Angel p.2

Summary: You and Charlie go on your first date.

A/N: I need more Charlie Swan fics, so I've resorted to writing them.

Warnings: Smut 18+, p in v sex,

Word Count: 3.1k

Throughout the day you were taking time to get ready for your and Charlie’s date later. Thankfully you had the day off so you took full advantage of sleeping in till noon. Picking your outfit wasn’t hard, a mini floral sundress with pink accents paired with straw platforms.

Next up on your agenda was getting the perfect make-up look, precisely one that looked natural. A tutorial on puppy-dog eyeliner catches your eye. Upon completing both eyes you try it with a red lip stain, solidifying your look for the evening. You head into the bathroom to scrub it all off before fixing yourself a snack.

Your parents were going out for their semi-regular date night so you wouldn’t have to explain your absence to them. The clock nears 7:00 and you know Charlie is arriving around 8:30, you gather your step-by-step routine and start the process with a hot shower. Your counter is an array of skincare and makeup products, and your styled hair is packed away in your shower cap.

The water helps relax you and your thoughts about the date. You take your time exfoliating your entire body before shaving. You decide to leave your vagina alone hoping that’ll keep you from giving it up. Stepping out the the shower you wipe the mirror and check your phone seeing two texts from Charlie.

Getting off work now. - Charlie 7:40

Getting ready now. -Charlie 7:46

Looking at the messages makes you laugh, his personality shines through the texts. Since he was giving you updates it only seems fair you return the favor. You raced to your room to find a tank top and some lounge shorts, but not before lotion and baby oil. You place yourself in front of the mirror in your room, making sure the sliver of skin below your tank is showing. Turning your phone around you smile up at your camera waiting for the click.

Halfway done I promise. -You 7:53

It took you a little longer than you would’ve liked but the picture turned out great. You head back into your bathroom to make up for lost time. Carefully you begin concealing your under-eyes, the finished product gives you the natural glow you were looking for. The puppy-dog eyeliner from earlier is easy to put back on, and it suits your eyes more. The last two steps are your brows and lips but you decide to put on your dress first.

You check your phone and see 3 texts from Charlie along with the time. 8:20. The dress you picked out was a floral print with pink accents, and the neckline scrunches around your breast allowing you to forgo a bra. The sleeves went off your shoulder and stopped at your wrists, you decided it was best to also take a cardigan in case. The fit was close to your body but not skin-tight, allowing for a flowy bottom. Walking back to your bathroom, you finish your lip with a deep burgundy stain and brush your eyebrows with hairspray. You finally check your text messages, pleasantly surprised.

You look beautiful. -Charlie 7:53

On my way to you. - Charlie 8:10

The third and final message is an awkward photo of Charlie standing in what you guess is his foyer. You are almost sure that Bella was the poor soul taking the photo, you wonder how that conversation went. But you check what time he left again and realize you might have miscalculated your prep time. Your window faces the street so you check for his car and see nothing and there aren’t any new messages. Quickly you grab your perfume to spritz all over. Your platform sandals are easy to slip on before you make your way downstairs.

The mirror by the front door of your house is occupied by you checking for last-minute touch-ups. The doorbell sounds and you almost sprint to the door with your purse in hand before turning the knob. Charlie stands in front of you with a beautiful bouquet made of violets and daffodils. You weren’t expecting him to get you flowers, but you step back and motion for him to come inside. After you close the door behind him he hands you the flowers.

“Thank you, Charlie. They’re gorgeous.” You stand on your toes to peck his cheek.

“Of course Angel.” Charlie smiles down at you with flushed cheeks, he is nervous about if the flowers would be too much.

“Let me just put these in some water and put them in my room.” You run quickly to the kitchen to find a vase to place them in. In your room, you decide to place the flowers next to your bed. You meet Charlie at the door and you take the time to look at what he put on. Gone is his usual uniform of flannel and jeans, instead, he stands before you in a grey knit sweater with dark jeans. It even looks like he trimmed up his mustache.

“You clean up nice Chief Swan.” You glide your hand up his arm and along his bicep caressing it. Charlie feels his heart speed up at your antics, but he rolls his eyes to cover his flushed cheeks.

“Not as nice as you,” His voice is low as he reaches out to play with the hem of your dress. “You ready to go?”

You nod your head and he opens the door for you to step onto the patio. He waits as you lock the front door, When you turn around with a big smile his stomach jolts. As usual he opens the door and waits for you to settle before closing it. When he enters from his side he smells your perfume, and it gives him a reason to be extra close to you later.

The drive to Port Angeles was smooth, you opted to play the radio rather than start a meaningless conversation. Although Charlie wasn’t a fan of listening to music he didn’t want to subject you to silence. The view kept you mostly occupied, you forgot how pretty the landscape here was.

Charlie pulls the car into the parking lot of the Italian spot, at least for where you guys live. Surprisingly he places a hand on your thigh telling you not to move before he gets out to open your door. Excitement beats through your body when Charlie rounds the car, the date is already off to a great start. His hand stretches out towards you to take when he gets to your door and you gladly take it. You take the opportunity given and you keep your hand in his on the way inside.

The hostess greets the both of you with a smile before asking how many.

“I made a reservation under Swan for two.” Although it’s a small feat the fact that he made reservations in the first place makes you smile. As the hostess checks the books you bring your other arm to his bicep. Charlie sneaks a peek down at you only to see you look at him like he hung the star and moon. He’s worried you can hear his heart thundering.

“Yes, Mr. & Mrs. Swan please follow me.” She grabs two menus before walking to the right. As you walk through the restaurant you’re happy you see no one from town. Not that you’d be embarrassed by Charlie, but the gossip was already bad enough when you two were having friendly lunches. The booth you’re led to is the perfect opportunity to find excuses to rub against Charlie.

“Your server should be with you shortly.” You both thank the hostess before looking through the menu. You’re having trouble deciding between what you usually get or if you want to try something new.

“You see anything you like? You do like Italian food right?” Charlie’s nervous line of questioning makes you giggle.

“I love Italian.” You seal your admission with a kiss.

“Sorry I just don’t wanna mess anything up, it’s been a while.” Charlie scratches the back of his neck while looking away from you.

“I can’t see why, you’re a catch. I mean you got me flowers and made reservations, even though you didn’t need them. It shows you are very thoughtful.” You rattle off wanting him to know how much you appreciate his little gestures.

Charlie has no choice but to accept your compliments, and he’s glad you think so highly of him. Even if he can’t quite see it.

“Have you thought about which wine we should go with?” Charlie leans over to where you’re looking at the drink menu.

“I thought you would order a Budweiser.” You can’t help but poke fun at him.

“Ha ha I’ll have you know I can be a man of fine dining, sometimes I get my steak medium well.” The laughter that falls from your lips has his heart skipping.

“Well, then I think a merlot would be good.” You hear no objections from Charlie and go back to your meal options.

The dim lighting in the restaurant makes you feel at home, and Charlie doesn’t make you nervous. He makes you giddy and excited but you’re comfortable around him, despite your attraction.

“Good Evening, I’m Evan,” A teenage boy approaches your table with a smile and a basket of breadsticks. “I’ll be your server tonight. Are there any drinks I can get started for ya?”

“Yes, could we get a bottle of Merlot to start?” Charlie answers the waiter while you grab a breadstick.

“Of course do you need more time for appetizers?” The server readies himself for Charlie’s answer.

“Could we get a house salad please, I think we still need time for the main course thank you.” You’ve successfully finished your breadstick and reached for another, but Charlie reaches for the same one. He playfully slaps your hand away to collect his first one. Your jaw drops at his audacity.

“So that’s how it is huh?” You playfully glare at him.

“You got the first one didn’t you?” He gripes before taking his first bite.

“What happened to ladies first? Chivalry?” After your rant, he places a breadstick onto your plate.

Throughout the dinner, you and Charlie’s conversation continued to be effortless. You ended up ordering a shrimp scampi and Charlie chose a lasagna. The bottle of wine was one glass away from being finished, and you could feel its effects coursing through you. Although you ate most of your food and had a sliver of Charlie’s, you still had some leftovers. Charlie took it upon himself to help you finish.

You found yourself playing with Charlie’s hand, tracing the prominent veins. The sight of him hounding your food is surprisingly something you’ve come to enjoy watching.

“Did you want dessert?” Though Charlie’s question would get a ‘yes’ any other night, you had other ideas.

“No,” You look him in the eye and lower your voice. “But I really don’t want our date to end yet.”

“Then what do you suggest we do Angel?” Charlie, oblivious as ever asks you.

“I think we should get the check and head to the car, I think I saw an ice cream parlor.”

Charlie picks up the check and you don’t even pretend to reach for it, he’d probably smack your hand for real. On the way out you lean into Charlie as he has his arm wrapped around your shoulder. When you get to the car you see Charlie reach for your door but you stop him.

“What's wrong?” Charlie immediately questions when you grab his hand.

“Nothing,” You try to find the words to express what you want, so you resort to physical touch. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck. “It’s just you look so good tonight, and I wanted to…” Your eyes trail to the backseat and back to him.

“Angel, that’s illegal.” His words were chastising you but you knew with a little convincing he’d cave.

“And who exactly is gonna arrest you Chief Swan?” After your declaration, you trail kisses up & down his neck. Charlie's knees almost buck from the feeling of your soft lips all over his neck. When you pull back he follows you to the back door of the cruiser.

“Alright but absolutely no sex.” His finger pointing at you tells you he means business. He pulls out his key to unlock the back door.

“Of course Chief Swan.” You give him a peck before climbing in the backseat, Charlie opts to wait. He checks the area to make sure there’s no one to potentially catch you two.

When Charlie meets you in the back you waste no time straddling his lap. His hands are glued to your sides, while his head leans against the headrest. Your hands feel all over his chest like they’ve been itching to do all night. Charlie initiates the kiss this time, his lips languidly moving with yours. Your hips begin to move on their own, desperately rubbing against the growing bulge in Charlie’s pants.

The feeling of Charlie’s tongue licking at your lips had you moaning into his mouth. He swallowed every sound you made and helped you rub yourself on him. He truly can’t believe he’s dry-humping in the backseat as if he was a horny teenager again. Charlie’s hands slip under your dress so he can cup your ass, skin to skin. He knows he said no sex but the way you grind on him has him seeing stars.

One of Charlie’s hands slides to the front of your panties, rubbing you through the fabric. You break the kiss to throw your head back in bliss. Charlie takes the opportunity to bring his mouth to your neck, licking and sucking until he finds your sweet spot. He knows he’s got it when your hips stutter their steady motion against his crotch.

“That feel good baby?” Charlie being a dirty talker was not on your bingo card. “You gotta tell me or I’ll stop.” He gently nips at your neck, prodding you.

“Yes,” You breathlessly let out. “Please don’t stop, don’t stop.” Charlie takes great satisfaction in you begging him.

“You gonna let me slide in that pretty pussy?” His words awaken the memory of you not shaving your vagina before, in hopes of staying out of this situation.

“I didn’t shave or prep for this actually,” You slightly pull away thinking he’ll want to stop.

“That’s even better Angel,” His response has your eyes widening before he finishes. “I’m a grown man and I prefer my women to look that way too.”

After his revelation, you go straight for his belt and zipper. You slowly unzip his jeans before reaching in to pull out his cock. You’re pleasantly surprised to find him fully hard and leaking. You swipe the pre-cum off his tip with your thumb to taste, the look he gives you has your pussy throbbing. He can’t contain his groans when you slide him back and forth between your wet pussy lips. Your poor panties have stretched to the limit.

Once you’re satisfied with him being putty in your hands you line up his cock to your entrance. You look him in the eyes as you slide down on him, both of you gasping as you take him. Rocking your hips on him feels so much better, the stretch he gives you makes your eyes roll back in bliss. Your hands grip his shoulders to maintain your balance, while he circles back to your clit.

Charlie has you wildly bucking against him when he finds your spot again. Your walls clench harder with every circle he makes. His other hand snakes up to the back of your neck, cradling it. The mesmerizing sight of your tits bouncing as you rode him made his balls clench. Charlie felt your pussy leaking all over his lap, he loves it. From this point on he knows he’s not gonna be able to get enough of you.

“That’s it baby,” His words bring you closer and closer to the edge. “That’s my good girl huh?”

“Yes yes, I’m your good girl.” You could not care less how desperate you sounded. All that mattered was the way Charlie’s cock rubbed against your walls and his thumb expertly moved in circles over your clit. The only thing on your mind was chasing your orgasm. The squelching and pants filling the car only spur you on in your quest.

Almost as if he could sense it Charlie smashes his mouth against yours right before the chord in your belly snaps. Your body is no longer yours, instead moving only on primal urges. The flips in your stomach die down slowly, like a beautiful decrescendo. He soaks in all the noises you make, both for his pleasure and to make sure you don’t get caught. The feeling of you cumming around him has him fucking up into you while you ride your high.

You feel the tell-tale twitch of his cock before you feel him release inside you, painting your walls with his cum. The heavy breathing coming from you two signals you won’t move for a while. His neck becomes a place of solace for you, his heart rate steadily coming down from your activities. Hands rub lovingly around your back, almost putting you to sleep.

“You know I wouldn’t mind ice cream.” You mumble into his neck.

“Whatever you want Angel.” Charlie’s low timbre soothes you.

Charlie makes the first move to get up, he tucks himself back in and gently moves you to his side before getting out. He opens the front door and comes back with some wet wipes he had in the glove compartment. Once you’re all cleaned up he works to coax you out of the back and into the front. You are knocked out as soon as he closes the door behind you.

Throughout the drive home, Charlie steals glances at you thinking he must be in some kind of dream. You are something else. Never in his adult years had he done something so reckless, but he would be lying if he said he wouldn’t do it again.

When you wake Charlie is just turning off the car, you reach out to run your finger through his hair. He leans into your touch before presenting you with a Dairy Queen blizzard.

“Cheif Swan, you are so thoughtful.” You can’t help but pinch his cheek before you kiss him. He simply hums at you in return, but the look in his eyes tells you all you need to know.

“C’mon let’s get you inside.” Ever the gentleman Charlie walks you to the door, leaning against the brick.

“When’s our second date? And third?” The laugh that escapes Charlie causes you to follow suit.

“How about next Friday? After work we could go see a movie.” He watches as you smile brightly at him, leaning down to plant one last kiss on you. “Night Angel.”

“Goodnight Charlie.” He waits for you to go inside and doesn’t head back to the car until he hears the lock click into place.

#charlie swan x female reader #charlie swan #charlie swan x reader #twilight fic #twilight #charlie swan smut

628 notes · View notes

donnabe111 · 1 year ago

Text

Elegant Printed Scrub Tops Collection at Donna's Scrubs

Introduction: In the fast-paced world of healthcare, where comfort and professionalism are key, your choice of workwear is more important than you would imagine. Although functionality and practicality are important, you may express yourself via your clothing. That's where Donna's Scrubs steps in, providing a magnificent selection of patterned scrub tops that let you flaunt your individual flair while upholding the greatest levels of comfort and quality.

Unleash Your Personality with Printed Scrub Tops: Printed scrub tops are a great way to add some individuality to your work clothing. Every healthcare practitioner is a unique individual with their own interests and preferences, and we at Donna's Scrubs recognize this. Because of this, we provide a broad assortment of printed scrub tops to complement various fashions. On our website, you may browse a variety of prints, whether you prefer vivacious flower designs, jovial animal prints, or timeless stripes.

Quality Craftsmanship, Always: While appearance is important, we never compromise on quality. The dedication to superior craftsmanship at Donna's Scrubs is well known. Our printed scrub tops are expertly crafted to fulfil the needs of the healthcare industry. Our scrubs are made to resist the difficulties you encounter on a regular basis since we are aware of them.

Comfort That Keeps You Going: Healthcare personnel usually work long shifts and whole days. Comfort is not a perk; it is a must. Our patterned scrub shirts are made of premium, breathable fabrics to keep you at ease during your shift. They are made to move with you, allowing you to carry out your tasks without being hindered.

Durability You Can Depend On: We are aware that healthcare workers depend on their uniform every day. We pride ourselves on the robustness of our printed scrub shirts because of this. You can rely on them to always look clean and new since even after several washes, they retain their brilliant colours and form.

A Boost of Confidence: Your attire can significantly impact your confidence in the workplace. When you feel good in what you're wearing, it shows in your demeanour and interactions with patients and colleagues. Donna's Scrubs printed scrub tops are not just a fashion statement; they're a confidence booster, helping you feel your best while you provide exceptional care.

Visit Donna's Scrubs Today Donna's Scrubs is the place to go if you want to up your style and comfort with patterned scrub tops. We stand out in the field because of our dedication to high standards of workmanship, reliability, and elegance. Explore our assortment on Donnascrubs.com today to find the ideal printed scrub tops that showcase your distinct personality and commitment to healthcare. You can feel and look your best while improving the lives of your patients with Donna's Scrubs.

#printed scrub tops

0 notes

sameersaga · 6 months ago

Text

Indigo Women's Ombre Zinnia Printed Scrub Top

Introducing the Indigo Women's Ombre Zinnia Printed Scrub Top, a perfect blend of style and comfort for healthcare professionals. This scrub top features a beautiful ombre design with zinnia prints that add a touch of elegance to your workwear. Made from high-quality, breathable fabric, it ensures all-day comfort and ease of movement. The tailored fit flatters every body type, while the v-neckline and short sleeves provide a modern, professional look. With multiple pockets, it's practical for storing essential items during your busy shifts. The vibrant colors remain fresh even after multiple washes, ensuring long-lasting wear. Whether you're in a clinic, hospital, or any healthcare setting, this scrub top combines functionality with a fashionable edge. Elevate your work wardrobe with the Indigo Women's Ombre Zinnia Printed Scrub Top and experience the perfect fusion of style and practicality.

Source URL: https://ext-6596615.livejournal.com/858.html

#Indigo Women's Ombre Zinnia Printed Scrub Top

0 notes

coupsiedaisee · 3 months ago

Text

jump then fall | issue 01 | c.sc

when trying to unearth hogwarts' resident Golden Boy™ choi seungcheol's secret girlfriend, leads to the proposition of a lifetime

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader genre: hogwarts au, fake dating au, fluff, angst wordcount: 1.9k masterlist

EXTRA EXTRA! IS LOVE BREWING FOR OUR RESIDENT HOGWARTS HUNK?

“Wallflower! Do you have the prints from the choir tryouts?” Soonyoung Kwon’s perched on a piano bench in the back of the newsroom, a green and black necktie tied around his head, flapping like a flag in the wind every time he moves. “I want Beth Cloddington vomming front and center of this week’s issue,” he says, sticking his hands out in two Ls and looking through them like a camera.

In front of him, a rolling chalkboard littered with half-finished articles on one side, the other covered in pieces of ripped parchment. Tips, from fellow students. In the center, sits a mock front page of the paper, the words The Whomping Whistler in all caps across the top.

Soonyoung throws his head behind his shoulder. “Wallflower!” he yells, the tie whipping him in the face.

“Hold your thestrals Hoshi!” You pop around the corner, tossing a tray of photos down next to him. “You want to see her vom,” you ask, rifling through the stack of photos, “or her just about to? I’ve got a few good ones.”

Soonyoung wrinkles his nose, “Do you have one that cuts out right before?” You find the one you were looking for with a small aha! before handing it over. “Perfect. This is going to be perfect,” he mumbles, tacking the photo with a quick spell right under this week’s headline, ‘Daylight Sabatoge or Deadly School Lunch?’

“We gonna be ready for print soon?” you say, sticking your wand in your haphazardly twisted bun. Soonyoung may be the Editor-in-Chief, but the print deadline was hard approaching and it made you anxious. Hot gossip only stayed hot for so long.

Soonyoung purses his lips, “It’ll be a close call. Still waiting on the rest of the quidditch leaks-oi, Pudding! Eta on the quidditch rosters?”

There’s a loud noise in the corner of the room as 4th year Raveena Patil appears out from underneath a pile of old The Daily Prophet issues. A mane of curly black hair frames her face and a pair of black coke bottle glasses sit crooked on her nose.

She silently shrugs, adjusting her glasses, as if to say your guess is as good as mine.

Soonyoung rolls his eyes, huffing, “The Gryffindor team is really where the news is anyways and Dino brought us that today.” He gestures at Chan Lee, a wisp of a boy who’s scrubbing furiously at some spilled ink on the floor.

“Something about losing one of their beaters this year. We should get it printed tomorrow.” He ruffles his fried beach blonde hair, adding, “Hopefully?” when you send him a questioning look. Although, if anyone could meet a deadline, it would be Raveena.

Raveena Patil is a headstrong, highly ambitious, and downright terrifying, 4th year Ravenclaw. During her first year, her crucial tip led to the start of the publication, after which she’d proven herself to be the Whistler’s most prized possession, and strongest assest. The eyes and ears of Hogwarts they call her. Not a single secret gets past the likes of her.

Raveena is also next year’s shoo-in for Editor-in-Chief.

With both you and Soonyoung in your 7th year, slated to leave after your N.E.W.T.s, Raveena is the perfect person to keep the show running in your steed.

“You know what I think it’s time for?” says Soonyoung with a slightly crazed look on his face. You shake your head, worry creasing your forehead. “My dear Wallflower, it is time for,” He pauses for dramatic effect and you pray to Merlin he doesn’t say speech— “a speech!” He exclaims, throwing up jazz hands.

You groan. It was nearly 2 am, and not even 4 cups of Nocturna Brewery’s double-caffeinated coffee was enough to get you through one of Soonyoung’s sleep-deprived, and simply erratic, pump-up speeches.

Soonyoung shoves the photo tray over and you barely catch it before it clangs to the floor.

“Alrighty team!” He bellows, jumping up on the bench, “Gather ‘round and listen up!” Raveena crawls out from under her pile of newpapers and the rest of your small rag-tag team ambles on over.

“It’s the first week, and I want us to start strong.” Soonyoung throws his fists out, pumping them with vigour. “The first issue will be good, but I know that we can do great! Remember what they say,” he points at the team, “it is not men who do things! But doing it that makes them great!” You wince, that was not at all how the saying goes. He had the right energy though, as everyone around him cheers.

”You cannot manufacture men any more than you can manufacture gold!” He roars. There are hollers from the team and you think it’s about time to reel him in. You grab his arm and hoist yourself onto the bench, earning more hollers.

“When we first started this publication three years ago, we had no idea how big it would become. None of that was possible without you all!” There were jeers and whistles, and a few Let’s go Wallflower! “ Great work tonight! But I think we’ve earned some sleep. Hands in!” Everyone rushes forward, trying to get closer as you and Soonyoung stick your hands out.

“To greatness!”

They all cheer, “To greatness!” You clamber off the bench, holding a hand out for Soonyoung. He hops off with a stumble, tucking the tie that fell in his face behind his ear.

“Can you hang back for a bit, Wallflower?” You nod, confused, as Soonyoung waits for everyone else to pack up and leave.

Once the newsroom is empty, sans the two of you, Soonyoung swings towards you with a devilish grin on his face. “I have a special mission for you, Wallflower,” he says in a sing-song voice.

You groan for the second time that night. “Please don’t tell me you still think they’re growing cannabis in the greenhouses. I swear on my camera they’re not.” The smile slips off his face.

“What? No? Wallflower, that was so last year,” he says, exasperated.

(It was not. He’d asked you to look into it literally on the first day of school.)

Soonyoung looks around the room, making sure there were truly no one else left, before dropping his voice down to a whisper yell, “I have it on good intel, very good intel–,” Code for Raveena, “–that Seungcheol Choi has a girlfriend.”

There’s a fire in Soonyoung’s eyes and a smirk grazes his lips.

You blink, and Soonyoung blinks back before his smirk starts to slowly slip off his face. The silence is deafening.

You clear your throat, “Okay . . . and?”

There was another pause.

“Okay AND?!” Soonyoung shrieks. You wince, throwing your hands up to cover your ears.

“The Seungcheol Choi has a girlfriend. We have to be the first to break the news and,” He boops your nose, “you, my dear Wallflower, are going to figure out who the lucky girl is. Then, you’re gonna get a picture of them snogging.” He starts to back up before you can protest, picking up his messenger bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“Wallflower, this is going to be our biggest story yet, I can just feel it.” You shake your head, a whiny no begging to slip past your pout. “One picture love, that’s all I need,” He says, sticking a finger up, before switching to a finger heart.

“Get some sleep, you’re gonna need it!” And with that, he was out the door, leaving you alone with your thoughts. With a sigh, you start gathering your things, sorting photos and parchment into separate piles.

Seungcheol Choi’s girlfriend. You weren’t sure where to even start with that one. However, Soonyoung was (unfortunately) right. It would be huge if you snapped a picture of Hogwarts’ resident Golden Boy with a partner.

But how? Were you supposed to just follow him around everywhere? You shake your head, grabbing your camera off the table and checking the room one last time before turning out the lights with a swift Lumos.

It’s not like you hadn’t done it before.

Last year, Raveena had been tipped off that Trixie Fawcett was fooling around with Keerthy Ramaswamy. No one would’ve batted an eye if it weren’t for the fact that, after multiple years of being on the receiving end of each other’s curses in Dueling Club, they were ‘sworn enemies’ and ‘rivals to the death.’

You’d followed Trixie everywhere, trying to catch her in the act. It wasn’t too difficult with her also being a 6th year Ravenclaw, but it did make your free time nearly non-existent for a whole week. How were you supposed to do that with a Gryffindor boy?

It was also going to be harder to do during a N.E.W.T.s year, especially on top of manning most of the photography for the Whistler.

Maybe you should’ve started Dino on photo duty earlier.

“It’s obviously Azkaban, A-Z-K-A-B-A-N, Azkaban!”

“Hoshi, how the fuck is a 4-across clue Azkaban.”

Today’s morning issue of the Daily Prophet is spread out on the table, opened to the crossword page.

“Oh, uh, okay. Let’s try a different one?” Soonyoung says, shovelling a forkful of pancakes in his mouth and chewing obnoxiously.

You look at him with disgust before going back to the crossword, “7-diagonal, scarlet leather ball?”

Soonyoung swallows before answering, “Easy, Basilisk, B-A-S-I–”

“Merlin, that is not how you do these.” You wanted to bash your head against the table. Or maybe Soonyoung’s.

Last night hadn’t resulted in very much sleep after heading back to your dorm, lying awake most of the night, head churning with thoughts of a certain Gryffindor.

You stare across the Great Hall, eyes landing on said boy. Seungcheol Choi.

He’s flanked on either side by his two best friends, fellow Gryffindors Jeonghan Yoon and Joshua Hong. Seungcheol leans over Jeonghan’s shoulder, as the latter furiously scribbles something down. Meanwhile Joshua sits quietly reading a book, only moving to steal grapes off of Seungcheol’s plate.

“So, do you have a plan for Operation Golden Boy?” Soonyoung whispers in your ear.

You yelp, jumping nearly three feet in the air. “Bloody hell, what the fuck Hosh,” you hiss, smacking him back with your quill and rubbing your ear. “For your information, no, I don’t have a plan. I’ll just, I dunno, make like a dragon and wing it.”

Hoshi grins, “That’s my Wallflower!” You try grinning back, but it comes out more like a grimace.

The truth is, you don’t know much about Seungcheol. At least, not much more than anyone would after spending the past 6 years together at a boarding school. But you were in different houses and ran in a completely different circle of friends. Outside of class, your paths didn’t cross much.

Not sure if you could call him your resident it boy, but Seungcheol sure was the everything boy of Hogwarts.

He became a prefect in year 5, Quidditch Captain in year 6, and now, he’s Head Boy. On top of that, he’s class topper in nearly all his classes while also tutoring 5th years gearing up for their O.W.L.s. He started the big buddy little buddy system for an easier transition for the first years, led the Save-the Flobberworms campaign for five years in a row at Hogwarts, and, whenever you’ve spoken to him, he’s always been super nice.

Problem was, if you asked anyone else at Hogwarts, they’d tell you some iteration of the same thing.

You sigh before folding up the Prophet and shoving it into your bag. You’ll figure it out. After all, how hard could it be to get a photo of a 17-year-old boy sucking face with his girlfriend?

#seventeen #seventeen fanfic #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fluff #choi seungcheol #title: jump then fall #au: hogwarts #au: hp #daisee.writes #seventeen hogwarts #band: seventeen #member: seungcheol

62 notes · View notes

pentrologram · 11 days ago

Text

What Normal People Do - 9

Feelings bubble over.

sjdkfjkslfk before we get into the good stuff, i js wanna say thank you to everyone who's left a comment so far <3 it truly keeps me going when i have dry spells of writing during school!! i love reading them and the only thing stopping me from printing them out and pinning them on a wall on my room is social norms lmaoo

ao3!

poly!ghoap/gn!reader

Not Shy of a Spark

You’re skittish now.

It’s the first thing Johnny realises when he returns to your flat. He had gone under the guise of returning a jumper you had left that Halloween night.

“Hi, bonnie,” he says, his voice nearly as soft as the cotton in his hands. He’s anxiously trying not to scare you, not keen to invoke the firey anger you had reigned on them the other day. You warily glance at the fabric in Johnny’s hands before hesitantly taking it.

“Um, thanks, Johnny,” you say shyly. “Uh, I’ve got to go now. Bye.” You shut the door on him, making him droop and drag his feet on his way back to his flat.

“Any luck?” Simon asks from where he is on the couch, Riley draped across his legs like a sort of blanket while he watches footie.

“No. Barely got anythin’ outta them,” Johnny says glumly, planting himself by Simon, and petting the top of Riley’s head.

"'S alright. Still got those reservations, don't we?"

"Well, yeah, but I dinnae want them to be mad at us," Johnny says, a pronounced frown on his lips.

"I don' think they're mad at us, love. Jus' confused, is all."

"What they said abo' the statue..."

"They wouldn't've done it on purpose, I'm sure. You saw 'em before, right, and they were half hammered," Simon says, scratching Riley's belly.

"I ken. They sounded bleedin' guilty t' other day, too," he remarks quietly.

"Probably beating themselves up abo' it right now. Ought to give 'em the reservations soon, mm?"

"Yeh." Johnny slumps further into the couch at the memory of you just minutes earlier, all meek and nervous.

"Johnny, love, 's gonna be fine. Things'll work out," he reassures, leaning over to kiss the top of Johnny's head. "You'll see." Johnny's dejected. For the first time in his life, someone that he likes an awful lot, seems... scared of him. And it scares him. He's not sure how Simon's so calm about it, so confident. Typically their roles are reversed- it's usually Johnny diving in headfirst to everything, ensuring the safety of Simon's prized personal space, his bubble.

The next day, Simon reaches out to you. Like all his prior texts, he's blunt.

Today 6:33 PM

- The Springfields, Manchester

- 8 PM tomorrow.

- ??

- wtf???

- See you then.

"What the fuck?" You repeat aloud to yourself as you lay on your bed, wallowing in self-pity after work. You'd been ignoring your neighbours for the better half of a week now and then... Simon springs a reservation to Ivy Springfields. The nicest place you've been to since you started work was a P.F. Changs once. But Ivy Springfields is a serious place- like, with a sort of unofficial, unannounced, unspoken-dress-code-serious, which makes you panic internally. You panic and dig through your closet, attempting to put something together that's loosely 'smart casual'- it's like looking for a needle in your piles of scrubs, jeans and soft, worn-out band tees. Eventually, you come across something that's acceptable, and as you go to steam it, you begin to reason why your neighbours would invite you out to dinner after a series of strictly casual and within the building dinners.

Perhaps they were going to put a hit on you- but that didn't really make sense. If they wanted to dispose of you they probably would've taken you to a McDonald's. Maybe they were going to put you down gently, then, explain that they've actually been secretly married for half their lives and just never told you- which seems a lot more likely, actually. You hadn't gotten your hopes up, thankfully, and hadn't deluded yourself into thinking that there might've been a chance that they liked you back. You didn't hate yourself, after all.

You sleep a little easier that night, knowing you had figured out their motives for taking you out to dinner- for wasting a perfectly fine Friday night on you.

Thankfully, Ivy Springfields isn't as fancy as you dreaded it being. It's intimate, sure, but it still felt casual. Seeing couples in jeans made you feel a little overdressed and suddenly a lot stupid- maybe dressing fancy would send the wrong message to Simon and Johnny? Maybe they'd think you were expecting better of them? You're panicking internally while a server takes you to the table Simon and Johnny reserved, wishing you could shapeshift to suddenly be more comfortable or better yet, more confident. Right now you felt like a bag of open nerves.

And-

Simon and Johnny don't look more casual than you. It eases you slightly. At least you were in the same boat together, you think to yourself, trying to maintain some degree of optimism. Johnny brightens and smiles as he sees you round the corner, and you wave awkwardly. It's a booth on the rooftop, and you're canopied by an arch of vines with a candle-lit lantern hanging over the rounded table. There's a quiet hum of other people talking at the tables around, but it's not obnoxious, just comforting.

"Hi," you say shyly as you sit down, a menu in front of you. You're prepared, mentally bracing yourself for the blow you know is coming within the next 30-45 minutes.

"Hey, love," Simon murmurs from your left.

"Hi, bon," Johnny says from your right.

They keep the conversation light, on purpose, you think, until the food comes. Johnny catches you off guard mid-bite.

"Bon, about the other day. The statue... We're not mad abo' it," he says gently. "Ye were a lil' tipsy an' all. Worse could'a happen." You look up at him, blinking.

"...Oh. Um, thank you. I really am sorry. I tried to throw it at the guy, but... Well."

"'S alright." Johnny soothes. He squeezes your shoulder before biting into his pasta.

"I feel really bad about it," you admit softly.

"Don't. Stuff happened and it wasn't the worst thing that happened then, wasn't it?" Simon says as he cuts a bite-sized piece of his ribeye.

"No, I guess not," Simon grunts in approval, and you let dinner go on almost silently. You feel like you're awkwardly existing with their peaceful dinner date, there only to spectate.

It's not a bad dinner. Just not-

-optimal. Maybe if the lighting was brighter and there wasn't a couple next to your table canoodling you'd feel better about it. Maybe if you weren't overly self-conscious about how you acted around the boys, desperate to make sure they didn't think you a freak, desperate to stay in their good graces, you'd be able to enjoy being at such a posh place. It's just fine. And that unnerves you. You were expecting fire and brimstone from them, all hell reigning on your back, expecting admonishment and social banishment from your apartment building. Not tagging along like a lost puppy to their date, but that was just how the cards fell, it seems.

At the end of the very awkward dinner, some couple dozen half-laughs and small, nearly-there smiles later, they offer to drive you home. You had Uber'ed there with the intention to Uber back, but if they were offering you a free ride home, well, who were you to say no?

You take the backseat which makes Simon look slightly miffed. He doesn't talk about it so neither do you, though. You're silent the whole way back to the flat complex, letting their soft conversations wash over you and lull you to sleep as Johnny drives. The food was good, your stomach was full, you were warm and the car's gentle rocking was soothing. Somewhere during the drive you fell asleep, and it wasn't until the car pulled into the apartment's parking lot did you wake up. Your cheek was smushed against the window, crust in your eyes and a bitter taste in your throat. You take a moment, picking through your memory before you remember where-

...and you panic a little bit because you had just passed out in the backseat of two grown men who probably had a little vendetta against you. And you're still panicking when you hear Simon get up from the passenger's side and go around to your end, and you're not thinking clearly when you pretend to still be asleep as he opens the door you were leaning on ever so hesitantly before scooping you up. You have enough sense to not go rigid in his arms, but it's a narrow thing.

Johnny fishes in your bag for your keys while Simon keeps you safely cradled within his grasp. They open the door to your apartment and Simon sets you down in your bed, leaving you there before taking off your shoes and coat. Then you hear a pen against parchment, and then Johnny's quiet "g'night, bon," and the warm feeling of his lips against your forehead.

You bolt up the second you hear them leave, mortified, your hand tracing over where Johnny had kissed you in a daze. It was-

It was confusing. You thought they hated you. You thought they thought you were a creep. Instead, Johnny's kiss- even if he hadn't meant for you to have known that it happened- seemed like a reciprocation. Right? It's hard to platonically kiss someone's forehead, after all.

It gives you the jitters because now you're even more confused than you were before. There was comfort in knowing that Johnny and Simon for sure hated you and were internally condemning you. The possibility that maybe they didn't hate you- on the contrary, rather liked you- was terrifying and you considered yourself terrified. You nursed yourself a cup of tea before relenting to bed.

The next morning, you read Johnny's note:

Hi bon,

you keep on faling asleep when you hang out with us! no hard feelings, tho, it's ok. we put your keys back in your bag. hope you slept okay!!!!!

Simon and Johnny xxxxxxxx

You silently stash it next to the other note Johnny had left for you.

Now, Simon and Johnny were plotting again, because their first try at goading you into realizing that they liked you back wasn't successful.

"A museum?" Johnny suggests as he scratches Riley behind the ears.

"No, we'll be whispering the entire time," Simon grumbles. "It needs to be more intimate. A cafe?" Johnny shakes his head.

"Canne hug from across a table. Maybe a wine tastin', then? New winery opened on Mosley last week, Ah think." You leave your apartment when the words leave his lips, right as Simon nods in approval.

"Right on."

This time, it's Johnny who reaches out to you first.

Today 11:43 AM

- Hi bonn!!!

- Simon and I were thinkinbg of going to a wine tasting on saterday.

- Salut Wines

- Youre invited :)

You stare at the text in suspicion while on your lunch break. The workweek had just started and you were just out with them. But still, the offer sounded nice and well-meaning enough.

Today 12:01 PM

- okay, will be there!

- what time?

- 1pm ok?

- okay! it's a date.

(On the other side of the screen, Johnny giggles, showing Simon his phone, shoving the piece of metal in front of the book Simon had been peacefully reading.

"'S a date," he echos happily. "Oooh, it's gon' be good, Si, I j's know it.)

You're savouring this week. Sure, it's a full week of work right at the start of November, but it's comforting. The calm before the holidays storm, you suppose. You deal with tots with runny noses, showing new moms how to use baby powder, taking temperatures and running diagnostics. Clean the arm, inject the arm and soothe the baby- you've got your work down to a formula, at this point, and the security of it soothes you. But time flies when you're having fun, and before you know it, it's Saturday and you're getting ready to go next door so the boys could drive you.

"Hey," you say as Simon knocks on your door, moving back to let you step out and lock it behind you.

"Hey. Johnny's in the car already." You walk in a comforting silence with him, not feeling pressured to talk like how you usually are when at work. When you reach the parking garage, Johnny looks up from his phone and grins at you from the backseat.

"Hi, bonnie," he chirps.

"Oh- hi, Johnny, I can sit in the back," you say nearly immediately, but he shakes his head, a mischievous look on his face.

"Nae, it's okay, Ah can sit back here tonight."

"Are you sure?" You ask nervously. "I would hate to impose, it's okay, I don't mind."

"It's just a bloody seat, love," Simon grunts as he gets into the car, having to bend forward to fit. Too anxious to do much else, you take the front seat, awkwardly avoiding Simon's eye as he gets onto the road.

"Put the radio on," Johnny whines from the backseat, not satisfied until Simon complies. You're unsure if it's on purpose but Johnny immediately begins to sing along poorly to the first pop song that comes on, and you watch Simon sigh.

"Does he do this often?" You ask curiously.

"Every damn time we're in the car, love. You were asleep for the last one."

"Oh." You both wince in tandem as his voice cracks. "Is it okay if-"

"Just say it."

"Is he bad... on purpose?" You ask, dropping your voice to a whisper, grateful for the space between shotgun and the backseat. You're rewarded with Simon laughing, a full-on belly laugh that sets butterflies ablaze in your stomach.

"Ha, no, I don't reckon he is."

The wine tasting is lovely and you thoroughly enjoy your company for real this time; no longer feeling like a third wheel the way you had at the beginning of the week. Maybe it's the alcohol emboldening you, but you find the courage to apologise for your whole outburst on Halloween, making Johnny's expression soften.

"Nae, it's okay, bonnie, we ken you go' a hard job, with all the wee ones. 'S only fair that ye get to scream ev'ry now an' again." He says like he had figured it out a long time before your apology. Simon just shrugs.

"'S really alright. And, y'know, you brought up some good points." He says calmly, casually, staring at you. You go rigid, immediately terrified.

"Um... really?" You ask weakly.

"Yeah," Johnny says, reaching across the table for your hand. You're immediately grateful that you had chosen a table closest to the back of the winery, the most secluded area, because you would hate for a stranger to watch you get put down gently. "C'mon." He nudges you up to your feet, taking your hand and leading you outside to the vineyard, Simon following silently behind you, eventually showing up again to your left.

"When ye said ye loved us," Johnny starts gently. "Did ye mean that?"

"U-um, well, I don't think I was in the right state of mind when I said that," you stutter out, immediately defensive. "I- uh, had a hard day of work. I think- Um, no, I didn't mean it, I was just angry and looking into stuff too much."

"Oh." Johnny seems to deflate, "well-" but he's cut off by Simon.

"That's shite and you know it," Simon says, staring daggers into you, making you stop in your tracks and subsequentially Johnny, too.

"Huh?"

"Tell me honestly right now that you don't love us."

"Well... Ah. Um, I don't?"

"Bonnie," Johnny pleads from behind you. "Say ye want this. Please." You swallow thickly, an uncomfortable mixture of nerves and nausea rising up your throat. "It's OK if ye don't, o' course, but don't lie. Please." Johnny's eyes are akin to a puppy's, big and pathetic and you feel a bit mean for lying earlier.

"Well..." You mumble, not realizing that Simon had stepped closer to you as your back was turned on him. "Well. I want this," you say, and no sooner than the words are out your mouth does Johnny pounce on you, your lips firmly against his own. Simon's arms wrap around your waist and rest on Johnny's hip, creating a comfortable sandwich.

Johnny's all smiles when he pulls away from you, and you can't help but smile a little back, tentatively, heart running a mile a minute. Simon presses a kiss to the top of your head, making you peer your head up at him.

"Thank you," he rumbles, content.

A feeling rises in your chest, one so powerful and all-encompassing that you can't feel your nausea anymore. It's still as scary as it had been in the Uber how many nights ago, but now it feels weaker. Conquerable.

And maybe you wouldn't hate yourself if you let it slip, just a tiny whisper, lost in the mass of their forms bracketing your own, but still there nonetheless:

"I love you."

<- back

39 notes · View notes